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The stone steps descend twenty feet to a cellar that contains ten barrels of wine and an L-shaped wooden rack packed with wine bottles.
The wooden stairs climb twenty feet to a loft with a pitched roof and a door in the center of the south wall. Unlit lanterns hang from the rafters, and a rope dangles from a bronze bell lodged in the belfry thirty feet overhead. The room is filled with the sound of beautiful music—a melody so enchanting that it adds a bit of much-needed warmth to the otherwise freezing room.
A black shroud covers a humanoid shape lying on a wooden table. The music does nothing to stir it.
A cot heaped with furs rests in the northeast corner, surrounded by empty wine bottles. An oil lamp burns atop a table nearby, silhouetting a squat creature that has two heads. It sits on the edge of the cot with a viol between its legs. With a crustacean, clawlike appendage, it grasps the neck of the instrument while running a bow gently across its strings with its human hand.
Beneath the shroud lies a creature made of stitched-together body parts. You recognize some of these parts as your own!
Your eyes play tricks, for what truly lies atop the table are chopped-up body parts, all of them taken from cold, gray, lifeless women, all of them waiting to be stitched together into something horrid.
Scarecrows line the abbey walls, looking outward. They wear tattered chain shirts and carry spears with rusty heads. The courtyard below is blanketed with fog.
Bunk beds that have disintegrated with age lie in heaps along the walls of this moldy, thirty-foot-square room.Long ago, the abbey employed guards to defend its walls, and they were quartered here.
A wooden counter shaped like an L stands at the front of this spacious office. All the other furniture has rotted away, leaving heaps of moldy wood and faded cloth.
This spacious chamber contains bed frames of wrought iron arranged in two neat rows. Cobwebs and bits of rotten mattress cling to each frame.
Three doors are spaced along the south wall, each with a plaque mounted on it. From west to east, the plaques read OPERATING ROOM, NURSERY, and MORGUE.
A bloodstained table stands in the middle of this otherwise empty room.
A scream fills the room—a scream that echoes through time. It is followed by other, fainter screams of those who died under the knife. The screams fade until they are nothing more than haunting memories.
This room contains the wreckage of old wooden cribs.
A raven perches on the windowsill of this otherwise empty room.
The road from the village climbs above the mist to the wide ledge on which the abbey is perched. A light dusting of snow covers the trees and the rocky earth.
The gravel road passes between two small, stone outbuildings, to either side of which stretches a five-foot-high, three-foot-thick wall of jumbled stones held together with mortar. Blocking the road are iron gates attached to the outbuildings by rusty hinges. They appear to be unlocked. Viewed through the gates, the stone abbey stands quiet. Its two wings are joined by a fifteen-foot-high curtain wall. A belfry protrudes from the rooftop of the closer north wing, which also sports a chimney billowing gray smoke.
Stunted pine trees grow out of the rocky earth in the graveyard near the foundation of the abbey’s north wing. The windows of the structure are cracked panes of leaded glass. Ancient gravestones burst from a thin crust of snow in the yard. Beyond the low wall that surrounds the graveyard, the ground falls away. The village lies four hundred feet below, and the view is breathtaking.
A ray of golden sunlight breaks through the clouds to the west and shines upon the grave. The fog and the gloom shrink from its brilliance as the sunlight causes the gravestone to crack and crumble, revealing a ring within.
A gatehouse stands at the entrance to the abbey gardens.
Nestled between rising and plunging cliffs are four rectangular garden plots enclosed by a five-foot-high wall of mortared stones. White rabbits nibble on turnips uprooted by the cold. Two lifeless scarecrows with stuffed gullets and sackcloth heads hang from wooden crosses pounded into the cold, hard earth.
The abbey’s east wing looms over the garden, its shattered windows dark and disturbing. A door leads into this forlorn edifice, which apparently isn’t as abandoned as one might have hoped. From within come the laughter and the wailing of things that should not be.
A fifteen-foot-high curtain wall joins the abbey’s two wings. Behind its battlements, two guards stand at attention, their features obscured by fog. Below them, set into the wall, is a pair of ten-foot-tall, wooden doors reinforced with bands of steel. To the right of these doors, mounted on the wall, is a tarnished copper plaque.
The thick fog that fills this courtyard swirls, as if eager to escape. The courtyard is surrounded by a fifteen-foot-high curtain wall on which stand several guards with their backs to you—or so it seemed at first. It’s clear now that these guards are merely scarecrows.
Wooden doors to the north and east lead to the abbey’s two wings. In the center of the courtyard is a stone well fitted with an iron winch, to which a rope and bucket are attached. Along the perimeter, tucked under the overhanging wall, are several stone sheds with padlocked wooden doors, as well as three shallow alcoves that contain wooden troughs. Two wooden posts pounded into the rocky earth have iron rings bolted to them, and chained to one of them is a short humanoid with bat wings and spider mandibles.
The quiet is shattered by horrible screams coming from the sheds.
This shed holds the shattered remains of several chicken coops. Shackled to the back wall is a wretched humanoid with bestial deformities.
The creature chained to the post flaps its leathery wings and takes to the air, but doesn’t get far before its chains go taut. She flutters about madly, screaming nonsense.
Gentle-sounding music trickles down from above, played on a single stringed instrument by some unseen master.
The ground floor is one large, fifty-foot-square room with arched, leaded glass windows. A cauldron sits on an iron rack above a fire in a hearth, while above the fireplace mantel hangs a golden disk engraved with the symbol of the sun. In one corner, a wooden staircase climbs to the upper level, while in another corner a stone staircase descends into darkness.
Several chairs surround a wooden table that stretches nearly the length of the room. Wooden dishware and gold candelabras are neatly arranged on the table, standing behind which is a young woman with alabaster skin dressed in a torn and soiled red gown. Her auburn hair is neatly bundled so as not to touch her soft shoulders. She seems lost in her own thoughts.
A handsome young man in a brown monk’s robe gently takes the woman by her hand. A painted wooden holy symbol that depicts the sun hangs from a chain around his neck. He moves with the grace of a saint.
The Abbot is a deva in disguise (see “Something Old” in Special Events: Chapter 8). He wears a holy symbol of the Morninglord around his neck. The woman in the tattered red gown is Vasilka, a flesh golem that has been exquisitely put together to serve as Strahd’s bride. Characters within 5 feet of Vasilka can see the seams in her powdered skin where disparate body parts stolen from Krezkite graves have been carefully stitched together.
This room used to be an office, as evidenced by the remains of a desk and a chair, both of which have been smashed to pieces. A hallway to the south leads to a staircase going up. A dark passage to the east is full of unnatural whispers, mad laughter, and bestial odors.
This lightless corridor has multiple doors behind which lie creatures that shatter the quiet with their mad cackles and whispered curses. The stench is overpowering.
Even in the gloom, you can make out a monstrous shape lumbering down the hall. When the darkness can no longer hide its true nature, your eyes are treated to a terrifying, 7-foot-tall assemblage of human body parts.This flesh golem attacks anyone who isn’t in the company of the Abbot or Clovin Belview.
This room was once a shared bedchamber, but its furnishings have been destroyed. Three shrieking mongrels cower in the shadowy northwest corner. One of them cradles something shiny.
Four mongrel creatures brawl amid the wreckage of this bedchamber while a fifth watches and cackles behind a life-sized, painted wooden statue of a saintly woman in robes.
Seven mongrels are seated in the middle of this room, forming a ring. They appear to be chanting a spell.
Nine mongrel creatures stand in the middle of this room, starting at the doorway in silence with hungry looks in their eyes.
This room is packed wall to wall with mongrels wallowing in their own filth. The floor is strewn with gnawed bones.
Eight mongrels caper about the wreckage of this bedchamber while singing a rhyme. One of them holds up a glittering gold statuette as it leads this mad parade.
Filthy mongrels cradle screaming young in the debris-strewn corners of this room while several more hoot, holler, roll on the floor, and whack each other with sticks.
This room contains a fort made out of piled bits of shattered furniture and torn draperies. From within the fort, you hear a mischievous cackle.
| Item | Cost | Weight |
|---|---|---|
| Abacus | 2 gp | 2 lb. |
| Acid (vial) | 25 gp | 1 lb. |
| Alchemist’s fire (flask) | 50 gp | 1 lb. |
| Ammunition | ||
| Arrows (20) | 1 gp | 1 lb. |
| Blowgun needles (50) | 1 gp | 1 lb. |
| Crossbow bolts (20) | 1 gp | 1� lb. |
| Sling bullets (20) | 4 cp | 1� lb. |
| Antitoxin (vial) | 50 gp | — |
| Arcane focus | ||
| Crystal | 10 gp | 1 lb. |
| Orb | 20 gp | 3 lb. |
| Rod | 10 gp | 2 lb. |
| Staff | 5 gp | 4 lb. |
| Wand | 10 gp | 1 lb. |
| Backpack | 2 gp | 5 lb. |
| Ball bearings (bag of 1,000) | 1 gp | 2 lb. |
| Barrel | 2 gp | 70 lb. |
| Basket | 4 sp | 2 lb. |
| Bedroll | 1 gp | 7 lb. |
| Bell | 1 gp | — |
| Blanket | 5 sp | 3 lb. |
| Block and tackle | 1 gp | 5 lb. |
| Book | 25 gp | 5 lb. |
| Bottle, glass | 2 gp | 2 lb. |
| Bucket | 5 cp | 2 lb. |
| Caltrops (bag of 20) | 1 gp | 2 lb. |
| Candle | 1 cp | — |
| Case, crossbow bolt | 1 gp | 1 lb. |
| Case, map or scroll | 1 gp | 1 lb. |
| Chain (10 feet) | 5 gp | 10 lb. |
| Chalk (1 piece) | 1 cp | — |
| Chest | 5 gp | 25 lb. |
| Clothes, common | 5 sp | 3 lb. |
| Clothes, costume | 5 gp | 4 lb. |
| Clothes, fine | 15 gp | 6 lb. |
| Clothes, traveler’s | 2 gp | 4 lb. |
| Component pouch | 25 gp | 2 lb. |
| Crowbar | 2 gp | 5 lb. |
| Druidic focus | ||
| Sprig of mistletoe | 1 gp | — |
| Totem | 1 gp | — |
| Wooden staff | 5 gp | 4 lb. |
| Yew wand | 10 gp | 1 lb. |
| Fishing tackle | 1 gp | 4 lb. |
| Flask or tankard | 2 cp | 1 lb. |
| Grappling hook | 2 gp | 4 lb. |
| Hammer | 1 gp | 3 lb. |
| Hammer, sledge | 2 gp | 10 lb. |
| Holy symbol | ||
| Amulet | 5 gp | 1 lb. |
| Emblem | 5 gp | — |
| Reliquary | 5 gp | 2 lb. |
| Holy water (flask) | 25 gp | 1 lb. |
| Hourglass | 25 gp | 1 lb. |
| Hunting trap | 5 gp | 25 lb. |
| Ink (1 ounce bottle) | 10 gp | — |
| Ink pen | 2 cp | — |
| Jug or pitcher | 2 cp | 4 lb. |
| Kit, climber’s | 25 gp | 12 lb. |
| Kit, disguise | 25 gp | 3 lb. |
| Kit, forgery | 15 gp | 5 lb. |
| Kit, herbalism | 5 gp | 3 lb. |
| Kit, healer’s | 5 gp | 3 lb. |
| Kit, mess | 2 sp | 1 lb. |
| Kit, poisoner’s | 50 gp | 2 lb. |
| Ladder (10-foot) | 1 sp | 25 lb. |
| Lamp | 5 sp | 1 lb. |
| Lantern, bullseye | 10 gp | 2 lb. |
| Lantern, hooded | 5 gp | 2 lb. |
| Lock | 10 gp | 1 lb. |
| Magnifying glass | 100 gp | — |
| Manacles | 2 gp | 6 lb. |
| Mirror, steel | 5 gp | 1/2 lb. |
| Oil (flask) | 1 sp | 1 lb. |
| Paper (one sheet) | 2 sp | — |
| Parchment (one sheet) | 1 sp | — |
| Perfume (vial) | 5 gp | — |
| Pick, miner’s | 2 gp | 10 lb. |
| Piton | 5 cp | 1/4 lb. |
| Poison, basic (vial) | 100 gp | — |
| Pole (10-foot) | 5 cp | 7 lb. |
| Pot, iron | 2 gp | 10 lb. |
| Potion of healing | 50 gp | 1/2 lb. |
| Pouch | 5 sp | 1 lb. |
| Quiver | 1 gp | 1 lb. |
| Ram, portable | 4 gp | 35 lb. |
| Rations (1 day) | 5 sp | 2 lb. |
| Robes | 1 gp | 4 lb. |
| Rope, hempen (50 feet) | 1 gp | 10 lb. |
| Rope, silk (50 feet) | 10 gp | 5 lb. |
| Sack | 1 cp | 1/2 lb. |
| Scale, merchant’s | 5 gp | 3 lb. |
| Sealing wax | 5 sp | — |
| Shovel | 2 gp | 5 lb. |
| Signal whistle | 5 cp | — |
| Signet ring | 5 gp | — |
| Soap | 2 cp | — |
| Spellbook | 50 gp | 3 lb. |
| Spikes, iron (10) | 1 gp | 5 lb. |
| Spyglass | 1,000 gp | 1 lb. |
| Tent, two-person | 2 gp | 20 lb. |
| Tinderbox | 5 sp | 1 lb. |
| Torch | 1 cp | 1 lb. |
| Vial | 1 gp | — |
| Waterskin | 2 sp | 5 lb. (full) |
| Whetstone | 1 cp | 1 lb. |
| Container | Capacity |
|---|---|
| Backpack* | 1 cubic foot/30 pounds of gear |
| Barrel | 40 gallons liquid, 4 cubic feet solid |
| Basket | 2 cubic feet/40 pounds of gear |
| Bottle | 1� pints liquid |
| Bucket | 3 gallons liquid, 1/2 cubic foot solid |
| Chest | 12 cubic feet/300 pounds of gear |
| Flask or tankard | 1 pint liquid |
| Jug or pitcher | 1 gallon liquid |
| Pot, iron | 1 gallon liquid |
| Pouch | 1/5 cubic foot/6 pounds of gear |
| Sack | 1 cubic foot/30 pounds of gear |
| Vial | 4 ounces liquid |
| Waterskin | 4 pints liquid |
| Liquid | Max Amount |
| Acid | 8 ounces |
| Basic poison | 1/2 ounce |
| Beer | 4 gallons |
| Honey | 1 gallon |
| Mayonnaise | 2 gallons |
| Oil | 1 quart |
| Vinegar | 2 gallons |
| Water, fresh | 8 gallons |
| Water, salt | 12 gallons |
| Wine | 1 gallon |
Above the tree line, carved into the side of a rocky mountain spur, is a wide, torchlit cave that looks like the gaping maw of a great wolf.
High above the river valley juts a quiet promontory upon which looms a sepulchral mansion, its turrets capped with fairytale cones, its towers lined with sculpted battlements. A third of the structure has collapsed, as has part of the roof, but the rest appears intact. A dark, octagonal tower rises above the surrounding architecture.
Out of the fog comes a distant peal of thunder, quickly accompanied by the howling of wolves in the woods below, but the house stands silent, seeming like the fossilized remains of some long-dead thing smote upon the mountainside.
The trail hugs the river for several miles. The dirt and grass soon turn to marsh as the trail dissolves into spongy earth pockmarked with stands of tall reeds and pools of stagnant water. A thick shroud of fog covers all. Scattered throughout the marsh are old peasant cottages, their walls covered with black mildew, their roofs mostly caved in. These decrepit dwellings seem to hunker down in the mire, as though they have long since given up on escaping the thick mud. Everywhere you look, black clouds of flies dart about, hungry for blood.
The fog is much thinner on the far side of the river, where a light flashes amid a dark ring of standing stones.
You come to a cold mountain lake enclosed by misty woods and rocky bluffs. Thick fog creeps across the dark, still waters. The trail ends at a grass-covered causeway that stretches a hundred yards across the lake to a flat, marshy island with a stone tower on it. The tower is old and decrepit, with collapsing scaffolds clinging to one side where a large gash has split the wall. Timeworn griffon statues, their wings and flanks covered with moss, perch atop buttresses that support the walls.
Parked near the base of the tower, within sight of the entrance, is a barrel-topped wagon spattered with mud.
The Old Svalich Road meanders into a valley watched over by dark, brooding mountains to the north and south. The woods recede, revealing a sullen mountain burg surrounded by a wooden palisade. Thick fog presses up against this wall, as though looking for a way inside, hoping to catch the town aslumber.
The dirt road ends at a set of sturdy iron gates with a pair of shadowy figures standing behind them. Planted in the ground and flanking the road outside the gates are a half-dozen pikes with wolves’ heads impaled on them.
Tall shapes loom out of the dense fog that surrounds everything. The muddy ground underfoot gives way to slick, wet cobblestones. The tall shapes become recognizable as village dwellings. The windows of each house stare out from pools of blackness. No sound cuts the silence except for mournful sobbing that echoes through the streets from a distance.
| d20 | Occupants |
| 1-3 | None |
| 4-8 | 2d4 swarms of rats |
| 9-16 | Barovian villagers |
| 17-20 | 2d4 Strahd zombies |
After a half mile, the road becomes a muddy trail that meanders through the woods, descending gradually until the trees part, revealing a mist-shrouded meadow. The trail splits. One branch heads west into the valley, and the other leads south into dark woods. A wooden signpost at the intersection points west and reads, “Vineyard.”
A light drizzle begins to fall. Unpainted fences blindly follow the trail, which skirts north of a sprawling vineyard before bending south toward a stately building. The fog takes on ghostly forms as it swirls between the neatly tended rows of grapevines. Here and there, you see rope-handled half-barrels used for hauling grapes. North of the trail is a large stand of trees. A man wearing a dark cloak and cowl stands at the edge of the trees, beckoning you.
Situated in the midst of the vineyard, the winery is an old, two-story stone building with multiple entrances, thick ivy covering every wall, and iron fencing along its roofline. The trail ends at an open loading dock on the ground floor.
A wooden stable of more recent construction is attached to the east side of the winery, next to the loading dock. West of the winery is a crumbling well and a wooden outhouse.
You hear the rustle of dead vines all around you. Inhuman shapes emerge from the vineyard, their limbs cracking as they trudge forth through the mist and rain.
| Round | Creatures |
| 3 | 1 druid and 24 twig blights (from area W9) |
| 4 | 1 druid and 5 needle blights (from area W14) |
| 5 | 1 druid and 2 vine blights (from area W20) |
The Old Svalich Road transitions here from being a winding path through the Balinok Mountains to a lazy trail that hugs the mountainside as it descends into a fog-filled valley. In the heart of the valley you see a walled town near the shores of a great mountain lake, its waters dark and still. A branch in the road leads west to a promontory, atop which is perched a dilapidated stone windmill, its warped wooden vanes stripped bare.
The onion-domed edifice leans forward and to one side, as though trying to turn away from the stormy gray sky. You see gray brick walls and dirt-covered windows on the upper floors. A decrepit wooden platform encircles the windmill above a flimsy doorway leading to the building’s interior. Perched on a wooden beam above the door is a raven. It hops about and squawks at you, seemingly agitated.
Black pools of water stand like dark mirrors in and around the muddy roadway. Giant trees loom on both sides of the road, their branches clawing at the mist.
The fog spills out of the forest to swallow up the road behind you. Ahead, jutting from the impenetrable woods on both sides of the road, are high stone buttresses looming gray in the fog. Huge iron gates hang on the stonework. Dew clings with cold tenacity to the rusted bars. Two headless statues of armed guardians flank the gate, their heads now lying among the weeds at their feet. They greet you only with silence.
Towering trees, whose tops are lost in heavy gray mist, block out all but a death-gray light. The tree trunks are unnaturally close to one another, and the woods have the silence of a forgotten grave, yet exude the feeling of an unvoiced scream.
You catch the scent of death on the air.
The foul scent leads you to a human corpse half-buried in the underbrush about fifteen feet from the road. The young man appears to be a commoner. His muddy clothes are torn and raked with claw marks. Crows have been at the body, which is surrounded by the paw prints. The man has obviously been dead for several days. He holds a crumpled envelope in one hand.
This river flows as clear as a blue winter sky through the valley.
An old wooden gallows creaks in a chill wind that blows down from the high ground to the west. A frayed length of rope dances from its beam. The well-worn road splits here, and a signpost opposite the gallows points off in three directions: BAROVIA VILLAGE to the east, TSER POOL to the northwest, and RAVENLOFT/VALLAKI to the southwest. The northwest fork slants down and disappears into the trees, while the southwest fork clings to an upward slope. Across from the gallows, a low wall, crumbling in places, partially encloses a small plot of graves shrouded in fog.
You hear a creaking noise behind you, coming from the gallows. Where there was nothing before now hangs a lifeless, gray body. The breeze turns the hanged figure slowly, so that it can fix its dead eyes upon you.
The road gradually disappears and is replaced by a twisted, muddy path through the trees. Deep ruts in the earth are evidence of the comings and goings of wagons.
The canopy of mist and branches suddenly gives way to black clouds boiling far above. There is a clearing here, next to a river that widens to form a small lake several hundred feet across. Five colorful round tents, each ten feet in diameter, are pitched outside a ring of four barrel-topped wagons. A much larger tent stands near the shore of the lake, its sagging form lit from within. Near this tent, eight unbridled horses drink from the river.
The mournful strains of an accordion clash with the singing of several brightly clad figures around bonfire. A footpath continues beyond this encampment, meandering north between the river and the forest’s edge.
“A mighty wizard came to this land over a year ago. I remember him like it was yesterday. He stood exactly where you’re standing. A very charismatic man, he was. He thought he could rally the people of Barovia against the devil Strahd. He stirred them with thoughts of revolt and bore them to the castle en masse.
“When the vampire appeared, the wizard’s peasant army fled in terror. A few stood their ground and were never seen again.
“The wizard and the vampire cast spells at each other. Their battle flew from the courtyards of Ravenloft to a precipice overlooking the falls. I saw the battle with my own eyes. Thunder shook the mountainside, and great rocks tumbled down upon the wizard, yet by his magic he survived. Lightning from the heavens struck the wizard, and again he stood his ground. But when the devil Strahd fell upon him, the wizard’s magic couldn’t save him. I saw him thrown a thousand feet to his death. I climbed down to the river to search for the wizard’s body, to see if, you know, he had anything of value, but the River Ivlis had already spirited him away.”
Magic flames cast a reddish glow over the interior of this tent, revealing a low table covered in a black velvet cloth. Glints of light seem to flash from a crystal ball on the table as a hunched figure peers into its depths. As the crone speaks, her voice crackles like dry weeds. “At last you have arrived!” Cackling laughter bursts like mad lightning from her withered lips.
| d20 | Treasure |
| 1-10 | None |
| 11-13 | Sack of 100 ep (each coin stamped with Strahd’s visage in profile) |
| 14-16 | Pouch containing 4d6 gemstones worth 100 gp each |
| 17-19 | Sack containing 3d6 pieces of cheap jewelry worth 25 gp total and 1d6 pieces of fine jewelry worth 250 gp each |
| 20 | One magic item (roll once on Magic Item Table B) |
You follow the river to the base of a canyon, at the far end of which a great waterfall spills into a pool, billowing forth clouds of cold mist. A great stone bridge spans the canyon nearly one thousand feet overhead.
You follow the dirt road as it clings to the side of a mountain and ends before an arching bridge of mold-encrusted stone that spans a natural chasm. Gargoyles cloaked in black moss perch on the corners of the bridge, their frowns weatherworn. On the mountainous side of the bridge, a waterfall spills into a misty pool nearly a thousand feet below. The pool feeds a river that meanders into the fog-shrouded pines that blanket the valley.
Even here, in the mountains, the forest and the fog are inescapable. Ahead, the dirt road splits in two, widening toward the east. There you see patches of cobblestone, suggesting that the eastern branch was once an important thoroughfare.
Parked at the fork in the road, pointed east, is a large black carriage drawn by two black horses. The horses snort puffs of steamy breath into the chill mountain air. The side door of the carriage swings open silently.
After winding through the forest and craggy mountain peaks, the road takes a sudden turn to the east, and the startling, awesome presence of Castle Ravenloft towers before you. The carriage comes to a dead stop before twin turrets of stone, broken from years of exposure. Beyond these guard towers is the precipice of a fifty-foot-wide, fog-filled chasm that disappears into unknown depths.
A lowered drawbridge of old, shored-up wooden beams stretches across the chasm, between you and the archway to the courtyard. The chains of the drawbridge creak in the wind, their rust-eaten iron straining under the weight. From atop the high walls, stone gargoyles stare at you out of their hollow eye sockets and grin hideously. A rotting wooden portcullis, green with growth, hangs above the entry tunnel. Beyond this location, the main doors of Ravenloft stand open. A rich, warm light spills from within, flooding the courtyard. Torches flutter sadly in sconces on both sides of the open doors.
At the foot of a mountain, nestled in the misty forest, is a large lake. The water is perfectly still and dark, reflecting the black clouds overhead like a monstrous mirror.
Pulled up along the south shore are three small rowboats. A fourth boat can be seen in the middle of the lake, with a lone figure sitting in it, fishing pole in hand.
North of the mountain lake, the trees begin their steady climb up the slopes of Mount Baratok, its monolithic presence oppressive at this distance. The ground here is rocky, uneven, and tiring to navigate. Even the wolves avoid this neck of the woods. Soon, you climb above the blanket of fog that engulfs the valley. Dark thunderclouds roll overhead.
You see an elk standing on a rocky spur about sixty feet away. Suddenly, it assumes the form of a man in tattered black robes. His hair and beard are long, black, and streaked with gray, and his eyes crackle with eldritch power.
The road comes to an X intersection, with branches to the northwest, northeast, southwest, and southeast. The lower half of a snapped wooden signpost thrusts upward at an angle near the eastern elbow of the intersection. The top half of the sign, featuring arms pointing in four directions, lies in the weeds nearby.
You see a weatherworn signpost next to the road. The three arms of the sign point along the three branches of the road. The arm pointing north reads KREZK, and through the woods you can see an arching stone bridge spanning a river. The arm pointing east reads VALLAKI, and the road slopes up gradually in that direction. The arm pointing southwest reads THE WIZARD OF WINES. The road slopes gently downward in that direction.
As you approach this cluster of ruined cottages separated by low stone walls, you see a short stretch of dirt road that has remained intact.
Toward the south end of the village lie the remains of a mansion built on higher ground. It has been reduced to piles of stone and rotting timber. Empty, arched windows stare at you. South of the ruin, an untamed garden runs rampant, surrounded by broken walls that are no longer able to contain it. East of the ruin, someone has erected a crude wooden fence, forming a circular yard in which several goats are penned. Surmounting the fence posts are human skulls.
A ghost takes shape in the fog, assuming the form of a giant of a man, his features mutilated and his entrails hanging out like frayed ropes. Despite its intimidating presence, the apparition has a cringing light in its eyes. “Why do you invade my home? Begone, I beseech you!”
“Travel west. Two hundred paces from the mansion lies a monument to my folly and the treasure you seek.”
