The Call to Adventure

After yet another successful raid on the Goblins of the Iron Hills our brave adventurers settle in for a night of lying, drinking and card playing in the common room of the Weary Horse Inn. For a common room it is unusually quiet, although this may be a result of the creeping clinging mists that rolled in with the setting of the sun. Most of the other patrons keep to themselves, voices low and mugs barely clinking. A notable exception being an elderly priest going by the name of Emris, he bends the party’s ears for near to an hour telling tales of a mystical sword that was said to be the bane of the undead, the Sunsword he called it. Around the time the old man passes out a roar of thunder and a slam of the door draws the attention of the common room to the main entrance. A young man, apparently of Vistani heritage, enters the room scans the faces of those assembled strides to the table the party is occupying and throws a letter onto the table saying “The village of Barovia is in need of heroes, you’ll do as well as any.” and without another word walks back to the door to take his leave. A rasp of steel against leather and a thud of impact on wood and the young man finds himself pinned to the door frame.
The owner of the blade begins to question the young man. “Where is this village?”
“Barovia lies to the west, a full day’s ride from here. You would do well to leave at first light. They say the Svalich Woods are not safe at night.”
“Are you from Barovia? Could you take us there?”
“No, no. My journeys take me through Barovia, but I do not live there. The villagers’ troubles are not my troubles. They pay me to find them heroes, and that is what I have done.”
“Who sent you?”
“The letter is from the burgomaster. That is all I know.” With this answer the messenger frees himself and exits the tavern with haste.

Tales of Caledonia

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