Session 8: The Price of War

The party's second journey into the Tome of Strahd began where the last had ended—on a battlefield drenched in blood and fury. The vision solidified around them, and once again they found themselves not as adventurers of Barovia, but as lieutenants in Strahd's army, clad in plate armor emblazoned with the von Zarovich crest. The goal was clear: storm Castle Argynvost and drive the Order of the Silver Dragon from the land that would become Barovia.

The Assault on Argynvost

The party surged up the steep path toward the castle alongside their fellow soldiers, dodging massive boulders that the defenders rolled down the hillside. Through quick reflexes and desperate scrambling, they crested the rise to find themselves face-to-face with Sir Godfrey Gwilym, a formidable general of the Order, flanked by three guards responsible for the boulder assault.

Sir Godfrey cut an imposing figure. His shield bore the sigil of the Silver Dragon, and in his hand he wielded a magnificent short sword—its hilt sculpted to resemble silver dragon wings, its pommel shaped like a dragon's head clutching a black opal between its teeth. He and his men stood ready for battle, and the general's voice rang out across the hilltop: "By the order of the Silver Dragon, we will wipe you and your forces from this plane of existence!"

A Failed Parley

Lorian, ever the tactician, attempted something unexpected. Speaking in Draconic, he called out to the general, hoping that shared language might create doubt or open dialogue. "I do not wish to fight you," he said in the guttural tongue of his ancestors.

Sir Godfrey's response was immediate and contemptuous: "Your lies won't work on me, von Zarovich scum. No matter what language you speak."

The attempt at diplomacy had failed spectacularly. The die was cast, and steel would answer where words could not.

The Battle Turns Dire

What followed was a brutal, grinding battle. The party fought with everything they had, but Sir Godfrey proved to be a devastating opponent. His longsword glowed with radiant energy as he called upon divine power to smite his foes, each strike empowered by the righteous fury of his order.

Gowain unleashed searing flames with Burning Hands, reducing the first guard to ash before he could close the distance. Getafix summoned a field of Spike Growth, transforming the battlefield into a treacherous maze of camouflaged thorns that tore at anyone who dared cross it. The second guard fell trying to navigate the deadly terrain, impaled by spikes with each agonizing step.

But Sir Godfrey was no mere soldier. He waded through the spike growth, accepting the pain as the price of reaching his enemies. His first target was Getafix, whose symbiotic mushroom sprouted from his forehead as he transformed into his most powerful form. The druid's necrotic-infused strikes damaged the general, but not enough. Sir Godfrey's blade found its mark again and again, divine light searing through Getafix's defenses.

Gowain stepped forward, channeling his god's power through guiding bolts and warding flares of holy light, but the general's constitution was ironclad. He shrugged off flames, endured radiant punishment, and pressed his advantage with terrifying efficiency.

The Tide Turns
One by one, the party fell. Getafix went down to a vicious divine smite. Gowain, after burning through his spell slots trying to keep his allies alive, finally succumbed to the general's relentless assault. Even Lorian, who had tried to avoid the conflict, was forced to engage—but his crossbow bolts and desperate strikes couldn't stop what was coming. He soon was struck down, coming only to the brink of death.
As his vision faded, Lorian's last moments of consciousness saw Ireena Kolyana rushing in vain toward Gwilym, rapier in hand and fear and determination in her eyes.

Aftermath of Battle

When Lorian's eyes opened again, the battle had moved on. He found himself bloodied and alone, the distant clang of steel echoing from closer to the castle. Around him lay the dead—soldiers of both armies scattered across the killing ground.

He staggered to his feet and immediately searched for his companions. What he found shattered his heart.

Ireena lay unconscious nearby, breathing shallowly but alive. But Getafix and Gowain—his friends, his fellow adventurers—were dead. Their bodies lay still and cold among the fallen.

Sir Godfrey, too, had fallen. His body lay further up the road, a river of blood staining the earth around him. Weakened by his fight with the party, he had evidently been struck down by another of Strahd's soldiers before he could retreat to safety.

The Silver Dragon

As Lorian stood in shock, a cacophony of thunderous booms beat against his eardrums. A cold shiver ran down his spine, emanating from the castle high on the hill. Then came a blood-curdling roar that silenced the entire battlefield.

Lorian's gaze was drawn skyward.

There, cresting the turrets of Castle Argynvost with wings spread wide to catch the sun, was Argynvost himself—the silver dragon. His scales gleamed like starlight, his presence both terrible and magnificent. This was the true power of the Order of the Silver Dragon made manifest.

And then Strahd's voice returned, echoing through the vision with a weight of centuries:

"I was the warrior. I was good and just. I thundered across the land like the wrath of a just god. But the war years and the killing years wore down my soul as the wind wears stone into sand."

Beyond the Veil

While Lorian witnessed the dragon's fury, Getafix and Gowain found themselves in a very different place.

Death had claimed them, and darkness surrounded their spirits. But instead of the astral planes or the realms of the gods they might have expected, they found themselves in a strange, liminal space. They existed as wraith-like forms, barely aware, their sense of self fading like mist in sunlight.

Then, from the void, came a cold breath on the back of their necks. A whisper at the edge of hearing.

Before each of them materialized a set of amber doors—beautiful, terrible, and utterly out of place in the emptiness of death.

A voice spoke, smooth and ancient, offering each a choice:

"What a pity. You had such promise. This may not be the end. I will make you a deal. You may have a piece of me. But it will come at a cost."

Getafix's Choice

Getafix, the wild druid who had always belonged to the woods and the natural world, looked upon the amber doors with suspicion. He heard the voice's offer: "I could make use of you. Would you like to go on?"

The druid's answer was simple and true to who he was: "I go to the woods. The only place I'll ever be."

The voice chuckled softly, almost fondly, at this defiance. The amber doors dissipated into mist, and so did Getafix's spirit. He passed beyond the veil, choosing whatever lay in wait for him over a dark force's bargain.

Gowain's Bargain

Gowain's conviction was not so strong. The cleric, who had fought so hard to save his companions, who still had so much he wanted to accomplish, stood before the amber doors and weighed his options. He had full recollection of himself—of his mission, his friends, his purpose.

When the moment came, Gowain reached for the handle and pulled the amber doors open.

He stepped through and accepted the bargain.

Darkness swallowed him whole, and the next thing he knew, he was lying on the floor of the Blue Water Inn, gasping for breath.

Return to Reality

The mists of the tome released their hold, and Lorian found himself back in the room at the inn, barely alive. Around him lay the bodies of his fallen companions—and then, impossibly, Gowain stirred and drew breath.

Ireena, too, began to wake from unconsciousness.

But Getafix did not move. His spirit had chosen another path.

The party that had entered the vision together would not be the same party that emerged from it. Strahd, however indirectly, had claimed one of them.

And somewhere in the void between life and death, behind a set of amber doors, something dark and ancient had bonded itself to a certain Cleric of Light.

Session Notes

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