Someone has built a ramshackle wooden hut on the stump of what was once an enormous tree. The rotting roots of the stump thrust up from the mire like the legs of a gigantic spider.
An open doorway is visible on one side of the hut, beneath which floats the upside-down, hollowed-out skull of a giant. Flanking the hut’s doorway are two iron cages that dangle like hideous ornaments from the eaves. Scores of ravens are trapped in each one. They squawk and flutter their wings excitedly as you approach.
The hut is fifteen feet on a side and packed with old furniture, including a wooden cot, a wicker cabinet, a slender wardrobe, a wooden table, a stool, a barrel-topped wooden chest reinforced with brass bands, and an iron tub stained with blood. In the middle of the room is a ghastly wooden crib with a small, angelic child sitting in it. All the furnishings except for the crib are bolted to the floor. Beneath the crib, green light seeps up through cracks between the rotting floorboards.
Through the fog you see the empty shell an old stone church, north of which is a cemetery of leaning gravestones enclosed by a disintegrating iron fence. Half of the cemetery has sunk into the mire.
Hidden by the fog and elevated a few feet above the surrounding marsh is a raised plot of land, barely ten feet on a side, enclosed by a disintegrating iron fence. In the center of the plot is a life-sized stone monument carved in the likeness of a kneeling peasant girl clutching a rose. Although her features are gray and weatherworn, she bears a striking resemblance to Ireena Kolyana. Carved into the monument’s base is an epitaph
The croaking frogs and chirping crickets fall silent, and the stench of decay grows strong. You hear the trudge of heavy footsteps through mud and water as bloated gray shapes shamble out of the fog.
A dozen moss-covered menhirs form a near-perfect circle in the spongy earth. These weathered stones range in height from 15 to 18 feet. A couple of them lean inward as if to share some great secret with their inscrutable neighbors. A wary-looking peasant woman lurks behind the tallest stone, a rusty lantern clutched in one gnarled hand and a dagger clutched in the other.
The road branches north and climbs a rocky escarpment, ending at a gatehouse built into a twenty-foot-high wall of stone reinforced with buttresses every fifty feet or so. The wall encloses a settlement on the side of a snow-dusted mountain spur. Beyond the wall you see the tops of snow-covered pines and thin, white wisps of smoke. The somber toll of a bell comes from a stone abbey that clings to the mountainside high above the settlement. The steady chime is inviting—a welcome change from the deathly silence and oppressive fog to which you have grown accustomed. It’s hard to tell at this distance, but there seems to be a switchback road clinging to the cliffs that lead up from the walled settlement to the abbey.
The air grows colder as you approach the walled settlement. Two square towers with peaked roofs flank a stone archway into which is set a pair of twelve-foot-tall, ironbound wooden doors. Carved into the arch above the doors is a name: Krezk.
The walls that extend from the gatehouse are twenty feet high. Atop the parapet you see four figures wearing fur hats and clutching spears. They watch you nervously.
The mist-shrouded village beyond the wall is nothing more than a scattering of humble wooden cottages along dirt roads that stretch between stands of snow-dusted pine trees—so many trees, in fact, as to constitute a forest. To the northeast, gray cliffs rise sharply, and the road winding up to the abbey is easy to see from this vantage.
Even under gray skies, this pool at the north end of the village shimmers and sparkles. Near its shore sits an old gazebo on the verge of collapse. A wooden statue of a mournful, bare-chested man, its paint chipped and faded, stands in the gazebo with arms outstretched, as though waiting to be embraced.
The switchback road that hugs the cliff is ten feet wide and covered with loose gravel and chunks of broken rock. The ascent is slow and somewhat treacherous, and the air grows colder as one nears the top.
The shelf of rock on which the mountain road clings grows narrow. To your left, the icy cliffs rise sharply toward dark, rolling clouds. To your right, the ground falls away into a sea of fog. Ahead, through the wind and snow, you see a high wall of black stone lined with spikes and topped by statues of demonic vultures with horned heads. Set in the center of the wall is a closed iron portcullis, behind which burns a curtain of green flame.
On the other side of the dark wall, gripping the mountain’s edge, is a guard tower of white stone topped by golden statues of mighty warriors.
A cold hearth stands across from the door, the wind howling down its chimney. A stone staircase is on the south wall. Three windows look out over a foggy sea.
The upper level of the tower is an icebox with windows set in almost every wall. A rusted iron ladder bolted to the floor and ceiling leads up to a wooden trapdoor. Mounted above the stone hearth is a dire wolf’s head. The wind coming down the chimney howls in its stead.
Ten-foot-tall, gold-plated statues stand atop the battlements, facing outward. Each one depicts a female human knight holding a lance. The cold wind stirs the snow, under which you see human skeletons clad in rusty mail.
The swirling snow assumes the forms of thin, young women. The wind howls, “Begone! The treasure is ours!”The forms are six snow maidens. The snow maidens don’t speak, nor are they interested in hearing what the characters have to say. If the characters don’t leave at once, the snow maidens attack. When the last snow maiden is defeated, the treasure that the characters seek magically appears in the swirling snow on the rooftop.
The snowy pass comes to a gorge spanned by a stone bridge. At each end of the bridge is a thirty-foot-tall, thirty-foot-wide stone arch. Atop each one are two statues of armored knights on horseback with lances, charging toward one another. The wind bites and howls like wolves as it passes through the gorge.
The low walls that enclose the stone bridge have fallen away in a couple of places, but the bridge appears intact. A black-cloaked rider on a charcoal-colored horse guards the middle of the bridge.
One of the statues atop this arch has crumbled, leaving only the hindquarters of the horse intact. The mountain pass continues beyond.
The sparse light from this building spills out from behind drawn heavy curtains. A sign over the door, creaking on its hinges, reads “Bildrath’s Mercantile.”
A single shaft of light thrusts illumination into the main square, its brightness looking like a solid pillar in the heavy fog. Above the gaping doorway, a sign hangs precariously askew, proclaiming this to be the Blood on the Vine tavern.
A moaning sob floats through the still, gray streets, coloring your thoughts with sadness. The sounds flow from a dark, two-story townhouse.
A weary-looking mansion squats behind a rusting iron fence. The iron gates are twisted and torn. The right gate lies cast aside, while the left swings lazily in the wind. The stuttering squeal and clang of the gate repeats with mindless precision. Weeds choke the grounds and press with menace upon the house itself. Yet, against the walls, the growth has been tramped down to create a path all about the domain. Heavy claw markings have stripped the once-beautiful finish of the walls. Great black marks tell of the fires that have assailed the mansion. Not a pane nor a shard of glass stands in any window. All the windows are barred with planks, each one marked with stains of evil omen.
The interior of the mansion is well furnished, yet the fixtures show signs of great wear. Noticeable oddities are the boarded-up windows and the presence of holy symbols in every room. The burgomaster is in a side drawing room on the floor—lying in a simple wooden coffin surrounded by wilting flowers and a faint odor of decay.
Atop a slight rise, against the roots of the pillar stone that supports Castle Ravenloft, stands a gray, sagging edifice of stone and wood. This church has obviously weathered the assaults of evil for centuries on end and is worn and weary. A bell tower rises toward the back, and flickering light shines through holes in the shingled roof. The rafters strain feebly against their load.
The heavy wooden doors of the church are covered with claw marks and scarred by fire.
The doors open to reveal a ten-foot-wide, twenty-foot-long hall leading to a brightly lit chapel. The hall is unlit and reeks of mildew. Four doors, two on each side of the hall, lead to adjacent chambers.
You can see that the chapel is strewn with debris, and you hear a soft voice from within reciting a prayer. Suddenly, the prayer is blotted out by an inhuman scream that rises up from beneath the wooden floor.
This dirty, lightless room contains a wooden bed with a straw-filled mattress. Mounted above the bed’s headboard is a wooden holy symbol.
This dirty room contains a wooden bed with a straw-filled mattress, next to which rests a small table with an oil lamp burning brightly on it. Mounted above the bed’s headboard is a wooden sun-shaped holy symbol.
Time and neglect have punched holes in the ceiling of this moldy room, which contains a few broken roof shingles amid puddles of water. In one corner, set into the floor, is a heavy wooden trapdoor held shut with a chain and a padlock. A young man’s screams of anguish can be heard through the door.
An old desk and chair stand against the south wall, a wooden holy symbol mounted above them—a sunburst. A ten-foot-long iron rod attached to the north wall stands bare, suggesting a tapestry once hung there. Against the far wall stands a wooden cabinet with four tall doors.
The chapel is a shambles, with overturned and broken pews littering the dusty floor. Dozens of candles mounted in candlesticks and candelabras light every dusty corner in a fervent attempt to rid the chapel of shadows. At the far end of the church sits a claw-scarred altar, behind which kneels a priest in soiled vestments. Next to him hangs a long, thick rope that stretches up into the bell tower.
From beneath the chapel floor, you hear a young man’s voice cry out, “Father! I’m starving!”
The church’s undercroft has rough-hewn walls and a floor made of damp clay and earth. Rotting wooden pillars strain under the weight of the wooden ceiling. Candlelight from the chapel above slips though the cracks, allowing you to glimpse a gaunt shape in the far corner.
A fence of wrought iron with a rusty gate encloses a rectangular plot of land behind the dilapidated church. Tightly packed gravestones shrouded by fog bear the names of souls long passed. All seems quiet.
The ground floor has been converted into a makeshift kitchen, but the room is filthy. Baskets and old dishware are piled everywhere. Adding to the clutter is a peddler’s cart, a chicken coop, a heavy wooden trunk, and a pretty wooden cabinet with flowers painted on its doors. In addition to the clucking of the chickens, you hear toads croaking.
The sweet smell of pastries blends horridly with a stench that burns your nostrils. The awful odor comes out of an open, upright barrel in the center of the room.
Warmth issues from a brick oven against one wall, and a crumbling staircase ascends the wall across from it. Shrieks and cackles from somewhere higher up cause the old mill to shudder.
Small human bones litter the flagstone floor.
A haggard, heavyset old woman with a face as wrinkled as a boiled apple sweeps the floor, pushing around a few old bones and stirring up a cloud of white dust with her broom. She wears a bloodstained, flour-caked apron. A long, sharp bodkin impales her bundled-up mound of gray hair.
The dirt-caked windows allow very little light to enter this eight-foot-high chamber, most of which is taken up by a large millstone connected to a wooden gear shaft that rises through the ceiling in the center of the room. A stone staircase continues up, toward the sound of loud cackling.
Dancing around a thick wooden gear shaft in the center of this cramped, circular room are two ugly young women wearing silk shawls and gowns of stitched flesh. Long needles stick out of their tangled mops of black hair. The women cackle with glee.
In a rotting wooden closet are three crates, stacked one atop another, with small doors set into them. Next to the closet is a heap of discarded clothing. A ladder climbs to a wooden trapdoor in the nine-foot-high ceiling. A moldy bed with a tattered canopy stands nearby.
You’ve reached the windmill’s peak—a domed chamber filled with old machinery. There’s not much room to move around. Light slips into this attic through small holes in the walls.
This slouching, centuries-old stone church has a bulging steeple in the back and walls lined with cracked, stained glass windows depicting pious saints. A fence of wrought iron encloses a garden of gravestones next to the church. A thin mist creeps among the graves.
This large stockyard has several locked sheds along its periphery and lies adjacent to a roomy warehouse. A wooden sign above the front gate reads “Arasek Stockyard.”
Parked at the south end of the stockyard is a sturdy carnival wagon, its colorful paint peeling off. Faded lettering on its sides spells out the words “Rictavio’s Carnival of Wonders.” A heavy padlock secures the back door.
The wagon suddenly lurches, as though something big has thrown itself against the inside wall. You hear the cracking of wood, the scraping of metal, and the snarl of something inhuman. Upon closer inspection, you see that the sides of the wagon are spattered with dry blood. You also see an inscription on the wagon’s door frame that reads, “I bring you from Shadow into Light!”
This cramped shop has a dark entrance portico, above which hangs a wooden sign shaped like a rocking horse, with a “B” engraved on both sides. Flanking the entrance are two arched, lead-framed windows. Through the dirty glass, you see jumbled displays of toys and hanging placards bearing the slogan “Is No Fun, Is No Blinsky!”
The shops and homes that enclose the town square are decorated with limp, tattered garlands and painted wooden boxes filled with tiny, dead flowers. At the north end of the square stands a row of stocks, locked in which are several men, women, and children wearing crude, plaster donkey heads.
In the center of the square, peasants in patchwork clothes eye you suspiciously as they use cups and vases to draw water from a crumbling stone fountain. Standing tall at the center of the fountain is a gray statue of an impressive man facing west. All around the square are posted proclamations:
Come one, come all,
to the greatest celebration of the year:
THE WOLF’S HEAD JAMBOREE!
Attendance and children required.
Pikes will be provided.
ALL WILL BE WELL!
— The Baron —
COME ONE, COME ALL,
to the greatest celebration of the year:
THE FESTIVAL OF THE BLAZING SUN!
Attendance and children required.
Rain or shine.
ALL WILL BE WELL!
— The Baron —
Perched atop a ten-foot-wide, ten-foot-high cube of granite is a moss-covered statue of a dragon, its wings tucked close to its body. The statue looks east, toward the mansion.
Flagstone steps flanked by stone railings climb to a landing in front of a pair of tall, wooden doors with rusted iron bands and knockers shaped like small dragons. Carved into the lintel above the entrance is the word Argynvostholt.
This room feels like a king’s tomb. A grand staircase leads up to stone balconies held aloft by stone pillars and arches. A tall, faded tapestry depicting a nobleman in silver armor hangs from an iron rod above the staircase landing.
Six sets of double doors lead from this foyer. Along the walls, displayed on marble pedestals, are three alabaster busts of handsome men. A fourth bust and its pedestal have been knocked over, and their shattered remains lie strewn across the mosaic floor. Two chandeliers of wrought iron hang from the ceiling like monstrous black spiders.
A great shadow with wings moves across the walls and disappears. You hear the soft bestial hiss in the darkness.
Rubble is strewn throughout much of this vast chamber, caused by the partial collapse of the rooms above it. On the pink marble floor, fallen chandeliers lie amid broken chairs and other furnishings. Thick webs stretch from wall to wall, and moving among them are too many giant spiders to count!
Here lie the blackened beams of a wooden stable, burned to its stone foundation. Looming above the wreckage is the partially collapsed south end of the mansion, all three of its floors exposed to the elements.
This wood-paneled den has been ransacked, its furnishings tossed about. A cold, dark hearth dominates the west wall between two narrow windows. Standing upright against the north wall is a sarcophagus made of black wood with a queen’s effigy carved into its lid.
A fire erupts in the dead hearth and assumes a draconic form. It hisses, crackles, and unfurls its smoky wings.
The fiery dragon hisses as it addresses you. “My knights have fallen into darkness. Save them if you can. Show them the light they have lost!” With that, the fire burns out.
Tattered velvet drapes cover the tall, slender windows that encircle this parlor. The furnishings are covered with dust and cobwebs, and lie in disarray. A damaged brass chandelier hangs from the ceiling, which is covered with a faded mural that depicts metallic dragons and colorful birds flying beneath white clouds.
Tattered brown drapes cover the windows of this circular room, and a heavy curtain hangs across an archway to the south. Strewn about the floor is the wreckage of half a dozen beds and other pieces of furniture.
This kitchen has been plundered, its tables overturned. The floor is littered with rusted utensils and smashed crockery. Narrow windows flanking a hearth look out over a cemetery. An open iron pot hangs from a hook inside the blackened fireplace. It rattles on its hook and bobs up and down, as though something is inside it.
Five barrels lie in wooden braces along the walls of this dark, moldy storage room.
A twenty-foot-long table with sculpted dragons for legs stands in the center of this hall. The chairs that surround the table have backs carved to resemble folded dragon wings, and several of the chairs have been overturned or smashed to pieces. Suspended above the table is a crystal chandelier that glows with a soft white light. Standing in windowed alcoves are two life-sized statues depicting knights with dragon-winged helms and shields.
Rainwater trickles through cracks in the ceiling, flowing down the west wall and adding to a large puddle on the floor.
Five sets of wooden doors lead to this hall. The doors in the northeast corner hang open. A pair of leaded glass doors, their panes cracked and broken, stand open between panels of stained glass set into the east wall. These panels depict silver dragons in flight. Beyond the glass doors lies a dark, misty room that appears to be a chapel.
Cracked wooden pillars support a wooden, U-shaped balcony that overhangs this stone-walled chapel. Narrow archways lead to spiral staircases that curl up to the balcony, and a door set into the north wall has a wooden beam barring it. At the east end of the chapel rests a stone altar flanked by iron candelabras. The altar is carved with a rising sun bas-relief. Tall, arching windows set with panels of stained glass decorate the walls behind the altar. One of the windows has been shattered, covering the chapel floor with shards of colored glass and allowing thick fog to enter and fill the room.
Through the fog, you see three armored figures kneeling before the altar.
Narrow windows allow dim light to enter this five-foot-wide spiral staircase.
Tucked behind the mansion is a fog-shrouded cemetery enclosed by a seven-foot-tall fence of wrought iron. In the northeast corner stands a mausoleum.
You suddenly feel like someone or something is watching you. Looking up, you spot a well-dressed man with a thick mane of thistledown hair observing you from a high tower window. He draws the curtain and disappears from view.
Tarnished, silver-plated gargoyles shaped like dragon wyrmlings cling to the stone-tiled roof of this mausoleum. An eight-foot-tall, four-foot-wide white marble door set into the southwest wall is engraved with a name: Argynvost.
The interior of the mausoleum is dark and dusty. You see four empty alcoves with raised floors. Etched into the far wall is a verse written in Draconic.
Perched on the rooftop overlooking the parapet is a silver-plated gargoyle shaped like a dragon wyrmling.
An ancient ballista, rotted by time and weather, stands behind the battlements on this tower rooftop.
Strewn atop the roof toward the front of the mansion is the wreckage of a ballista. Flanking the wreckage are two stone turrets with conical rooftops and narrow doors.
Cobwebs hang from the rafters of this turret, which is empty except for a wooden bench and an iron stove. Arrow slits look down upon the foggy grounds in front of the mansion.
Beyond a ragged edge of stone is a sixty-foot plunge to the rubble-strewn ground below. A few rafters stick out from beneath the stone.
The parapet narrows to a width of ten feet, ending before a sturdy wooden door set into the wall of the eastern tower.
A rickety wooden landing and a staircase cling to the walls of this tower. The stairs lead up to another landing twenty feet above, and the floor of the chapel lies sixty feet below.
Creaky stairs climb to a wooden landing with three windows that look out over the roof of the mansion. Flanking the windows are two narrow wooden doors.
A stone battlement encloses the roof of this turret. A spiral staircase descends to the level below.
Wooden stairs climb to the tower’s peak, which has a stone floor and a thirty-foot-high pitched roof. Ravens roost on crisscrossing rafters, coming and going through small holes in the roof. Ten-foot-high, five-foot-wide arched windows are evenly spaced around the walls. Each window consists of a lead latticework fitted with small panes of transparent glass.
To the north and east lies a mist-shrouded valley with dark woods, a small town, and a lonely windmill on a precipice. To the south, a river flows through a foggy marsh. To the west, between rocky hills, you glimpse an abbey perched on a snowy mountainside beyond a long stretch of fog-smothered pines
Narrow windows illuminate this dusty, five-foot-wide spiral staircase.
Two stone balconies flank the main foyer. Balusters carved to resemble knights in shining armor support their elegantly carved stone railings. Weapons and shields festoon the walls along each of these walkways, while alabaster busts of handsome men flank hallways that lead north and south away from the foyer. At the west end of each balcony is an archway that leads to a spiral staircase going up.
The south end of this room has collapsed, exposing the chamber to the elements. A few furnishings lie broken under fallen debris from the level above.
A red velvet curtain hangs in front of an alcove in the southeast corner of this hall. It ripples ever so slightly.
A black cloth covers something atop a white marble pedestal
A red velvet curtain hangs in front of an alcove in the northeast corner of this hall.
The room contains an iron tub and has wood paneling on the walls that rises to a height of three feet. Above the paneling, the walls are painted with a continuous, faded mural of a mountainscape.
Rainwater seeps through cracks in the ceiling and flows into a pool on the sagging wooden floor. The pool fills about half the room. Bare stone shelves line the walls.
This wooden balcony overhangs the mansion’s chapel. An exquisitely carved wooden throne rests at the west end between two doors, and narrow archways lead to spiral staircases going up and down. Hanging from the high ceiling is an iron chandelier with candle holders shaped like tiny silver dragons.
This T-shaped hallway has branches to the west, east, and south. Three arched windows in the north wall look out over the foggy grounds.
Two beds with torn canopies stand against opposite walls with a tattered rug lying on the floor between them. Set into the far wall is a fireplace black with soot. A soft hiss issues from the hearth.
A small, hissing dragon made of ash and smoke erupts from the fireplace, filling the room with soot as it beats its wings.
This room is littered with the wreckage of ancient bunk beds. Five dirt-caked windows allow precious little light to enter, and between them are four empty armor stands. Empty torch sconces line the walls.
Tattered and faded drapes cover the windows of this circular room, and empty torch sconces line the walls. Broken bunk beds and armor stands are strewn on the floor.
The contents of this room are draped in cobwebs. Between curtained windows stands a black marble hearth with a sculpted mantelpiece, above which hangs a framed portrait of a handsome, well-dressed man with a wry smile and a thick mane of thistledown hair. Opposite the fireplace is a large bed with a rotting mattress and wooden posts carved to resemble dragons. Across from the double doors stands a tall wardrobe, its doors hanging open, revealing a dark and empty cavity. The only other piece of furniture is an overstuffed leather chair that faces the hearth.
Most of this chamber has collapsed. The wooden floor is strewn with rubble and falls away into a foggy abyss to the south. The roof overhead is jagged and broken.
The roof over this part of the mansion has collapsed, creating a twenty-foot-diameter gaping hole with broken rafters bisecting it. Dark storm clouds roll across the sky overhead. The floor is piled with rocks, broken tiles, shattered beams, and other debris. Beneath the rubble lie a sagging floor and puddles of rainwater.
This room has a tiled floor and an iron bathtub filled with debris from the collapsed roof. A torn curtain hangs in an open doorway in the center of the east wall.
This room has dark wood paneling on the walls that rises to a height of three feet. Above the paneling, the walls are painted with murals of religious figures performing holy rites. In the center of the west wall is a tattered curtain hanging in an open doorway. Three tall, slender stained-glass windows set into the opposite wall depict figures in white robes with orange sunrises behind their heads.
The west wall of this fifty-foot-long, thirty-foot-wide audience hall has crumbled, leaving a gaping hole and a pile of rubble. Weapons and shields that once hung from the walls have fallen to the floor and succumbed to rust. A large, wooden throne carved to resemble a dragon with unfolding wings faces three tall windows to the west. Slumped in the throne is a gaunt, armored figure with one gauntlet wrapped around the hilt of a greatsword.Vladimir Horngaard, commander of the fallen Order of the Silver Dragon, is slumped in the throne. If the beacon of Argynvostholt (see area Q53) has been lit, the corpse is lifeless, and characters can plunder it freely (see “Treasure” below).
The creature’s grip on the greatsword tightens. “If you have come to destroy me, know this: I perished defending this land from evil over four centuries ago, and because of my failure, I am forever doomed. If you destroy this body, my spirit will find a new corpse to inhabit, and I will hunt you down. You cannot free me from my damnation, nor would I wish it.
“If you have come to free this land from the creature that feasts on the blood of the innocent, know this: There is no monster I hate more than Strahd von Zarovich. He slew Argynvost, broke the life of the knight I loved, and destroyed the valiant order to which I devoted my life, but Strahd has already died once. He can’t be allowed to die again. Instead, he must suffer eternally in a hell of his own creation, from which he can never escape. Whatever can be done to bring him misery and unrest, I will do, but I will destroy anyone who tries to end his torment.”
Through the dust and cobwebs, you see faded war banners adorning the walls of a spacious chamber, in the center of which stands a heavy wooden table. An iron chandelier hangs above the table, which is surrounded by six high-backed chairs with wood-carved dragons perched atop them. Slumped in five of the chairs are skeletal humans in tattered chainmail.
