These are my text responses from DnD Ask https://vk.ru/ask_dnd Art by @arundamber Question: What do you think of Lief Lipsiege?
ㅤㅤㅤThe bookkeeper's cubby-hole was bathed in a cosy dim light, illuminated by a wavering oil lamp and a scattering of candles, whose scent of old wax mingled with that of ink and paper dust. Leif Lipsiege sat at a massive desk, an unshakeable rock bearing the weight of countless records, lists, invoices and reports, and ran a fine quill through the columns of the ledger. The chain wrapped around his ankle rattled with every movement – almost unnoticeably, like the rhythm of the breath. He was as accustomed to this sound as he was to the screech of a pen on parchment, and found it quite soothing.
ㅤㅤㅤToday, however, it was uncharacteristically noisy all around. Steps could be heard down the corridor – quick, overly loud. A moment later, the door creaked open, breaking the sacred silence of the counting room. Lief flinched and raised his head. A strange trio stood curiously frozen in the doorway, letting a hint of the dampness of the castle corridors into the room.
ㅤㅤㅤThe first to enter was a burly man – massive and broad-shouldered. He had a large nose, thick eyebrows and a rather dull expression. He glanced around the room and stopped by the chests. Behind him came a girl with a staff – rather plump, yet light on her feet. Last of all, almost leaping into the room, came a tall, excessively thin, black-haired lad. His movements were jagged, slightly awkward; when he stood still, his shoulders slumped, his back hunched, his hands went behind his back, making him look like a bird with its wings folded.
ㅤㅤㅤLeif stood up, nodding politely. The chain rattled again.
— Welcome, gentlemen, — he said in a formal, dry tone. — What brings you here? I apologise for the mess; I wasn’t expecting your visit.
ㅤㅤㅤHe didn’t ask how they’d got in. If they’d come in, it meant either the Master himself had let them through, or… he simply hadn’t noticed them yet. Neither possibility particularly troubled him, as it lay beyond the scope of his professional remit.
ㅤㅤㅤThe tall man narrowed his eyes:
– Well, we’re here… to have a look at something. The count’s treasure chamber, for example.
ㅤㅤㅤThe big man mumbled something in confirmation, whilst the girl merely sighed sadly, raising her eyes to the ceiling. Perhaps she was the only one who didn’t particularly like the idea.
ㅤㅤㅤLief smiled understandingly with the corner of his mouth:
— Of course. One thing, though, if you take anything, – he asked politely, without raising his voice, – could you please tally it up and let me know the amount? It’ll save me a lot of time writing up the report.
– Are you… not going to stop us? – the girl asked, sounding a little sceptical.
– Not at all, – Lief replied with dignity. – I’m not a guardsman, madam. However, I do my best to maintain order in the accounts department. All withdrawals must be recorded.
ㅤㅤㅤWithout waiting for further permission, the big man walked over to the massive chest in the corner and tried to pry the lid off its hinges. He didn’t manage it at the first attempt, but he clearly intended to try again. Lief merely sighed as he watched.
ㅤㅤㅤMeanwhile, the girl turned her gaze to the chain on Lief's ankle again and frowned.
— Is he keeping you here against your will? — The word ‘he’ was spoken with a tone that Lief did not like at all. Disrespect.
— We can free you, — the gaunt one supported her, — The chain doesn’t look very strong...
ㅤㅤㅤA shade of pure, animal panic crossed Lief's eyes for the first time during this conversation, and he took a frightened step back. They wouldn’t dare tamper with the only world order he knew!
— Have you lost your mind?! This is a vital part of the regulations! Don’t even think about it! I’ve still got so much paperwork to do! – He even shielded the chain with his foot, as if it needed protection more than he did.
ㅤㅤㅤThe girl and her dark-haired friend exchanged puzzled glances, shrugging their shoulders.
ㅤㅤㅤJust then, the attempt to open the chest finally paid off – gold coins spilled onto the floor. Burly man spat and grumbled as he stuffed handfuls into his pouch (he certainly had no intention of counting them):
ㅤㅤㅤ– Leave him be, Martikov, he’s gone a tad mad. Just let him sit there. We’ve got more important things to do here.
ㅤㅤㅤThe others, with Lief’s obvious approval, agreed with this sensible suggestion, and soon the trio left without looking back. The door slammed shut again.
