From wagon crashes to mob justice, Barovia trades one fallen paladin for a halfling with a grudge — and nothing is ever as simple as it seems. Barovia wastes nothing. Not even grief. Barely half an hour after Sören Ironwood, our radiant paladin, was executed by Vallaki’s Reeve, the survivors were forced to stagger forward without him. Traxidor the Cleric, Radley the Eldritch Knight, and Daermon the Arcane Trickster retreated to the Blue Water Inn, once a lively place but now silent under Lady Wachter’s curfew. They tried to distract themselves by debating Madam Eva’s fortune-telling. The cards — the Tax Collector, the Bishop, the Executioner, the Mercenary, the Seer — dangled in memory, half-cryptic, half-ominous. Traxidor obsessed over the Amber Temple, Radley mocked fate, Daermon played catch-up. But amid their grief, Daermon had a rogue’s realization: the Reeve’s men were hauling Vallakovich possessions by wagon. Maybe the Abbot’s wedding dress was already on one. Why storm another fortress when you could steal a cart? Daermon sprinted after a passing wagon, vaulted onto the tailgate, and wedged himself underneath. To panic the teamster, he cast Minor Illusion , conjuring the roar of a bear. The horses bolted. A spectral Mage Hand released the brake, and suddenly the cart careened through Vallaki’s streets, bouncing furniture and paintings into the mud. For a few glorious seconds, the trick worked. Then Daermon miscalculated. He locked the wheels too hard, and the wagon jackknifed. Horses tumbled and broke bones. Daermon rolled out battered but intact. Amid the wreckage, lying improbably untouched, was Lady Vallakovich’s wedding dress. He grabbed it and vanished before the townsfolk could swarm. A grim prize, bought with shattered animals. While Daermon played daredevil, another soul entered the stage: Urihorn Tenpenny , a halfling Beastmaster ranger from Falkovnia, accompanied by his loyal beast. Halflings are often underestimated — hobbit-sized, quick-footed, more grit than glory. Urihorn had no illusions about Barovia. He bribed his way through Vallaki’s gates, ignored mockery, and walked into the Blue Water Inn. There he met Rictavio, the eccentric entertainer. Except Rictavio shimmered into his true form: Rudolf van Richten , the legendary vampire hunter. Van Richten warned Urihorn that Strahd was no ordinary vampire — he was bound to the land, necromancer and tyrant both, aided by beasts and Vistani alike. He handed Urihorn a potion of greater healing and one warning: avoid a band of adventurers suspected of serving Strahd. Of course, those adventurers were Radley, Traxidor, and Daermon. Fate laughs loudest in Barovia. While Daermon slinked back with the dress and Urihorn sized up new allies, Radley and Traxidor drew too much attention. Townsfolk spotted them and shouted: “Those are the strangers Lady Wachter wants!” A mob surged, guards in tow. This was not a duel against monsters but a nightmare of pitchforks and fists. Radley fought with steel and firebolts, Traxidor blasted Thunderwave to scatter attackers and poured healing magic to keep them standing. They even flung coins into the dirt as bribes. Nothing worked. Every guard cut down was replaced by half a dozen zealots. Numbers crushed them. The mob swarmed, bodies pressed in, and the two heroes were beaten into submission. Captured, trophies for Vallaki’s new order. Back at the inn, Daermon and Urihorn shook hands, unaware their friends were already in chains. If Session Sixteen was gothic tragedy, Session Seventeen was chaos wrapped in cruelty. Daermon’s runaway wagon gambit gave us comedy; the mob gave us horror. The party lost Sören but gained Urihorn. They recovered the wedding dress but lost Radley and Traxidor. They met Van Richten, but under suspicion of being Strahd’s spies. In Barovia, victory is always poisoned.
