Curse of Strahd
Epilogue
Rays of lightEvery day is a fresh beginning,
Listen my soul to the glad refrain,
And, spite of old sorrows
And older sinning,
Troubles forecasted
And possible pain,
Take heart with the day and begin again.
For it’s a fine day,
In fair Barovia.
Days and weeks were spent purging Castle Ravenloft of evil.
In the crypts, the tomb of Sergei was discovered, Strahd’s perfectly preserved brother bearing a remarkable likeness to Zane. It seemed Ireena and Zane, like Tatyana and Sergei, were destined to be together. The tomb of Queen Ravenovia and King Barov was also found beyond the mystical blue barrier where you had been briefly trapped. Strahd had remained loyal to his family in their deaths, despite the terrible horrors he bestowed upon them.
Rudolph van Richten was also found, dead in a cell near where Bannor and Garn had been trapped. The vampire hunter was hanging upside down with his head submerged, infuriating Ezmerleda: he stood no chance and died cruelly. The crypt of Kasimir’s sister Patrina was found, but there was no chance for her salvation: delivering a final death to the banshee was the only choice.
On an upper floor a mongrelfolk named Cyrus Belview was discovered. He had served as Strahd’s servant for these many years, building the desecrated bone room and entrapping many who visited in a dastardly elevator trap. The heroes took pity on the creature, and on the accountant Lief Lipsiege, freeing them to find their destinies.
Even after all these efforts, Ravenloft remained a haunted place, shunned by all Barovians.
When the curse-lifters finally exited Ravenloft, they found the land greatly changed.
Sunlight, natural, warming, healing sunlight shone down from the brilliant blue sky. The land, once a barren source of decay, everywhere showed signs of life, green shoots breaking through the brittle earth and birds and animals returning to the flourishing forests.
From the high vantage of Ravenloft, the adventurers could see the fog and mists that had surrounded and entrapped the land had lifted. Passage to and from Barovia was opened, the people were free.
In Vallaki and Barovia citizens were often found staring in wonder at the light above, newfound joy in their faces. And relief, sweet relief. The evil that had cursed their land had been purged.
The Vistani, for so long close allies of Strahd, took their leave, fearing retaliation from the newly energised Barovian populace. Freed from the shackles of their Vistani watchers, the Dusk Elves too departed, seeking new lands to settle and find a way to extend their people or fade away with the passage of time. Kasimir mourned the loss of his sister, but accepted that her death at last was a release from centuries of pain.
The Martikov’s held a huge feast in honour of the men and women who had done the impossible. They even debuted the first new vintage in centuries: Lightbringer’s Liebfraumilch, which Bannor judged one of the finest wines he’d tasted in months.
In time, the adventurers went their separate ways. Some made homes in this new land, some returned to their old ways, and some disappeared into legend.
In Barovia, none would ever forget them.
Bannor
Bannor like the others spent weeks unlocking the secrets of Castle Ravenloft. Despite being in every way describable a newly wealthy man, Bannor looked for the rare bits of treasure and especially delighted in pieces of jewellery which he would give to Thomasin, Ireena or Ezmerelda, and even on occasion Zane. No one would say it to his face but he had an eye for these things of beauty….
Eventually, there were no more secrets and Bannor took up residence in Vallaki. Soon, in a messy way, so did Ezmerelda, and for many a year they were happy and did much good work helping the Ravenfolk hunt down remnants of Barovia’s cursed ecosystem and its many lonely temples and mires. The people of Vallaki would look away though at the heavy screaming matches that would erupt from time to time - the angry mirror of Bannor’s many slights to Ezmerelda’s fractured body and psyche.
One night, the argument was vulcanised by much drink and when Ezmerelda slapped Bannor in the middle of the common room, a wicked stiletto appeared from nowhere and though it stopped short, a ruby tear slid from Ezmerelda’s neck. When Bannor awoke the next day he was informed that Ezmerelda had left.
The drinking then began in earnest. Xarann who usually could talk him down somewhat was at a loss this time. Messages were sent to the remaining heroes.
Anyone else would have been run out of town but bringing back the Sun buys you a lot of goodwill.
