Chapter 1

For the fourth time that night, Drath stopped to check and re-read the sheet of parchment, as if the careful script would somehow disappear from the letter.

My friend,

I wish to speak with you regarding the pressing issue of ongoing confrontations between your party and the noble inhabitants of my land.

Know that I am extending a great courtesy in allowing you once again into my home, considering the distasteful results of our last encounter. For this reason, I ask that you come alone, and that you tell no one of this correspondence.

Failure to do so will yield my wrath, which, I expect you know by now, is best avoided.

Having observed your deeds these passing months, I have come to know you as a competent fighter, and the least foolish of your companions. As such I understand that you will need an assurance of your safety, in the hope that you will satisfy my request.

I have made my servants aware that you are under my protection for the length of our communication. If you indulge me in this, then on my honour you will remain unharmed until you return to your party.

Please do not keep me waiting.

Your host,

Strahd Von Zarovich

Drath sighed and steeled himself for what was to come. As if sensing the tension in the air, his horse pawed the ground uncertainly. The beast was far from happy at having been brought into the shadow of Castle Ravenloft. Against his better judgement, Drath refolded the parchment, tucking it back into the inner lining of his cloak, and pressed the nervous creature on.

His mind wandered back to when he first discovered the letter in his pack earlier that day. He thought it was another practical joke played by Grundlesmit, the Gnome Rogue and constant trickster in his band of companions. His conclusion swiftly changed when Drath attempted to berate the Gnome for his antics. Before he had the chance to say anything a feeling of dread and cold swept over him, a feeling only experienced in the presence of the devil Strahd. Fearing the repercussions from the vampire, Drath kept his mouth firmly shut, and stayed silent as the rest of the day passed.

He was tired and afraid, but the safety of his companions was at the forefront of his mind. He swore a long time ago that he would never allow himself to feel helpless again. A creeping anger bled into his consciousness at Strahd's attitude. Powerful ruler of the land he may be, but Drath was done with the entitlement and cruel whims of his 'host'.

The points of his ears reddened as he allowed himself to seethe. A long-forgotten memory of his mother surfaced, where she teasingly told him that such strong emotions were unbecoming of his elven heritage. His father thought it hilarious, as his anger at some forgotten slight gave way to embarrassment. As a Half-Elf his parentage was slightly unusual, in that his High Elf mother, gave up her life in Eladrin society, to live with the man she loved, on a humble but cosy homestead. The Warlock was deeply troubled to realise that this was probably the last happy memory of his parents.

He blinked to clear his thoughts before they could take him further down the rabbit hole. As the castle loomed above him, Drath could feel dozens of malevolent eyes watching his progress. He cast 'Blade Ward' as a precaution, the crackle of magical energy a comforting blanket across his body. The cantrip was a nice reminder that he was still a proficient warrior when required. What wasn't so pleasant was the familiar tug at the back of his mind, like a chained dog having its collar yanked by a cruel and controlling master.

When his companions asked about his family and friends, Drath always stated that there was no-one important left in his life, and to leave it at that. His reply was not exactly true though, as there was one being who had been with him for a very long time; the demon lord Alzrius. This infernal being pursued Drath in his waking and sleeping hours. For one reason or another, it clearly thought Drath was a person of importance, despite his distaste for the damned fiend.

All Warlock's owed their magical abilities to a being of higher power, and the Half-Elf was no different. Forced into making the pact to further the plans of his then master, Drath resented the demon, and everything that had been done to him against his will. Having spoken with other mages in his field, none described the level of perseverance and surveillance demonstrated by Alzrius when talking about their patrons. He had no idea what he had done (or what he would do) that had the thing so intent on following his progress and yanking the metaphorical chain.

All in all, Drath was tired of being pushed around like a pawn in the games of entities more powerful than him. If Strahd was willing to bring about some sort of ceasefire, then at the very least it was one less player to worry about, in the ongoing game that was his life.

Ravenloft loomed above as he approached the gated courtyard. The stone looked ancient, wind weathered and covered in Mossweed. Not for the first time, Drath considered the age of the vast structure. Having read the Tome of Strahd, he was sure that it was here long before the human conqueror came to Barovia. The scholar and historian in him wished he could examine it further, but it was considered exceedingly rude to keep a powerful host waiting.

