Forum > Ithrandi

Once upon a time…

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Helena

She watched the carnage from the Never Surrender beside the ship’s captain, wrapped up in her heavy coat to keep out the cold wind. The tall man peered through his spyglass at the battle on the opposite ship and chuckled. Helena heard the screams of dying men and shuddered. The pirate noticed. “You don’t look the squeamish type,” he said.

“I’m not,” she replied in the captain’s native Avalon, her Vendel accent heavy on the vowels. “But this butchery…”

“Is entirely necessary,” the captain interrupted. “The Vodacce do not surrender.”

She turned away from the carnage. “As long as I get back what’s mine.”

“That was our agreement,” the captain said, putting his spyglass back in his sash. “My crew gets the gold and you get… whatever it is you want.”

She buried herself more deeply in her coat. "That was our agreement, Mordigan" she thought. "But we still have to see if you’ll keep your word."

Just as she finished the thought, something knocked her forward as an explosion filled her ears and heat burned at her backside. Her face slammed against the deck and she tasted blood. It took her a moment to pick her wits up off the deck, then she pushed herself to her feet and ran her tongue along her teeth just to make sure they were all still there.

She saw the captain, still smoldering in the cold sea air, a raging fire before him from the other ship. He was swinging his cutlass above his head, though she heard no orders. She couldn’t hear anything but a loud ringing in her head. While she had managed to pick up her wits, she realized that she’d left her balance on the deck and fell right back down. She tried twice more, using the rail to pull herself up, and saw the other ship had lost her stern to a raging inferno. Very slowly, the captain’s voice found its way past the ringing and she heard his commands.

“Get back, lads! She’s going down, and if we don’t work them lines fast, we’re going right down with her!”

Helena shook her head and pointed at the sinking ship with her right hand while grabbing the captain with her left. “No! We can’t leave! Villanova’s on that boat with my…”

“We’ve no choice! We’re still grappled with Villanova’s ship. If we don’t cut free, we’re drinking sea water wine for dinner tonight.”

She shook the last bit of vertigo from her head and pushed the captain aside. He started to protest, but she pulled a gun from her heavy jacket and he was silent. Blood trickled into her eyes and she turned toward the ship, aiming the gun at the rigging. The captain watched as the gun fired, launching a grapple high into the air to catch on a line. Helena tugged to make certain it was fast, then turned to the captain.

“Wish me luck,” she said as she climbed on the rail.

“That ship will be under the water in less time than it takes to say ‘Mad Jack’, y’know.”

She nodded. “Then have a couple of drinks before you say it.” She grabbed hold of the grapple line and swung across to the blazing, sinking ship.

Once upon a time…

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O’Connell

He swung across to the Vodacce ship, the battle cry of his forefathers in his throat. His bare feet landed on the deck; the knives he had held between his teeth were in his hands and a wild fire shone in his eyes.

“Come on, you Vodacce dogs!” he shouted. “You all sleep with the Sea Hag tonight!”

Three of them charged him with swords, but he ducked the first one easily, slicing the sailor’s heel while spinning beneath the blade. The second one caught his left knife in the gut while O’Connell leapt upon the third and slammed his head against the Vodacce’s skull. There was a second of sickness in his head, but then everything was fine again. “Wine drinkin’ makes yur head go soft,” he said to the reeling Vodacce. “Best stick ta whiskey in the future.”

Just then, he felt a body back into him and he spun about, knives at the ready. But it was only the bosun, his face wet with Vodacce blood. “Out of my way, Inish,” he shouted over the din.

O’Connell bowed and smiled. “I pray your pardon.” The big bosun moved by him and O’Connell jumped back into the fray. A moment or two later, he was on a stairwell that led him away from the blood and toward the hold. At the end of the stairwell was a long corridor, filled up to his ankles with water. His sea legs held his balance and he moved quickly down the corridor.

As he trod through the thick, black water, he heard two voices ahead: one Vodacce and the other Castillian. When he reached the heavy door at the end, he lifted the bar and put his shoulder against the wood. The door opened easily and he fell face-first into the rancid water.

When he lifted his head, he saw two men — one on top of the other — and exposed steel. He recognized one, but not the other.

“Signore Villanova, I presume?” he asked, raising himself from the water. The Vodacce looked at him — then at the priest on the floor — and grabbed a small package and sprang to his feet.

Villanova said something in Vodacce, but O’Connell shook his head. “Sorry,” he said. “I tried learnin’ the language, but it tasted like noodles every time I said anything. I hate noodles.”

