"Hello," said the stranger, his face masked by his thick hood. "Who are you?
"Oh, you don't know?" He tilted his head. "I see. Well, welcome to the land of Barovia. To the west-" he gestured with his hands- "lie the Svalich Woods. And to the east is Castle Barovia."
He gazed in that direction for a moment, the only sound in the night the crackling of the fire.
"A terrible tragedy befell there," he murmured. "Terrible, terrible indeed. But I suppose you wouldn't know that- you don't remember anything, do you? Well, allow me to tell you the tale."
He sat himself down beside his campfire.
"Who am I, you ask? Don't worry yourself about that. Sit down, and let me tell you the story of Ravenloft - and of one cursed man.
Strahd von Zarovich strode into the commander's tent, his confident stature and rugged, aged features instantly making him a commanding presence.
"What's our chance of winning this battle?" he asked, going over to stand beside the table.
"That depends on how hard we fight," answered Strahd's longtime friend Ulmed, who stood beside him.
Sergei, Strahd's brother who was younger by twelve years, gazed in awe at his kin. The brothers looked very similar, both with dark hair, high cheekbones, and black eyes. But Sergei's face was softer and kinder, more youthful; Strahd's face was scarred from years leading his war campaign. But each scar was a mark of experience and honor. Sergei felt wonder for the older Zarovich, who had seen so many battles and was leading them against the evil Osybus, who had plagued the land for too long.
"This valley- it will be the final stage of my war." Strahd swore. "I've conquered countless lands, and now I will be finished. Whether I fall against that dread lich Osybus, or I best him, I will have earned my repose. This land will be where I rest, alive or dead.
"And on that subject," he turned to Sergei, "I want you to go watch over our villagers, who are just outside the valley. If we win the fight, I'm trusting you to bring them in and help them establish themselves."
Sergei nodded, and hurried out of the tent.
"I trust the original inhabitants of this valley have left?"
Ulmed ran a hand through his greying beard. "They've all been driven out, and are leaving to find somewhere else."
"We posted as many guards as we could spare around them-" Cosima added.
"-So they won't attempt anything," Ansel finished.
"Good," said Strahd. "I want this valley populated with my people."
"Of course, Sire," agreed Tristian.
Cosima, Ansel, and Tristian were friends of Ulmed's, each of which possessed extraordinary magical power, which they used to fight evil. They and Ulmed were some of his most trusted advisors and generals.
"There's no point delaying any longer," Strahd stood up straighter and drew his sword from where it hung beneath his fur cloak. "Osybus awaits us. Let's rally our troops."
Avon Dilisnya trudged miserably uphill. Around him were the rest of his people, all of whom were being ejected from their home - the valley their father's fathers had lived in. All because of one greedy man.
Strahd von Zarovich… the name alone filled him with hate. He had conquered their valley, and driven them all out. His war campaign had left a bloody trail across countless lands, and they were his latest victims.
Avon stared ahead at the mountain peaks which were drawing steadily closer. Where would they go from here? They had nowhere. There were guards around them. As though they would do anything rash! The Zarovich's conquest had frightened them all too much.
Avon had a daughter beside him, who walked with the others. He'd promised her everything he could give, that she would always be happy. But now he had nothing to give, and no reason to be happy.
Sergei von Zarovich walked through the temporary camp of villagers, checking in on any that seemed worried or needed help. They all seemed content, and had enough food. Children huddled together, talking excitedly about what their new home would be like. A smile grew on Sergei's face. To see their people thriving, even after tendays of difficult travel, was all he could ask for. With luck, Strahd and Ulmed would kill Osybus, and the Zaroviches would give the people around him a new, happy life.
He noticed a crowd of people flocking in a clearing, and hurried over to see what the commotion was about. Surrounded by a small crowd of beggars was a young woman of about Sergei's age. Her long brown hair fell around her shoulders, her soft brown eyes crinkling as she smiled, her delicate hands handing a canvas painted with a sweeping landscape to an old beggar.
Sergei realized he was staring. Clearing his throat, he approached the woman.
"What is your name?" he asked.