The corpses tilt their heads in your direction. One of them growls, “Why do you the living disturb the dead?”
This dusty closet has a slender window set into the north wall. The room is otherwise empty.
Light enters this circular room through five cracked windows. The light falls on a large, dust-covered bed in the center of the room, its posts topped with wood-carved dragons. Two large animals flank the double doors. One is a brown bear standing on its hind legs, its claws outstretched. The other is a dire wolf, its face frozen in an evil snarl. Near the wolf lies an empty wooden chest.
This room is a haven for dust and cobwebs. Three narrow windows allow slivers of light to illuminate bare oak shelves along the walls and a torn, padded chair lying on its side near a cavernous hearth. A picture above the mantel has been slashed, its lower half hanging down below the frame like a torn piece of flesh. An iron door set in the south corner of the west wall hangs open on one hinge.
You hear the soft flapping sound of wings, but can’t discern its origin. A single piece of parchment blows off the top of a bookshelf, spirals lazily in the air, and lands gently at your feet.
The picture shows the mansion in better days, under clear winter skies with snow-capped mountains in the background. The top of the chapel tower glows like a silver beacon.
The beacon in the picture flashes with a brilliant silver light, and the spectral form of a huge silver dragon fills the room. “My skull lies in the fortress of my enemy,” it says, “displayed in a place of ill omen. Return my skull to its rightful crypt, and my spirit will shine here forever, bringing hope to this dark land.” With that, the dragon’s apparition fades away.
The walls of this room are lined with lead. Emptied chests and shattered vases lie strewn upon the floor, their contents plundered.
Rich drapes, faded by time and neglect, hide the windows of this otherwise empty room.
Someone has built a ramshackle wooden hut on the stump of what was once an enormous tree. The rotting roots of the stump thrust up from the mire like the legs of a gigantic spider.
An open doorway is visible on one side of the hut, beneath which floats the upside-down, hollowed-out skull of a giant. Flanking the hut’s doorway are two iron cages that dangle like hideous ornaments from the eaves. Scores of ravens are trapped in each one. They squawk and flutter their wings excitedly as you approach.
The hut is fifteen feet on a side and packed with old furniture, including a wooden cot, a wicker cabinet, a slender wardrobe, a wooden table, a stool, a barrel-topped wooden chest reinforced with brass bands, and an iron tub stained with blood. In the middle of the room is a ghastly wooden crib with a small, angelic child sitting in it. All the furnishings except for the crib are bolted to the floor. Beneath the crib, green light seeps up through cracks between the rotting floorboards.
| d8 | Creature |
| 1 | Weasel |
| 2 | Giant rat |
| 3 | Badger |
| 4 | Boar |
| 5 | Panther |
| 6 | Giant badger |
| 7 | Dire wolf |
| 8 | Giant elk |
| d8 | Creature |
| 1 | Rat |
| 2 | Owl |
| 3 | Mastiff |
| 4 | Goat |
| 5 | Giant goat |
| 6 | Giant boar |
| 7 | Lion |
| 8 | Brown bear |
| d8 | Creature |
| 1 | Jackal |
| 2 | Ape |
| 3 | Baboon |
| 4 | Axe beak |
| 5 | Black bear |
| 6 | Giant weasel |
| 7 | Giant hyena |
| 8 | Tiger |
| Type | Strength | Rarity |
| Hill giant | 21 | Rare |
| Stone/frost giant | 23 | Very rare |
| Fire giant | 25 | Very rare |
| Cloud giant | 27 | Legendary |
| Storm giant | 29 | Legendary |
Gray smoke issues from the chimney of this large, two-story wooden building with a stone foundation and sagging tile roof, upon which several ravens have perched. A painted wooden sign hanging above the main entrance depicts a blue waterfall.
Urwin takes you aside and keeps his voice low. “My supply of wine is nearly gone, and the next shipment is overdue. I’ll give you what you seek if you bring me my wine. The vineyard and winery is a few miles west of here. Just follow the Old Svalich Road and the signs.”
Damp cloaks hang from pegs in the entrance portico. The tavern is packed with tables and chairs, with narrow paths meandering between them. A bar stretches along one wall, under a balcony that can be reached by a wooden staircase that hugs the north wall. Another balcony overhangs an entrance to the east. All the windows are fitted with thick shutters and crossbars. Lanterns hanging above the bar and resting on the tables bathe the room in dull orange light and cast shadows upon the walls, most of which are adorned with wolf heads mounted on wooden plaques.
This hallway contains three curtained alcoves as well as a larger area stuffed with wine barrels.
This room looks like the kitchen of someone who loves to cook. It has piles of pots, walls lined with utensils and shelves of ingredients, and all manner of pleasant odors. Two lanterns hang above a sturdy pine worktable in the middle of the clutter. A pot of soup bubbles on the hearth.
You hear the squawking of birds and the plaintive whinny of a horse as you peer inside this stable. The stalls are clean and well maintained. One of them contains a gray mare. A small door is set into the east wall, and a wooden ladder gives access to a loft overhead. Perched on the wooden railing that encloses the loft are dozens of ravens.
A wooden staircase to the north descends fifteen feet to a landing. A window dimly illuminates a short, wood-panelled hallway that runs west to east.
A wooden balcony stretches the full length of the taproom, enclosed by a wooden railing carved with raven motifs. The taproom’s many lanterns illuminate the rafters and cast ominous shadows on the peaked ceiling.
This twenty-foot-long balcony provides a clear view of the bar and has a wooden railing carved with raven motifs. The taproom’s many lanterns illuminate the rafters and cast ominous shadows on the peaked ceiling.
Two cozy beds with matching footlockers rest in the far corners of this fifteen-foot-square room. Wolf furs are heaped atop each bed. Between the beds, a lamp sits on a table under a shuttered window. Two tall black wardrobes stand against the wall by the door.
Four plain beds with straw mattresses line the north wall of this well-lit room. Each bed comes with a matching footlocker to store clothing and other belongings. A table and four chairs occupy the corner across from the door. An oil lamp resting on the table casts a bright yellow flame.
This small guest room contains a bed heaped with wolf furs, a footlocker, a tall wardrobe, and a writing desk with matching chair. An oil lamp rests atop the desk near a journal bound in a red leather jacket.
A large, painted toy box rests between two small, cozy beds. Murals of ravens in flight are painted on the walls above the wood paneling.
Matching end tables flank a large wood-framed bed with a red silk canopy. Across from the bed hangs a tapestry depicting a beautiful mountain valley. The other walls are dominated by a fireplace and a wardrobe.
This ten-foot-wide, thirty-five-foot-long attic has a ceiling that slants down toward the west, dropping from a height of eight feet to a height of five feet. Four straw nests cover the floor, and a locked iron strongbox sits against the north wall. A small square opening in the south wall leads outside. Two trapdoors with iron hinges are set into the floor.
This mansion has walls of plastered stone that display many scars where the plaster has fallen away from age and neglect. Drapes cover every window, including a large, arched opening above the mansion’s double entrance doors.
Framed portraits adorn the walls of this grand foyer, which features a wide staircase with a sculpted railing. A long, carpeted hall attached to the foyer stretches almost the length of the mansion and has several doors leading away from it, including one at the far end. Bundles of twigs are heaped against the walls.
This parlor contains a fine array of furnishings and draperies, with an overall feminine touch.
A chandelier of wrought iron fitted with wax candles hangs above a polished wooden dining table. Around the table are seated eight women of various ages in comfortable, high-backed chairs. They wear faded clothes, drink tea, and devour cake while a ninth woman, well dressed and very pleased with herself, circles the table and talks excitedly about decorations for the impending festival.
White sheets cover two plain wooden tables in the center of this room. Neatly arranged atop one table is a complete set of polished silverware. The other table is covered with wicker baskets containing turnips and beets.
Padded chairs and couches line the walls of this cozy, carpeted den. The room reeks of pipe smoke, and mounted on the east wall is the head of an angry-looking brown bear.
This room contains four simple beds and an equal number of plain wooden trunks.
A cook wearing a white apron over a black smock busies himself in this warm, well-appointed kitchen. A staircase in one corner climbs to the upper floor.
This pantry contains shelves of foodstuffs, although half of the shelves are bare. Two barrels of wine stand against the east wall.
The staircase climbs twenty feet to a beautifully appointed gallery that continues toward the west, running almost the length of the mansion. Framed landscape paintings line the walls, and red silk drapes cover a ten-foot-tall arched window of leaded glass.
The staircase climbs to a ten-foot-wide gallery that stretches almost the length of the mansion. Breathtaking paintings of landscapes line the walls. Two separate, narrow hallways lead away from the gallery to the north.
Dolls. This room is full of pretty little dolls with powder-white skin and auburn hair, some of them dressed beautifully, others plainly. Some of the dolls fill a long bookshelf, and others are arranged in neat rows on wall-mounted shelves. Still others are piled atop a bed and a heavy wooden chest. What’s most odd is that all of the dolls, apart from their clothing, look the same. They all look like Ireena Kolyana.
This handsomely appointed room contains a canopied bed, a low bookshelf, and a full-length mirror in a wooden frame on the wall across from the door. Set into the north wall is an arched window of leaded glass. Nothing here seems unusual.
Floor-to-ceiling shelves line every wall of this windowless room, and the number of books contained here is nothing short of astounding.
A brass oil lamp sits atop a large desk in the center of the room. The chair behind the desk is comfortably padded and has the symbol of a roaring bear stitched into its back cushion.
Standing behind the chair, holding an open book, is a bear of a man. His breastplate, rapier, silk tunic, and greasy beard glisten in the lamplight. Resting on small rugs to his left and right are a pair of black mastiffs
Chained to the back wall of this otherwise empty closet is a badly beaten man wearing nothing but a loincloth. The iron shackles have cut into his wrists, causing blood to trickle down his hands.
Cloaks, coats, gowns, and other fancy apparel hang from hooks in this closet. Arranged on low shelves are many fine shoes, slippers, and boots.
Time has faded the grandeur of this master bedroom. The furnishings have lost some of their color and splendor. A short pull-rope hangs from a wooden trapdoor in the ceiling.
This room smells of powder and fine perfume. A vanity with a mirror stands against one wall next to a faceless wooden mannequin wearing a white bridal gown. Mounted on another wall is a full-length mirror with a gilded frame. A door in one corner leads to a garderobe.
An iron tub with clawed feet stands against the back wall. Neatly folded towels rest atop a table near the door.
This dusty, twenty-foot-square room has a high-pitched ceiling that reaches its peak twenty feet above. The wooden rafters are shrouded in cobwebs. Except for an old table with a lantern on it, the room is empty.
This large attic is full of old, forgotten things draped in white sheets. Piled around them are barrels, crates, trunks, and old furnishings covered with cobwebs and dust. You see a clear footpath through the maze.
Someone has carved a large skull into this door. Hanging from the doorknob is a wooden sign that reads “ALL IS NOT WELL!” You hear a young man’s voice beyond.
Someone has taken old, mismatched furniture and created a study is this dusty, lamplit chamber. Tables are strewn with pieces of parchment, on which strange diagrams are drawn, and a freestanding bookshelf holds a collection of bones. A dusty rug covers the floor in front of a pine box, on which lounges a skeletal cat. Several more skeletal cats skulk about. Most unnerving of all is the sight of three small children standing with their backs to you in the northeast corner of the room.
In the center of the room, perched on a stool, is a thin young man with a premature streak of gray in his dark hair. He cradles an open leather-bound book in his arms.
| d10 | Event |
| 1 | A monster that slaughtered dozens of innocent people spared your life, and you don’t know why. |
| 2 | You were born under a dark star. You can feel it watching you, coldly and distantly. Sometimes it beckons you in the dead of night. |
| 3 | An apparition that has haunted your family for generations now haunts you. You don’t know what it wants, and it won’t leave you alone. |
| 4 | Your family has a history of practicing the dark arts. You dabbled once and felt something horrible clutch at your soul, whereupon you fled in terror. |
| 5 | An oni took your sibling one cold, dark night, and you were unable to stop it. |
| 6 | You were cursed with lycanthropy and later cured. You are now haunted by the innocents you slaughtered. |
| 7 | A hag kidnapped and raised you. You escaped, but the hag still has a magical hold over you and fills your mind with evil thoughts. |
| 8 | You opened an eldritch tome and saw things unfit for a sane mind. You burned the book, but its words and images are burned into your psyche. |
| 9 | A fiend possessed you as a child. You were locked away but escaped. The fiend is still inside you, but now you try to keep it locked away. |
| 10 | You did terrible things to avenge the murder of someone you loved. You became a monster, and it haunts your waking dreams. |
| d8 | Personality Trait |
| 1 | I don’t run from evil. Evil runs from me. |
| 2 | I like to read and memorize poetry. It keeps me calm and brings me fleeting moments of happiness. |
| 3 | I spend money freely and live life to the fullest, knowing that tomorrow I might die. |
| 4 | I live for the thrill of the hunt. |
| 5 | I don’t talk about the thing that torments me. I’d rather not burden others with my curse. |
| 6 | I expect danger around every corner. |
| 7 | I refuse to become a victim, and I will not allow others to be victimized. |
| 8 | I put no trust in divine beings. |
| d6 | Ideal |
| 1 | I try to help those in need, no matter what the personal cost. (Good) |
| 2 | I’ll stop the spirits that haunt me or die trying. (Any) |
| 3 | I kill monsters to make the world a safer place, and to exorcise my own demons. (Good) |
| 4 | I have a dark calling that puts me above the law. (Chaotic) |
| 5 | I like to know my enemy’s capabilities and weaknesses before rushing into battle. (Lawful) |
| 6 | I’m a monster that destroys other monsters, and anything else that gets in my way. (Evil) |
| d6 | Bond |
| 1 | I keep my thoughts and discoveries in a journal. My journal is my legacy. |
| 2 | I would sacrifice my life and my soul to protect the innocent. |
| 3 | My torment drove away the person I love. I strive to win back the love I’ve lost. |
| 4 | A terrible guilt consumes me. I hope that I can find redemption through my actions. |
| 5 | There’s evil in me, I can feel it. It must never be set free. |
| 6 | I have a child to protect. I must make the world a safer place for him (or her). |
| d6 | Flaw |
| 1 | I have certain rituals that I must follow every day. I can never break them. |
| 2 | I assume the worst in people. |
| 3 | I feel no compassion for the dead. They’re the lucky ones. |
| 4 | I have an addiction. |
| 5 | I am a purveyor of doom and gloom who lives in a world without hope. |
| 6 | I talk to spirits that no one else can see. |
Atop a slight rise, against the roots of the pillar stone that supports Castle Ravenloft, stands a gray, sagging edifice of stone and wood. This church has obviously weathered the assaults of evil for centuries on end and is worn and weary. A bell tower rises toward the back, and flickering light shines through holes in the shingled roof. The rafters strain feebly against their load.
The heavy wooden doors of the church are covered with claw marks and scarred by fire.
The doors open to reveal a ten-foot-wide, twenty-foot-long hall leading to a brightly lit chapel. The hall is unlit and reeks of mildew. Four doors, two on each side of the hall, lead to adjacent chambers.
You can see that the chapel is strewn with debris, and you hear a soft voice from within reciting a prayer. Suddenly, the prayer is blotted out by an inhuman scream that rises up from beneath the wooden floor.
This dirty, lightless room contains a wooden bed with a straw-filled mattress. Mounted above the bed’s headboard is a wooden holy symbol.
This dirty room contains a wooden bed with a straw-filled mattress, next to which rests a small table with an oil lamp burning brightly on it. Mounted above the bed’s headboard is a wooden sun-shaped holy symbol.
Time and neglect have punched holes in the ceiling of this moldy room, which contains a few broken roof shingles amid puddles of water. In one corner, set into the floor, is a heavy wooden trapdoor held shut with a chain and a padlock. A young man’s screams of anguish can be heard through the door.
An old desk and chair stand against the south wall, a wooden holy symbol mounted above them—a sunburst. A ten-foot-long iron rod attached to the north wall stands bare, suggesting a tapestry once hung there. Against the far wall stands a wooden cabinet with four tall doors.
The chapel is a shambles, with overturned and broken pews littering the dusty floor. Dozens of candles mounted in candlesticks and candelabras light every dusty corner in a fervent attempt to rid the chapel of shadows. At the far end of the church sits a claw-scarred altar, behind which kneels a priest in soiled vestments. Next to him hangs a long, thick rope that stretches up into the bell tower.
From beneath the chapel floor, you hear a young man’s voice cry out, “Father! I’m starving!”
The church’s undercroft has rough-hewn walls and a floor made of damp clay and earth. Rotting wooden pillars strain under the weight of the wooden ceiling. Candlelight from the chapel above slips though the cracks, allowing you to glimpse a gaunt shape in the far corner.
This uninviting shop is two stories tall and has a sign shaped like a coffin above the front door. All of the window shutters are closed up tight, and a deathly silence surrounds the establishment.
Arranged haphazardly about the floor of this musty, L-shaped room are thirteen wooden coffins.
A table with four chairs is in one corner of this room, with a lantern hanging form a chain directly above. Two well-made cabinets stand against the east wall.
This workshop contains everything a carpenter needs to make coffins and furniture. Three sturdy worktables stretch the length of the west wall.
This kitchen contains a square table surrounded by chairs and shelves of provisions.
This modest bedchamber holds a cot and several well-made pieces of furniture, including a table, a padded chair, a bookshelf, and a wardrobe.
This large, drafty room is strung with cobwebs and takes up most of the upper floor. Stacks of wooden planks lie amid several crates marked "JUNK."
The woods are quiet this night, and the air grows chill. Your fire sputters as a low mist gathers around the edges of your camp, growing closer as the night wears on. By morning, the fog hangs thick in the air, turning the trees around you into gray ghosts. Then you notice these aren’t the same trees that surrounded you the night before.
Patch 1.4
Monsters & Named NPCs Edits:
Red velvet drapes cover the windows of this room. An exquisite mahogany desk and a matching high-back chair face the entrance and the fireplace, above which hangs a framed picture of a windmill perched atop a rocky crag. Situated in corners of the room are two overstuffed chairs. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves line the south wall. A rolling wooden ladder allows one to more easily reach the high shelves.
This room contains a bricked-up window flanked by two dusty, wood-framed beds sized for children. Closer to the door is a toy chest with windmills painted on its sides and a dollhouse that’s a perfect replica of the dreary edifice in which you stand. These furnishings are draped in cobwebs. Lying in the middle of the floor are two small skeletons wearing tattered but familiar clothing. The smaller of the two cradles a stuffed doll that you also recognize.
This room is festooned with moldy skeletons that hang from rusty shackles against the walls. A wide alcove in the south wall contains a painted wooden statue carved in the likeness of a gaunt, pale-faced man wearing a voluminous black cloak, his pale left hand resting on the head of a wolf that stands next to him. In his right hand, he holds a smoky-gray crystal orb.
The room has exits in the west and north walls. Chanting can be heard coming from the west.
The chanting stops as you peer into this forty-foot-square room. The smooth masonry walls provide excellent acoustics. Featureless stone pillars support the ceiling, and a breach in the west wall leads to a dark cave heaped with refuse. Murky water covers most of the floor. Stairs lead up to dry stone ledges that hug the walls. In the middle of the room, more stairs rise to form an octagonal dais that also rises above the water. Rusty chains with shackles dangle from the ceiling directly above a stone altar mounted on the dais. The altar is carved with hideous depictions of grasping ghouls and is stained with dry blood.
The chanting rises once more as thirteen dark apparitions appear on the ledges overlooking the room. Each one resembles a black-robed figure holding a torch, but the torch’s fire is black and seems to draw light into it. Where you’d expect to see faces are voids.
“One must die!” they chant, over and over. “One must die! One must die!”
| Playing Card | Illusion |
| Ace of hearts | Red dragon |
| King of hearts | Knight and four guards |
| Queen of hearts | Succubus or incubus |
| Jack of hearts | Druid |
| Ten of hearts | Cloud giant |
| Nine of hearts | Ettin |
| Eight of hearts | Bugbear |
| Two of hearts | Goblin |
| Ace of diamonds | Beholder |
| King of diamonds | Archmage and mage apprentice |
| Queen of diamonds | Night hag |
| Jack of diamonds | Assassin |
| Ten of diamonds | Fire giant |
| Nine of diamonds | Ogre mage |
| Eight of diamonds | Gnoll |
| Two of diamonds | Kobold |
| Ace of spades | Lich |
| King of spades | Priest and two acolytes |
| Queen of spades | Medusa |
| Jack of spades | Veteran |
| Ten of spades | Frost giant |
| Nine of spades | Troll |
| Eight of spades | Hobgoblin |
| Two of spades | Goblin |
| Ace of clubs | Iron golem |
| King of clubs | Bandit captain and three bandits |
| Queen of clubs | Erinyes |
| Jack of clubs | Berserker |
| Ten of clubs | Hill giant |
| Nine of clubs | Ogre |
| Eight of clubs | Orc |
| Two of clubs | Kobold |
| Jokers (2) | You (the deck’s owner) |
| Level | Effect |
| 1 | Disadvantage on ability checks |
| 2 | Speed halved |
| 3 | Disadvantage on attack rolls and saving throws |
| 4 | Hit point maximum halved |
| 5 | Speed reduced to 0 |
| 6 | Death |
| Renaissance Item | Cost | Weight |
| Bomb | 150 gp | 1 lb. |
| Gunpowder, keg | 250 gp | 20 lb. |
| Gunpowder, powder horn | 35 gp | 2 lb. |
| Renaissance Item | Cost |
Damage | Weight | Properties | |
| Martial Ranged Weapons | |||||
|
Pistol | 250 gp |
1d10 piercing | 3 lb. | Ammunition (range 30/90), loading | |
| Musket | 500 gp |
1d12 piercing | 10 lb. | Ammunition (range 40/120), loading, two-handed | |
| Ammunition | |||||
|
Bullets (10) | 3 gp |
— | 2 lb. | — |
This card tells of history. Knowledge of the ancient will help you better understand your enemy.
This card tells of a powerful force for good and protection, a holy symbol of great hope.
This is a card of power and strength. It tells of a weapon of vengeance: a sword of sunlight.
This card sheds light on one who will help you greatly in the battle against darkness.
Your enemy is a creature of darkness, whose powers are beyond mortality. This card will lead you to him!
| d100 | Trinket |
| 01-02 | A picture you drew as a child of your imaginary friend |
| 03-04 | A lock that opens when blood is dripped in its keyhole |
| 05-06 | Clothes stolen from a scarecrow |
| 07-08 | A spinning top carved with four faces: happy, sad, wrathful, and dead |
| 09-10 | The necklace of a sibling who died on the day you were born |
| 11-12 | A wig from someone executed by beheading |
| 13-14 | The unopened letter to you from your dying father |
| 15-16 | A pocket watch that runs backward for an hour every midnight |
| 17-18 | A winter coat stolen from a dying soldier |
| 19-20 | A bottle of invisible ink that can only be read at sunset |
| 21-22 | A wineskin that refills when interred with a dead person for a night |
| 23-24 | A set of silverware used by a king for his last meal |
| 25-26 | A spyglass that always shows the world suffering a terrible storm |
| 27-28 | A cameo with the profile’s face scratched away |
| 29-30 | A lantern with a black candle that never runs out and that burns with green flame |
| 31-32 | A teacup from a child’s tea set, stained with blood |
| 33-34 | A little black book that records your dreams, and yours alone, when you sleep |
| 35-36 | A necklace formed of the interlinked holy symbols of a dozen deities |
| 37-38 | A hangman’s noose that feels heavier than it should |
| 39-40 | A birdcage into which small birds fly but once inside never eat or leave |
| 41-42 | A lepidopterist’s box filled dead moths with skull-like patterns on their wings |
| 43-44 | A jar of pickled ghouls’ tongues |
| 45-46 | The wooden hand of a notorious pirate |
| 47-48 | A urn with the ashes of a dead relative |
| 49-50 | A hand mirror backed with a bronze depiction of a medusa |
| 51-52 | Pallid leather gloves crafted with ivory fingernails |
| 53-54 | Dice made from the knuckles of a notorious charlatan |
| 55-56 | A ring of keys for forgotten locks |
| 57-58 | Nails from the coffin of a murderer |
| 59-60 | A key to the family crypt |
| 61-62 | An bouquet of funerary flowers that always looks and smells fresh |
| 63-64 | A switch used to discipline you as a child |
| 65-66 | A music box that plays by itself whenever someone holding it dances |
| 67-68 | A walking cane with an iron ferule that strikes sparks on stone |
| 69-70 | A flag from a ship lost at sea |
| 71-72 | Porcelain doll’s head that always seems to be looking at you |
| 73-74 | A wolf’s head wrought in silver that is also a whistle. |
| 75-76 | A small mirror that shows a much older version of the viewer |
| 77-78 | Small, worn book of children’s nursery rhymes. |
| 79-80 | A mummified raven claw |
| 81-82 | A broken pendent of a silver dragon that’s always cold to the touch |
| 83-84 | A small locked box that quietly hums a lovely melody at night but you always forget it in the morning |
| 85-86 | An inkwell that makes one a little nauseous when staring at it |
| 87-88 | An old little doll made from a dark, dense wood and missing a hand and a foot |
| 89-90 | A black executioner’s hood |
| 91-92 | A pouch made of flesh, with a sinew drawstring |
| 93-94 | A tiny spool of black thread that never runs out |
| 95-96 | A tiny clockwork figurine of a dancer that’s missing a gear and doesn’t work |
| 97-98 | A black wooden pipe that creates puffs of smoke that look like skulls |
| 99-00 | A vial of perfume, the scent of which only certain creatures can detect |
A mountaintop sanctuary where holiness has soured into something proud and cruel.
Cue The higher you climb, the less mercy you'll find.