And then he was gone.
By the time the letters arrived from The Citadel, the name the Abbey had adopted as its new incarnation as a walled fortress, the events depicted were a good four days or so old.
To the Heroes,
On Summerseve, but three days hence, Bannor No Eyes appeared and knocked on the gates of The Citadel. As per the tradition, no door can be closed to a Hero, the gates were opened despite being well after the midnight bells. He was on foot and had two saddlebags draped across either shoulder. He entered and went up to the Abbey proper. The next day he was seen in the garden but did not visit the Mayor or any of the houses.
That next night he was heard screaming in an argument and cursing many a name. Bottles being smashed were heard by all but no one dared intervene. At some point all sounds stopped.
The next morning, the village folk found Bannor dead next to the hallowed pond. It looked as if he had stumbled and hit his head on a paving stone. There were no other footmarks or signs of another person.
As the villagers met to decide what to do, five mongrelfolk came down from the Abbey and moved everyone away from Bannor’s body. This was scary and surprising for the village as they knew of only two remaining mongrelfolk on the Abbey grounds.
They lifted Bannor on their shoulders and lifted him gently and started walking to the Abbey. They made it very clear that they were not to be followed.
The next morning a retinue of villagers including the Mayor visited the Abbey. There were no signs of any mongrelfolk and it was obvious that the Abbey had been sacked of all practical goods.
Mayor Dilisnya
Bannor’s body was not visible and to this day - despite the Ravenfolk, and Ezmerelda, and even the Heroes looking for him - he and the Mongrelfolk have never been found.
Viktor
In the end, despite all he had been through, it was an easy decision for him to stay in Barovia – everyone he loved was there.
Viktor spent the days following the death of Strahd with his brothers-in-arms, rooting out and destroying every last vestige of evil and undeath in Castle Ravenloft, hoping that until their return, Thomasin, upon seeing the sun shine would know he and Aleksandr were safe.
Thomasin’s face when they all returned to Vallaki made all the pain worth it. And, when Ireena asked Aleksandr to stay, and Thomasin agreed, it was done.
The day, a month later, when he married his son to Ireena at the Church of St Andral, was happiest and proudest of his life. In attendance were his friends, all who had aided them in the previous months, the entire Martikov clan, Szoldar and Yevgeni the wolf hunters, some stunned and brave friends from back in Parnast, and a large flock of ravens. Urwin would joke over the following years that it had taken him a month to get the Blue Water Inn back into shape after the reception. Since that day Viktor, while still stern at his core, has always seemed lighter and quicker to smile – or laugh.
As he promised himself, Viktor hallowed the ground of the Chapel in Barovia village. He used some of the vast treasure he and his friends had recovered from Ravenloft to rebuild the old church have renamed the Church of St Markovia. As part of the dedication he interred St Markovia’s Thighbone, returned with great thanks by Garn, in a reliquary beneath the altar.
He and Thomasin left Aleksandr and Ireena to the business of starting their lives together in Vallaki, and settled in Barovia, bringing Xarann with them. Viktor began his pastoral work in the village, seeing it as his duty to care for the people of the entire valley, with or without souls, who would take many years to recover from a life of trauma. Together the three opened the first of several Kurrsk and Sons – Purveyors of Fine Meats butcher shops, to be run by Xarann. He hoped in time, that the busy day to day of things would help his ‘son’ heal from what the dark powers had put him through. Viktor always lived with guilt over his part in that.
In partnership with Aleksandr and Ireena in Vallaki, he helped setup a constant trade route through the mist gates, allowing goods to flow back and forth from the valley. The first few trips through the mist to Parnast and beyond Viktor would insist that his entire family, including Ireena and Xarann, travel together as he would never again risk them being apart. On Aleksandr’s later trips to Waterdeep, he would be on edge and barely sleep during his time abroad.
For their part, Kurrsk and Sons invested in several new cattle farms across the now fecund Barovia Valley to ensure the quality of their wares.