Turning to look at him, she immediately noticed he was a Zarovich, and bowed. "Tatyana, Lord Sergei."
Tatyana.
"Might I ask what you're doing?" Sergei noticed the old beggar wasn't the only one holding a canvas. Many others were holding them, each one painted with beautiful drawings.
"I'm giving art to those who need it," she answered.
"Shouldn't you give something they could use, such as food, or money?" he asked.
"I have no more of that than they do," Tatyana responded simply. "But my art- the one thing I can give- could help brighten their days when they need it."
Sergei stared at her. How could one person be so kind?
"My cultists!" Osybus boomed. "For so long we have fought to achieve immortality. It is why you joined me! Yet only I have been granted eternal life. The rest of you, my loyal subjects, rely on those tattoos you carry to be reborn when you die, yet they can be destroyed, ending your life! How much longer must you rely on these temporary solutions?"
"No longer!" screamed the army of white-robed cultists massed below their floating deity.
"Yes!" the lich roared. "Let me show you how I will grant us this power! You in the front, step forward!"
A cultist stepped toward him, trembling with excitement and nerves.
Osybus's mouth opened wide, and a howling wind swirled around the cultist. Shrieking, she tried to fight it, but the wind was drawing her towards the lich. The wailing wind picked her up and flew the priest into the lich-god's skull of a head.
Osybus's jaws snapped shut. His green eyes, set in his sockets, glowed with power. His black robes billowed around him as he grew the slightest bit bigger.
"With every soul I consume, I grow stronger! As will you! The powerful souls of Ulmed, of the von Zaroviches, will be ours! To war!"
"To war!"
The fears the cultists had, of being consumed for Osybus's power, were temporarily banished from their mind. And their lust for immortality was doubled.
"To war!"
Drawing their weapons and readying their spells, they marched out of their temple, heading for their enemy's forces, ready to kill.
"TO WAR!"
Strahd von Zarovich stood on the crest of a hill, Ulmed standing beside him. He hoped Sergei was safe with the villagers camped outside the mountains. Below him, on the hill, his army was in formation, ready to fight.
A rumble shook the ground, and shapes began to be seen, on a hill across the plains from them.
"Stand strong," Strahd ordered, raising his fist. "And we will rid the world of this evil!"
Cosima, Ansel and Tristian came forward to stand beside him. Across the plains, on the hill, the black shape of Osybus rose to float in the air. He was bigger than Strahd remembered. Below the lich, his white-robed cultists gathered. Each one held a curved sword that gleamed in the sunlight. Each hand crackled with magical energy.
Exethanter the lich, a high-ranking cultist of Osybus, observed the human army with glee.
"I will fell them with a twitch of my fingers," she vowed.
"Osybus!" Strahd shouted, his voice bouncing around the plain. "You will not win this fight. Surrender now, and we will make your death swift!"
Osybus laughed, a great booming sound that shook Strahd's men's bones. The cultists joined in, their cackling filling the air.
"You cannot win this, piteous humans," the lich guffawed. "We hold countless powers in our hands!"
He raised one skeletal finger and pointed it at the von Zarovich.
"Your soul will suffer eternal torment. Death will be no escape for you!"
Strahd raised his sword into the air, letting it catch the sun.
"CHARGE!" He, Ulmed, Cosima, Ansel and Tristian cried. Their army surged forward on horseback towards the evil mages, weapons brandished.
"DESTROY THEM!" Osybus boomed. His priests charged forward with inhuman speed to meet the army.
And the two forces clashed.
"Lady Ravenovia," said a servant.
Ravenovia von Zarovich gazed out the window of her tower. At the servant's words, she turned.
"Yes?" asked the old woman.
The servant bowed. "I've just received word. Your sons have entered their final battle against Osybus."
Ravenovia sat down tentatively. Her hands shook. She worried for her sons. What chance did they have against that evil?
"You're almost at the peak," said a soldier in a nasally, mocking voice. "You're nearly there!"
Avon kept facing forward, willing himself not to be goaded. That was what they wanted.
"I'm not passing those peaks!" a voice called.