A giant sealed in translucent resin — something ancient still moving inside.
Cue Slow, inevitable, and already awake.

An empty suit of armour that turns to face you; only its hinges speak.
Cue No one inside, and it still wants you gone.

A jackal-headed fiend, immaculate and scholarly, trading in secrets and ruin.
Voice Silken, patient, faintly amused.
Cue It already knows what you want most.
A cold chamber of Castle Ravenloft, its silence older than the stone.
A hall of Castle Ravenloft where the dust lies undisturbed — except where it doesn't.
A high room of the castle, wind at the windows, something watching the door.

A quiet Vistana knife-man, loyal to the castle over his own people.
Voice Soft, courteous, never raised.
Cue He has already decided how the room ends.

An ancient swamp-witch who cradles a skull like an infant and calls it her son.
Voice Cooing lullabies broken by sudden shrieks.
Cue Unhinged devotion; you are intruders in her nursery.

A hut that walks on a great skeletal claw, trailing smoke and lullabies.
Cue It comes to you, whether you're ready or not.

A drifting wail in the shape of a woman; her scream is the last thing some hear.
The grieving rulers of Krezk — guarded, weary, one child already lost.
Voice Formal, clipped, holding back grief.
Cue Their hospitality is a test.

A village crone with a coven's cruelty — herbs and hexes in equal measure.

Strahd's nightmare steed — hooves like embers, breath like smoke.
Cue It appears only when the master wishes to be feared.

A creeping tar that eats metal and flesh alike; cut it and you get two.
Cue Don't strike it with anything you want to keep.
Rare thunder in a land of mist — pride given wings and lightning.
The black spires above Barovia, where all roads and all fates finally meet.
Cue Every path in this valley bends toward here.

A lurching idol of wet earth whose wounds seal themselves as you watch.

Mongrelfolk of the Abbey — mismatched limbs, pitiful and eager to please.
Voice Wet, wheedling.
Cue Desperate for the Abbot's approval.

A severed hand scuttling on borrowed malice.

A true believer with a knife in one hand and a sermon in the other.
Voice Fervent, certain.
Cue Reason won't reach them.

A hunched mongrelfolk sexton, ringing a bell no one asked him to.
Cue Obsessive, harmless — until cornered.

The gruff old wereraven who keeps the Blue Water Inn and its secrets.
Voice Brusque, tired, secretly kind.
Cue Tests strangers hard before trusting them.

A grinning frog-fiend of pure entropy, wearing chaos like a cloak.

A broken priest who drinks to forget what he keeps chained in his cellar.
Voice Cracked, praying between sentences.
Cue Grief has hollowed his faith to a shell.

A young man turned vampire spawn, chained below the church by his own father.
Voice Pleads in a son's voice; hungers all the same.
Cue Pity and danger in equal measure.
Where the winged watcher keeps its guard,
cold eyes upon the northern yard,
press the tooth the beast has bared —
the loyal wall was ever spared.
A stone dragon standing guard; a secret hides in its carved details.

A snivelling low demon — cowardly alone, dangerous in a swarm.

A werewolf who refused the pack's cruelty and paid for it with exile.
Voice Measured, sorrowful.
Cue Honour in a monster's shape.

Strahd's consorts — beautiful, bored, and jealous of any new attention.
Voice Languid, cruel wit.
Cue They play with guests like cats with string.

A monster hunter with a prosthetic leg, a wagon of tricks, and no fear left to lose.
Voice Confident, dry, quick to laugh.
Cue Allies fast; trusts slowly.
A hunter's wagon of traps, tomes, and blades hidden behind painted panels.

A floating skull wreathed in green fire, cackling half-remembered spells.

A stitched giant of stolen parts — slow to rage, unstoppable once roused.

A blade that fights with no hand to hold it.
Look not long at the silver glass,
for faces linger and moments pass.
The one who waves is not your friend —
and mirrors keep what mirrors lend.
I was a soldier once, and a good one — or I told myself so, which is nearly the same thing. I won a country with my sword and believed the winning had made me worthy of it.
Then I saw her, and learned there was one thing no army of mine could take. She looked at another the way she would never look at me, and something in me that had always been cold turned at last to iron.
I made a bargain that night. I will not set down its terms. I will say only that the powers of this place kept every promise to the letter, and I have regretted each one since — though never quite enough to undo it.
If you are reading this, you are inside my grief now. I have never found the door out.

The lonely, half-mad toymaker of Vallaki, forever making unsettling dolls.
Voice Eager, off-key cheer.
Cue Wants a friend so badly it makes your skin crawl.

Stone until it isn't — it waits on the ledge and grins.
Twin stone guardians and an iron gate that opens inward — and closes for good.
Cue Crossing in is easy. Leaving is the trick.

A sheltered girl who ran off toward the castle, dazzled and far out of her depth.
Voice Naive, breathless.

A ravenous ghoul reeking of the grave; its stench roots the living in place.

A sorrow that outlived its body, replaying its worst night forever.

Silk in the rafters, patience in the dark.

Wet stone that flows, clings, and corrodes.

A rubbery ambush of tentacles and beak, clinging to the cavern ceiling.

A painted watcher whose eyes seem to follow; a clue hides in the frame.

A coal-eyed hound whose breath is fire, hunting in a pack of embers.

The twitchy coffin-maker of Vallaki, hiding worse things than coffins in his loft.
Voice Nervous, evasive.
Cue He sweats the moment the loft is mentioned.
Turn me and the sand runs true,
time enough for me and you.
But sand once fallen keeps its place —
no hand may pour it back to grace.

A needle-tailed nuisance — invisible, gleeful, and always listening.

A hunting wind that resents its leash and takes it out on you.

The burgomaster's adopted daughter — auburn-haired, fiercely composed, and coveted by the master of the valley.
Voice Measured, tired of being protected.
Cue She refuses to be treated as a prize.

A walking wall with a furnace for a heart.

Ireena's brother — brave, well-meaning, and badly out of his depth.
Voice Earnest, a touch of bluster.
Cue Desperate to get his sister somewhere safe.

Vallaki's brutal enforcer, one oversized demonic arm, obsessed with finding a certain woman.
Voice Flat, menacing.
Cue Violence is his first language, not his last.
My order is broken. The banner is down. I do not write this to be avenged — vengeance is a small thing beside what we swore to protect.
I write it so that someone, some day, remembers this valley was once defended by those who believed the light was worth dying for. Let the beacon burn again, and let it be seen from the castle windows. Let him see it.
Honour is not lost when the last knight falls. It waits, as embers wait, for a breath.

A dusk-elf mage haunted by his sister's death, quietly working his own ends.
Voice Courtly, melancholy.
Cue Helpful — with a hidden price.
Strahd's parents, first rulers of Barovia, stern in fading oils.

The brutish alpha of the werewolf pack — cruel, proud, and hooked on dream pastries.
Cue Strength over sense; easily goaded into mistakes.
To any who can still be called friend —
I am dying; that much I have made peace with. What I cannot make peace with is what waits for my daughter when I am gone. He has wanted her since before she was grown, and my locked doors will not hold him much longer.
Come to the village. See me buried in the churchyard with what rites the good father can still manage. And then — I beg you — do not leave her here alone.
Strangers —
If this reaches you, the wolves let it through, which means he permits it, which means he is not yet afraid. Good. Let him stay careless a while longer.
My time is spent. My daughter's is not, if you are quick and brave and a little lucky. The church stands at the north of the village; ask for the priest. Tell no one your true errand.

A genteel Vallaki noblewoman plotting a quiet coup, with cats underfoot and cultists in the cellar.
Voice Warm, motherly, and utterly chilling.
Cue Her politeness is the blade.

A dead wizard clinging to power past death — coldly, endlessly patient.

An old Wachterhaus servant, loyal and quiet, who sees far more than he says.

The loud, grieving leader of the Vistani camp, quick to drink and quicker to fight.
Voice Booming, volatile.
Cue Rage worn over a father's fear for his stolen daughter.

A mother locked in grief for her runaway daughter, wailing at every door.
Voice Inconsolable, barely lucid.
A clan of wereravens quietly guarding the winery and the inn.
Cue They watch from the rooftops before they ever speak.

A lean guard-hound, all teeth and loyalty.

A young gravedigger, dim and frightened, who'll do the wrong thing for small coin.

Furniture with an appetite — the chest that bites back.
Cue Whatever looks too convenient, probably is.

A night hag posing as a kindly baker — her pastries are addictive, and made of worse than flour.
Voice Grandmotherly sweetness.
Cue Horror wrapped in warmth; the smell alone should warn you.
Two travellers who don't belong here — and that's precisely the point.
Cue Their wrongness is the clue.

A nightmare merchant who rides your sleep and bargains for your soul.
A hunched thing with one great eye that reads your secrets and rots your flesh.
A windmill on a lonely hill; the smell of fresh pastry, and something far worse beneath it.
A mongrelfolk child of the Abbey — curious, trusting, and pitiable.
A dusk-elf witch, long dead beneath the castle, her beauty and spite preserved together.
A soldier's ghost still holding a line that fell centuries ago.
A clockwork jester that giggles as it works — toys that hate you.
A proud nobleman painted in his prime, before the curse. The eyes are already hungry.
A tiny fiend of tricks and poison — more pest than peril, usually.
The chamberlain of the castle — an ancient dusk elf whose very footsteps can kill.
Voice Cold, precise, unwaveringly loyal.
Cue He has served the darkness longer than anyone now living.
Distant, immense, a fire that remembers every slight.
A corpse dragged back by hatred, hunting a single name.
Cue Nothing stops it for long but the death it seeks.
A flamboyant carnival ringmaster — and, beneath the greasepaint, a hunter stalking the valley's master.
Voice Theatrical, jovial, always performing.
Cue Every laugh hides a listening man.
A gaudy show-wagon with a caged secret and a hunter's kit tucked out of sight.
A mountain-sized raptor whose shadow falls like a warning.

The great bird that rules the peaks; its nest is a graveyard of the ambitious.
Two pale, pleading ghost-children who lure with innocence.
Voice Small voices, wrong in the quiet.
Cue Pity is the trap.
A rug that waits, very patiently, to be walked upon.
Burlap and straw that jerks upright the moment no one is looking.
Your own darkness, turned loose and hungry.
Malice with no body, sliding along the walls at the edge of the light.
A walking heap of rot and vine that drinks the storm and grows.
A bound protector that exists to take the blow meant for its master.
A cross-section view, for staging the scene above and below at once.
A revenant knight of the fallen order, bound by a duty he can no longer fulfil.
Voice Weary honour.
Cue He will not rest until an old wrong is set right.
Dry bones lashed with old will; it fights without fear, having nothing left to lose.
A soot-and-cinder imp that coughs out blinding clouds.
A spiteful gloom that drains the warmth from the living.
The vampire lord of Barovia — refined, sorrowful, and cruel; a gentleman and a predator in one.
Voice Courtly, patient, quietly possessive.
Cue He is never in a hurry, and never truly absent.
The master's empty guard, standing sentinel in the cold halls of the castle.
A stylised dragon device — the family emblem, stamped where the family's reach runs.
Honoured guests,
Word of your arrival reached my hall before your boots touched the road. Visitors are rare in this valley, and rarer still are any I should care to receive. Allow me to mend the poor welcome the mist has surely shown you.
Dine with me. My table has wanted for good company these long years, and I confess a growing curiosity about the living. Come when the bells toll; my carriage knows the way, even where you do not.
You may refuse, of course. But the valley is patient — and so am I.
So. You have begun to understand where you are.
You imagine yourselves hunters. How charming. I have watched a hundred such parties ride in beneath my window, each certain the dawn was theirs to keep. The valley loved them too, for a little while.
Run, if it pleases you. Pray, if you still remember how. I am in no hurry — I have all the nights there will ever be, and you have so very few.
A pragmatic Vistana hunter-for-hire who sells information and wolf pelts alike.
Voice Bargaining, unsentimental.
The woman the whole tragedy orbits; her face echoes down the centuries in another.
Cue A memory, a wound, and a curse all at once.
A sealed door with a riddle for a lock.
A corrupted oak that walks, its roots like reaching hands.
A bundle of animate thorns that skitters and grasps.
Citizens! Let it be known that this town does not cower. This town celebrates.
You are hereby invited — that is, expected — to attend the Festival of the Blazing Sun in the square. There shall be music. There shall be wine. There shall be joy, and your joy shall be noted.
Bring the children. Bring your brightest smile. Leave your grievances at the gate. All is well. All is well. All is well.
Rejoice! For the comfort of all, a new festival is decreed: the Wolf's Head Jamboree.
Every household shall attend. Every face shall be merry. There will be games, and garlands, and a bonfire tall enough to be seen from the walls — so that any who watch from the dark may know how happy, how very happy, we all are.
Absence will be noticed. Sorrow will be noticed. Be neither.
The Baron's household, painted in forced smiles.
An elegant predator with centuries of patience and a hunger that never sleeps.
Voice Charming, until it isn't.
A newer hunger — savage, unsubtle, and bound to its maker's will.
A vulture-demon shrieking spores and spite.