Over that time, he sent word to the Church of Morninglord of his need for help caring for his flock. In time, the church sent several young clerics, straight from the seminary, to Barovia to begin their work. He also saw to it over that time, that the entrance and grounds Ravenloft Castle were Hallowed and light-filled, so that no evil could ever again take root in the place. The Hallowing was also used as a good training exercise for his young priests. He ensures the Castle remains abandoned until the day it can be demolished forever.
Two years after Ravenloft, Viktor and Thomasin announced the birth of twins, a boy and girl they named Pyotr and Serafima.
In the years that followed, he would continue to aid his friends, Bannor and Ezmerelda, often with Xarann and Aleksandr, to keep Barovia safe from the predations of its more vicious denizens. As always, he kept his promise to return safe to Thomasin and the twins, and to watch over Aleksandr and Xarann.
The Dark Powers and the Amber Temple never far from his thoughts, Viktor began a long correspondence with the smartest man he knew, Master Zandeyr Grawarith, entreating him to find out all he could about them so as to ensure they could never again hold sway across Barovia or any other place. Or, better still, a way to destroy them. For his part he made sure the road up the mountain pass was always closed to travellers and did nothing to dissuade any stories and superstition about the evils of the place.
The loss of Bannor was a heavy blow. He prayed that his friend found the peace in death he could never find in life.
Ten years after Ravenloft, Dawnbringer Viktor Kurrsk oversaw the completion of the reconstruction of Argynvostholt. The castle and the newer buildings around it now serve as both a seminary for training Priests of the Morninglord, and a home to the holy Knights of the Dawn, whose symbol is the rising sun overlaid with the head of a silver dragon. The stalwart order is dedicated to guarding The Amber Temple and protecting the people of Barovia.
Argynvostholt’s beacon shines over the valley to this day. Travellers willing to ‘brave the mists’ to get to Barovia will be rewarded for the experience, and will not have to travel far before they see or hear the Kurrsk family name.
Master Zandeyr Grawarith
After meticulously clearing with the party any remaining undead from the castle, Master Zandeyr, carefully spends an hour documenting the various historical inscriptions on all the tombs in the crypt. The next morning he carefully packs up a select set of the rarer books from the Strahd’s library, gathers the rolled up canvas in the leather tube is collected from the dining room, then he spends an hour or so reading a book on Barovian heraldry whilst sitting on the throne in the great audience hall, looking up occasionally and smiling at anyone who enters. Before departing the room he absentmindedly recovers the dragon crown, the sceptre, and the skull, placing them carefully back in his large overstuffed already backpack.
Early that afternoon he may be seen quietly without any goodbyes crossing the drawbridge. He removes the final patch from his robe, and seconds later, mystically a horse appears before him which he mounts. Looking back briefly, and perhaps with a slight shrug, he rides off into the new resplendent sunlight. He returns to Vallaki, very late that evening, going first to collect his unpublished manuscript at the church, and then to ascend to the attic in the Burgomaster’s house, and places the amber shard and his remaining and documents and research material a small bag. Before leaving the room he scrawls a small note, leaving it on the table that reads:
Returning home to Castlekeep. If you need me. Send a message and I will come… and of course remember my friends… He who destroys knowledge, with ink, fire, or sword, is himself destroyed… Good Luck!
Again without any farewells, he attaches the horse to the chariot in the stable, packs up his belongings and rides out of the town. Anyone noticing him depart will see perhaps that every time a dog barks he looks almost looks visibly struck by a blow.
A few months later, there is a rumour at the inn that a large order was placed for Red Dragon Crush, and the yet to be harvested Champagne du le Stomp, with specific instructions for it to be stored in seventy five glass bottles to be delivered to Candlekeep - Attention: Zandeyr, Arcane Scholar. It was paid for with a small but very generous bag of platinum coins with a dragon motif.
About a year later, a large number of bundles arrive by wagon at the Burgomaster’s house addressed to Zane and Ireena. Inside are dresses, gowns, and hosiery from the finest dressmakers and tailors of Beregost, Waterdeep, and Baldur’s Gate. A small scrawled note inside reads:
It seems that just reading one book on dress making really wouldn’t do justice to the task… Think I got the sizes right… Hope you like them… Z
Master Zandeyr Grawarith’s one and only great adventure was exactly just that… but his book, Life, Death, Undeath, Unlife, and the Undying: The pursuit for understanding of Practical Metaphysical Naturalism, is delivered to every library in every keep throughout the Sword Coast, and a few eventually even arrive in Barovia.