Avon and everyone else turned to see a small, frightened man at the back of the group backing towards the valley.
"What do you think you're doing?" the soldier demanded.
"We've lived in this valley our whole life," the man continued. "You can't just force us to leave!"
Avon stared at him. He applauded the man's bravery, yet wanted to shout at him for his stupidity. The guards were armed, and willing to use force!
"Get over here," the soldier ordered. "You're going to walk beside me."
"There's only one place I'm walking," the man countered, "And that's to my house. I'll never go anywhere just because you people have ordered me to!"
Without a second glance, the soldier hurled his spear. It struck the man in the head, and he fell to the ground, killed instantly. Blood pooled around him, staining the grass.
Children screamed. People shouted. Avon felt that he might throw up. The soldier glared at all of them.
"Anyone else thinking of leaving?" he questioned.
Keeping their heads low, the group trudged on, the soldiers leaving the body behind on the hill. Avon glared at the ground, as the bubbling anger in him frothed and boiled.
Around Ulmed, the battle raged. His soldiers fell against the magic and swordsmanship of the cultists. When someone would die, their body would disappear, and the cultist that had killed them would be given a burst of power and energy.
It was mayhem. Every second, those fighting around him were replaced by others. Flies, drawn by the bodies, flew around him, up his nose, irritating him, and around his head, blinding him. Every muscle ached with exhaustion, and every finger felt weak from his tight grip on his two swords. But he couldn't lie down, so he kept fighting. Blood seemed to stain the air itself. The clash and screech of metal on metal was deafening. Farther ahead, the wretched liches Osybus and Exethanter were plowing through Strahd's forces, sending soldiers flying with every swing and spell.
A cultist surged in front of him, slashing downward with his sword. Ulmed rapidly drew his sword up, parrying the blow. While the white-robe reeled, he stabbed his enemy in the chest with the sword in his other hand. The priest of Osybus gasped, and as he fell, he grabbed Ulmed's sword, bringing them down to the ground together.
Ulmed's chin hit the ground, and he tasted blood on his tongue. The stench of carrion filled his nose, making him gag. Overhead, he spotted birds flying, waiting for the battle to finish so they could feast.
As a rapier came stabbing down, he rolled out of the way and got back on his feet. He had lost one of his swords, and gripped his remaining one in both hands, adjusting his style. He struck down cultist after cultist, but there were always more. Sometimes he would see his friends fighting beside him; Cosima would appear and throw a cultist into the air with her mind. With one stab, Ansel would take down all the white-robes surrounding him. Tristian would read a spell from his book and a shield would surround them, granting them a brief moment of respite.
Yet they were always quickly whisked away by the flow of battle; and Ulmed was alone, and all around him was white and red, and all his soldiers were dying, and he was losing, no matter how hard he tried.
Exethanter pointed a finger at another group of soldiers, and they all went up in flames. She laughed with the thrill of battle. This was too easy. She and Osybus stood on a hilltop, using spells to mow down their pathetic enemies.
From the battlefield a lone figure emerged, racing up the hill towards them. It was Strahd von Zarovich. He was strong, to fight his way out of the battle to them. His entire body was soaked in sweat, but his pace wasn't slackened. He was durable. And he was taking both liches alone. He was so very foolish.
Osybus raised one hand to destroy the leader of their opponents, but another fighter raced forward in front of Strahd.
"I'll save you!" the warrior cried, even as Osybus consumed his soul and he was destroyed.
Exethanter jumped out of the way. She had been close enough to feel the wind emanating from Osybus. Tentatively, she wondered when his lich-god would consume her too.
"Thank you for this food, Lord Sergei," Tatyana said, trying a bite.
"Please," said the von Zarovich awkwardly. "Just call me Sergei."
He sat there in silence while she ate, watching her politely. It looked like he was trying to say something but couldn't.
"What do you think the valley will be like," he finally asked, "When you move there?"
Tatyana shrugged. She hadn't thought much about that. "It will probably be nice. And I'll like to be able to settle; I've been moving throughout this entire war campaign. I mean no disrespect to you or your brother, of course," she added quickly.
