• Our heroes encountered Count Strahd von Zarovich.
  • Strahd agreed to send resource to help rebuild the town of Barovia
  • Strahd agreed not to immediately take Ireena
  • It’s hard to say if Strahd was impressed with freeing the souls of the Horror House. However, he did note it’s never been done. He seemed to have some deeper insight into this event.
  • Strahd seems to consider the heroes guests, and esteemed ones to some degree.
• Tser Pool Encampment
  • Our heroes encountered a traveling band of Vistani.
    • Stanimir seems to be the eldest and the leader of the band.
    • Eliza is Stanimirs wife or they are in some relationship.
    • Vistani game of stories was played. The Vistani did not win.
    • Our heroes met Madam Eva.
      • The raven who has been following them is related in same fashion to Madam Eva.
      • Madam Eva met with Strahd just before the heroes arrived.
      • This camp belongs to her. The Vistani are just passing thru.
      • Madam Eva notes the path they are on is dangerous and if they with to continue “River Ivlis crossroads at midnight tonight”

The March of the Dead

Madam Eva meets the players near a graveyard full of others who have gone down this path before. At midnight, the ghosts of the dead adventurers who have failed walk towards Castle Strahd. The price of the reading is to purchase her great-grand-niece, Arabelle a toy with the money she has provides.

• The Tarokka Reading

Madam Eva sets both decks upon the earth before her. Closing her eyes, she places her right hand over the surface of the larger deck. The crimson flames dim and swirl in eldritch patterns as her lips move silently, a distant tension spreading through the air. The sounds of the rustling trees and rippling pool beyond the tent’s walls begin to dim, the external world growing mute and insubstantial as the space within grows more solid—more real.

Slowly, reverently, the crone draws three cards from the top of the deck, laying them face down separately on the ground, with the second laid between and above its partners. She then moves to the smaller deck, drawing two more cards. The first, she places below the first three, forming a cross. The second, she places in the center.

The shadows of the headstones around her sway like silhouettes, leaning in toward the cards like anxious watchers—yet the air in the cemetery is perfectly still. No light intrudes besides the light of the three candles; no voice rings out in the silence. Shadows and mist swirl beyond the graves, where the darkness of deepest night dwells—but here, at its center, light yet reigns.

The crone then moves her wrinkled hand to the left-most card—the first. She closes her eyes and tilts her head, as if listening to an unspoken word. The arcane lights swirl and then shift, their colors changing to a deep, piercing blue.

“This card tells of history. Knowledge of the ancient will help you better understand your enemy.”

She flips the card.

The cerulean light dances across its surface, revealing an illustration of a smirking guardsman looking up at a haughty priest, the priest’s pointing fingers mere inches from the guardsman’s nose as the guardsman readies a wickedly curved dagger behind his back. “The Nine of Glyphs—the Traitor.” Her dark pupils shift from side to side, as though reading from an unseen text. “I see the ancient foe of an old and noble house. The lost soul will lead you to him.”

She moves her hand to the second card, this one at the top of the cross. As she closes her eyes and listens once more, the candlelight flares, its color bursting into a fierce, cheery yellow.

“This card tells of a powerful force for good and protection, a holy symbol of great hope.” She flips the card.

This time, the light reveals a new illustration: an armored warrior clutching a cracked iron sword and a leather-bound wooden shield, his face obscured by a heavy iron helmet. “The Five of Swords—the Myrmidon.” Her eyes stare deep into the darkness that lurks beyond the candlelight.

“Look for a den of wolves in the hills overlooking a mountain lake. The treasure belongs to Mother Night.”

She moves her hand to the third card, at the right arm of the cross, her eyelids closing like a trance, her lips pursed in quiet contemplation. The candlelight vanishes, for a heartbeat—and then returns in a nova of fierce, burning white, so pure and strong and clean that it hurts to look at, burns to see—

Madam Eva’s eyes snap open, burning with a fierce determination.

“This is a card of power and strength. It tells of a weapon of vengeance: a sword of sunlight.” She flips the card.

The light reveals a third illustration: a solemn-faced man clad in holy vestments, one hand clutching the chain of a bronze censer that billows with burning smoke. “The Eight of Glyphs—the Bishop.” The crone’s voice is strong with purpose. “What you seek lies in a prison of darkness, beyond a set of amber doors,” she intones, her eyes narrowing. “This weapon is long hidden. The house of the fallen dragon can lead you there.”

She moves to the fourth card, at the bottom of the cross, and listens once more, tracing small circles across its back as she hums a contemplative note. The magic flames leap and dance upon their wicks, now casting swirling violet embers into the air as the graves beyond shimmer with a twilit glow.

“This card sheds light on one who will help you greatly in the battle against darkness.”

She flips the card.

This time, the illustration revealed is a quiet graveyard choked with fog, its entrance sealed with a sharp iron fence. “The Mists.” Madam Eva leans forward.

“A Vistana wanders this land alone, searching for her mentor. She does not stay in one place for long. Seek her out at Saint Markovia’s abbey, near the mists.”

Finally, she moves her hand to the fifth card—and nearly recoils, her brow furrowing until the wrinkles split her forehead like a trench. Behind her, shadows encircle the candlelight until the light is very nearly swallowed by the creeping dark. When next she speaks, Madam Eva’s rasping voice is scarce above a whisper.

“Your enemy is a creature of darkness, whose powers are beyond mortality. When the hour of judgment arrives, this card will lead you to him!”

Her hand trembles above the card for a silent moment—and then deft, ancient fingers reveal its opposite side.

In the darkness, the fifth and final illustration is only barely visible through the smoke and unnatural murk. Upon the card’s surface dwells a depiction of a crowned, grinning emperor clad in royal finery and reaching for a goblet of wine—though his limbs are wooden puppet’s limbs, lashed to corded strings that disappear into the darkness overhead.

Madam Eva slowly exhales. “The Marionette. Look to great heights. Find the beating heart of the castle. He waits nearby.”

As the last syllable passes her lips, the old woman freezes—and then rocks backwards, her eyes rolling until their whites gleam like pearls in the darkness—and then she snaps back, the candlelight burning down to its ordinary crimson glow.

The sound of the natural world returns—the whispering of the wind through the trees, the distant hooting of an owl, and the faraway lapping of the Ivlis River against its banks. Silver moonlight once again pierces the cemetery’s edge, and you feel yourselves breathe for the first time since the reading began.

Madam Eva says nothing. She only regards you silently with dark, heavy eyes.