Zane
After the downfall of Strahd there began a series of skirmishes of ever decreasing importance and challenge. Zane’s interest in these endeavours also waned as the threat diminished. Before long it was deemed that the land was safe from immediate danger and all agreed that a fitting time had arrived for Ireena and Zane to be married. Having left, without ever realising, the fancies of his youth behind, Zane elected to wed under his true name, Aleksandr Kurrsk. He put the garb of the Dreamrider in a chest along with the rapiers with which he had spilled so much blood. He placed the chest in the attic of his great house and set his mind to the complex and, more often than not, confusing duties befalling the concubine of a ruler.
After a period of time marked in equal measure by peace, prosperity and tedium, Ireena finally succumbed to Aleksandr’s endless prattle and insisted that he travel to the west and see for himself the great city of Waterdeep. Perhaps it was her desperate hope that this might satiate his growing restlessness for, as time passed, it was becoming obvious to her that he was not well suited to the life of a diplomat.
In Waterdeep he achieved his childhood ambition of visiting the grand fortified offices of Stormwatch, passing, with the rest of the tour group, under the magnificent carved dragon skull that adorned the entrance way (though in truth it was smaller than he had always imagined).
On one occasion, near the end of his visit, he even saw the legendary Martmaal and Tebbett as they passed by in their gold leaf sedan chairs. He waved and let out a cheer as did many in the crowd. By some chance he caught their notice, for both turned and regarded him; perhaps they recognized a kindred hero or maybe it was just luck. But when he looked into their eyes he saw a darkness there familiar to him from the faces of his own companions. Martmaal offered him only the tightest of smiles and Tebbett the barest shake of his head and he knew then, something that he had long half suspected: The greater one’s deeds, the greater the cost to the soul. A veteran of struggles such as those met by his childhood heroes or those he himself had faced, can never truly retire from the field of battle. The heroes of Stormwatch were no more living happily ever after than he was himself.
He gathered up the souvenirs he had bought for his friends and collected from the tailors the last of the fashionable garments he had commissioned and set out for home. On arrival there was the obligatory party with gifts and wine and all the rest and Aleksandr regaled all who would listen with preposterous stories of the city and Stormwatch and adventures had on the way there and the way back. Only Ireena noticed a change in his manner; a melancholy but also something else; a renewed strength.
It was three nights later that Ireena woke in the small hours of the morning to find Aleksandr gone from the bed. She did not fret but sighed a sigh of relief and smiled to herself as she drifted back to sleep, comforted somehow more by his absence then by his restless presence.
Not far from Vallaki the road west travels over a high and narrow bridge, far below the mighty and swollen Luna pours through the narrow gap on its way to Lake Zarovich. This place is an unavoidable choke point along the road and even in these times of unprecedented peace, is a favoured haunt of would be highwaymen. Cowardly as they are, such types forgo the dangers of daylight robbery and confine themselves to hunting by moonlight.
A night such as this, on which we find ourselves, with the moon high and full, would normally see a band of ne’er do wells crouched beside the road; cutthroats with sharpened knives, ready to pounce on unsuspecting travellers hurrying to pass the last miles to Vallaki.
Normally I say, but not this night, for this night the road is protected. A lone figure, his garb as black as the night itself, stands atop the span of the bridge, the edges of his twin blades glowing like lines of white fire in the moonlight. This night the Dreamrider walks the land and let all who would tread the path of injustice quail at the sight of his flashing blades.
Xarann
Even with many hundred years gone, that fleeting time spent with Viktor and his family remained Xarann’s greatest joy.
After growing up in the belly of Drow Underdark cities, it seemed all too strange to Xarann to find himself in a world even more lost to truth and goodness. The weeks that followed the downfall of Strahd lurched between a surreal mixture of exhilaration and loss. Xarann joined his companions in hunting down any straggling evil – ensuring that nothing remained with even the slightest foothold, the smallest of chance, of turning Barovia back towards the darkness.