Sergei waved a hand. "No, of course not. It's alright."
He seemed kind, and distinctly awkward. He didn't seem very lordly.
"With luck," Sergei continued, "We'll be able to move into the valley by next morning."
Tatyana nodded. She hoped so.
But first she had to make it through another night.
Strahd was pulled back into the thick of battle, away from Osybus and Exethanter. He wiped his long, sweaty black hair out of his eyes. It was difficult to breathe with so many fighters around him.
Suddenly, he found himself beside Ulmed.
"This can't go on much longer!" his friend shouted. "We're losing soldiers every minute, and the cultists keep coming back to life!"
Strahd nodded. He had seen it himself; every enemy he struck down stood back up moments later.
"We have to destroy Osybus," he commanded over the roar of the battle. "It's the only way to end this."
Ulmed nodded, and, side by side, they charged back up the hill toward the lich-god. As they ran, Cosima, Ansel, and Tristian fell into step beside them.
As they got closer, some magical field sent them flying back, separating all of them. Strahd stumbled backward as Osybus turned towards him. He tripped and fell over a horse carcass, but was grateful for it a second later when the horse was disintegrated by another spell.
Standing up, he fought off his exhaustion and charged again.
"They're still trying?" Osybus chortled, as the five humans raced towards them. "Take them down again, for good this time, Exethanter!"
Exethanter had come to a decision. She faced Osybus, and said, "No."
As she did, she projected her voice over the battlefield, so every fighter stopped and turned to stare at her.
"What?" Osybus snarled. "You dare defy me?"
"Yes," said Exethanter. "We will not serve you anymore, Osybus. You promise us immortality, but you have given us nothing for years, while you only grow stronger, and consume us on a whim! We won't have it anymore. We're going to destroy you, and then we will obtain eternal life ourselves."
"You fool," the lich-god roared, reaching one hand towards her.
"NOW!" Exethanter's voice boomed, and she and every cultist, who had obeyed her call, cast a spell on Osybus, binding his power and weakening him. The lich thrashed and raged, but could not break free of the hundreds of cultist's power.
For some reason, Osybus's cultists had turned on him. Strahd didn't know why, but he was more vulnerable, and it was time to strike. He, Ulmed, Cosima, Ansel, and Tristian attacked him, and he bellowed, slashing at them.
Though weakened, the lich was still incredibly strong. But now they had a chance. He stabbed at the lich, and his sword was knocked aside. Weaponless, Strahd faced his enemy, who raised a hand to strike the killing blow…
Cosima flicked her hand, and Osybus's arm jerked backward, missing the von Zarovich. Ansel leaped straight into the air, and stabbed the lich in the gut, making him double over. Tristian sent a crackling bolt of lightning straight into his skull of a face.
Then Ulmed had thrown him a sword, and Strahd was charging, charging for his weakened enemy, who lay, bent double, on the ground.
And with one thrust, his sword had gone straight through Osybus's head.
A moaning wind echoed through the ravine, making his soldiers shiver. Osybus's body sank into the ground and disappeared. As Strahd turned to survey the plains, his countless dead soldiers, he realized all the cultists were gone.
Raising his sword, he forced all his remaining energy into his voice and shouted,
"We've won!"
In front of them, a dark castle loomed. It had been built by those who lived in the valley before them. Strahd approached the ominous building on his horse. It was enormous, big enough for hundreds of people. It would make a good place from which to rule this valley.
He turned to a knight who rode beside him. "Send word for our people to start moving into the valley. Call all the servants we have; I want this castle made ready as soon as possible."
"Yes, sir," the knight ducked his head.
"And," Strahd added. "Send word to my brother Sergei and my mother Ravenovia that I invite them to live at this castle."
With a nod, the soldier rode off.
"Let's see the von Zarovich's new palace," Strahd said to Ulmed. He urged his horse towards the frightening dark fortress.
"Lady Ravenovia!" the servant burst into the tower room again, where Ravenovia sat, not having moved for hours since the previous news. She turned her head sharply towards him.
The servant held a sending stone in his hand. "The battle is won. Osybus is dead. Both your sons have survived."