A scholar and the fiend whispering at his ear.
The revenant lord of Argynvostholt, consumed by a hatred that wants the master to suffer, not merely die.
Voice Cold, unyielding fury.
Cue Vengeance pursued without any hope of peace.
A vulture-demon that shrieks, claws, and spreads its rot.
A neighbour by daylight, a nightmare by the light of the moon.
A hateful dead thing that makes more of its kind from those it kills.
A kind little light that leads, very gently, to a cold end.
A robe of malice where a soul used to be.
A plain Krezk villager, wary of outsiders and slow to warm.
Slow, patient, and always more numerous than you counted.
A werewolf who, like her brother, wants only to escape the pack's cruelty.
Voice Quiet, resolved.
A mongrelfolk of the Abbey — a twisted body and simple, aching hopes.
| d20 | Occupant |
| 1-3 | None |
| 4-5 | 2d4 swarms of rats |
| 6-18 | Vallakian townsfolk |
| 19-20 | Vallakian cultists |
| Instrument | Rarity | Spells |
| All | — | Fly, invisibility, levitate, protection from evil and good, plus the spells listed for the particular instrument |
| Anstruth harp | Very rare | Control weather, cure wounds (5th level), wall of thorns |
| Canaith mandolin | Rare | Cure wounds (3rd level), dispel magic, protection from energy (lightning only) |
| Cli lyre | Rare | Stone shape, wall of fire, wind wall |
| Doss lute | Uncommon | Animal friendship, protection from energy (fire only), protection from poison |
| Fochlucan bandore | Uncommon | Entangle, faerie fire, shillelagh, speak with animals |
| Mac-Fuirmidh cittern | Uncommon | Barkskin, cure wounds, fog cloud |
| Ollamh harp | Legendary | Confusion, control weather, fire storm |
The gravel road leads to a village, its tall houses dark as tombstones. Nestled among these solemn dwellings are a handful of closed-up shops. Even the tavern is shut tight.
A soft whimpering draws your eye toward a pair of children standing in the middle of an otherwise lifeless street.
After shushing the boy, the girl turns to you and says, “There’s a monster in our house!” She then points to a tall brick row house that has seen better days. Its windows are dark. It has a gated portico on the ground floor, and the rusty gate is slightly ajar. The houses on either side are abandoned, their windows and doors boarded up.
"I am the Ancient. I am the Land. My beginnings are lost in the darkness of the past. I am not dead. Nor am I alive. I am undead, forever."
I had nothing left to give but my own life’s blood, but it was hers to take. She would at last be my bride.
Van Richten has returned, the old fool. He tries to hide from me, but I shall find him. He and I have much to discuss.
"Why, it is nothing to become an animal, for that is the true nature of every man. We are not meant to wear crowns and drink from goblets."
"I would not be called ‘death’ so soon. I made a pact with death, a pact of blood."
"By day or night, stretching up to the limits of vision, the edges of my realm are marked by a great wall of mist. I was there at its birth."
The wolves began to howl. They knew me. All the wolves of Barovia did.
My army settled in the valley of Barovia and took power over the people in the name of a just god, but with none of a god’s grace or justice.
Same voice, same face, same graceful body, she was Tatyana come back to life again. I was absolutely witless from astonishment.
"I called for my family, long unseated from their ancient thrones, and brought them here to settle in the castle Ravenloft."
There is no light in the eyes of the men that feed off this land. They are as dead as the dead.
"Dreams are for the living."
I was looking at dead men. Before another hour passed, I'd send them wailing on their way to rotting hell. All of them.
"The gleam in her eyes was like warm sunlight on a still pond. That light is gone forever. When I try to imagine those eyes, all I see is a mad abyss."
The road curved and climbed, making a lengthy switchback into this edge of Mount Ghakis. The air grew colder, not warmer, and patches of snow became more frequent until they were unbroken.
Text that appears in this format is meant to be read aloud or paraphrased for players when their characters first arrive at a location or under a specific circumstance, as described in the text. Indoor and nighttime descriptions are written with the assumption that the adventurers are using a torch or other light source to see by.
| Avg. Level | Area | Chapter |
| 1st–3rd | Village of Barovia | 3 |
| 4th | Town of Vallaki | 5 |
| 4th | Old Bonegrinder | 6 |
| 5th | Village of Krezk | 8 |
| 5th | Wizard of Wines Winery | 12 |
| 6th | Van Richten's Tower | 11 |
| 6th | Yester Hill | 14 |
| 7th | Argynvostholt | 7 |
| 7th | Werewolf Den | 15 |
| 8th | Tsolenka Pass | 9 |
| 8th | The Ruins of Berez | 10 |
| 9th | Castle Ravenloft | 4 |
| 9th | The Amber Temple | 13 |
| d100 | Effect (lasts 1d10 minutes) |
| 01–20 | The character retreats into his or her mind and becomes paralyzed. The effect ends if the character takes any damage. |
| 21–30 | The character becomes incapacitated and spends the duration screaming, laughing, or weeping. |
| 31–40 | The character becomes frightened and must use his or her action and movement each round to flee from the source of the fear. |
| 41–50 | The character begins babbling and is incapable of normal speech or spellcasting. |
| 51–60 | The character must use his or her action each round to attack the nearest creature. |
| 61–70 | The character experiences vivid hallucinations and has disadvantage on ability checks. |
| 71–75 | The character does whatever anyone tells him or her to do that isn’t obviously self-destructive. |
| 76–80 | The character experiences an overpowering urge to eat something strange such as dirt, slime, or offal. |
| 81–90 | The character is stunned. |
| 91–100 | The character falls unconscious. |
| d100 | Effect (lasts 1d10 x 1d10 hours) |
| 01–10 | The character feels compelled to repeat a specific activity over and over, such as washing hands, touching things, praying, or counting coins. |
| 11–20 | The character experiences vivid hallucinations and has disadvantage on ability checks. |
| 21–30 | The character suffers extreme paranoia. The character has disadvantage on Wisdom and Charisma checks. |
| 31–40 | The character regards something (usually the source of madness) with intense revulsion, as if affected by the antipathy effect of the antipathy/sympathy spell. |
| 41–45 | The character experiences a powerful delusion. Choose a potion. The character imagines that he or she is under its effects. |
| 46–55 | The character becomes attached to a “lucky charm,” such as a person or an object, and has disadvantage on attack rolls, ability checks, and saving throws while more than 30 feet from it. |
| 56–65 | The character is blinded (25%) or deafened (75%). |
| 66–75 | The character experiences uncontrollable tremors or tics, which impose disadvantage on attack rolls, ability checks, and saving throws that involve Strength or Dexterity. |
| 76–85 | The character suffers from partial amnesia. The character knows who he or she is and retains racial traits and class features, but doesn’t recognize other people or remember anything that happened before the madness took effect. |
| 86–90 | Whenever the character takes damage, he or she must succeed on a DC 15 Wisdom saving throw or be affected as though he or she failed a saving throw against the confusion spell. The confusion effect lasts for 1 minute. |
| 91–95 | The character loses the ability to speak. |
| 96–100 | The character falls unconscious. No amount of jostling or damage can wake the character. |
| d100 | Flaw (lasts until cured) |
| 01–15 | “Being drunk keeps me sane.” |
| 16–25 | “I keep whatever I find.” |
| 26–30 | “I try to become more like someone else I know—adopting his or her style of dress, mannerisms, and name.” |
| 31–35 | “I must bend the truth, exaggerate, or outright lie to be interesting to other people.” |
| 36–45 | “Achieving my goal is the only thing of interest to me, and I’ll ignore everything else to pursue it.” |
| 46–50 | “I find it hard to care about anything that goes on around me.” |
| 51–55 | “I don’t like the way people judge me all the time.” |
| 56–70 | “I am the smartest, wisest, strongest, fastest, and most beautiful person I know.” |
| 71–80 | “I am convinced that powerful enemies are hunting me, and their agents are everywhere I go. I am sure they’re watching me all the time.” |
| 81–85 | “There’s only one person I can trust. And only I can see this special friend.” |
| 86–95 | “I can’t take anything seriously. The more serious the situation, the funnier I find it.” |
| 96–100 | “I’ve discovered that I really like killing people.” |
| d100 | Magic Item |
| 01–15 | Potion of greater healing |
| 16–22 | Potion of fire breath |
| 23–29 | Potion of resistance |
| 30–34 | Ammunition, +1 |
| 35–39 | Potion of animal friendship |
| 40–44 | Potion of hill giant strength |
| 45–49 | Potion of growth |
| 50–54 | Potion of water breathing |
| 55–59 | Spell scroll (2nd level) |
| 60–64 | Spell scroll (3rd level) |
| 65–67 | Bag of holding |
| 68–70 | Keoghtom’s ointment |
| 71–73 | Oil of slipperiness |
| 74–75 | Dust of disappearance |
| 76–77 | Dust of dryness |
| 78–79 | Dust of sneezing and choking |
| 80–81 | Elemental gem |
| 82–83 | Philter of love |
| 84 | Alchemy jug |
| 85 | Cap of water breathing |
| 86 | Cloak of the manta ray |
| 87 | Driftglobe |
| 88 | Goggles of night |
| 89 | Helm of comprehending languages |
| 90 | Immovable rod |
| 91 | Lantern of revealing |
| 92 | Mariner’s armor |
| 93 | Mithral armor |
| 94 | Potion of poison |
| 95 | Ring of swimming |
| 96 | Robe of useful items |
| 97 | Rope of climbing |
| 98 | Saddle of the cavalier |
| 99 | Wand of magic detection |
| 00 | Wand of secrets |
This dusty, ten-foot-wide, thirty-foot-long corridor has a flat ceiling ten feet overhead. To the south, a web-filled stairway spirals down into darkness. The north end of the hall ends at a wooden door.
This hall stands in deadly silence. Heavy beams support a sagging, ten-foot-high ceiling. Fog clings to the floor, obscuring everything that lies less than three feet above it. A giant shadow lurches across the ceiling as a dark figure shuffles purposefully down the corridor toward you.
Arched frames of stone form a low, wet ceiling over this wine cellar. Great casks line the walls, their bands rusting and their contents long since spilled onto the floor. A few hungry rats make their home here, but upon your sudden arrival, they retreat to the shadows.
The long, hollow sigh of the wind breathes a semblance of life into this otherwise featureless staircase.
A horrible odor of decay fills this steaming hot room. A huge pot bubbles over a blazing fire pit in the center of the room, its green, muddy contents churning. The far wall is lined with pegs, hanging from which are numerous large cooking implements—some of which could easily double as implements of torture.
This twenty-foot-square room is filled wall to wall with clutter. A long, sagging bed sits to one side under a huge faded tapestry that depicts Castle Ravenloft. Dusty lanterns sit in various places, and bright curtains are draped haphazardly about the room. Thousands of pieces of junk cover the floor. Broken swords, crumpled shields, and helmets lie in piles all about.
Dark stains cover the floor of this area. Large oak tables, scarred and beaten, lay scattered like toys about the room, their wood crushed and splintered. Replacing them are furnishings made entirely of human bones.
The walls and the twenty-foot-high vaulted ceiling are a sickly yellow color, not because of faded or timeworn plaster but because they are adorned with bones and skulls arranged in a morbidly decorative fashion, giving the room a cathedral-like quality. Four enormous mounds of bones occupy the corners of this ossuary, and garlands of skulls extend from these mounds to a chandelier of bones that hangs from the ceiling above a long table constructed of bones in the center of the room. Ten chairs made of bones and festooned with decorative skulls surround the table, resting atop which is an ornate, bowl-shaped vessel made of yet more bones.
The doors to the north and south are sheathed in bone, but the steel-banded double doors in the center of the east wall are not. Above these eastern doors is mounted the skull of a dragon.
This ten-foot-wide arched corridor is cold and moist. The cold seems to emanate from an open archway in the west wall.
Sickly, yellow lichen covers the ceiling of this cold, damp, ten-foot-wide passage running east and west. Opening off both sides of this passage are ten-foot-square alcoves that contain rotting cots, rags, and the skeletal remains of castle guards. A deathly silence fills the hall.
This thirty-foot-square room is a shambles. Scattered furniture lies in heaps near the walls. Broken bones lie scattered amid crumpled and crushed plate armor. Shields and swords jut from the walls as if driven into them by some tremendous force.
Two doors stand opposite one another in the center of the north wall and the south wall. A dark archway leads out through the east wall.
This dark passage runs for twenty feet, connecting an archway to the west with an ascending stone staircase to the east. To the north and south are four ten-foot-square alcoves cluttered with rotting cots and dirty rags. The ceilings here are covered with yellow lichen.
This shadowy room is in perfect order. A great table stands here with its chair, inkwell, and quill set carefully in place. Lances, swords, and shields that bear the Barovian crest are hung neatly on the dark, oak-paneled walls.
The stairs descend into black, still water that fills an arched hallway before you. The water’s surface is like dark, mirrored glass, disturbed only occasionally by the “thwick” of a drop falling from the ceiling. Twenty feet ahead, arched doorways lead downward from each side of the hallway. In each arched doorway, an iron door stands closed and partially submerged. You hear a weak cry for help from beyond the south door.
A mold-covered ceiling hangs three feet above the still, black water that fills this dungeon corridor. The water is five feet deep. Ten-foot-square cells, their entrances blocked by iron bars, line both sides of the hall. One of the cells is dimly lit.
The rusted door to this cell hangs open slightly.
Clinging to the bars of this otherwise empty cell is the rotting corpse of a male half-elf dressed in leather armor.
A glowing blade can be seen beneath the water near the back of the cell.
A mold-covered ceiling hangs three feet above the still, black water that fills this dungeon corridor. The water is five feet deep. Ten-foot-square cells, their entrances blocked by iron bars, line both sides of the hall. From one of the cells, you hear a gruff voice ask, “Who’s there?”
A strong young man clutches the bars of his cell while struggling to keep his teeth from chattering. His clothes are shredded, and he is soaked from head to toe.
Shackled to the back wall of this cell is an emaciated figure in a blue robe, its spindly arms spread wide and its head tilted forward. Long, gray hair hangs down in front of the dead man’s face.
Pounded into the roof of this cell is a rusted iron pulley, strung through which is a rope that is tied to one of the crossbeams of the barred door. Dangling upside down from the pulley is a man, flabby and stout of build, in tight-fitting leather armor. His boots are bound with rope just below the pulley, his fleshy hands are tied behind his back, and his head is underwater. He isn’t moving.
Dark, low shapes thrust up out of the still, brackish water that fills this fifty-foot-square room, the ceiling of which is festooned with hanging chains that look like thick, black web strands. A balcony set into the north wall overlooks the room and has two large thrones atop it, with a red velvet curtain behind them.
The dark shapes in the water are racks, iron maidens, stocks, and other instruments of torture. The skeletons of their last victims lie within them, their jaws seemingly frozen open in silent screams.
Two large, wooden thrones rest on this balcony. Behind the thrones hangs a red velvet curtain thirty feet long. The ceiling here is ten feet high.
This room is thirty feet square, rising to a twenty-foot-tall flat ceiling. A stone brazier burns fiercely in the center of the room, but its tall white flame produces no heat. The rim of the brazier is carved with seven cup-shaped indentations spaced evenly around the circumference. Within each indentation is a spherical stone, twice the diameter of a human eyeball and made of a colored crystal. No two stones are the same color.
Overhead, a wood-framed hourglass as tall and wide as a dwarf hangs ten feet above the brazier, suspended from the ceiling by thick iron chains. All the sand is stuck in the upper portion of the hourglass, seemingly unable to run down into the bottom. Written in glowing script on the base of the hourglass is a verse in Common.
Two nine-foot-tall iron statues of knights on horseback, poised to charge with swords drawn, stand in deep alcoves facing each other. The brazier sits between them.
| Flame Color | Teleports to … |
| Red | Study (area K37) |
| Orange | North tower peak (area K60) |
| Yellow | Strahd’s tomb (area K86) |
| Green | Coffin maker’s shop (chapter 5, area N6f) |
| Blue | Amber Temple (chapter 13, area X42) |
| Indigo | Abbey of Saint Markovia (chapter 8, area S17) |
| Violet | Tsolenka Pass (chapter 9, area T4) |
This staircase of ancient stone is worn smooth. Thick dust covers its steps, and cobwebs choke the passage.
A sickly mist fills the stairway ahead, then coalesces into the form of the vampire Strahd, his eyes burning red with anger. “You have worn out your welcome,” he says. “Whatever gods you believe in cannot save you now!”
The door creaks open to reveal a stone staircase between rough masonry walls. There is little dust on the steps, but light fog tumbles down the steps from above.
The rough-hewn corridor ends at a stone staircase that descends to the south. Flanked by walls of rough masonry and relatively free of dust, these stairs descend before ending at a lonely door.
This tunnel is cut into the Pillarstone of Ravenloft itself. Its surface is slick, and its ceiling is barely 6 feet high. A lingering fog limits visibility to a few feet.
You fall into a chute of polished black marble and slide into the darkness.
Behind the door lies a dark spiral staircase.The staircase starts at area K78, climbs to a landing at area K83a, and continues upward to area K37.
This forty-foot-long corridor connects two spiral stairways, one leading up and the other descending into the depths of Castle Ravenloft. Hanging from an iron rod bolted to the eastern wall is a dusty, ten-foot-square tapestry depicting knights on horseback charging across a battlefield under a bloodred sky. The lead knight rides a black horse and wears a fur-lined black cloak, dark gray armor, and a visored helm shaped like a wolf’s head. His sword glows with the light of the sun.
Buried deep beneath the keep of Ravenloft lie ancient catacombs, with arched ceilings supported by wide, hollow columns that double as crypts. Cobwebs hang limp in the musty air. A thick fog clings to the floor, which is covered in putrid waste. The black ceiling is moving.
The domed ceiling of this crypt is painted with an image of imps holding bouquets of colorful flowers. A skeleton draped in rags lies atop a marble slab in the center of the crypt. A wooden box is tucked under one bony hand.
A skeleton draped in rags lies atop a marble slab in the center of the crypt. Piled all around it, covering the floor, are heaps of old baskets, braziers, bundled tapestries, candlesticks, chairs, chests, cooking utensils, cressets, curtain rods, decanters, dishes, jugs, lamps, scroll cases, tankards, and tinderboxes. None of the junk looks valuable. An old chandelier hangs from the domed ceiling.
The apparition of a large, rotund man forms within the dark crypt, its eyes wild with insanity. Large, artificial wings unfold from its back.
You are greeted by the faint smell of wine. A skeleton draped in rags lies atop a marble slab in the center of the crypt. Heaped around it, covering the entire floor, are thousands of empty wine bottles.
This crypt smells of roses. The remains atop its marble slab have disintegrated, except for one thighbone.
A ghostly form appears above the dust, so faint that you can barely discern more than part of a face. From this apparition comes the faintest of whispers: “The vampire must be destroyed. Use me as your weapon.” With that, it fades away.
The stone door of this crypt lies on the floor, its inscription obscured by fog. The crypt gapes open. A skull, some bones, and a few bits of rusted armor lie atop a marble slab with a leering stone gargoyle squatting at each end.
A skeleton draped in rags lies atop a marble slab in the center of the crypt. Hanging on the back wall is a handsome quilt that depicts a royal feast.
A small skeleton wearing the remains of a fool’s costume lies atop a stumpy marble slab in the center of the crypt.
An oversized skeleton draped in jewelry and rags lies atop an elongated marble slab in the center of the crypt. Leaning against the slab is a bloodstained maul strung with cobwebs.
A skeleton wearing tattered priestly vestments lies atop a marble slab in the center of the crypt. The domed ceiling overhead is painted with a glorious sun mural.
“There is a grave to the west, with roses that never die, in a place built by healers, in a village called Krezk. When all turns to darkness, touch this holy symbol to the grave to summon the light and find a treasure long lost.”
There are no bones atop the marble slab in this crypt, only a steel helm with a visor shaped like an angry face.
A skeleton draped in rags lies atop a marble slab in the center of the crypt. Lying amid the bones is a stoppered drinking horn, a fat pouch, and a weird-looking scepter made of metal and wood. Above the bones, hanging from the domed ceiling by wires, is a wooden flying contraption that looks like a set of folding dragon wings fitted with leather straps, metal buckles, and taut leather wing flaps.
A ten-foot-square shaft plunges into darkness. The sound of slowly dripping water echoes up the shaft.
At the bottom of the shaft is a dank vault with a ten-foot-high ceiling. The room is awkwardly shaped and smells of rotten meat. Fifteen stone coffins are scattered throughout the vault, all oriented with their heads pointed north. The floor is covered with human bones and rusty swords.
A flash of light explodes around you, and then you are plunged into absolute darkness, suddenly lying in a confined space choked with dust.
A skeleton draped in rags lies atop a marble slab in the center of the crypt. The skull has black opals set in its eye sockets and shards of amber where its teeth should be.
A skeleton draped in rags lies atop a marble slab in the center of the crypt. Nine shallow alcoves are carved into the surrounding walls. The back wall of each alcove is painted with a full-body image of a handsome man. Some of the men wear fine clothes; others wear armor. At the feet of each painting rests a skull atop a pile of bones.
An eleven-foot-long funeral barge dominates this crypt, wedged diagonally into the available space. Lying in the boat is a skeleton draped in rags, with hundreds of gold coins piled around it.
A skeleton draped in rags lies atop a marble slab in the center of the crypt.
Webs as thick and pale as linen cover a shapely female form lying atop a marble slab in the center of this dusty, web-filled crypt. You hear a voice issue from the darkness.
“My love, have you come to set me free?”
The woman rises, the shroud of webs clinging to her in a ghastly fashion.
From the darkness comes a horrifying visage, a spectral elf maiden twisted by the horror of her undead existence. She wails, and the very sound claws at your soul.
In the center of the crypt, a skeleton draped in rags lies atop a marble slab, surrounded by thousands of coins.
Sir Erik Vonderbucks was a wealthy noble whose dying wish was to have his corpse dipped in molten gold.
A skeleton draped in bits of fur lies atop a marble slab in the center of the crypt. The walls and ceiling are covered with plaster painted to make the crypt seem as if it stands in an evergreen forest, surrounded by snow. The plaster has peeled and fallen away in many places, shattering the illusion.
A skeleton draped in rags lies atop a marble slab in the center of the crypt. Most of the bones appear dusty and neglected, but the skull is well polished.
A skeleton draped in rags lies atop a marble slab in the center of the crypt. Most of the bones appear dusty and neglected, but the skull is well polished.
This crypt is missing its door.
A skeleton draped in white linen lies atop a marble slab in the center of the crypt, clutching a bell to its sunken chest. Fitted over its skull is a tall chef’s hat.
Opening the door causes the air around you to turn as cold as the coldest hell you can imagine. Every surface inside the crypt is covered with thick, brownish mold.
A marble slab in the center of the crypt displays a skeleton draped in red vestments, a golden holy symbol clutched in one bony hand. The domed ceiling fifteen feet above is painted to look like a canopy of trees with bright autumn leaves. A narrow stone ledge encircles the crypt ten feet above the floor. Perched on it are dozens of stone ravens, their eyes fixed on the marble slab.
This crypt is empty. Its walls are painted to depict mountains of gold coins.
This crypt is empty except for two alcoves in the back wall. Above the alcoves are carved the following words: Pass Not These Portals Ye Foolish Mortals
In the center of this crypt, atop a marble slab, human bones lie amid the empty shell of a suit of rusty plate armor. Plunged through the armor’s breastplate is a longsword.
Resting in the center of this crypt is a seven-foot-long gilded sarcophagus, its lid painted with the likeness of a screaming king wearing a crown of horns. Looming behind the sarcophagus is a stuffed owlbear frozen in a roar, with claws outstretched.
A charnel stench fills this empty crypt.
A skeleton draped in rags lies atop a marble slab in the center of the crypt.
Lying on a marble slab in the center of this crypt is the corpse of a man with a long white beard. His skin clings tightly to his skull and bones, and he wears dusty red robes. Clutched to his chest is a wooden staff that has a brass knob on one end and a marble knob on the other.
The stench of brimstone and burnt fur spills from this crypt. In its darkness are three pairs of glowing red eyes.
