7/22/2025: Tuesday Curse of Strahd game log: Savid, Spiders and Loot

The ancient stones of Argynvost’s Great Hall echo with footsteps as the party spreads out, restless after the battle with the shadow demons. Eight weathered door are closed, facing them, and they draw the allies to them as the weight of their curiosity presses down upon them.

Shifty’s curiosity leads him southward to the imposing double doors that have remained sealed for gods know how long. The wood groans in protest as he forces them open, revealing a once-grand ballroom. Cobwebs drape from every surface and the air thrums with an ominous clicking—the sound of massive mandibles working hungrily in the darkness.

Without hesitation, the cleric calls forth a Sacred Flame spell, its divine radiance piercing the gloom. The mote of magical fire races along a thick strand of webbing, following its path as it branches—two strands, then four, then eight—illuminating the vast network that spans the ruined chamber. As Shifty slams the door shut, the air fills with inhuman shrieking, the sound of creatures writhing in agony as divine fire consumes their domain.

⚔

Meanwhile, Nike’s attention turns to the northern wall, where a door stands slightly ajar. The hinges protest with a mournful creak as they push it wide, revealing a dusty wine cellar bathed in shadows. There, pressed against the far wall like a cornered animal, crouches a dusk elf. Terror etches deep lines across his angular features, and his hands shake as he clutches at the darkness behind a row of ancient barrels. A sheathed short sword hangs at his hip, while an unstrung longbow leans forgotten against the stone.

“There’s someone here,” Nike calls, their voice cutting through the stillness.

Zilk and Novaril converge on the doorway, the bugbear’s imposing seven-foot frame filling the entrance. Despite his gentle tone, his extended claws gleam in the dim light, causing the stranger to shrink back as if expecting a killing blow.

“I am Zilk,” the bugbear says, his voice soft as velvet over steel. “Who are you and what brings you to this place?”

The elf’s voice trembles like autumn leaves. “I am Savid, a dusk elf. I was seeking the missing child of my cousin, Viktor. Her name is Arabella. Have you seen her?”

Zilk’s head tilts thoughtfully before delivering news that changes everything. “We rescued her from the hags of the windmill several weeks ago. She is safe with her father.” To prove his words, he produces the severed head of one of the hag sisters—a grisly trophy that makes Savid’s throat work convulsively even as tears of relief fill his ancient eyes.

“I have been trapped here for several weeks by the creatures you fought,” Savid stammers. “I did not know that she is safe and I would very much like to go home to be with my family.”

But good faith comes hard in this cursed land. “I don’t trust him,” Nike hisses, their hand finding the familiar comfort of their blade’s pommel.

Novaril, ever the voice of reason, stays their companion’s arm. “His story seems truthful.” He steps between the two elves, in an attempt to disarm an attack.

Recognizing the tension, Savid makes a gesture of profound surrender. He unbuckles his sword belt and kicks it across the stone floor with a metallic scrape. Novaril retrieves the weapon, tucking it under his arm while Nike continues to glare, muttering dark suspicions under their breath.

When asked about their quest for Argynvost’s treasure, Savid’s weathered face grows grave. “I don’t believe it exists any longer. The dragon, in human guise, led a troupe of knights—the Order of the Silver Dragon—against Strahd’s army when they invaded the Barovian valley almost 2,000 years ago. The Order was defeated and the dragon slain. Strahd cut Argynvost’s head from his body, which was burned. The skull was gifted to Strahd’s witch, Baba Lysaga.”

Nike’s eyes blaze with suspicion. “How do you know all of this?”

Savid meets their challenging gaze with the calm that comes only with centuries of life. “Young one, if you are fortunate and you live to my age, 400 years, you, too, may know many things.”

⚔

Their conversation shatters as chaos erupts from the Great Hall. Ratrick has joined Shifty at the ballroom doors, and as they crack them open, two massive spiders leap forth—flames dancing across their backs. Crystal and Biblo rush to join the fray, and together the three adventurers dispatch one of the burning arachnids in a flurry of steel and spell.

But the second spider flickers like a candle flame and simply… vanishes.

“It’s a phase spider!” Crystal gasps, her voice tight with recognition. “It’s gone to the ethereal plane!”

True to her words, when they peer into the ballroom, they find only smoke and ash where once a web-shrouded army had clicked and skittered in the darkness.

⚔

In a scorched stairwell, partially hidden beneath falling debris, they discover what remains of some long-dead explorer. The body lies charred and desiccated, a testament to the manor’s deadly nature. But death has not claimed everything of value.

Biblo’s keen eyes spot three vials of golden liquid that pulse with their own inner light, warm as captured sunlight. Nike’s fingers work at something on the corpse’s hand—a heavy golden ring bearing an etched blue stone that catches what little light filters through the gloom.

“That’s a crest from one of the Great Houses from Waterdeep,” Biblo observes, his voice carrying the weight of recognition. “I think it’s House Cassalanter.”

But the most significant discovery comes when Crystal draws forth a silver chain from beneath the body’s blackened leather breastplate. Her expression darkens as she examines the amulet—a skull wreathed in flames that seems to pulse with malevolent energy. She moves to tuck it away, but Zilk’s nimble fingers intercept it with practiced ease.

“What is it?” the bugbear asks innocently, though his eyes bright with curiosity.

Crystal’s face grows serious as stone. “This is the symbol of Bhaal, the god of chaos and murder.”

Understanding the gravity of such an artifact, Zilk returns the amulet to Crystal, who quickly secretes it away from prying eyes and the corruption it might spread.

As the echoes of their discoveries fade into the manor’s oppressive silence, the party finds themselves with new knowledge, unexpected allies, and artifacts that speak of dark purposes. The mysteries of Argynvost continue to unfold, each revelation bringing them closer to truths that may prove more dangerous than the monsters lurking in the shadows.