Picaresque's Strahd: IC

[Fantasy_Picaresque]

Boar's Head Inn

To a party of seasoned adventurers such as yourselves, what you have found is but another dingy roadside inn sequestered away in the darkest woods of some nameless province. Your time here is but another span of time between the challenges of true adventuring. Outside the inn, a fog lies over the woods this evening. The damp, muddy roadway glistens as the lights of lanterns sway and dance in a cold wind. The fog chills the bones and shivers the soul of anyone outside, yet inside these lonely tavern walls the food is hearty, and the ale is warm and frothy. A fire blazes in the hearth, and the tavern is alive with the tumbling voices of country folk, coming from the farthest table.

Four rough-looking men encircle the wooden table, clad in trapper's garb. Simply glancing their way is enough to detect the stench of alcohol wafting off of them. The men are boasting loudly with one another, while all the while, the largest of the men maintains a vicelike grip upon the arm of an increasingly distressed older woman dressed as a barmaid. Wheat-colored hair falls in tidy locks over her ruddy almond skin and her amber eyes are widened with fear. Though plain of the face by adventurer's standards, the woman radiates a certain maternal charm, one accentuated by her soft curves and generous bust.

As the trapper pulls her closer, she gasps and offers a desperate smile. "Please, sir! My husband will be right out with your meal," she pleads. The trapper grins and simply tugs on her shawl, stretching the fabric between his knuckles. His tightened grasp forces the older woman to lean down slightly. Her cheeks go red as the men stare down her front. "This is indecent!" she protests. Unfortunately, by then, the tantalizing sight of her freckled, teardrop breasts bouncing wildly within her bodice was enough to drive the other men into a frenzy, the bravest of which reaches out to squeeze hard at her breast with enough force to draw tears.

"Please, stop!" whimpers the barmaid. "Help!" Apart from the table of trappers and yourselves, the inn is empty.

Handout I - The Boar's Head Inn

Handout II - Loreena the Barmaid

 

[Yellow Brick Road]

Alabastra could smell the strange concoction of wolfsbane and heather, the pungent scent carrying her mind to times before her father had died. The potion rest on the table before her, ready to put down the first lycanthrope who dared test it's deadly might. It was a last resort, though, only to be used in situations where curing the affliction was impossible. She could hear the doctor's words as clearly as if they were spoken seconds before. "When someone is in need of help, it is our duty to offer assistance. We have to be better, or the world will have no one to lead it out of this darkness."

Her white pupils snapped into focus as the barmaid's words reached her ears. A scowl marred her unnaturally smooth countenance, the black of her eyes narrowing to slits as her own wrath bubbled to the surface. A glance to Grimaruk, their knightly companion, slid to Fiera, the half-elven stray who had helped her pacify a restless spirit on the road. Alabastra's talents lie away from social encounters, though she was keen enough to know that any attempts to stop the men could end in violence. It was a stretch to think that she could handle them all in a fight, but she was in strong company. Either companion was stronger or faster than she, and they were both just as capable in a fight, she was sure. The living doll let her gaze fall on the trappers and their rowdy scene. It was appalling what men would do when they were left unchecked. No wonder her father had sought to make something better. She wasn't sure if he'd succeeded, but the effort was admirable.

Clenching her fist tightly, the young porcelain golem let a menacing smile spread across her almost human visage. "Have you no manner of civility? Would you paw your own mother like that?" Her hand fell to the knife that held her map to the table, dainty fingers wrapping around the etched bone handle in a deadly grip. Her voice was calm, but loud, and her eyes were wide, their white pinpoints fixed upon the one who was groping the barmaid. Her ghostly white hair was pulled back into a tight bun, as she hadn't cared to muss with it before their meal. That was looking to have been the right choice now that a brawl was nigh inevitable. "She said stop. So let her go. Now!"

 

[Mosos]

The greenman relaxed at a table, patently waiting for his food and drink. A pleasant reward for another long day of adventuring. When the barmaid cried out in need the heavily armored paladin was slower to his feet than his pale companion but rose to the occasion all the same. "A paladin's work is never done." The half-orc muttered under his breath. Grimaruk hoped these ones had merely drunk themselves stupid, though he was prepared to deal with them if they proved to be vile fiends. Accosting the woman in such a fowl manner, it seemed these brutes needed a lesson in proper seduction techniques.

Grimaruk was impressed with the courage of his new friend, jumping in to protect an innocent with neary a wasted moment. While he did not fully understand what she was or her fighting style, he was glad to have her as anew friend.


As he strode over to the scene, it appeared that one of his new friends had already chosen her dance partner for the evening. It only seemed fitting for him to do the same. His shining armor clanking with every step, the mighty warrior strides behind the largest trapper and places a giant gauntleted hand around the wrist his is using to hold on to the barmaid. "Why don't you let the lady go, or else I'll have to have a go at you." Grimaruk whispered into the man's ear, the paladin's voice a violent rumble in his chest. To accentuate his threat the half-orc ran one of his razor-sharp tusks along the man's neck as he spoke. "What do you fellas say, leave the lady be, and I won't have to rearrange your insides?"

 

[Morathor]

Fiera quietly ate her soup, taking care not to spill a drop on the stack of papers before her. She was reading and re-reading a conversation she had transcribed earlier between her two companions, making sure she hadn't forgotten anything, in case they brought it up again and expected her to have an opinion. Not that it seemed a concept worth revisiting, just the sort of conversation people used to fill space, but Fiera had a lot of space to fill so she might as well go over it.

She winced at the commotion from the other side of the room, but save for catching a drop of gravy before it could fall onto her parchment, she was content to let it be. A couple of rowdy drunks weren't worth drawing attention to herself. Unfortunately, her companions did not seem to agree. And while she suspected they could handle the locals without her, there would surely be questions later if she didn't involve herself.

Still, she waited for the towering paladin to make his move; between his forceful personality and his sheer size, Grimaruk always commanded the most attention, and thus made for an excellent distraction. Not to mention, his sheer bulk could obscure quite a lot. Fiera was scarcely five feet tall, and thin as a rail; she had passed for a teenage boy on more than one occasion. So walking in the paladin's wake, the men wouldn't see her at all, unless they happened to look down at his feet and see a pair of soft deerskin shoes just behind his heavy boots.

They certainly wouldn't see the knife she carefully palmed, ready to strike suddenly if things escalated.