As he passed through the stone archway, Drath saw that the blackened iron gates had been left open for him, as they were on his last visit to the accursed castle. Ever the gentleman, Strahd made sure his guests weren't left on the doorstep as it were.

The Warlock was surprised to see a figure waiting for him in the courtyard, not something experienced on his party's prior visit. As he grew closer a sense of dread welled in his chest, as he recognised the intricate armour unique to Strahd's elite guard. Strong as he was, Drath knew that he would have next to no chance of taking the True Vampire down. He had barely managed to neutralise Donavich's son, after the Vampire Spawn had been starved of blood. Ireena had congratulated him for destroying one without allies, however if he was honest the whole thing had been a mistake, and he very nearly died before their quest had truly begun.

It all seemed a lifetime ago, rather than the paltry few weeks that had truly passed. The Vistani had brought them through the foul mists to this dangerous land, and tasked them with finding the required items to end the reign of the devil Strahd. Drath thought that the whole thing was ludicrous if he was honest. Vilkas on the other hand, thought it an honourable ambition and immediately swore the group's aid to the gypsy folk.

In the short time they had come to know each other, Vilkas had become the obvious choice for leader of their strange company. A grizzled, yet well-meaning Paladin, the man had lived most of his life as a servant of the divine good, seeking out and eliminating evil in its many forms. At first, Drath saw the man as being ridiculous. With so much wickedness in the world, how can one person even think to make a difference? However, his feelings slowly began to change whilst living and fighting alongside the man. With a constant sunny disposition, and a terrible penchant for anecdotes (few of which were ever actually amusing), a fragile bond began to grow between the Paladin and Warlock. That along with the several times the bulky warrior had thrown himself into a fight to 'protect' one of the party, Vilkas had become the father-figure of their rag-tag band.

If Vilkas was the father-figure then Gindna was certainly their matriarch. A Cleric by trade, the Dwarven adventurer was a follower of Ilmater, and a strange combination of compassion and battle-axe. Drath thought she would be suspicious of him as a Warlock, but her heart was certainly bigger than her axe and she took him in, with no further words than "Call me Ginny." Her presence was a blessing, and she had healed both his pride and his injuries more times than he could count.

At the beginning of this saga, it was just the three of them, and Drath had almost begun to feel like a part of this very strange family. The final addition was made in the Village of Barovia. Indeed, the 'introduction' of Grundlesmit had been the main reason for Drath being left alone with a blood-crazed Vampire Spawn, in the cellar of the church.

Originally the whole party were planning to speak with Donavich, the disgraced priest, about the burial of Ireena and Ismark's father. The plan changed however when one idiot Gnomish Rogue tried to steal the last silver weapons from the Kolyana vault. Brother and sister were furious at the insult, and begged the party's help in catching the crook. As the most charismatic of the three, Drath was left to approach Donavich alone whilst the others hunted down Grundlesmit.

On entering the church however, he was struck once again with his almost prophetic sense of dread. The church was empty, but growling and whimpering noises could be heard. Seeking the source, Drath came across a trapdoor in front of the alter. Within he could see a priest, who he presumed was Donavich, shrinking in terror from an approaching form.

Focussing his powers to quickly cast Blade Ward and Armour of Agathys, Drath jumped in front of Donavich to face off against Doru, his infected son. Later that afternoon, he would find out that the miserable wretch had become a Vampire Spawn, having been drained and killed by a True Vampire. The boy had returned to his father, and the priest, unable to end his suffering, had locked him in the church's cellar, to try and curb his bloodlust.

Drath had never seen a vampire in the flesh, and was taken aback by Doru's terrifying appearance. With little humanity left, the boy had become feral, with long curved fangs and eyes as vicious as the rabid wolf. His surprise left him at a disadvantage as the spawn's talon-like claws slashed at his chest. Luckily Blade Ward and his magical armour gave him a much-needed advantage, as the thing barely hurt him, instead recoiling from its damaging effect.

