Okay, so... Blood on the Vine first. Closer inspection of the sign makes you realize that it originally read, "Blood OF the Vine", but someone scratched an "N" in place of the "f". The building is about 60' square, and was once fine and beautiful, but has grown soot-darkened and shoddy over the years. Opening the door takes you into the common room, lit by a single, massive hearth. It's mainly deserted except for a few souls huddled over their tankards and glasses. Unlike your usual image of a tavern, there is dead silence within, broken by the sound of someone sipping their drink. At the bar sit three men garbed as gypsies, and behind it, a stout man in a dirty apron cleans glasses. Until you realize that he just keeps polishing the same three glasses... over, and over, and over again.
Skie will go into stealth mode in case the patrons are hostile. She will let the Paladins talk to them first. If they turn out to be hostile she will try to backstab the toughest looking one with her Short Sword +2.
OOC: terrible to hear about the communities that have suffered so much, my thoughts to all involved.
IC: Branwen raises a brow as she watches the bartender clean his same three glasses... "drink, anyone?" she offers ironically. Shuffling further inside, peering around at the clientele. Deciding on the direct approach she marches up to the fat man behind the bar. "Greetings, barkeep. May you give me and mine companions some tankards of....whatever the hell that is"
*gesturing to a vat of unclear liquid, as she trickles a handful of coins onto the soot stained bar*
The Innkeeper repeats Branwen's request for "...ale..." in a dull, hollow voice. He brings out enough tankards for all of you and fills them from the tap. The brew is brackish and watery, but nobody seems to care. After pouring, he goes back to cleaning those same three glasses. Watching him is almost sad, and at the same time, kind of hypnotic. You find yourself wondering if he polishes the glasses for long enough, will he polish them away?
Aerie sips from her tankard and winces at the taste of the brew. She looks around the hall and asks the bartender, "Excuse me, do you know where the home of the Burgomeister, Kolyan Indirovich, is?"
The barman ignores both your questions as if you weren't there. "Kolyan Indirovich?" an accented male voice asks. "That is my father. Why are you asking about him?" The voice comes from a young man sitting in the corner, in deep shadow. He leans forward to get a better look at you, and inadvertantly gives you a better look at him. A Dark-haired young man in his early 20's, he's dressed in dark brown breeches and a clean white shirt that somehow bespeaks wealth and breeding, tailored as they are to suit his lean frame> "Have my father's searches borne fruit?" the young man asks. "Are you here about Irina?"
Branwen grips her holy symbol tighter, offering up a muttered prayer to Tempus at the mention of the poor man's unfortunate death. Taking a swallow of what can only barely be called "ale", she tears her attention from the barman's ritualistic polishing to the speaker. "Yes, young man. We had received word of your father's...troubles, and ventured here with all haste to see if we could assist. But dead you say? Was he ill? Or has something darker occurred? And Irina? We are to understand that she is suffering from some mysterious ailment. There are those among us who are skilled in the arts of healing, and of combatting dark evil. If there is a cure to be found, rest assured, young Indirovich, we will persevere until it is found."
Then I believe we to here just in time, I am deeply sorry for your loss, but I feel his job for us is needed even if he isn't around. I would ask to know if you know what he wanted of us, and secondly if you are able. How did your father die?
The young man, anger defused by the words of Branwen, Valygar and Keldorn, slumps back into his seat a little. "Irina Kolyana... is my sister, though of my father's heart rather than his body. When she was no more than a child, he found Irina in the woods, and he raised us together. We love each other as sisters and brothers do, but neither I nor my father are able to protect her from the dark lord of the castle."
"My father was not a young man, even when he found Irina, and the years have not weighed kindly on him. My father was not ill, but I am sure the stress of what was happening with, and to Irina, as well as his age, contributed to his death. But..." he looks around. "It is not safe to further talk here. Come to our house, and you can meet Irina for yourself." He pulls himself erect, shrugs into a Green leather coat, and gestures at you to follow him.
taking one last look at the odd barman and his bizarre behaviour, before following the young man, her sympathies for his tragic tale leading her to trust him fully without question...
"I am Ismark the Lesser, named after my grandfather," the young man says as he escorts you down the darkened side street. The sound of sobbing that you heard earlier is much stronger here, and as it gets closer, you are sure that it will be the sound of Irina. But you pass the house that the sobbing emanates from and continue on. "Please, do not speak to my sister of her origins. She believes that my father was also her own, and I have no will to disabuse her of that notion. He smiles quietly. "I wish not to cause her any greater pain than the death of our father and her current condition has left her in."
He leads you out of the town proper and into a more prosperous area, with a large wood and brick house set far back from the street and closed up tightly against the night at the fog. He takes you straight to the door and knocks firmly. "Irina, it is Ismark, and I have brought friends. Please, let us in."
The door opens almost immediately by a stunningly gorgeous young woman. Her luxurious dark hair falls below her shoulders, almost down to the middle of her back, and her figure is fit and trim. Her eyes gleam like emeralds in the light of the candles, and her high cheekbones and full lips ensure that she would turn heads no matter where she went. She says nothing to you at first, but pulls her brother into a close embrace that is lovingly sisterly. Like Ismark, she wears trousers of leather and a close-fiting shirt, but hers is of linen, and embroidered at the waist and neckline with geometric figures. A wide leather belt spans her slender waist, and her feet are garbed in tall, soft boots.