ㅤㅤㅤWhen the sound of footsteps had died away, Lief sat motionless for a while, listening to the silence, as if to make sure the danger had passed. Silence and order gradually returned to his cage of paper and numbers. He sighed deeply and rubbed his eyes wearily.
ㅤㅤㅤ- No financial literacy whatsoever, - he said quietly to himself, - They didn’t even ask about customs duties on gold exports!
ㅤㅤㅤCustoms duties in Barovia, of course, hadn’t been applied for centuries, but they were mentioned in Lief’s books, written back in King Barov’s time, so he considered them quite important. After all, the state of affairs at the borders was clearly not the only part of reality that Lief preferred to ignore entirely.
ㅤㅤㅤAbout an hour later, the door to the room swung open again without a knock. The accountant looked up from the ledger – and froze. The chain around his ankle rattle slightly as he involuntarily flinches. The smell of a damp night and something metallic filled the room – Lief knew that was the scent of fresh blood. Standing in the doorway were Count Strahd von Zarovich himself and Rahadin, his devoted shadow at his side.
ㅤㅤㅤThe Count did not bother with detailed explanations: he entered and, with a slight flick of his wrist, tossed his burden onto the floor – several leather pouches. They fell with a dull clang, and a couple of gold coins rolled out of one. Lief noticed that the pouches were slightly smeared with red, and he recognised one of them – the very pouch that had only recently been in the hands of the warrior whose name he had never asked.
— I convinced our guests to return what did not belong to them, – Strahd's voice was even, almost benevolent, as if he were discussing the weather. – And I’ve also bought you something for work.
ㅤㅤㅤHe gestured towards several long black feathers that Rahadin had neatly laid out on the edge of the table. The feathers looked sturdy, shaped like a raven’s, but slightly thicker and larger, with a beautiful dull-azure gloss. The smell of blood emanated from the gold, the feathers, and the count himself, but Lief merely nodded – with detached professionalism, like a man receiving a routine work delivery.
— Thank you, Your Excellency.
ㅤㅤㅤHe took a single quill, examined it by candlelight, assessing its quality. The quill had clearly been roughly torn from the flesh only moments before, but Lief paid no heed to this and drew out a small sharpening knife. With a single confident stroke, he trimmed the tip, shaping it perfectly for writing, dipped it in the inkwell, and bent over the book once more, continuing his line. The quill touched the paper softly, leaving a smooth, clear line.
ㅤㅤㅤStrahd, who had been watching this with silent approval, gave a sharp smile, revealing his fangs.
— Thank you for a job well done.
ㅤㅤㅤLief lowered his gaze.
— It is an honour to serve you, my lord, — his voice trembled ever so slightly. A deep respect for his employer, instilled over decades, which had given him purpose and order, held his fear in check. – I’ll recount everything and put the sum back on the books. It seems there’s even a little more here than was deducted earlier...
ㅤㅤㅤStrahd nodded, having lost all interest in the accountant’s further frantic activity; he cast a brief glance at the books and papers – and, without saying another word, turned and left. His footsteps fell silent the moment he stepped through the door, dissolving into the cold air of the corridor as though he had never touched the floor at all.
ㅤㅤㅤThe air in the room seemed to warm slightly. Lif allowed himself to breathe out, feeling the oppressive weight of the lord’s presence lift from his shoulders.ㅤ
ㅤㅤㅤRahadin remained, his contemplative gaze fixed on Lief. With the elf, despite the spiritual effects that usually surrounded him, the accountant felt far more at ease; it was Rahadin who regularly brought him the new quarterly reports, delivery and expense ledgers, and listened to his pedantic requests for stationary supplies. And, incidentally, he had just come up with another one.
— These are very good quills, — Lief nodded towards the table, his voice returning to its usual, businesslike tone, — But they’d do with a bit of treatment. Boil them in lye, temper them in hot sand. For strength. A fresh quill is too flexible. Well, you know.
ㅤㅤㅤRahadin nodded silently, gathering the feathers again. He knew, of course.
ㅤㅤㅤBoth how to prepare feathers for writing – and why these had ended up here untreated.
ㅤㅤㅤWhen the chamberlain left, silence reigned once more behind the door, broken only by the rustle of paper, the jingle of coins being counted, and quiet muttering. Lief was writing something down again, checking it, whispering numbers and dates under his breath as if in prayer. Perhaps for him, this was the only prayer possible.