Donavich cowered in the corner as the creature sank to all fours, its teeth gnashing whilst it hissed at the offending Half-Elf. When it lunged this time, Drath dodged its attack and hit it with his favoured cantrip; Eldritch Blast. The strength and force of the magic hit Doru square in the face, destroying a part of its lower jaw.

The priest by this point had calmed slightly, and was begging the young Warlock not to hurt his son. Drath unfortunately was hardly listening as he watched in horrified fascination as the creature began to laugh through the ragged remains of its mouth. Slowly the dead flesh began to stitch back together, each muscle fibre sluggishly writhing to reattach.

It was with luck and experience that Drath had developed an exceedingly strong stomach, following the carnage in his past, else the remains of his digested breakfast would very quickly have found a new home on the stone slabs in front of him.

In the few seconds it took for the spawn to heal completely, Drath frantically tried to recall everything he had ever learned about vampires. Prior to this mad campaign, he had never really taken much interest in the undead, so was uncharacteristically grateful that his former master, had forced him to familiarise himself with all manner of them, vampires included. He had it beaten into him regularly, and thus was able to recall everything he would need to know for this fight.

Most vampires cannot survive in direct sunlight.

Vampires cannot cross running water.

A wooden stake to the heart will immobilize a vampire.

True Vampires can infect their victims with the curse, where they will become Vampire Spawn on death. If the victim is bitten multiple times and dies from the curse, then they become True Vampires, as do spawn fed their sire's blood.

Magic is generally more effective than standard weapons. Only magical, blessed and silver weapons can inflict lasting wounds on vampires.

Although this took Drath only a matter of moments to consider, the spawn had fully regenerated and prepared to lunge again. Although he tried to dodge, its sharp teeth sank into the flesh of his arm, and almost without thinking, the Warlock cast Sacred Flame at point blank range, firing a blast of radiant energy into its chest. The creature fell back with a wet sounding wail, seemingly shocked that it could be injured so.

As the Half-Elf recovered he saw the thing clutching in confusion at its chest. The blast had created a bloodless cavity, splintering its ribs and burning away great chunks of the flesh around its major organs. Parts of the trachea, bronchi and right lung had been ravaged, as well as the right atrium and ventricle of its heart. Drath couldn't understand how the thing wasn't dead yet, and seemingly the spawn couldn't understand why its wound wasn't regenerating as it normally would.

If Drath had time to think about it at that point, he would have realised that radiant energy was akin to solar rays, and thus highly damaging to vampires. In reality, the 'why?' was at the back of his mind, as he desperately sought to create a plan which would end this wretched creature once and for all.

As his eyes scanned the room he noticed a wooden coffin, which had clearly been serving as the vampire's bed whilst it was down here. Made entirely from cheap wood, Drath realised that if he could smash the creature into it, he might stand a chance of plunging one of the loose shards into its exposed heart.

Had the Half-Elf's perception been more focussed at this point, he may have noticed a dark figure standing near to the foot of the stairs, shrouded in shadow.

…

Strahd believed himself to be the most powerful vampire in existence, and as such was thoroughly unconcerned with both the sanctity of the church, as well as a petty invitation to enter. He ruled this land, and as far as he was concerned, everyone and everything in it belonged to him.

Although he knew that his recent guests to Barovia had been bought here by his faithful servants, the Vistani, he was not expecting them to engage with one of his denizens for a time yet. Imagine his surprise then, when he became aware of a struggling Vampire Spawn.

Focussing his mind, he materialised in the cellar of Barovia Village's Church and was amazed to see the mage, facing off against a blood starved spawn single-handedly. At first the prince considered him a fool for engaging the priest's son. Even the weakest of his children were powerful enough to outmatch even a seasoned warrior. Further to this, the imbecile failed to show more than a sliver of fear, when faced against the feral creature.

As much as Strahd liked to flout his magically restored youthful appearance, he was centuries old, and had seen this particular game play out again and again over the years. 'Heroes' of all ages would swear to end his existence, and bravely (stupidly) go up against one of his minions in an attempt to vanquish it. If half were ill-prepared, the rest possessed naught but misplaced bravado, each falling to the fang and claw of his servants. Strahd had no doubt that this would end the same way.

