Van Richten's Reflection on Silas.
(Written by my partner/our DM) (I have cried like 10 times)
I do not recall anything of merit or praise about Silas upon first meeting. I was busy with my plans whilst disguised as the “performer” Rictavio. I think I was eating dinner for the evening at The Blue Water Inn before retiring to my room upstairs that I had held for a few weeks at that point. I was not up for conversation but feigned interest as the flamboyant corpse I was pretending to be. They spilled their activities as do-goods, carting the red-haired woman from Barovia Village to the Church. I didn’t care to remember anything about them, as they were as good as dead, obviously brought here by the Mists of the land for the master of the realm to toy with. I had a weapon to assemble covertly. I knew there were agents of Strahd about the town of Vallaki.
After a couple of weeks of them causing ripples around town, they settled into the Inn as regular guests, like myself, so they were far too annoying and present to continue to ignore. Silas, who I suspected of being a sentient corpse due to his complexion, made clumsy passes at Rictavio. I apparently had not played up the irritating aspects of the thief whose soul I wore enough.
Rumors of somebody that could draw Strahd out in Krezk made it so I was held to being transport via my wagon for these now bolder do-goods. An annoying detour to a winery they had ingratiated themselves with later and we would our collective group in Krezk. The bold martial woman, Brandy, had been bitten by a lycanthrope on the journey. I had possible cures at my tower hideout, but I did not want that location divulged at that time. The decidedly-skin-crawling Abbot was to help her out. Luckily, that was the man I was there to see, as he had been flesh-sculpting a “woman” that he would have had be a substitute for his reincarnated entitlement. Laughable, the gaul of the glass-eyed creature. I hid and attempted to test my new weapon prototype on the devil himself along with his chamberlain as this current crop of adventurers battled it out with raised corpses of what their future held. Shockingly, they did not die. Upon leaving Krezk, I was happy this group shared my disinterest in helping the simpleton populace of the village. Surely they could scare off or kill some werewolves? I suppose the “right” thing to do would have been to help the citizens, but I was relieved I didn’t have to abandon my walking, killing insurance for the long trip back to Vallaki.
As the Festival of the Blazing Sun drew closer, I had info from Ez that Strahd would move on the Church to cease Ireena, his current prized pig, I had discovered. I had taxed myself to finish the oversized crossbow for blessed water & sodium arrows; the mask I wore slipped as Silas got on my last nerve the night before the event. His kindness had been pleasant on occasion before, but not at that moment. I failed to wound Ireena to draw the vampire to a trap at the Church, distracted by Silas’ Sendings. The group’s fighting in the burning building, which matched much of Vallaki at that point, delayed Strahd, but not enough. I gave up the disguise & revealed myself to the gang of injured adventurers, and left town with them for the tower.
The days in the tower were removed from the bustle of Vallaki, and I think back on that time more fondly than it was to me at the time. Small acts of kindness on Silas' part lended to me seeing him more like-minded to myself than I originally conceived. A blanket over my shoulders in the morning I thought to be from my pupil Ez was Silas, I later found out.
Silas returned from the swamp ruins changed; tainted. My arcane detentions registered half-alarms about him. It made me sad, truly, to have to shrink away for protection. I would later find out it was a Dark Vestige that had raised Silas from death for a pact to be drawn. Still, Silas was not slowing down in his and his ilk’s objectives, which I found to be a good quality.
It was some weeks later, after much tracking of a mystery beast in the woods north of Lake Zarovich, when I saw Silas again. He was amid efforts to “rebuild the wall and make Vallaki great again” as the workers they were protecting kept saying. The “beast” was a crazed mage Strahd broke before, but once again this troupe succeeded in taming the animal, who gave us a pocket dimension of sorts to rest in. That morning, I read a confessional from Silas, on feelings he harbored for me.
For. Me.
The emotion that won out in the whirlwind was my old stand-by: anger. I chided Silas for useless feelings amid dangerous times. Ez, cool headed, coerced an apology to him out of me. I was glad to give it, but I would have rather died than express the gratitude I had for affection for me. It was alien and terrifying. I sat with it for some time. To put the lame specter of emotion out of its misery, limping along as it was?
Where words failed, gifts of helping items, divulged information and magical protections were how I nursed my ability to care for someone in a positive way.
Our trip to, and stay in, the Amber Temple was cursed, truly, with Silas’ spiritual leech, named Sykane, reared his head and wishes. I attempted horribly to offer comfort to him, though it came out as partial insults to the idiot mage Kasimir, who was traveling with us for some ignorant reason. I kept my research on how to possibly sever Silas from his leech to myself, as futile as it was and as telling as my motivations would have been.
A last hurrah of sorts in the Mad Mage’s home broke the dam for me. I returned affection and was given more. Unprecedented for this rotted soul. Though I stated Silas’ use and my praise of that, I failed in mentioning the portion of use he was to my mangled heart. It felt relieving for it to be in the open. A weight lifted, in the last moments before Ravenloft and death. My arcane explosive was growing less and less a final and glorious “out” for me. I had come to Barovia to die. To keep busy and go in a blaze loud enough to distract me from the echo inside me, hollow as I was. A mutual magical shield against death between us was…welcome.
Welcome and unwelcome. What use do the damned have for affection?
As it turns out, I would not know, for I was…am not damned. The castle was ruined, Strahd struck down, and the dark power behind him uprooted and crushed. Unbelievable. To this day, unbelievable. I have happiness most days now, whether it’s in a repurposed haunt in Vallaki (now in the realm of Fearun) or stocked personal library in Waterdeep, a coastal bastion of proper civilization. I owe that happiness to Silas. His apt mind and boundless ability to give selflessly. His respectable command of magic and his willingness to imagine me underneath the shit and dirt around my soul. To laugh in a public place and be okay with that vulnerability is something I never thought I would do again.
I now know indeed that I love the cleric of Kelemvor, liberator of Barovia, and archaeologist of my long-buried self, Silas Xavier. Our official joining is on the horizon. So much LIFE is present for me now. I am haunted still, but every day spent in this existence of content puts distance between me and those dark decades.