Bits of incinerated bone lie strewn atop a marble slab in the center of the crypt. Lying amid the bones are fragments of a shattered spear with a silvered head. The walls and domed ceiling of the crypt are covered with scorched murals that depict legions of infantry and cavalry clashing on battlefields.
Dry, hot air and smoke billow from the crypt as a black horse with a flaming mane and fiery hooves emerges. Smoke billows from its nostrils as it rears up to attack.
A skeleton draped in rags lies atop a marble slab in the center of the crypt. Mounted on the north, east, and south walls are three unlit torches in iron brackets.
White marble steps descend to a tomb that has a vaulted ceiling thirty feet overhead. A stillness—a calm amid the storm—is felt here. In the center of the tomb, a white marble slab supports an intricately inlaid coffin. Chiseled into the slab is a name: Sergei von Zarovich. To the north, behind the coffin, are three alcoves. A beautifully carved statue stands in each alcove—a stunning young man flanked by two angels—looking as polished and new as the day each was placed there. An iron lever protrudes from the south wall, west of the tomb’s entrance.
Black marble steps descend to a dark tomb that has a vaulted ceiling thirty feet overhead. The essence of evil permeates the very air. The smell of freshly turned earth is here. Settled into the dirt on the floor is a shining black coffin of finely waxed wood. The coffin’s fittings are of brilliant brass, and the lid is closed. South of the coffin are three gloomy alcoves. An iron lever protrudes from the north wall, east of the tomb’s entrance.
Wide steps descend to a landing flanked by two alcoves. Within each alcove, taking up the full thirty-foot height of the ceiling, is a bronze statue of a warrior holding a spear. A soft blue curtain of light flows between the two alcoves. Dimly visible on the other side of the curtain are more descending stairs.
This tomb rests in hushed silence. Tall, stained glass windows dominate the eastern walls, allowing dim light to fall on two coffins resting atop white marble slabs. The one against the north wall is marked King Barov von Zarovich, and the one against the south wall is marked Queen Ravenovia van Roeyen. The vaulted ceiling thirty feet overhead is inlaid with a beautiful gold mosaic.
After winding through the forest and craggy mountain peaks, the road takes a sudden turn to the east, and the startling, awesome presence of Castle Ravenloft towers before you. The carriage comes to a dead stop before twin turrets of stone, broken from years of exposure. Beyond these guard towers is the precipice of a fifty-foot-wide, fog-filled chasm that disappears into unknown depths.
A lowered drawbridge of old, shored-up wooden beams stretches across the chasm, between you and the archway to the courtyard. The chains of the drawbridge creak in the wind, their rust-eaten iron straining under the weight. From atop the high walls, stone gargoyles stare at you out of their hollow eye sockets and grin hideously. A rotting wooden portcullis, green with growth, hangs above the entry tunnel. Beyond this location, the main doors of Ravenloft stand open. A rich, warm light spills from within, flooding the courtyard. Torches flutter sadly in sconces on both sides of the open doors.
Thick, cold fog swirls in this courtyard. Sporadic flashes of lightning lance the weeping clouds overhead as thunder shakes the ground. Through the drizzle, you see torch flames fluttering on each side of the keep’s open main doors. Warm light spills out of the entrance, flooding the courtyard. High above the entrance is a round window with shards of broken glass lodged in its iron frame.
A massive wall juts out to connect the outer walls of the castle with the keep. A twenty-foot-wide, twenty-foot-tall archway offers passage through the connecting wall but is blocked by a rusting iron portcullis.
This courtyard northeast of the keep is enclosed by towering walls. A stone carriage house with hinged wooden doors stands silent in the corner where the outer walls meet. Across from the carriage house, a slender wooden door reinforced with iron bands leads into the keep.
The double doors swing open to reveal a sleek, black carriage fitted with glass windows and brass lanterns.
At the back of the keep, behind towering buttresses and tall, boarded-up stained-glass windows, a small garden struggles to survive. Small flowers press skyward against the gloom. A pair of large iron gates blocks the way to some kind of overlook.
Dark clouds overhead drizzle constantly. A flagstone avenue passes between empty outbuildings, leading to a stone-paved overlook. The overlook has a low stone wall adorned with outward-facing gargoyle carvings.
A flash of lightning illuminates the dismal village of Barovia, its rooftops visible above a smothering blanket of fog one thousand feet below.
Underneath the platform on which you stand, about one hundred feet down, a stone construction protrudes from the cliff face. Three dirt-caked windows are set into it.
The ornate outer doors of the castle hang open, flanked by fluttering torches in iron sconces. Twenty feet inside the castle is a second set of doors.
The doors in front of you suddenly swing open, revealing a grand hall filled with the sound of organ music.
A set of double doors to the west appears to be, or to lead to, an exit from the castle.
Overhead, in the vaulted entry foyer, four statues of dragons glare down, their eyes flickering in the torchlight.
Cobwebs stretch between the columns that support the vaulted ceiling of a great, dusty hall dimly lit by sputtering torches in iron sconces. The torches cast odd shadows across the faces of eight stone gargoyles squatting motionlessly on the rim of the domed ceiling. Cracked and faded ceiling frescoes are covered by decay.
Double doors of bronze stand closed to the east. To the north, a wide staircase climbs into darkness. A lit hallway to the south contains another set of bronze doors, through which you hear sad and majestic organ tones.
An elf with brown skin and long black hair descends the wide staircase, quiet as a cat. He wears a gray cloak over black studded leather armor and has a polished scimitar hanging from his belt. “My master is expecting you,” he says.
Torchlight flutters against the walls of this vaulted hall. To the east, an arched hallway stretches for twenty feet, ending at a spiral staircase that goes up and down. Next to the hallway, a suit of armor, oiled and glistening, stands at attention in a shallow alcove. To the west, large double doors hang slightly open, and a steady bright light escapes through the opening. Swells of organ music come from behind the doors, spilling their melody of power and defeat into the hall.
Three enormous crystal chandeliers brilliantly illuminate this magnificent chamber. Pillars of stone stand against dull white marble walls, supporting the ceiling. In the center of the room, a long, heavy table is covered with a fine white satin cloth. The table is laden with many delectable foods: roasted beast basted in a savory sauce, roots and herbs of every taste, and sweet fruits and vegetables. Places are set for each of you with fine, delicate china and silver. At each place is a crystal goblet filled with an amber liquid with a delicate, tantalizing fragrance.
At the center of the far west wall, between floor-to-ceiling mirrors, stands a massive organ. Its pipes blare out a thunderous melody that speaks in its tone of greatness and despair. Seated at the organ, facing away from you, a single caped figure pounds the keys in raptured ecstasy. The figure suddenly stops, and as a deep silence falls over the dining hall, it slowly turns toward you.
The castle courtyard is visible through arrow slits in the north and west walls. Leaning against the walls are mirrors of various sizes, some as tall as a human and others small enough to fit in a backpack.
A high, domed ceiling caps the thirty-foot-wide octagonal room before you. Frescoes faded with age adorn the ceiling, but their images are impossible to make out. Tall, thin arrow slits look out over the courtyard.
This long, narrow corridor runs east to west. Cobwebs fill the hall, obstructing sight beyond a few feet.
This grand hall is choked with dust and stretches into darkness ahead. Webs hang from the arched ceiling like drapes, and life-sized statues of knights line the hallway on both sides, their eyes seeming to watch you.
Dim, colored light filters through tall, broken, and boarded-up windows of stained glass, illuminating the ancient chapel of Ravenloft. A few bats flutter about near the top of the ninety-foot-high domed ceiling. A balcony runs the length of the west wall, fifty feet above the floor. In the center of the balcony, two dark shapes are slumped in tall chairs.
Benches coated with centuries of dust lie about the floor in jumbled disarray. Beyond this debris, lit by a piercing shaft of light, an altar stands upon a stone platform. The sides of the altar are carved with bas-reliefs of angelic figures entwined with grape vines. The light from above falls directly on a silver statuette. A cloaked figure is draped over the altar, and a black mace lies on the floor near its feet.
This arched room connects a vast chamber to the east and a staircase that rises to the west. Alcoves in the north and south walls hold eight-foot-tall sculptures of helmed knights with muscular builds. Black shadows fall across their faces.
This arched room connects a vast chamber to the east and the landing of a staircase to the west. To the left of the landing, the stairs curl down into darkness. To the right, the stairs climb into thick drapes of cobwebs. Alcoves in the north and south walls hold eight-foot-tall sculptures of helmed knights with bright blades. Black shadows obscure their faces.
The large flagstones of this spiraling staircase lead up and down around a twenty-foot-wide stone core. Cobwebs fill the staircase, making it difficult to see even the ceiling. Heavy beams sag overhead from centuries of supporting weight.
Massive stairs rise to a landing twenty feet wide by forty feet long. Stone arches support a ceiling covered with frescoes twenty feet overhead. The frescoes depict armored knights on horseback, their finer features faded beyond recognition.
Dust floats in the air here. At each end of the south wall, a staircase rises into darkness. Between the staircases are twin alcoves, each one containing a standing suit of armor covered with dark stains. Each suit of armor clutches a mace, the “business end” of which is shaped like a dragon’s head. Words engraved on the arches above the suits of armor have been scratched out.
A mosaic floor adds a touch of color to the otherwise dark, cold, empty tower that rises above you. A spiral staircase rises slowly into darkness, hugging the outer wall. In the center of the room, another set of stairs leads down.
As you step onto the spiral staircase, a reddish light flares high overhead, then settles into a dull, pulsing red glow. You now see the full immensity of this tower. The spiral staircase circles up the tower’s full height. The tower, sixty feet wide at its base, becomes narrower as it climbs. At the pinnacle of the hollow tower, a large crystal heart pulsates with red light. Above the heart, the stairs continue upward.
Fluttering torches in iron sconces illuminate this spiral staircase. A chill wind rushes down the circling stairway, seeming to kill the very heat of the torches.
The castle courtyard is visible through arrow slits in the walls.
Dim light filters in through a dust-caked window in the east wall. A door next to the window leads to the castle’s northeast courtyard.
Everything in this room is coated with dust, including a large, heavy table in the center of the floor. A thick book lies open on a desk, with an inkwell and a quill next to it. There is a broken door in the north wall, and a staircase in the south wall plunges into darkness. On each side of the staircase, a skeletal figure draped in gleaming chain mail stands sagging at attention, holding a rusty halberd.
Broken furniture and torn cloth are strewn about this twenty-by-forty-foot room. Dim light comes from a pair of dirt-caked windows in the northeast corner. A narrow staircase with no railing ascends along the north wall.
Dim light from the courtyard falls into this great hall through the broken glass and iron latticework of a large window in the west wall. This immense room is a place of chilly, brooding darkness. Empty iron sconces dot the walls. Hundreds of dust-laden cobwebs drape the hall, hiding the ceiling from view. Directly across from the window stand a set of double doors in the east wall. Farther south, a single door also leads from the east wall. Staircases at both ends of the north wall lead down.
At the far southern end of the hall, a large wooden throne stands atop a marble dais. The high-backed throne faces south, away from most of the room.
The doors open to reveal another set of double doors ten feet ahead. Between these doors, a ten-foot-wide corridor stretches north to south. At each end of the hall, floating in the darkness, is a human skeleton clad in the rusted armor and tattered livery of a castle guard.
This twenty-foot-high hall has a dark, vaulted ceiling draped with cobwebs. A low moan seems to travel the length of the corridor as it rises and falls, intoning sadness and despair.
You hear a scraping sound of stone against stone, followed by the squeaking of a bat. In the direction of the noise, you see the fanged visage, outstretched claws, and flapping black cape of a vampire bearing down on you from above! A deep, throaty chuckle fills the hall.
A sculpted stone railing encloses this long balcony, which overlooks Ravenloft’s chapel. Two ornate thrones stand side by side in the center of the balcony, covered with dust and strung with cobwebs. The thrones face away from the double doors that give access to the balcony.
This staircase is made of old wood that strains underfoot, creaking and groaning.
Dusty scrolls and tomes line the walls of this room. More scrolls and books lie scattered on the floor, around four heavy wooden chests fitted with study iron locks. The only unobstructed floor space is directly in front of the doors on the east and west walls.
In the center of this clutter stands a great black desk. A figure crouches atop a tall stool, scratching on a seemingly endless scroll of paper with a dry quill pen. Nearby a tasseled rope hangs from a hole in the ceiling.
| d4 | Creature |
| 1 | 1d6 shadows |
| 2 | 1d4 vampire spawn |
| 3 | 1d4 wights |
| 4 | 1 wraith and 1d4 + 1 specters |
The aromas of grease and well-oiled wood hit your nostrils as you pull open the door. This ten-by-twenty-foot room is filled with intricate machinery, except for small spaces between the stone gears and the iron chains and pulleys. On the other side of the machinery, to the south, is a rectangular shaft that rises up from the darkness and continues past this room. Attached to the west wall is a steel plate that has an iron lever protruding downward.
Cold air fills this rectangular shaft, the walls of which are coated with mildew and worn smooth. Taut iron chains extend up and down the shaft. The links of the chains are thick and covered with grease.
This ten-foot-square room overlooks a vertical shaft to the south that plunges into darkness and continues upward.
Oil lamps illuminate this long, rectangular chamber with oak-paneled walls. Stained, yellowed lace hangs neatly from eight canopied beds. The figure of a woman moves lithely about the room, dusting furniture and humming quietly. Around her pale, slender neck is a gold necklace with a ruby pendant.
This arched corridor has been swept clean. Oak paneling decorates the walls to a height of four feet. Mounted on the east wall above the wood paneling are three unlit oil lamps spaced ten feet apart. A plain wooden door is set into the west wall, and light seeps through its cracks. A staircase at the north end of the west wall ascends into darkness.
Dirt-caked windows allow little light to enter this upstairs room. Broken bed frames and torn bits of mattress litter the floors. A tall, dusty wardrobe roughly shaped like a coffin, its black doors painted with fey creatures, stands between two cracked, full-length mirrors hanging on the south wall. A staircase descends along the north wall.
A plain white dress yellowed with age flies out of the wardrobe and begins to dance in the middle of the room. The dress flaps around to the music of the storm.
A door of delicately engraved steel stands at the west end of this short, dark hallway. Intricate details stand out clearly on the door’s surface. The door seems to shine with a light of its own, untouched by time. Flanking the door are two alcoves in shadow. A dark, vaguely man-shaped figure stands in each alcove.
Dust assaults your lungs. A sweet yet pungent smell of decay fills this room, in the center of which stands a long oak table. A blanket of dust covers the tabletop and its fine china and silverware. In the center of the table, a large, tiered cake leans heavily to one side. The once white frosting has turned green with age. Cobwebs hang like dusty lace down every side of the cake. A single doll figure of a well-dressed woman adorns the crest of the cake. Suspended above is a web-shrouded chandelier of forged iron. An arched window in the south wall is draped with heavy curtains. Resting in a wooden stand by the window is a dusty lute, and standing quietly in the southwest corner is a tall harp shrouded in cobwebs.
Billowing drapes draw your eye to the window, which has been broken outward. Scattered about the floor are chunks of the moldy cake, as if something had burst out of it.
A blazing hearth fire fills this room with rolling waves of red and amber light. The walls are lined with ancient books and tomes, their leather covers well oiled and preserved through careful use. All is in order here. The stone floor is concealed beneath a thick, luxurious rug. In the center of the room is a large, low table, waxed and polished to a mirrored finish. Even the poker in its stand next to the blazing fireplace is polished. Large, overstuffed divans and couches are arranged about the room. Two chairs of burgundy-colored wood with padded leather seats and back cushions face the hearth. A huge painting hangs over the mantelpiece in a heavy, gilded frame. The rolling firelight illuminates the carefully rendered portrait. It is an exact likeness of Ireena Kolyana.
| d12 | Book |
| 1 | Alchemist’s tome |
| 2 | Bestiary of strange beasts |
| 3 | Biography of a forgotten king or queen |
| 4 | Book of exotic recipes |
| 5 | Book of heraldry |
| 6 | Book of military strategy |
| 7 | Epic novel |
| 8 | Guide to fine wines |
| 9 | Heretical text |
| 10 | Historical text |
| 11 | Poetry anthology |
| 12 | Theological text |
Resting on the floor of this smoke-filled room is a closed chest surrounded by piles of gold, silver, and copper coins. The fittings and clawed feet on the chest are evidence of great workmanship.
Attached to the east wall are two torch sconces. The southernmost one holds a torch with an intricate metal base. The other is empty. A skeleton in broken plate armor lies against the wall. The skeleton’s right hand is on its throat, and its left hand holds the matching torch from the empty sconce.
This ancient hall is choked with spider webs broken by a single clear path down its center.
You can hear the rain and thunder outside, and the air here is cold and damp. Veils and curtains of webbing fill the room, making it hard to gauge its width and depth. A single, narrow path leads to the dark center of the room, where a rope dangles from high above.
This octagonal vault is free of dust and cobwebs. The domed ceiling forty feet above is painted black and sparkles with a display of stars in unfamiliar constellations. Barely contained within this vault is a square tower, twenty feet on a side and thirty feet high, with arrow slits on all sides and a battlemented roof.
Sweet smells waft from this delicately lit room. A great arched window along the west wall is covered by heavy red draperies, their golden tassels glinting in the light of three candelabras sitting atop small tables about the room. Tall white candles burn with bright, steady light.
A large bed, canopied by silk curtains, sits with its headboard against the north wall. Carved into the headboard with great skill is a large “Z.” Lying amid the velvet and satin sheets and bedclothes is a young woman in a nightgown. One of her dainty slippers has fallen to the floor at the bed’s foot.
Red satin curtains hang in archways at both ends of the south wall in this dark room. Between them, in the center of the chamber, stands a large, ornate iron tub with clawed feet. The tub is full of blood.
A blood-drenched creature explodes out of the tub and attaches to the ceiling, cackling maniacally. Blood pours off its pale flesh, bony limbs, and stringy hair as it scuttles away.
The walls here are lined with iron hooks, upon which hang black capes and formal wear. Two arched windows in the south wall are covered by heavy curtains.
Dark alcoves line the walls of this long hall. The ceiling has fallen here, leaving rubble strewn across the floor. Overhead, the beams of Ravenloft’s roof are exposed. Lightning from the dark clouds above sporadically illuminates the hall, lighting the faces of life-sized human statues in the alcoves. Each visage is frozen in terror.
You stand on a ten-foot-wide walkway that encircles most of the keep. The drizzle of rain continues, punctuated by the occasional clap of thunder or stroke of lightning. Far below these parapets are the shining wet cobblestones of the courtyard.
A mosaic floor adds a touch of color to the otherwise dark, cold, empty tower that rises above you. A spiral staircase rises slowly into darkness, hugging the outer wall. In the center of the room, another set of stairs leads down.
As you step onto the spiral staircase, a reddish light flares high overhead, then settles into a dull, pulsing red glow. You now see the full immensity of this tower. The spiral staircase circles up the tower’s full height. The tower, sixty feet wide at its base, becomes narrower as it climbs. At the pinnacle of the hollow tower, a large crystal heart pulsates with red light. Above the heart, the stairs continue upward.
You come to a dark landing ten feet wide and twenty feet long. A cold draft of wind rushes down the spiral staircase at the north end of the east wall and whistles mournfully through the room before streaming down the stairs to the south.
An ornate, square rug covers the floor to the south. Set into the west wall is an ironbound wooden door with a wooden trapdoor set into the floor in front of it. Hanging on the north wall above the trapdoor is a framed portrait of a handsome, well-dressed man with a serene yet penetrating gaze.
This spiraling staircase is dark and dusty.
As thunder shakes the tower, heavy beams groan under the weight of the ceiling. Three ornate lanterns hang by chains from these beams, each casting a dim glow. The curved west wall is fitted with three windows of leaded glass in steel latticework. A bookcase sits on the east wall between two doors. Plush, overstuffed chairs and couches are placed about the room. The fabric has faded with age, and the patterns it depicts are nearly gone. Lounging on one couch is a handsome young man whose attire, while elegant, is worn and faded.
A large bed sits in the center of this room, its four corner posts supporting a black canopy trimmed with gold tassels. Several comfortable divans are placed about the room. There is a banded door in the west wall and a smaller unbanded door in the east wall.
This small, wood-paneled room reeks of mildew and has a ten-foot-high ceiling. Iron hooks line the walls, and a dusty black cloak hangs from one hook in the center of the south wall.
Jutting from the steeply sloping rooftop of the castle, a spindly smokestack, five feet in diameter at the top, rises thirty feet above the roof’s peak. Smoke belches from its iron-pronged capstone.
Rain splashes against the sagging, sloping rooftop. Flashes of lightning illuminate gargoyles perched on the roof’s end peaks, their hideous stares forever fixed on the courtyard some one hundred thirty feet below.
Some of the ancient roof tiles slide easily underfoot, easily dropping into the fog-shrouded darkness. Each falling tile resounds with a hollow click as it hits the flagstones of the parapet or courtyard below.
The low ceiling of this twenty-foot-square room presses down on you. Torn and broken couches lie in heaps, haphazardly strewn about. Deep claw marks cover the hardwood furniture, and the once lush upholstery has been sliced to shreds. From the dark shadows amid the rubble, three pairs of green eyes stare back at you.
Heavy beams support the ceiling of this large room, the outer wall of which curves to follow the shape of the tower. Dim light filters into the room through the steel lattice squares of two leaded glass windows. Several tables stand throughout the room, weighed down by stacks of glass jars and bottles, all of them bearing labels.
Green-glowing wisps of steam bubble up from a fat, black cauldron in the center of this dark, oppressive room. Surrounding the cauldron are several gaunt women in soiled black robes. These witches sit hunched on tall wooden stools, their tangled hair tucked under black, pointed hats. They take turns tossing ingredients into the cauldron, uttering fell incantations, and cackling maniacally.
Green-glowing wisps of steam bubble up from a fat, black cauldron in the center of this dark, oppressive room. Surrounding the cauldron are seven tall wooden stools.
The sixty-foot-diameter tower roof is rimmed with battlements. A slender stone bridge with no railing spans the gap between this tower and the slightly taller tower to the north. To the east, the high tower of Ravenloft thrusts skyward with no apparent opening at this level. Black, boiling clouds hurl rain down from above.
A strong wind blows across this slender bridge of stone and masonry. The bridge’s old iron railings have rusted away years ago, leaving the bridge without handholds.
The spiral staircase finally ends at a five-foot-wide stone walkway that circles the shaft. In the center of the tower’s highest floor, a fifteen-foot-diameter hole drops into the cold heart of Ravenloft itself. Cold air rushes up out of the shaft, sending a chill through you. Arrow slits line the walls, and aging beams support a steep, cone-shaped roof. One beam and part of the roof have fallen away, leaving a gaping hole open to the stormy sky.
Something lurks among the rafters—a small, spindly man not much larger than a child. A flash of lightning illuminates his face, which is painted like a grinning jack-o’-lantern.