O’Connell didn’t know if the Vodacce understood; the black-haired man kept walking forward. The Inish stood his ground, knives held tightly in his fists. Vodacce steel flashed in the dim light just before Villanova struck and O’Connell’s knives swung in a wild parry…

Once upon a time…

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… on a storm-torn sea, two ships are locked in deadly combat. One flies the colors of a Vodacce Merchant Prince, while the other flies a black flag with a grinning crimson skull. The pirates have just flung over grappling hooks and pulled the two ships together. The boarding parties swing across on ropes and rigging while the Vodacce pull their swords from their belts and make ready to repel boarders. Meanwhile, deep in the hull of the Vodacce ship, two men prepare to escape the inevitable…

Villanova

He fell hard to the wood below, knocking his head against a crate. As he pulled the crimson robes back into shape, he held back a curse. His eyes refocused on the man before him, clad in black leather from head to toe, madly ripping open boxes, mumbling to himself in his native tongue. Bernardo didn’t need to speak Vodacce to know he was not so careful with his own curses.

The Vodacce turned for only a moment, spitting in Bernardo’s native Castillian this time. “Are you waiting for Theus to pick you up, priest? They will be down here in moments!”

Bernardo pushed himself to his feet, taking only a moment to readjust his robes. “You are a fool, Villanova. We had a chance to escape, but you and your ambition…”

The Vodacce spun on his heel, his sword suddenly in his hand, its point at the priest’s neck. “Do not tempt my temper, priest. Your god isn’t down here in the hold of this ship.”

Bernardo looked at the steel, then looked into the steel of Villanova’s eyes. “Threatening me will not help you find your prize.”

The Vodacce hesitated, then replaced the sword. “You are right,” he snarled. “As usual.” Then he turned back to the half-open crate and continued his search.

Bernardo turned away from the Vodacce and looked into one of the boxes Villanova had already plundered. He heard the cries of dying men up top and closed his eyes. He looked over his shoulder at Villanova once more… and took a small, wrapped package from the folds of his robe. He placed it under some of the cotton packing. It was a dangerous game, he knew, but the rules had changed when the pirates had raised their crimson and black flag.

“Villanova!” he cried out. “I have it!”

The Vodacce pushed him aside in a heartbeat. “Where? Here?” He lifted the wrapped package from the cotton and held it high. “How did I miss it? How…” He turned and gazed at the priest, his hand falling to his saber. “I didn’t miss it. Did I, Bernardo?”

The priest took a step back. “It was there! I found it! You would still be looking if I hadn’t…”

The ship suddenly rocked toward starboard and Villanova fell to his side, the impact knocking the package from his grasp. Bernardo leapt over the Vodacce, grasping at it. But Villanova was quick, and the priest was caught as he leapt and was thrown to the floor, his back cracking from the impact.

Villanova knelt over the wounded priest, his prize in his hands. “I do not have time to kill you, Bernardo,” he said. He paused. “But I will make the time.” The Vodacce’s face blossomed into an evil grin and Bernardo took a deep breath, realizing that it might very well be his last.

Curse of Strahd

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Stanimir fills his mouth with wine, then spits it into the fire. The flames turn from orange to green. As they dance and sway, a dark shape appears in the bonfire's core.

"We come from an ancient land whose name is long forgotten-a land of kings. Our enemies forced us from our homes, and now we wander the lost roads."

The dark shape in the fire takes the form of a man being knocked from his horse, a spear piercing his side.

Stanimir continues. "One night, a wounded soldier staggered into our camp and collapsed. We nursed his terrible injury and quenched his thirst with wine. He survived. When we asked him who he was, he couldn't say. All he wanted was to return home, but we were deep in the land of his enemies. We took him as one of our own and followed him back toward his homeland. His enemies hunted him. They said he was a prince, yet we didn't give him up, even when their assassins fell upon us like wolves."

Deep in the bonfire, you see the dark figure standing with a sword drawn, fighting off a host of shadowy shapes.

"This man of royal blood fought to protect us, as we protected him. We bore him safely to his home, and he thanked us. He said, 'I owe you my life. Stay as long as you wish, leave when you choose and know that you will always be safe here."'

The figure in the dancing fire vanquishes its final foe, then disperses in a cloud of smoke and embers.

Stanimir's face becomes a somber mask. "A curse has befallen our noble prince, turning him into a tyrant. We alone have the power to leave his domain. We've traveled far and wide to find heroes such as yourselves to end our dread lord's curse and put his troubled soul to rest. Our leader, Madam Eva, knows all. Will you return to Barovia with us and speak with her?"

-From "The Dancing Fire" hook

Hello! I've taken the well-known campaign from DnD and modified it so it can be played in the freeform format most commonly used here. If anybody would be interested, I'd like to take you along a perilous journey through the misty lands of Barovia. This story will see your muses face situations that will either make them or break them. There will be many instances in which triggering topics will be touched, but rest assured, all of them can be avoided if you are not comfortable with them. If you're interested, please add me so we can begin discussing how to start your journey. I can promise you it might not end well at all, but you might find some kind of vindication along the way.

Cheers!