The Warlock fought bravely, but Strahd believed him to be weakening as Doru latched onto his arm. Instead the man released a blast of focussed radiant energy, which sent the fledgling reeling back to the rear of the room. The vampire lord's eyes stung from the offending light burst, but he paid it little mind as he allowed himself a moment to recognise a long-forgotten emotion; Strahd was impressed. Either by luck or skill, the Half-Elf had remained focussed and wisely used a spell which took advantage of the primary weakness shared by all their kind.

The mage didn't seem to dwell on it though, as he rushed it, surprising the spawn and forcing it backwards into the squalid wooden box it used to rest, shattering the feeble wooden planks. The creature cried out pitifully, an injured animal that knew it was facing its doom. Strahd was aware that it was calling for his aid, but he was far more interested in this Warlock, who seemed to defy his expectations. Blocking out the lesser vampire's telepathic cries, Strahd watched with great curiosity as the object of his attention plunged a splintered shard of wood into his minion's exposed heart.

The fledgling went still immediately, paralysed by the wooden shaft in its chest. Strahd almost thought that would be the end of it, as Donavich crawled forward, already in mourning of his lost son. The Warlock however had a cold and tired look to his face, as he pulled a sharpened hand-axe from his belt. The Vampire Spawn was still telepathically pleading for assistance, even as its face was frozen in a look of pure hatred. Disgusted with the pathetic creature, Strahd turned, disintegrating into mist form as he returned to Castle Ravenloft. On arrival, the spawn's torrent of thoughts vanished, and Strahd knew that the Half-Elf had ended its pitiful existence.

Far from being angry at his kin's death, Strahd found himself elated, as he considered the promise that this new adventurer held. Perhaps the mage's companions held equal promise, and he would have a choice of suitable successors. He would need to put some serious consideration into the tests with which he could challenge the group. As he turned, the cape attached to his armour lifted and undulated in the breeze, a fitting metaphor he felt, for the excitement and determination he felt for the weeks ahead.

…..

Brought back to the matter at hand, Drath paused to consider his options. The guard ahead was clearly waiting to receive him, but in what capacity? These True Vampires had proven to be unshakeably loyal to their master Strahd, and would follow his commands without question. Surely this meant that he was safe for the moment, owing to the vow the prince had made in his letter.

Moving nearer, the fanged smirk made the Warlock reconsider his previous assurance, as he wondered what the vow of a devil was truly worth. As he prepared to defend himself, the creature spoke to him in a cold, and heavily accented voice.

"Ze Master is expecting you, and I vould advise against keeping him vaiting, yes?"

Drath's face grew pinched as he assessed the position he was in. To start a fight with this creature, was an exceedingly bad idea, however it may be the last chance he had to escape with his life. Strahd had promised his safety, for this short time only, and this was the final point at which he could trust in the word of a cruel vampire lord, or flee and take his chances with the outcome.

In the end, it all came down to the fate of his companions, Vilkas, Ginny and Grundlesmit. He even considered Ireena and Ismark, who although not quite friends, had been somewhat kind to him during his stay in Barovia. Drath was no fool, and knew that Strahd's retribution would not be limited to him alone, if he were to refuse the man's 'hospitality'.

"Varlock, I vill not ask again, ze Master knows of your arrival and is eager to speak vith you."

With that, the vampire stepped forward and held his mount's bridle. The beast was instantly terrified, as if already sensing the aura of death around the creature. Drath struggled to stay in the saddle as it reared, and then astonishingly it righted itself and stood passively as if it were the meekest of all horses. He quickly dismounted and was able to hear the quiet chant uttered under the breath of the guard.

The Half-Elf would swear that someone had wrapped a tangible blanket of calm around his shoulders, as the tension slipped from his muscles. After a moment of standing in relaxed bliss, he noticed the amused smirk on the vampire's pale lips, and quickly snapped out of it. Having miraculously managed to resist every charm attempt made by Strahd's servants, Drath was not about to submit to it now. He squared up to the True Vampire and spoke.

"I am ready to see your master. Kindly take me to him."

The creature scowled at him and gestured to the entrance. It seemed that the mage would have to find his own way. In the meantime, his horse was led to an open stable, as the guard began removing the leather saddle and tack - clearly they were expecting him to stay a while.

