02/25/2026: The Road to Vallaki

Krelldutt the tortle, Torgan the dwarf, and their hired mercenaries set out from the Village of Barovia at mid-morning, heading west along the Old Svalich Road, on the way back to Vallaki. Their new friend, Torgan, rides behind Blinsky. Duster, wanted in Vallaki for horse theft, attempted murder, and treason, is bound and tied to his own stolen mount. Krelldutt rides point. Udo guards the rear. Feesh, nursing yet another hangover, sways in his saddle beside Krelldutt and makes a determined effort to nap.

An hour out, Vistani bandits break from the tree line. A crossbow bolt finds Torgan, and the dwarf’s temper flares immediately.

“Does anyone have a bow to lend?” he demands.

“Let’s just ride on,” Krelldutt reasons. “We’re mounted. They’ll never catch us.”

Torgan slides from his horse without further discussion and charges the bandits, shouting for the others to follow. Krelldutt rides forward instead, calling back to Friedrich to stay close. The battle is brief and fierce. Torgan, operating largely on his own and on the strength of his irritation, puts down three bandits including the captain. Two survivors peel off into the forest, their voices carrying back through the trees: The failsafe will get them. The meaning of this is unclear.

Torgan loots the dead methodically: a crossbow and bolts, a locket, a ring, coins, and a folded note tucked into a purse. He reads it, then passes it to Krelldutt without comment. It is brief and direct. Kill the turtle. Bring me the bird. Everyone else is up to you. The handwriting is Strahd’s. The signature confirms it. The Count has placed a contract on Krelldutt’s life.

They agree to stay alert and press on.

Another hour more and the road does not stay quiet. Two ogres emerge from the treeline ahead and begin hurling stones, their aim poor. Torgan launches a javelin at the nearest one. It clatters harmlessly onto the road. The ogre picks it up and throws it back. It punches through Duster with enough force to nearly unseat him, and only the ropes lashing him to the saddle keep him from pitching off entirely.

“He is dying!” shouts Blinsky, hauling at the reins.

They can do nothing for Duster with the ogres present, and the group does not stop to engage. They ride hard until the ogres fall behind. When they judge themselves clear, they halt. Torgan kneels over the rogue and manages, carefully, to stabilize his health.

Near the windmill, fresh clawed prints mar the mud on either side of the road. The pair of felled trees that blocked this stretch on their last passage have since been reduced to ash. Before anyone can comment on this, Morgantha steps out from behind a boulder at the road’s edge. Her expression is flat. Her intent is not. She threatens to enfeeble the group unless they surrender the bird, Duster.

Krelldutt spurs his mount and rides. Torgan, unwilling to leave without a contribution to the moment, hurls a javelin at the hag. It goes wide. Friedrich barks, urgent and sharp, alerting Krelldutt to the rope strung low across the road ahead, angled to catch their horses’ legs and drop the riders hard. Krelldutt nocks and draws in a single motion. The arrow finds the rope cleanly, and it falls slack. The party clears it at speed and does not look back.

They reach the Sunrise Gate of Vallaki in the early afternoon. The guards on duty recognize Krelldutt as a friend of the fallen Burgomaster, Deprimer, and wave the group through.

“A pity the Blue Water Inn is closed,” Feesh observes, with the tone of a man recounting a personal loss.

Torgan stares at him. His hopes of finding work in Vallaki as a brewer quietly collapse.

“I have this, however.” Feesh produces a bottle from somewhere inside his pack and holds it up. The label is from the Wizards of Wine vineyard. The vintage is two hundred years old. “The good stuff,” he announces.

A guard produces several battered tin cups, and Feesh pours generously.

“To great adventures,” he toasts.

“To great adventurers,” the others echo.

Krelldutt, who does not drink, says nothing.

They drink.

Within seconds, Torgan and Feesh both clutch at their throats. Krelldutt is already tearing through his pack. He finds the Protection from Poison scroll and reads the incantation over Torgan. The dwarf’s color begins to return. But Feesh has gone from grey to blue, his airway closing fast. Krelldutt hauls the guard across the back of his horse and rides hard for St. Andral’s Church.

Fortunately, Father Lucian is in. He does not hesitate. A casting of Lesser Restoration draws the poison back and air returns to Feesh’s lungs.

When Feesh is able to speak again, Krelldutt asks the obvious question.

“A traveler,” Feesh rasps. “He passed the bottles to me last night at the tavern. Said he wanted to lighten his load. Like you, he does not drink wine.” A pause. “Before your dog made all that racket this morning.”

Krelldutt says nothing. He does not need to. The handwriting on the note from the bandit captain is still fresh in his mind. Strahd’s reach, it seems, extends well ahead of them on the road.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​