It’s obvious that you’re looking not at a small man, but a mockery of one. This thing is not a creature of flesh and bone, but a construct made of dyed leather stitched and tightly wrapped over an articulated frame. You hear the soft tumbling and clicking of gears.
The stairs end at a dark and dreary room with manacles attached to the walls. In the middle of the room is a wood-framed bed fitted with leather restraints. At the foot of the bed rests a closed iron chest, is lid sculpted with an emblem.
A wooden ladder leads up to a trapdoor in the ceiling. Thin streams of water drip through the trapdoor’s rotting wood, forming a puddle around the base of the ladder.
A cold wind greets you atop the tower roof, its rain-slicked flagstones surrounded by a twenty-foot-diameter ring of stone battlements. The thunderclouds above suddenly coalesce into the terrible visage of Strahd. The face utters a ghastly moan as thousands of bats fly out of its gaping maw and descend upon the tower.
Duchess Morwen of Daggerford is having guests for dinner—and you are invited. No strangers to Daggerford, you have come to the town’s defense on more than one occasion, and you count Lady Morwen as a friend and a benefactor.
A cool autumn breeze blows through the streets as you make your way to the keep. As you dine on hot, spicy soup and tenderly cooked pheasant, you can tell that the duchess seems more out of sorts than usual. Then a pall comes over the occasion as she voices her concern about a band of wayward travelers camped outside the town’s walls. They seemed harmless at first, but Morwen has received reports that they have begun harassing townsfolk and other visitors as they come and go, demanding money and wine, and threatening to put hexes on anyone who doesn’t pay up.
Yesterday, the duchess ordered several guards to scare away the mysterious visitors, but they couldn’t get the job done. When the guards returned, they spoke sympathetically about the visitors. It seemed as if the guards had been magically charmed.
Morwen doesn’t want an armed conflict, but she aims to send a stern message to the visitors and asks you to deliver it on her behalf. “If they don’t leave before dawn,” she says, “I’ll burn their wagons to the ground.”
As the evening grows dark, you see a dozen men and women gathered around a crackling bonfire. The folk are in good spirits. A few of them sing and dance around the fire while others find happiness in their flasks and wineskins. Three barrel-topped wagons are parked at odd angles. Tied to a nearby tree, grazing, are half a dozen draft horses wearing bright coats with bangles and tassels.
Stanimir laughs. “Don’t worry. We have no wish to make enemies of Lady Morwen. I have a story to tell all of you. First you listen, then we go.”
Stanimir fills his mouth with wine, then spits into the fire. The flames turn from orange to green. As they dance and sway, a dark shape appears in the bonfire’s core.
“We come from an ancient land whose name is long forgotten—a land of kings. Our enemies forced us from our homes, and now we wander the lost roads.”
The dark shape in the fire takes the form of a man being knocked from his horse, a spear piercing his side.
Stanimir continues. “One night, a wounded soldier staggered into our camp and collapsed. We nursed his terrible injury and quenched his thirst with wine. He survived. When we asked him who he was, he wouldn’t say. All he wanted was to return home, but we were deep in the land of his enemies. We took him as one of our own and followed him back toward his homeland. His enemies hunted him. They said he was a prince, yet we didn’t give him up, even when their assassins fell upon us like wolves.”
Deep in the bonfire, you see the dark figure standing with sword drawn, fighting off a host of shadowy shapes.
“This man of royal blood fought to protect us, as we protected him. We bore him safely to his home, and he thanked us. He said, ‘I owe you my life. Stay as long as you wish, leave when you choose, and know that you will always be safe here.’”
The figure in the dancing fire vanquishes its final foe, then disperses in a cloud of smoke and embers.
Stanimir’s face becomes a somber mask. “A curse has befallen our noble prince, turning him into a tyrant. We alone have the power to leave his domain. We’ve traveled far and wide to find heroes such as yourselves to end our dread lord’s curse and put his troubled soul to rest. Our leader, Madam Eva, knows all. Will you return to Barovia with us and speak with her?”
| Creature | CR |
| Baba Lysaga | 11 |
| Baba Lysaga's Creeping Hut | 11 |
| Broom of animated attack | 1/4 |
| Barovian witch | 1/2 |
| Ezmerelda d'Avenir | 8 |
| Guardian portrait | 1 |
| Izek Strazni | 5 |
| Madam Eva | 10 |
| Mongrelfolk | 1/4 |
| Phantom Warrior | 3 |
| Pidlwick II | 1/4 |
| Rahadin | 10 |
| Rictavio | 5 |
| Strahd's Animated Armor | 6 |
| Strahd von Zarovich | 15 |
| Strahd Zombie | 1 |
| Tree Blight | 7 |
| Vladimir Horngaard | 7 |
| Wereraven | 2 |
To a party of seasoned adventurers such as yourselves, what you see is but another dull tavern in another dull town in some nameless province. It is but another span of time between the challenges of true adventuring.
Outside the tavern, a fog lies over the town this evening. The damp, cobbled pavement glistens as the lights of street lanterns dance across the slick stones. The fog chills the bones and shivers the soul of anyone outside.
Yet inside these tavern walls the food is hearty, and the ale is warm and frothy. A fire blazes in the hearth, and the tavern is alive with the tumbling voices of country folk.
Suddenly, the tavern door swings open, and a hush falls over the room. Framed by the lamp-lit fog, a form strides through the doorway. His heavy, booted footfalls and the jingle of his coins shatter the silence. His brightly colored clothes are draped in loose folds about him, and his hat hangs askew, hiding his eyes in shadows. Without hesitation, he walks up to your table and stands proudly in a wide stance with folded arms.
In an accented voice he says, “I have been sent to you to deliver this message. If you be creatures of honor, you will come to my master’s aid at first light. It is not advisable to travel the Svalich Woods at night!” He pulls from his tunic a sealed letter, addressed to all of you in beautiful flowing script. He drops the letter on the table. “Take the west road from here some five hours march down through the Svalich Woods. There you will find my master in Barovia.”
Amid the silent stares of the patronage, the gypsy strides to the bar and says to the wary barkeep, “Fill the glasses, one and all. Their throats are obviously parched.” He drops a purse heavy with gold on the bar. With that, he leaves.
The babble of tavern voices resumes, although somewhat subdued. The letter is lying before you. The seal is in the shape of a crest you don’t recognize.
| Potion of... | Rarity | HP Regained |
| Healing | Common | 2d4 + 2 |
| Greater healing | Uncommon | 4d4 + 4 |
| Superior healing | Rare | 8d4 + 8 |
| Supreme healing | Very rare | 10d4 + 20 |
| d12 + d8 | Encounter |
| 2 | 3d6 Barovian commoners |
| 3 | 1d6 Barovian scouts |
| 4 | Hunting trap |
| 5 | Grave |
| 6 | False trail |
| 7 | 1d4 + 1 Vistani bandits |
| 8 | Skeletal rider |
| 9 | Trinket |
| 10 | Hidden bundle |
| 11 | 1d4 swarms of ravens (50%) or 1 wereraven in raven form (50%) |
| 12 | 1d6 dire wolves |
| 13 | 3d6 wolves |
| 14 | 1d4 berserkers |
| 15 | Corpse |
| 16 | 1d6 werewolves in human form |
| 17 | 1 druid with 2d6 twig blights |
| 18 | 2d4 needle blights |
| 19 | 1d6 scarecrows |
| 20 | 1 revenant with longsword |
| d12 + d8 | Encounter |
| 2 | 1 ghost |
| 3 | Hunting trap |
| 4 | Grave |
| 5 | Trinket |
| 6 | Corpse |
| 7 | Hidden bundle |
| 8 | Skeletal rider |
| 9 | 1d8 swarms of bats |
| 10 | 1d6 dire wolves |
| 11 | 3d6 wolves |
| 12 | 1d4 berserkers |
| 13 | 1 druid and 2d6 twig blights |
| 14 | 2d4 needle blights |
| 15 | 1d6 werewolves in wolf form |
| 16 | 3d6 zombies |
| 17 | 1d6 scarecrows |
| 18 | 1d8 Strahd zombies |
| 19 | 1 will-o’-wisp |
| 20 | 1 revenant with longsword |
The sound of snapping twigs draws your attention to several dark shapes in the fog. They carry torches and pitchforks.
You see a dark figure crouched low and perfectly still, aiming a crossbow in your direction.
You startle a wild-looking figure caked in gray mud and clutching a crude stone axe. Whether it’s a man or a woman, you can’t tell.
You find a corpse.
A snarling wolf the size of a grizzly bear steps out of the fog.
A gaunt figure with wild hair and bare feet bounds toward you on all fours, wearing a tattered gown of stitched animal skins. You can’t tell whether it’s a man or a woman. It stops, sniffs the air, and laughs like a lunatic. The ground nearby is crawling with tiny twig monsters.
You discover a foot trail that cuts through the wilderness.
A baleful apparition appears before you, its hollow eyes dark with anger.
You stumble upon an old grave.
The bundle contains one set of common clothes sized for a human adult.
You spot a wolf trap, its steel jaws caked with rust. Someone has carefully hidden the trap under a thin layer of pine needles and detritus.
Hunched figures lurch through the mist, their gaunt bodies covered in needles.
A figure walks alone with the stride and bearing of one who knows no fear. Clad in rusty armor, it clutches a gleaming longsword in its pale hand and looks ready for a fight.
A scarecrow lurches into view. Its sackcloth eyes and rictus are ripe with malevolence, and its gut is stuffed with dead ravens. It has long, rusted knives for claws.
Not even the cloying fog can hide the stench of death that descends upon you. Something evil approaches, its footsteps betrayed by snapping twigs.
The stillness of the night is shattered by the shriek of bats and the flapping of tiny black wings.
Your presence in this dreary land has not gone unnoticed. A raven follows you for several minutes while keeping a respectful distance.
More ravens begin to take an interest in you. Before long, their numbers swell, and soon hundreds of them are watching you.
You find something on the ground.
You catch a whiff of pipe smoke in the cold air and hear laughter through the fog.
Through the mist, you see a black bird circling overhead. When it feels your eyes upon it, the raven flies away, but it’s back before long, keeping its distance.
A deep voice calls out, “Who goes there?” Through the chill mist you see a large man in drab clothing wearing a tattered gray cloak. He has shaggy, black hair and thick muttonchops. He leans heavily on a spear and has a small bundle of animal pelts slung over his shoulder.
You hear the howl of a wolf some distance away.
Several hundred yards away, through the fog, you see a flickering torchlight.
The torchlight flutters as it moves away from you, but you never lose sight of it. You make your way quickly yet cautiously through the fog until you come upon the shell of a ruined tower. The upper floors of the structure have collapsed, leaving heaps of rubble and shattered timber around the tower’s base. The feeble light moves through an open doorway on the ground floor, then flickers and goes out.
This land is home to many wolves, their howls at the moment too close for comfort.
The ungodly stench of rotting flesh hangs in the air. Up ahead, the walking, moaning corpses of dead men and women lumber about.
| d12 + d8 | Encounter |
| 2 | Ezmerelda d’Avenir |
| 3 | Rahadin |
| 4 | 1 black cat |
| 5 | 1 broom of animated attack |
| 6 | 1d4 + 1 flying swords |
| 7 | Blinsky toy |
| 8 | Unseen servant |
| 9 | 1d4 Barovian commoners |
| 10 | 2d6 crawling claws |
| 11 | 1d6 shadows |
| 12 | 1d6 swarms of bats |
| 13 | 1 crawling Strahd zombie |
| 14 | 1d4 + 1 Vistani thugs |
| 15 | 1d4 wights |
| 16 | Trinket |
| 17 | Giant spider cocoon |
| 18 | 1 Barovian witch |
| 19 | 1d4 + 1 vampire spawn |
| 20 | Strahd von Zarovich |
A loud clamor fills the unhallowed halls of Ravenloft. Cries of “Kill the vampire!” are mixed with bold voices shouting, “Never again!” and “To the crypts!”
You hear a woman’s scratchy voice calling out a name. “Grizzlegut! Grizzlegut, where are you? A pox on you, you mangy cat!”
Through the darkness comes a crone wearing a pointed black hat and a burlap gown stained with soot.
The darkness lets out a demonic hiss as a black cat darts out of the shadows, trying its best to avoid you.
You find a discarded toy—something no child could love.The toy has a slogan stitched or printed on it in tiny letters: “Is No Fun, Is No Blinsky!” Roll a d6 to determine the specific toy:
| d6 | Toy |
| 1 | A plush werewolf stuffed with sawdust and tiny wood-carved babies. It has dull knife blades for claws and retractable teeth. |
| 2 | A smiling jester marionette with tangled strings and tiny copper bells sewn into its cap. |
| 3 | A wooden puzzle box, 6 inches on a side, carved with silhouettes of leering clown faces. The box rattles when shaken. A character who spends a short rest fiddling with the box can figure out how to open it with a successful DC 20 Intelligence check. The box is empty, with nothing inside to explain the rattling. |
| 4 | A faceless doll in a wedding dress that has yellowed and frayed with age. |
| 5 | A vaguely coffin-shaped jack-in-the-box containing a pop-up Strahd puppet. |
| 6 | A spring-loaded set of wooden teeth with fangs, all painted white. The teeth gnash and chatter for 1 minute when the spring is wound tight (requiring an action) and released. |
You hear a scratching noise. Out of the shadows comes a broom, sweeping its way toward you as though held by invisible hands.
A mob of severed hands, their mummified flesh black with soot, skitters out of the darkness across the dusty floor.
You hear the deathly groans of something vile.
You feel a gentle tap on your shoulder but see nothing behind you.
Out of the gloom flies a rusty blade, followed by another!
A white cocoon is suspended from the ceiling amid thick webs and appears to hold something human-like.
| d6 | Cocoon’s Contents |
| 1 | A wooden mannequin wearing a gown. |
| 2 | A Barovian witch. She screams like a wild animal and begins casting spells. |
| 3 | A Strahd zombie. It fights until killed. |
| 4 | A Barovian lunatic (CN male commoner). If freed, he cackles until silenced or until a calm emotions spell is cast on him. A lesser restoration spell cures his madness, at which point he tries to flee the castle. |
| 5 | A dead Barovian that serves as host to a swarm of insects (spiders). The baby giant spiders (each one the size of a tarantula) crawl out of the Barovian’s gaping mouth or burst forth from its distended belly. |
| 6 | A Vistana bandit (CN male or female). The Vistana knows the castle’s layout and helps the characters until Strahd or more Vistani appear, at which point the treacherous Vistana turns on the characters. |
“The master wishes to see you,” intones a grim voice in the darkness.
| d6 | Location |
| 1 | Chapel (area K15) |
| 2 | Audience hall (area K25) |
| 3 | Study (area K37) |
| 4 | Tower roof (area K57) |
| 5 | Wine cellar (area K63) |
| 6 | Torture chamber (area K76) |
You can’t shake the feeling that something is behind you. When you look back, you see a shadow, tall and still, but nothing of its dimensions that could cast it.
A crack of thunder shakes the castle, stirring the dust and cobwebs. You hear a voice: “Good evening.”
You hear a peal of thunder, followed by the flapping of tiny black wings. Suddenly, a dark cloud of bats descends upon you!
You kick something—a trinket buried in the dust.
A curious object drifts into view, as though held aloft by an invisible force.
| d6 | Items |
| 1 | A tarnished silver platter with a lid (worth 25 gp). If a character comes within 5 feet of the servant, it lifts the lid, revealing a bunch of moldy scones. The first character to eat a scone gains inspiration. On later occurrences of this encounter, the platter holds a crawling claw that attacks the nearest character. |
| 2 | A silver goblet (worth 50 gp) filled to the brim with wine. A character who drinks the wine must make a DC 15 Constitution saving throw, taking 44 (8d10) poison damage on a failed save, or half as much damage on a successful one. On future occurrences of this encounter, the wine acts as a potion of healing. |
| 3 | A gold candelabrum (worth 150 gp) with three branches, each one holding an unlit candle. |
| 4 | A purple silk handkerchief with white ruffled edges (worth 1 gp). On future occurrences of this encounter, the handkerchief is smeared with fresh blood. |
| 5 | A crystal dinner bell (worth 25 gp). The unseen servant rings the bell if the characters come within 10 feet of it. The sound attracts 1d4 hungry vampire spawn (see below), which arrive in 1d4 + 1 rounds. |
| 6 | A wizard’s spellbook with a black velvet dust jacket over its stitched leather cover. The book contains all the spells Strahd has prepared. On subsequent occurrences of this encounter, the tome is a nonmagical leather-bound storybook worth 25 gp. |
Creatures with pale flesh scuttle across the ceiling like spiders, their red eyes glowing in the dark. As they draw near, their cracked and bloodstained lips open wide, revealing sharp fangs.
You hear voices with thick accents.
The air grows much colder, and you can hear the march of footsteps drawing near.
| d100 | Patch |
| 01–08 | Bag of 100 gp |
| 09–15 | Silver coffer (1 foot long, 6 inches wide and deep) worth 500 gp |
| 16–22 | Iron door (up to 10 feet wide and 10 feet high, barred on one side of your choice), which you can place in an opening you can reach; it conforms to fit the opening, attaching and hinging itself |
| 23–30 | 10 gems worth 100 gp each |
| 31–44 | Wooden ladder (24 feet long) |
| 45–51 | A riding horse with saddle bags |
| 52–59 | Pit (a cube 10 feet on a side), which you can place on the ground within 10 feet of you |
| 60–68 | 4 potions of healing |
| 69–75 | Rowboat (12 feet long) |
| 76–83 | [Spell scroll] containing one spell of 1st to 3rd level |
| 84–90 | 2 mastiffs |
| 91–96 | Window (2 feet by 4 feet, up to 2 feet deep), which you can place on a vertical surface you can reach |
| 97–00 | Portable ram |
%{selected|npc_init}| d100 | Creature Type |
| 01–10 | Aberrations |
| 11–20 | Beasts |
| 21–30 | Celestials |
| 31–40 | Elementals |
| 41–50 | Fey |
| 51–75 | Fiends |
| 76–80 | Plants |
| 81–00 | Undead |
The giant roots beneath the hut come to life and pull themselves up out of the mire. The hut and the roots lurch and groan, becoming a lumbering mass that cracks as it walks, crushing all in its path.
You hear sounds of battle, but the fog has grown so thick that you can barely see more than sixty feet in any direction. Suddenly, the fog takes on the forms of soldiers on horseback charging across the field. They collide with armored pike-bearers wearing devil-horned helms. As each soldier falls in battle, it turns to fading mist. Hundreds more soldiers collide in a storm of screams and clashing metal.
You hear a thunderous roar, and seconds later a huge dragon made of silver mist glides overhead, dispersing enemy soldiers with each flap of its mighty wings. Its long, reptilian tail slices through the air above you as the dragon carves a swath through the fog, affording you a fleeting glimpse of a dark mansion overlooking the valley.
A thirty-foot-tall plant creature bursts out of the statue, sending twigs and earth flying. The creature resembles a dead treant with green light seeping out of it.The creature that erupts from the wooden statue is a tree blight that the druids call Wintersplinter. The green light comes from the magic gem embedded in its “heart.” The gem can be removed only when Wintersplinter is dead.
The druids command Wintersplinter to travel north and lay waste to the Wizard of Wines vineyard (chapter 12). Although the characters might not understand what the druids are up to, they will no doubt wonder where the druids are sending the tree blight. As Wintersplinter travels north, its destination should become clear to characters who have previously visited the winery and the vineyard. Whether they try to halt its advance is up to them.
Once the tree blight departs, Strahd commands the druids and berserkers to leave the hill so that he can be alone. As they flee into the woods, he gazes longingly at the image of his ancestral homeland to the west (see area Y5).You hear a whisper, a deep voice carried on the wind. “Long have I waited,” it says, “for one who is worthy. My spear hungers for blood. Retrieve it, and rule these mountains in my stead, just like the mighty warriors from the early days of the Whispering Wall.”The character feels drawn to one of the cairns on the hillside (see area Y2). When the character approaches within 30 feet of it, the presence of Kavan’s magic spear (see “Treasure” below) under the rocks is felt.
An eerie green light suffuses the graveyard. From this light emerges a ghostly procession. Wavering images of doughty women toting greatswords, woodwise men with slender bows, dwarves with glittering axes, and archaically dressed mages with beards and strange, pointed hats—all these and more march forth from the graveyard, their numbers growing by the second.
You hear the sound of small, wooden wheels rolling across damp cobbles. You trace the lonely sound to a hunched figure bundled in rags, pushing a rickety wooden cart through the fog.
Under threatening skies, a parade of unhappy children dressed as flowers trudges through the muddy streets, leading the way for a group of sorry-looking men and women carrying a ten-foot-diameter wicker ball. The burgomaster and his smiling wife, who holds a sad bouquet of wilting flowers, follow the procession on horseback. As weary spectators watch from their stoops, the ball is borne to the town square. There, it is hoisted and hung from a fifteen-foot-high wooden scaffold, and townsfolk take turns splashing it with oil. Before the wicker sun can be set ablaze, the sky tears open in a sudden downpour. “All will be well!” cries the burgomaster as he brandishes a sputtering torch and marches defiantly through the rain toward the wicker ball, only to have his torch go out as he thrusts it into the sphere.
A singular laugh erupts from the crowd, drawing the burgomaster’s fiery gaze as well as gasps from the townsfolk.
As Ireena reaches the pool’s edge, an image appears in its sparkling blue waters: a handsome youth of kind and noble visage. The sadness in his eyes turns to sudden joy.
“Tatyana!” he says. “It has been so long! Come, my love. Let us be together at last.”
Ireena gasps and puts a hand on her heart. “My beloved Sergei! In life, you were a prince and a man of faith. We were to be married long ago. Has this blessed pool called your spirit to me?” She reaches toward the water’s surface as a hand of water rises up to take hers.
Ireena is pulled into the pool and embraces Sergei beneath the rippling water. You have never seen a happier couple as they both begin to fade from view.
A peal of thunder shakes the land, and the dark clouds coalesce into a terrible visage. A deep, dark voice from beyond the mountains cries out, “She is mine!” A terrible crack resounds as blue lightning splits the sky and strikes the pool.
Diving toward the bridge is a creature of unearthly size—a bird so monstrous that its wings blot out the sky.
The road ahead is cut out of the mountainside, rising steeply to one side and falling away on the other. Mist and snow greatly reduce visibility, and the howling wind cuts through you like a knife.
A nine-foot-tall goat stands atop a crag above you, its gray fur blending perfectly with the rock of the mountainside. It lowers its head, and malice glimmers in its eyes.
| Spell Level | Rarity | Save DC | Attack Bonus |
| Cantrip | Common | 13 | +5 |
| 1st | Common | 13 | +5 |
| 2nd | Uncommon | 13 | +5 |
| 3rd | Uncommon | 15 | +7 |
| 4th | Rare | 15 | +7 |
| 5th | Rare | 17 | +9 |
| 6th | Very rare | 17 | +9 |
| 7th | Very rare | 18 | +10 |
| 8th | Very rare | 18 | +10 |
| 9th | Legendary | 19 | +11 |
| Distance from Origin | Damage |
| 10 ft. away or closer | 8 � the number of charges in the staff |
| 11 to 20 ft. away | 6 � the number of charges in the staff |
| 21 to 30 ft. away | 4 � the number of charges in the staff |
Strahd can’t hide his surprise as death takes him into the black abyss. Surprise turns to rage, and the Pillarstone of Ravenloft trembles with fury, shaking dust from the ceiling of the vampire’s tomb. The shudders abate as Strahd’s burning hatred melts away, replaced at last with relief. The dark orbs of his eyes wither and sink into his skull as his corpse deteriorates before you. In a matter of moments, only bones, dust, and noble garb remain. Strahd von Zarovich, the dark lord of Barovia, is dead and gone.
“Master!” says a voice from behind you. An elf with dusky brown skin and long black hair, his face a mask of terror, looks on what you have wrought and screams.
Thick clouds fill the sky. Through the chilly morning mists, the land of Barovia is visible far below. There is peacefulness here. Rest has come to the valley for the first time anyone can remember.
A light flashes behind you. Wheeling around, you see a stately man—a being of flesh and blood—in shining armor and a flapping cape. His countenance shows great strength of will, yet the forcefulness of his presence is tempered by his calm, sad eyes. His features are those of Strahd, yet subtly different.
His voice is calm and peaceful. “My name is Sergei von Zarovich.” He turns to Ireena. “Tatyana, the time is at hand to rest. Come, my love and wife.” He stretches forth his hand.
Ireena Kolyana’s questioning eyes suddenly open with recognition and knowledge. Forgotten memories rush back to her. “Sergei!” she cries, springing to him with the grace of a doe. They embrace.
Ireena turns to you and says, “I am Ireena Kolyana, but in my past I was Sergei’s beloved Tatyana. Through these many centuries we have played out the tragedy of our lives. Now, with our deepest gratitude to you, that tragedy is over. It is time for joy to begin again.”
Shimmering light surrounds Ireena and Sergei. Hand in hand, they walk east toward the edge of the overlook. Their feet do not touch the ground as they tread a path beyond this mortal world. Their invisible road takes them beyond the eastern precipice, their glow illuminating and thinning the clouds above Barovia. The clouds suddenly break open, letting shafts of glorious sunlight flood through. In the valley below, the strange fog dissolves. Barovia is free once more.
Artifact (Joker 1)
Look for an entertaining man with a monkey. This man is more than he seems.
Beast (Jack of Diamonds)
A werewolf holds a secret hatred for your enemy. Use her hatred to your advantage.
A. Broken One (King of Diamonds)
Your greatest ally will be a wizard. His mind is broken, but his spells are strong.
B. Broken One (King of Diamonds)