It took some time for Xarann to accept that there were no more monsters to fight. The land was flourishing now and that visceral sense of purpose that comes from fleeing or pursuing evil was subsiding. Xarann turned towards the smaller things and found a great sense of peace in simply being with Viktor, Zane, their thriving children, and his new community.
Sadly, no matter how he tried, Xarann could never work out how to help Bannor back to the new world he had just helped to create, and it came as no great surprise to Xarann when he received the news.
The next decades flowed gently in his mind. New children, new marriages, good music, and success for the villages and locals he had come to call friends. The horrors of Ravenloft seeming more and more like a half-remembered dream. It felt like it could, or should, have gone on forever that way, until that day when the only father that Xarann had ever really known died.
Viktor died peacefully in his sleep. An old man, having lived the most honourable of lives. A life full of love and purpose. Of adventure, sacrifice and reward. A human life. So short it seemed to Xarann. Viktor seemed to have barely begun in many ways, and yet now he was gone. Then all too soon to Xarann’s eye, Thomasin, Aleksandr and Ireena followed Viktor into their final sleep. Even the mighty Garn was gone now.
Xarann stayed on a while in Barovia, but he was never as close to a Human ever again – their lives were just too short. As consolation, he would make time every so often to seek out the great Master Zandeyr. Together they had become the final custodians of those brave and terrible memories.
With his youth now firmly behind him, Xarann turned his mind back towards his own people. Here was new purpose – to offer help to those who saw another way for the Drow. His mind flew back to his childhood stories of the villain Drizzt – who had turned his back on the Underdark. Like Xarann, he had simply forsaken both the evil ways of his people and their home in the Underdark. Others would surely do the same with the right guidance.
With much searching Xarann found other exiled Drow and then the church of Eilistraee – whose mission was to reach Drow trapped in Lolth’s web, aiding them, and providing them with a new life and future on the surface. Slowly the feeling grew amongst the followers – it was not right to continue to let the Lords of the Underdark turn every young Drow towards the dark. It was time to act. Time for a new chapter in Drow history.
Time still for another adventure.
Garn
Garn woke abruptly, with the sound of his scream still echoing in the room, matching the scream of his son from his fading nightmare. Bathed in a slick of sweat, he threw off the covers and walked to the window to look south, towards the walls. And beyond, the lake, not yet visible in the pre-dawn darkness.
It had been more than a month since the lifting of the curse and the cleansing of Ravenloft, but now it was all behind him a deep fatigue had settled into his bones. All around a sense of relief and renewal had taken hold in the people of Vallaki, matching the new light and colour that was pushing back the mists of Strahd. But for Garn, the urgency of adventure had given way, allowing that old feeling of guilt and pain to ebb back to the surface.
Or at least very close to the surface. To the revellers who packed the bench seats of the inn under his feet each night, Garn remained the affable master of revels, keen to ensure all and sundry had a drink in hand and a smile on their face. Money wasn’t a problem right now. And if he could use it to ease these folk, so long weighed down by the yoke of the demon Strahd, in some way then all the better.
The wedding was certainly a joyous occasion last week. And soon enough new life will find its way into this town. This land. Barovia.
Garn stood for some time, watching the darkness turn slowly towards the dawn, lost in thought. When the first ray of sunlight finally cut through and touched the mountain behind Lake Zarovich he turned and dressed, packed his things, and finally sat at the desk by the window where he wrote a short note. He folded the note and stood, cast one last glance at the lake, before picking up his things and walking out of the room.
Walking downstairs and crossing the dark and empty tavern, he paused to place the note on the bar. On the note was scrawled in his rough hand, “For Viktor”.
Viktor, Looks like you and that boy of yours are planning to put down roots here. Good for you. I leave this town in your capable hands. I’m heading back to the coast. To slay some demons. Mostly my own. Please let the others know I wish them well. I expect I’ll set up shop again somewhere along the way. Every village needs a smith or two. When I do I’ll let you know. May you and your family prosper. Garn
Taking one last look around the darkened room, he turned and left, resolved to face the next stage of his journey.
Poem: ‘New Every Morning’ by Susan Coolidge