ㅤㅤㅤThe stone arches echoed hollowly with every step Rahadin took, and only the occasional torch dispelled the darkness with a soft, flickering light. He had almost reached the corner when a quiet chuckle drifted down from somewhere above – and Strahd descended the wall with a strolling demeanour, moving with grace. He walked upon the stone as though the laws of gravity did not apply to him at all, and essentially, that was the case. A familiar, barely perceptible smirk graced his lips.
ㅤㅤㅤRahadin tilted his head slightly, not the least bit surprised. He knew his master’s ways well, and it was clear that the brief exchange with the accountant had amused him.
— Did he ask you to clean the feathers? — asked Strahd, jumping down onto the even floor. — Do you think he has any idea whose they are?
— I think so, — Rahadin shrugged calmly. — He just doesn’t want to talk about it, or even think about it. He hasn’t tried to escape for decades, yet you keep provoking him. You know, my lord… sometimes I really don’t understand how you feel about him.
ㅤㅤㅤStrahd scoffed, as if savouring the question, then looked towards the corridor, at the end of which stood the door to the accountant’s office.
— Oh, I value and respect him greatly. He’s an interesting specimen, — he said, and there was almost a flicker of pride in his voice. — Gifted, without a doubt. Once he lived amongst people who couldn’t appreciate his meticulousness, his precision, his drive for order. And here he has finally found his place. He believes he is serving a great cause. That his figures are the only thing keeping Barovia from chaos. You know, he’s happy. At least, so he thinks.
ㅤㅤㅤThere was unmistakable irony in his words – though it was almost approving.
ㅤㅤㅤ– And he certainly does make a difference, though Barovia somehow managed to exist before him, and will continue to exist after.
ㅤㅤㅤRahadin nodded in agreement.
ㅤㅤㅤ“I won’t deny that I felt a bit better after I was able to hand over some of the most tedious accounting tasks to him. It’s clearly not the sort of work that I’d enjoy, after all.”
ㅤㅤㅤHe suddenly thought that everyone in Barovia clings to whatever keeps them on the edge. Some cling to faith. Some to fear. Some to struggle. Some to servitude. And Lief clings to accounting. Perhaps it is a little touching, when one thinks about it.
ㅤㅤㅤIn the meantime, Strahd, having deemed his reply sufficient, took a step back and simply vanished from sight without so much as a goodbye, much like a shadow merging into the darkness. Perhaps he would reappear in due course to continue the conversation, or perhaps not. For a while, Rahadin, long accustomed to such things, stood motionless, gazing thoughtfully into the void where his master had been but a moment ago.
ㅤㅤㅤHe was vaguely troubled by the word ‘specimen’. Since finding himself in the Mists, Strahd had gradually acquired the habit of seeking out and gathering ‘gems’ in his castle – the talented, the broken, the outcasts, the mad – to make them his servants. Perhaps he was unconsciously mimicking the Mists themselves, who are so fond of finding souls with peculiar flaws and placing them in their gigantic doll’s house. Every immortal being amuses itself as best it can, after all. Count Strahd is no exception.
ㅤㅤㅤHe very much wanted to call out to the Count, to continue the conversation, to ask: “And how do you feel about me, my lord? Am I also part of your collection of oddities?”
ㅤㅤㅤOf course, he didn’t say this out loud. Experience and centuries of caution told him – that was a bad question. Strahd probably wouldn’t lie to him, but that would only make things worse. He’d probably say something like: “Oh no, you’re not part of my collection at all! After all, you’re part of my father’s collection.” And he’d laugh—in his own unique way, with that laugh that once rang out long ago beneath the clear blue sky of the now-lost old world, when the young prince used to tease his overly prim foster brother.
ㅤㅤㅤRahadin sighed and walked further down the corridor, the steady sound of his footsteps echoing once more beneath the arches. He had to finish with the feathers. And then, perhaps, draft and send the Martikovs a formal letter of condolence. The Count also found it highly amusing to politely send such messages to the families of Barovia natives who had dared to oppose him.
ㅤㅤㅤAfter all, Rahadin’s sacred duty had always been to serve the von Zaroviches, not to understand all their whims.