"Greetings," she says, her liquid accent much the same as that of her brother, but more old-fashioned sounding. "Welcome to our home. Even with as much sorrow as has lately afflicted us, please, be welcome here."
Alora hates the sound of sobbing. She would have had to sneak away from the group when she heard the sound of crying and peep through the window to try to see who was so upset.
Aerie smiles at the young woman, so brave and gracious in the face of so much tragedy. "Thank you, and our condolences upon your loss. We're here to help in any way we can."
"It's no Silvershield Estate, but I suppose it will have to do."
Skie looks at Irina. They are roughly the same age.
"Greetings. Condolences regarding your father, etc., etc. My father is also dead, so I somewhat know how you feel," Skie remarks nonchalantly.
Though I certainly did not put on such a shameful display of weeping so ill-becoming of a lady. Not to mention ruining your mascara. She thought, but decided best to keep that thought to herself.
Inside, the house is in excellent repair, lovingly well-maintained, but perhaps a bit worn around the edges. As she moves, you get a glimpse of Irina's neck, and two pairs of fang holes over the major blood vessels in her neck. The windows are heavily barricaded from the inside, and an abundance of what look to be holy symbols-some sort of sun or solar figure (not Lathander, but something else) are everywhere you look. Ismark notices your glances. "Until a few nights ago, we had a holy relic here, and were relying on it to keep Irina safe after her attacks..." he says. "But it was stolen from our house by Strahd and his creatures, and I can no longer keep her safe."
Irina touches her brother comfortingly. "Ismark, it was not your fault..." She turns to you. "Always, he assaults our home, along with the town. He and his creatures, the wolves and the bats. It was when the relic was stolen that he bit me the second time. I can no longer stay here and imperil my brother and this town and my people." She firms her lower lip and looks at you all. "I wish to accompany you to deal with this threat. If I cannot help my people, I do not deserve to live, and better to throw my life away attempting to destroy the evil rather than sit here and wait to die or become his creature." She says the last with a bitter, disgusted tone, as if she cannot think of anything worse to be.
Edwin Sits in the most comfortable chair he can find. He removes his spellbook from an inner pocket of his robes, opens it up and begins to study it. He seems completely involved in the book, and completely uninterested in anything else that is going on.
Comments
IC: Branwen raises a brow as she watches the bartender clean his same three glasses...
"drink, anyone?" she offers ironically.
Shuffling further inside, peering around at the clientele. Deciding on the direct approach she marches up to the fat man behind the bar.
"Greetings, barkeep. May you give me and mine companions some tankards of....whatever the hell that is"
*gesturing to a vat of unclear liquid, as she trickles a handful of coins onto the soot stained bar*
"Yes, young man. We had received word of your father's...troubles, and ventured here with all haste to see if we could assist. But dead you say? Was he ill? Or has something darker occurred? And Irina? We are to understand that she is suffering from some mysterious ailment. There are those among us who are skilled in the arts of healing, and of combatting dark evil. If there is a cure to be found, rest assured, young Indirovich, we will persevere until it is found."
"My father was not a young man, even when he found Irina, and the years have not weighed kindly on him. My father was not ill, but I am sure the stress of what was happening with, and to Irina, as well as his age, contributed to his death. But..." he looks around. "It is not safe to further talk here. Come to our house, and you can meet Irina for yourself." He pulls himself erect, shrugs into a Green leather coat, and gestures at you to follow him.
He leads you out of the town proper and into a more prosperous area, with a large wood and brick house set far back from the street and closed up tightly against the night at the fog. He takes you straight to the door and knocks firmly. "Irina, it is Ismark, and I have brought friends. Please, let us in."
The door opens almost immediately by a stunningly gorgeous young woman. Her luxurious dark hair falls below her shoulders, almost down to the middle of her back, and her figure is fit and trim. Her eyes gleam like emeralds in the light of the candles, and her high cheekbones and full lips ensure that she would turn heads no matter where she went. She says nothing to you at first, but pulls her brother into a close embrace that is lovingly sisterly. Like Ismark, she wears trousers of leather and a close-fiting shirt, but hers is of linen, and embroidered at the waist and neckline with geometric figures. A wide leather belt spans her slender waist, and her feet are garbed in tall, soft boots.
"Greetings," she says, her liquid accent much the same as that of her brother, but more old-fashioned sounding. "Welcome to our home. Even with as much sorrow as has lately afflicted us, please, be welcome here."
"It's no Silvershield Estate, but I suppose it will have to do."
Skie looks at Irina. They are roughly the same age.
"Greetings. Condolences regarding your father, etc., etc. My father is also dead, so I somewhat know how you feel," Skie remarks nonchalantly.
Though I certainly did not put on such a shameful display of weeping so ill-becoming of a lady. Not to mention ruining your mascara. She thought, but decided best to keep that thought to herself.
Irina touches her brother comfortingly. "Ismark, it was not your fault..." She turns to you. "Always, he assaults our home, along with the town. He and his creatures, the wolves and the bats. It was when the relic was stolen that he bit me the second time. I can no longer stay here and imperil my brother and this town and my people." She firms her lower lip and looks at you all. "I wish to accompany you to deal with this threat. If I cannot help my people, I do not deserve to live, and better to throw my life away attempting to destroy the evil rather than sit here and wait to die or become his creature." She says the last with a bitter, disgusted tone, as if she cannot think of anything worse to be.