The von Zarovich seemed to collapse with relief, tears running down her face.
"As well," the servant continued, "Lord Strahd has extended an invitation for you to join him at his new castle, from which he will rule the valley. It's a few days away from this tower."
Ravenovia leapt up from her chair. "Well then," she said, "We'll leave tonight."
Sergei and Tatyana sat on the grass, beside the tree line, laughing together, when a messenger arrived.
"Lord Sergei?" the messenger asked tentatively.
"Yes?" Sergei asked, sitting up straighter and facing the new arrival.
"Strahd has won the battle against Osybus, and has invited you to his castle."
"Of course," Sergei said, clearing throat. "I'll head out straight away."
The messenger nodded and retreated.
"That's amazing!" Tatyana gasped. "They won the battle! We can move into the valley now!"
Sergei nodded. "Tatyana," he asked, before he had the chance to think, "Will you come to the castle with me?"
Tatyana stared at him, surprised. But she nodded.
At last, they had reached the mountain peak. Avon sat down, and rested his tired legs. The mountains were taller and steeper than he'd imagined.
It was night, and others were setting up campfires around the mountaintop and arranging to go hunting for food. Zarovich's guards were keeping close, watching their every move.
As he warmed his hands beside a campfire, Avon's daughter came up to him.
"Father?" she began.
"Yes?" he asked.
"A group of us are leaving tomorrow to look for a new land to live in," she said. "Will you come?"
He stood up and wrapped his arms around her. "I wish I could," he whispered in her ear. Behind her, he could see the valley, which Strahd was no doubt fully in control of by then.
"But there's something I have to finish here first."
The cultists cheered and whooped as they made their way back to their temple.
"We're free!" Exethanter cried jubilantly. "Free of our chains!"
"We will be eternal within a fortnight!" someone cried.
"Our first order of business," Exethanter went on, "Should be to rid ourselves of any connection to Osybus. Starting with our name. We're known as the Priests of Osybus? We must change that!"
They all cheered.
Suddenly, a cold wind blew around them, a wind so cold the edges of plants frosted. And it carried a voice.
Fools, said the voice of Osybus. The wind carried his dying words. You think you will be free of me? Never. I curse you: let your immortality fail you when you least expect it! May I see you again soon…
As the wind faded and the air warmed again, each of the cultist's green tattoos glowed. Terrified, they hurried as fast as magic would allow them back to their temple.
Strahd stood on the steps before his new fortress, with Ulmed, Cosima, Ansel, Tristian, and all the servants and guards they had gathered before him. Sergei and his mother still had not arrived. In one hand he held a sword. The other hand was outstretched, palm up.
"I name this land Barovia, and this castle Ravenloft! I name them after my father and mother, Barov and Ravenovia! Let this valley prosper!"
He raised his sword and pointed the tip at his hand.
"I will spill my blood on the earth, forming a pact with this land! Let us be forever bonded."
With the tip of his sword, he cut his hand. The red blood fell in drops, soaking the ground below Strahd, and turning it red. The dirt seemed to froth and bubble, before it was gone, soaking down to the roots of the valley.
"Hail Barovia, hail Castle Ravenloft!"
"Hail Lord Zarovich!" cried his subjects.
Ravenovia couldn't sleep.
It was the darkest hour of the night, but she remained awake, for whatever reason. Perhaps all the traveling had worn her out.
Sitting up, she threw off her covers. Some fresh air would help. She left her carriage and wandered about, into the woods, away from the servant's tents. She enjoyed the cool air and the sight of the stars. And the servants had checked to make sure there was nothing dangerous in the area.
When she next looked up at the sky, she realized she couldn't see them anymore. A light mist covered them. Finally feeling tired, she turned to head back to her carriage. But when she turned, thick fog blocked out any sight of the camp, and the trees looked different too.
Perhaps it was another direction. Turning, she saw the thick fog had blinded her that way too. In every direction, the mist surrounded her. It seemed to be getting closer. She was hemmed in.
The mist closed in, suffocating her, until it was all over her, and she was blind to everything.
When the mist faded, she was gone.