Drath was not a great believer in the kindness of higher beings, as his own patron had caused him nothing but strife. Uncharacteristically he sent a quick prayer to whatever and whomever might be listening, that his companions would be safe in his absence. He hoped that this wasn't the end of him, as he hadn't been able to say anything like a goodbye to them before he left. At this moment, they were likely all still asleep in the rooms at the tavern in Vallaki. He had left a short note with very little detail, as the last thing he wanted was for them to make a suicidal raid on Castle Ravenloft, looking for him. As far as they were concerned, he had a new lead on the final item, but needed to infiltrate a local group of spellcasters. If he got out alive, then he would have to make up more detail, but hopefully that would placate them to some extent.

In all honesty, Drath wished that he were with them, sleeping off the pain and horrors experienced in this accursed country. Since his first encounter with Donavich's son, more and more creatures had descended on them at seemingly random times. Whilst travelling back to the Vistani camp, they had been set upon by no less than fifty Dire Wolves. Vilkas had fallen unconscious, and the Gnome and Half-Elf had been tasked with defending both him and Ginny as she worked to revive him.

Both warriors were bloody and exhausted by the end of the fight. Around three quarters of the wolves lay dead at their feet, as the others seemed to freeze and simply lope off, with nary a second glance at the exhausted group. Grundlesmit had finally passed out with fatigue, and Drath and Ginny had to practically drag both of their fallen comrades back to the gypsy camp, their horses having long bolted in the chaos.

In the ongoing weeks, they had successfully fought off random combinations of vampires, Hags, Wererats, Dire Wolves, Bats and charmed humans. Drath decided that Strahd was either testing them, mocking them or wearing them down until they no longer posed a challenge; perhaps all three in his opinion. All he was left with was a bitter tiredness and desire for a break from all of the strange and horrific events which had befallen him and his companions.

As the weary Warlock crossed into the Entrance Hall, he was met with candles and low lighting, making the castle seem suffocating and claustrophobic. It was probably a more comfortable light level for his host, but it made Drath feel more unsettled than ever.

…

On the exterior, Strahd was as statuesque and perfectly presented as ever. However, below the surface his excitement was building again, to the point where he decided that a good hunt was in order. It had been decades since he felt anything more than a vague interest in the affairs of his realm, and longer still since he'd enjoyed the thrill of hunting for a live victim. Previously he'd thought it was too much bother when your servants brought you limitless supplies of freshly harvested blood. If he were more prone to overly flowery descriptions he would even say that this man had managed to get his heart beating again. Impossible he knew, but here was the summit of all his scheming and power plays. This was the end of his imprisonment.

The vampire would be lying if he said that he hadn't watched the progress of this mage from Vallaki. His familiars had acted as his eyes, ensuring that the Half-Elf was indeed coming to his castle, and that none of his minions defied their orders. Drath, as he'd come to know him, was to be left unharmed, and any foolish creature willing to defy his command, would be dealt with and offered a slow and torturous end in the castle's dungeons.

In preparation, he had commanded his servants to lay out a path of candles to lead the man to his Personal Library. It was probably the least threatening room for a guest, and would provide comfort and privacy whilst they talked business.

Although Strahd wished to meet Drath in the Library, his patience failed him at the last minute, and he couldn't wait to see the mage with his own eyes. Taking on the form of a bat, he flew to the Entrance Hall and perched gracefully on a rafter above the staircase. As the man entered, Strahd saw his form crackle with magical energy. Initially he was disappointed that the Warlock felt the need for protection spells, having been assured of his safety by the vampire lord. However, his second thought was in commendation of the spellcaster for his carefulness and wisdom in preparing defences to meet a Legendary Vampire. Of course, it would be no match for one as powerful as the prince, but such thinking shows he would make a good successor if given further training and the right… tools.

Further to this, the man looked disheartened and resigned to his fate, which was both concerning and pleasing to Strahd. He didn't want a weak-willed successor, and hoped the man would gain some fire when met with the vampire's proposal, but for the moment, a crisis of will would only help the prince to achieve his fast approaching goals.