man, imagine reading the Ruins of Berez chapter but not knowing about Baba Yaga folklore; how wild is it to have all this gothic horror and then suddenly you run into a weird old witch with a skull-shaped hoverboard and a walking treehouse that are barely explained.
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The City of Alrez (formally Berez ruins), our home base and personal project as a party throughout the years we played Curse of Strahd. Here's to the next Chapter ❤❤
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Thank you to the Party and to @saintastaeroth for DMing
In the annals of Barovian history, one name shines with the brilliance of a fallen star - a name etched in both valor and tragedy, a name whispered through the ages with reverence and sorrow. The year 346, known as the Dark Year, had cast its pall upon the land, a year steeped in shadows and strife, as the Great War had endured for over a quarter-century.
Amidst this grim tapestry of conflict, a dire threat loomed at the edges of Barovia. The Terg forces, a relentless and implacable tide, had assembled their ominous camp by the tranquil waters of Tser Lake, west of the falls. Their designs were drawn in blood upon the land – to march unopposed across the fields of Berez, to breach the banks of the Luna River, and to shatter the bastion of hope that was Argynvostholt, the venerable seat of the Knights of Order of the Silver Dragon. It was whispered among the winds that if Berez fell, if Argynvostholt succumbed to the onslaught, then the dominion of Barovia itself would crumble under the heel of the Terg.
A clarion call echoed through the realm as Lord Falkon von Hapsburg, a beacon of resolve, rallied a council of minds at the hallowed halls of Argynvostholt. But the fates had conspired, for Lord Argynvost and King Barov of Cadia were absent from this dire conclave. In their stead, the mantle was taken up by Lady Lugdana, a paragon of fortitude, and the valiant Prince Strahd von Zarovich, heir to a legacy of power and responsibility.
In a chamber fraught with tension, a plan of audacious brilliance unfurled – a grand choreography of might and cunning. Lord Hapsburg, his heart ablaze with determination, unveiled a strategy that would forge a noose around the Terg. The Hapsburg army, under his command, would venture east of the Luna River, baiting the Terg forces into the open expanse of Berez's fields. Prince Strahd, a sentinel of the north, would lead the Cadia army from the frigid reaches of Vallaki, ensnaring the Terg in a pincer movement of peril. And from the south, the valiant knights of Argynvostholt, defying treacherous terrain, would descend upon the Terg like avenging spirits.
Amidst this symphony of strategy, Lord Hapsburg bore the weight of a risky ruse. To draw forth the Terg forces, his forces would parade through the very heart of Berez, a lustrous prize irresistible to the enemy. It was a role fraught with peril, for the success of the plan hinged upon the Terg's response.
As the moon waned and waxed over Barovia, the moment of reckoning was at hand. The Terg forces, stirred by the bait, emerged from their camp in a surging torrent of malevolent purpose. A formidable tide, they swept towards Lord Hapsburg, their numbers eclipsing his forces a hundredfold. The field of Berez became a tempest of clashing steel and fervent cries, a crucible of destiny where hope and despair mingled.
Yet, amidst the tumult and chaos, a singular figure remained motionless. Prince Strahd, perched like a shadow upon his steed, watched as the drama unfolded below. His gaze was a beacon of unwavering resolve, a silent testament to the unspoken role he had chosen to fulfill.
In the heart of the fray, Lord Hapsburg's forces found themselves ensnared by the relentless grasp of the Terg. The battlefield became a crucible of courage, where men fought with an unyielding spirit against the encroaching darkness. But one figure stood amidst the fray, defiant and resolute - Lord Hapsburg himself. Dismounted and alone, he faced the relentless onslaught with the indomitable will of a true leader.
His loyal forces surged forward, a tide of determination that sought to break through the enemy ranks and reclaim their fallen lord. Yet fate, as it so often does, wove a tragic thread. The Terg's arrows found their mark, piercing the very heart of Lord Hapsburg. And as he engaged the enemy in a desperate melee, he struck down four Terg before a final arrow extinguished his life.
The air was thick with the scent of spilled blood and the echo of battle cries as the Terg forces severed Lord Hapsburg's head from his shoulders, a grisly testament to their ruthless victory. His crown, a symbol of authority, was torn away, leaving his mangled body upon the field before the Terg forces retreated to their camp.
Yet, just as despair seemed poised to claim victory, a new chapter in this tale of valor began to unfold. Prince Strahd, having observed the unfolding tragedy, spurred his steed into motion. With an army at his back, he charged forth like a tempest, a figure of vengeance that descended upon the unsuspecting Terg.
In the blood-soaked battlefield of Berez, amidst the swirling mists of destiny, the forces of the Morninglord were summoned to the fray. Led by the valiant Sir Ranceval Vennethar of Rogalford, they emerged as a beacon of hope amidst the chaos. The clash of steel and the cries of warriors echoed through the night as they joined the battle with unwavering resolve.
The darkness was rent asunder by the radiance of Morninglord's light, and a new chapter was written upon the fields of Berez. Strahd's forces struck with a fury born of vengeance, their blades singing with the weight of justice. Amidst the chaos, Sir Ranceval and his warrior wife, Mirela Rusu of Lunamire, carved a path of valor and sacrifice.
As dawn broke upon the battered land, the echoes of battle faded. The once-haunting field of Berez now bore the scars of an epic clash, a testament to the courage and sacrifice of all who had fought upon its blood-soaked earth. Amidst the fallen, Lord Hapsburg's legacy burned as a beacon of courage, and the forces of the Morninglord stood tall, a testament to the unwavering light that pierced the encroaching shadows of Barovia.