I see a man of faith whose sanity hangs by a thread. He has lost someone close to him.
Darklord (King of Spades)
Ah, the worst of all truths: You must face the evil of this land alone!
A. Donjon (King of Clubs)
Search for a troubled young man surrounded by wealth and madness. His home is his prison.
B. Donjon (King of Clubs)
Find a girl driven to insanity, locked in the heart of her dead father’s house. Curing her madness is key to your success.
Seer (Jack of Clubs)
Look for a dusk elf living among the Vistani. He has suffered a great loss and is haunted by dark dreams. Help him, and he will help you in return.
A. Ghost (King of Hearts)
I see a fallen paladin of a fallen order of knights. He lingers like a ghost in a dead dragon’s lair.
B. Ghost (King of Hearts)
Stir the spirit of the clumsy knight whose crypt lies deep within the castle.
Executioner (Jack of Spades)
Seek out the brother of the devil’s bride. They call him “the lesser,” but he has a powerful soul.
A. Horseman (Joker 2)
I see a dead man of noble birth, guarded by his widow. Return life to the dead man’s corpse, and he will be your staunch ally.
B. Horseman (Joker 2)
A man of death named Arrigal will forsake his dark lord to serve your cause. Beware! He has a rotten soul.
A. Innocent (Queen of Hearts)
I see a young man with a kind heart. A mother’s boy! He is strong in body but weak of mind. Seek him out in the village of Barovia.
B. Innocent (Queen of Hearts)
Evil’s bride is the one you seek!
A. Marionette (Jack of Hearts)
What horror is this? I see a man made by a man. Ageless and alone, it haunts the towers of the castle.
B. Marionette (Jack of Hearts)
Look for a man of music, a man with two heads. He lives in a place of great hunger and sorrow.
Mists (Queen of Spades)
A Vistana wanders this land alone, searching for her mentor. She does not stay in one place for long. Seek her out at Saint Markovia’s abbey, near the mists.
Raven (Queen of Clubs)
Find the leader of the feathered ones who live among the vines. Though old, he has one more fight left in him.
A. Tempter (Queen of Diamonds)
I see a child—a Vistana. You must hurry, for her fate hangs in the balance. Find her at the lake!
B. Tempter (Queen of Diamonds)
I hear a wedding bell, or perhaps a death knell. It calls thee to a mountainside abbey, wherein you will find a woman who is more than the sum of her parts.
Artifact (Joker 1)
He lurks in the darkness where the morning light once shone—a sacred place.
Beast (Jack of Diamonds)
The beast sits on his dark throne.
Broken One (King of Diamonds)
He haunts the tomb of the man he envied above all.
Darklord (King of Spades)
He lurks in the depths of darkness, in the one place to which he must return.
Donjon (King of Clubs)
He lurks in a hall of bones, in the dark pits of his castle.
Seer (Jack of Clubs)
He waits for you in a place of wisdom, warmth, and despair. Great secrets are there.
Ghost (King of Hearts)
Look to the father’s tomb.
Executioner (Jack of Spades)
I see a dark figure on a balcony, looking down upon this tortured land with a twisted smile.
Horseman (Joker 2)
He lurks in the one place to which he must return—a place of death.
Innocent (Queen of Hearts)
He dwells with the one whose blood sealed his doom, a brother of light snuffed out too soon.
Marionette (Jack of Hearts)
Look to great heights. Find the beating heart of the castle. He waits nearby.
Mists (Queen of Spades)
The cards can’t see where the evil lurks. The mists obscure all!
Raven (Queen of Clubs)
Look to the mother’s tomb.
Tempter (Queen of Diamonds)
I see a secret place—a vault of temptation hidden behind a woman of great beauty. The evil waits atop his tower of treasure.
This arched hall rises to a height of twenty feet. You can see your reflections in the amber glaze. But the images don’t mirror your movements. Instead, they wave their arms and scream silent warnings to you.
You smell the horrid perfume of the ancient dead. Stone niches along the walls of these catacombs hold human-shaped amber husks, bones, and tattered shrouds.
Tall, iron candlesticks stand in alcoves. Their candles ignite as you enter, casting flickering light upon the walls and causing the shattered amber to glitter.
More skeletal remains fill niches in the walls of this smaller annex, the amber husks that once preserved them smashed beyond repair.
The niches set into the wall of this annex lie empty, except for a thick coat of dust.
The walls and ceiling of this great hall are coated in amber that glistens like fresh honey. Dust covers the black marble floor. To the north, the hall has collapsed, leaving a wall of rubble.
Many amber doors lead from this hall. Standing in front of the south door are three ugly women in tattered black gowns with brooms and black, pointed hats.
This room has walls of glazed amber, a floor of red marble, and a rough-hewn shaft in the center of its ten-foot-high ceiling. Three amber sarcophagi stand in alcoves, and above each sarcophagus floats a human skull wreathed in green flame.
This room has amber-glazed walls, a blue marble floor, and three amber sarcophagi standing in alcoves.
This room has amber-glazed walls and a floor of dark green marble. Three amber sarcophagi stand in alcoves. Two feral humanoids with ghastly gray skin stare at you hungrily with three eyes—two normal eyes and a third lidless eye blinded by cataracts. Five more cling to the walls and ceiling.
This room has amber-glazed walls and a floor of purplish-black marble. Two amber sarcophagi stand in alcoves to the west and east. A third sarcophagus that once stood in the north alcove lies shattered on the floor. Clustered in the middle of the room are four loathsome, hunched creatures. Each one has a single large, baleful eye.
This room has amber-glazed walls, a black marble floor with red veins, and three amber sarcophagi standing in alcoves.
This room has amber-glazed walls, a floor of grayish marble with black veins, and three amber sarcophagi standing in alcoves.
A white marble bed stands in the center of this bare stone room, its mattress long since rotted away. Golden hawks perch atop the bed’s corner posts. The room’s remaining furnishings have been reduced to dust-covered heaps. Cobwebs cover arcane sigils carved into the walls.
The furnishings of this bare stone room have succumbed to decrepitude. Standing in the center of the room, its head scraping the ten-foot-high ceiling, is a vaguely man-shaped construct made of dark wood and riveted iron. Its helmed head stares blindly in your direction. Cobwebs stretch from this terrible artifice to the wrecked furniture that surrounds it.
Glistening amber coats the walls and ceiling of this enormous hall like sculpted honey, and dust covers the black marble floor. The vaulted ceiling is twenty-five feet high. Set into the walls at a height of five feet are amber ledges lined with life-sized alabaster statues of cats, frogs, hawks, owls, rats, ravens, snakes, toads, and weasels. Many of the statues have fallen off their perches and lie shattered on the floor.
An amber door in the north wall stands open. Four other amber doors to the west and south stand closed.
Furnishings made of ancient, colorless wood have collapsed under their own weight and now lie covered with cobwebs and dust.
This room, once a bedchamber, is littered with broken furnishings. Scattered about the room are the remains of a bed, a wardrobe, two trunks, three tall candlesticks, a desk, a bookshelf, and several chairs. Torn-up books, old quill pens, and tattered clothes are also strewn about.
The amber doors that once sealed this great stone room have been smashed, their pieces lying amid crushed bones, armor, and weapons.
Piles of treasure are heaped against the west and east walls of this stone room.
A ten-foot-tall statue carved from amber in the likeness of a hawk-headed humanoid stands in a wide alcove to the north. Behind it, a crack has formed in the wall.
A golden marble staircase with a black marble railing hugs the north wall as it spirals gently up a thirty-foot-wide shaft. Lying in the middle of the room are six rotting wooden crates.
The amber-covered walls are sculpted to look like tentacles that entwine around marble bas-reliefs of kings, queens, pharaohs, and sultans attended by myriad slaves.
The west, south, and east walls contain alcoves, and standing in each alcove is a tall, rough block of amber. Two wide cracks have opened up in the south wall, spilling rubble and shattered pieces of amber onto the floor in the southeast corner of the room.
The road fades away under a covering of snow, but it takes you far enough to see the facade of some kind of temple carved into the sheer mountainside ahead. The front of the structure is fifty feet high and has six alcoves containing twenty-foot-tall statues. Each statue is carved from a single block of amber and depicts a faceless, hooded figure, its hands pressed together in a gesture of prayer. Between the two innermost statues is a twenty-foot-tall archway with a staircase leading down.
Icy steps descend ten feet to a time-ravaged hallway with arrow slits in the walls. Beyond the hall lies a vast, sepulchral darkness.
Two arrow slits are carved into the west wall of this 10-foot-high, twenty-foot-square room. Slumped in the northeast corner is a skeleton wearing a blue wizard’s robe and clutching a wand to its chest.
Shattered bits of wood cover the floor of this frigid, twenty-foot-square room.
A twenty-foot-wide balcony of black marble with a shattered railing overlooks a vast temple. Black marble staircases at each end of the balcony descend thirty feet to the temple floor. The vaulted ceiling is thirty feet above the balcony. The walls and ceiling are covered in an amber glaze, lending the gloom a golden sheen. A set of amber doors stands closed at the west end of the balcony. A similar pair stands open to the east.
Four black marble columns support the vaulted ceiling of the temple, at the north end of which stands a forty-foot-tall statue of a cowled figure in flowing robes. The statue’s stony hands are outstretched as if in the midst of casting a spell. Its face is a void of utter blackness.
The ominous statue stands between two black marble balconies, one of which has partially collapsed and fallen on the temple’s black marble floor, in front of an open doorway. The walls of the temple are sheathed in amber, and the doors leading from it are made of amber as well. Arched hallways coated with amber lead away from the temple to the west and east. Flanking these exits are alcoves that hold white marble statues of robed human wizards with pointed hats and golden staffs. One of them has toppled over and lies shattered on the floor.
This room is featureless except for a rough-edged, 10-foot-diameter circular hole in the floor to the east and empty torch sconces along the walls. Double doors of amber stand open to the north and west. A single closed door lies just south of the western set of double doors.
Carved into the south wall of this dusty space are cylindrical holes fit for scrolls or maps.
Glazed amber covers the walls of this twenty-foot-wide, seventy-foot-long arched corridor. The amber doors at both ends of the hall stand open. A closed door is in the middle of the east wall, and three arrow slits are cut into the wall across from it. Cracks in the black marble floor run the length of the hall.
This chamber is brightly lit by red copper lanthorns that hang from the ceiling. The walls are sheathed in amber that has been shaped into bas-reliefs of wizards with spellbooks. Stairs to the north and south descend twenty feet to an obsidian lectern, behind which a slab of black slate hangs from chains. Between the stairs are descending rows of red marble benches.
The walls and ceiling in the eastern portion of this bare stone room have collapsed. To the west and south are open amber doors. In the center of the room is a ten-foot-tall statue of a jackal-headed warrior made of cracked amber. It turns to face you and clenches its fists.
This black marble balcony, thirty feet above the floor, overhangs the northeast corner of the temple. The two amber doors leading from this balcony stand open.
This bare stone room consists of a foyer to the west and a shrine to the east. Four candlesticks lie on the dusty floor of the foyer. In the shrine, fragments of a shattered obsidian statue are scattered in a raised alcove at the eastern end of the chamber. Two pairs of empty alcoves line the north and south walls of the shrine.
This narrow room has an arrow slit in the center of the south wall.
A dusty corridor heads north, then bends to the east, descending a dark staircase. The air is thin, but heavy with the stench of death.
The stairs descend to a collapsed hall with a high ceiling and amber-glazed walls glazed. Rubble covers most of the floor, and a path through the rubble leads to an open doorway. A deathly stench seems to come from there.
Torches in sconces light this bare stone room. Six bedrolls made of stitched animal furs cover the floor. Cold air enters through a fissure in the southwest wall.
The walls of this twenty-foot-wide, seventy-foot-long arched corridor are sheathed in amber. The southern half of the hall is scorched by fire, and a charred corpse lies on the floor here, under a burned fur cloak. Several amber doors lead from this hall, and three arrow slits are cut into the east wall. Floating in the middle of the hall are three skulls wreathed in green flame.
This twenty-foot-long, ten-foot-high hallway of bare stone has an amber door at each end.
Stone blocks resembling tables stand in the center of this room covered in dust. Carved into the stone walls are niches filled with hundreds of dusty bottles. Cobwebs hang from wooden ladders that lean against the walls.
Dominating this room is a twelve-foot-tall model of a dark castle with high walls and tall spires. Behind it, tucked in a corner, are some ruined furnishings and a wooden chest.
Torches in sconces illuminate a dining table in the center of the room. Covering the table is a magnificent feast that fills the hall with the rich smells of cooked meat, sweet vegetables, piping hot gravy, and wine.
This black marble balcony overhangs the northwest corner of the temple, the floor of which lies thirty feet below. Nearly half of the balcony has fallen away, and obvious cracks have formed near its ragged edge.
This bare stone room consists of a foyer to the east and a shrine to the west. Candlesticks draped in cobwebs stand in the four corners of the foyer. In the shrine, a faceless obsidian statue stands in a raised alcove at the western end of the chamber. Slumped before the statue are two desiccated corpses in tattered garments. Two pairs of alcoves line the north and south walls of the shrine.
This narrow room has an arrow slit in the center of the south wall.
Hundreds of skulls fall out of a cavity behind the door.
Attached to the thirty-foot-high ceiling of this dark sepulcher is an upside-down iron chest with a barrel-shaped lid.
This fifteen-foot-high room contains the trappings of royalty: ornate furniture, exquisite rugs and tapestries, and decorative statuary. Everywhere you look are lit candelabras atop small tables. The beauty of the decor is undone by thick dust and cobwebs. Standing in the center of the room is a decrepit skeleton clad in tattered robes.
Red pinpoints of light burn in the skeleton’s eye sockets. “Do I know you?” it asks.
Behind the secret door is a small, dusty room. Rising from the floor in the eastern half of the room is a scaly arm and claw clutching a small box made of bone.
Dust and cobwebs fill this otherwise empty room.
This stone library has twenty-foot-high walls and a thirty-foot-high vaulted ceiling. Covering the ceiling is a fresco that depicts angels being set ablaze in a hell. A black marble railing encloses a gold marble staircase that spirals gently down a thirty-foot-wide, thirty-foot-deep shaft to the north. Against the gray walls stand six ten-foot-tall, black marble bookcases. On their shelves are hundreds of well-preserved tomes. Embroidered rugs, chairs, and lit candelabras fill the southern half of the room.
| Card | Name | Represents |
| Master of swords | Warrior | Strength and force personified; violence; those who use force to accomplish their goals |
| One of swords | Avenger | Justice and revenge for great wrongs; those on a quest to rid the world of great evil |
| Two of swords | Paladin | Just and noble warriors; those who live by a code of honor and integrity |
| Three of swords | Soldier | War and sacrifice; the stamina to endure great hardship |
| Four of swords | Mercenary | Inner strength and fortitude; those who fight for power or wealth |
| Five of swords | Myrmidon | Great heroes; a sudden reversal of fate; the triumph of the underdog over a mighty enemy |
| Six of swords | Berserker | The brutal and barbaric side of warfare; bloodlust; those with a bestial nature |
| Seven of swords | Hooded One | Bigotry, intolerance, and xenophobia; a mysterious presence or newcomer |
| Eight of swords | Dictator | All that is wrong with government and leadership; those who rule through fear and viole |
| Nine of swords | Torturer | The coming of suffering or merciless cruelty; one who is irredeemably evil or sadistic |
| Card | Name | Represents |
| Master of stars | Wizard | Mystery and riddles; the unknown; those who crave magical power and great knowledge |
| One of stars | Transmuter | A new discovery; the coming of unexpected things; unforeseen consequences and chaos |
| Two of stars | Diviner | The pursuit of knowledge tempered by wisdom; truth and honesty; sages and prophecy |
| Three of stars | Enchanter | Inner turmoil that comes from confusion, fear of failure, or false information |
| Four of stars | Abjurer | Those guided by logic and reasoning; warns of an overlooked clue or piece of information |
| Five of stars | Elementalist | The triumph of nature over civilization; natural disasters and bountiful harvests |
| Six of stars | Evoker | Magical or supernatural power that can�€™t be controlled; magic for destructive ends |
| Seven of stars | Illusionist | Lies and deceit; grand conspiracies; secret societies; the presence of a dupe or a saboteur |
| Eight of stars | Necromancer | Unnatural events and unhealthy obsessions; those who follow a destructive path |
| Nine of stars | Conjurer | The coming of an unexpected supernatural threat; those who think of themselves as gods |
| Card | Name | Represents |
| Master of coins | Rogue | Anyone for whom money is important; those who believe money is the key to their success |
| One of coins | Swashbuckler | Those who like money yet give it up freely; likable rogues and rapscallions |
| Two of coins | Philanthropist | Charity and giving on a grand scale; those who use wealth to fight evil and sickness |
| Three of coins | Trader | Commerce; smuggling and black markets; fair and equitable trades |
| Four of coins | Merchant | A rare commodity or business opportunity; deceitful or dangerous business transactions |
| Five of coins | Guild Member | Like-minded individuals joined together in a common goal; pride in one�€™s work |
| Six of coins | Beggar | Sudden change in economic status or fortune |
| Seven of coins | Thief | Those who steal or burgle; a loss of property, beauty, innocence, friendship, or reputation |
| Eight of coins | Tax Collector | Corruption; honesty in an otherwise corrupt government or organization |
| Nine of coins | Miser | Hoarded wealth; those who are irreversibly unhappy or who think money is meaningless |
| Card | Name | Represents |
| Master of glyphs | Priest | Enlightenment; those who follow a deity, a system of values, or a higher purpose |
| One of glyphs | Monk | Serenity; inner strength and self-reliance; supreme confidence bereft of arrogance |
| Two of glyphs | Missionary | Those who spread wisdom and faith to others; warnings of the spread of fear and ignorance |
| Three of glyphs | Healer | Healing; a contagious illness, disease, or curse; those who practice the healing arts |
| Four of glyphs | Shepherd | Those who protect others; one who bears a burden far too great to be shouldered alone |
| Five of glyphs | Druid | The ambivalence and cruelty of nature and those who feel drawn to it; inner turmoil |
| Six of glyphs | Anarchist | A fundamental change brought on by one whose beliefs are being put to the test |
| Seven of glyphs | Charlatan | Liars; those who profess to believe one thing but actually believe another |
| Eight of glyphs | Bishop | Strict adherence to a code or a belief; those who plot, plan, and scheme |
| Nine of glyphs | Traitor | Betrayal by someone close and trusted; a weakening or loss of faith |
| Name | Represents |
| Artifact | The importance of some physical object that must be obtained, protected, or destroyed at all costs |
| Beast | Great rage or passion; something bestial or malevolent hiding in plain sight or lurking just below the surface |
| Broken One | Defeat, failure, and despair; the loss of something or someone important, without which one feels incomplete |
| Darklord | A single, powerful individual of an evil nature, one whose goals have enormous and far-reaching consequences |
| Donjon | Isolation and imprisonment; being so conservative in thinking as to be a prisoner of one’s own beliefs |
| Ghost | The looming past; the return of an old enemy or the discovery of a secret buried long ago |
| Executioner | The imminent death of one rightly or wrongly convicted of a crime; false accusations and unjust prosecution |
| Horseman | Death; disaster in the form of the loss of wealth or property, a horrible defeat, or the end of a bloodline |
| Innocent | A being of great importance whose life is in danger (who might be helpless or simply unaware of the peril) |
| Marionette | The presence of a spy or a minion of some greater power; an encounter with a puppet or an underling |
| Mists | Something unexpected or mysterious that can’t be avoided; a great quest or journey that will try one’s spirit |
| Raven | A hidden source of information; a fortunate turn of events; a secret potential for good |
| Seer | Inspiration and keen intellect; a future event, the outcome of which will hinge on a clever mind |
| Tempter | One who has been compromised or led astray by temptation or foolishness; one who tempts others for evil ends |
| d20 | Corpse Location |
| 1-4 | Village of Barovia cemetery (ch. 3, area E6) |
| 5-11 | Church graveyard in Vallaki (ch. 5, area N1) |
| 12 | Argynvostholt cemetery (area Q15) |
| 13 | Grave in the village of Krezk (ch. 8, area S3) |
| 14 | Grave in Berez cemetery (ch. 10, area U4) |
| 15-16 | Grave in the Svalich Woods (ch. 2, "Random Encounters") |
| 17-20 | Corpse of one deceased player character or NPC, wherever it happens to be |
1 of Swords — Avenger
The treasure lies in a dragon’s house, in hands once clean and now corrupted.
2 of Swords — Paladin
I see a sleeping prince, a servant of light and the brother of darkness. The treasure lies with him.
3 of Swords — Soldier
Go to the mountains. Climb the white tower guarded by golden knights.
4 of Swords — Mercenary
The thing you seek lies with the dead, under mountains of gold coins.
5 of Swords — Myrmidon
Look for a den of wolves in the hills overlooking a mountain lake. The treasure belongs to Mother Night.
6 of Swords — Berserker
Find the Mad Dog’s crypt. The treasure lies within, beneath blackened bones.
7 of Swords — Hooded One
I see a faceless god. He awaits you at the end of a long and winding road, deep in the mountains.
8 of Swords — Dictator
I see a throne fit for a king.
9 of Swords — Torturer
There is a town where all is not well. There you will find a house of corruption, and within, a dark room full of still ghosts.
Master of Swords — Warrior
That which you seek lies in the womb of darkness, the devil’s lair: the one place to which he must return.
1 of Stars — Transmuter
Go to a place of dizzying heights, where the stone itself is alive!
2 of Stars — Diviner
Look to the one who sees all. The treasure is hidden in her camp.
3 of Stars — Enchanter
I see a kneeling woman—a rose of great beauty plucked too soon. The master of the marsh knows of whom I speak.
4 of Stars — Abjurer
I see a fallen house guarded by a great stone dragon. Look to the highest peak.
5 of Stars — Elementalist
The treasure is hidden in a small castle beneath a mountain, guarded by amber giants.
6 of Stars — Evoker
Search for the crypt of a wizard ordinaire. His staff is the key.
7 of Stars — Illusionist
A man is not what he seems. He comes here in a carnival wagon. Therein lies what you seek.
8 of Stars — Necromancer
A woman hangs above a roaring fire. Find her, and you will find the treasure.
9 of Stars — Conjurer
I see a dead village, drowned by a river, ruled by one who has brought great evil into the world.
Master of Stars — Wizard
Look for a wizard’s tower on a lake. Let the wizard’s name and servant guide you to that which you seek.
1 of Coins — Swashbuckler
I see the skeleton of a deadly warrior, lying on a bed of stone flanked by gargoyles.
2 of Coins — PhilanthropistThe treasure is in the nursery of the Abbey of Saint Markovia (chapter 8, area S23).
Look to a place where sickness and madness are bred. Where children once cried, the treasure lies still.
3 of Coins — Trader
Look to the wizard of wines! In wood and sand the treasure hides.
4 of Coins — Merchant
Seek a cask that once contained the finest wine, of which not a drop remains.
5 of Coins — Guild Member
I see a dark room full of bottles. It is the tomb of a guild member.
6 of Coins — Beggar
A wounded elf has what you seek. He will part with the treasure to see his dark dreams fulfilled.
7 of Coins — Thief
What you seek lies at the crossroads of life and death, among the buried dead.
8 of Coins — Tax Collector
The Vistani have what you seek. A missing child holds the key to the treasure’s release.
9 of Coins — Miser
Look for a fortress inside a fortress, in a place hidden behind fire.
Master of Coins — Rogue
I see a nest of ravens. There you will find the prize.
1 of Glyphs — Monk
The treasure you seek is hidden behind the sun, in the house of a saint.
2 of Glyphs — Missionary
I see a garden dusted with snow, watched over by a scarecrow with a sackcloth grin. Look not to the garden but to the guardian.
3 of Glyphs — Healer
Look to the west. Find a pool blessed by the light of the white sun.
4 of Glyphs — Shepherd
Find the mother—she who gave birth to evil.
5 of Glyphs — Druid
An evil tree grows atop a hill of graves where the ancient dead sleep. The ravens can help you find it. Look for the treasure there.
6 of Glyphs — Anarchist
I see walls of bones, a chandelier of bones, and a table of bones—all that remains of enemies long forgotten.
7 of Glyphs — Charlatan
I see a lonely mill on a precipice. The treasure lies within.
8 of Glyphs — Bishop
What you seek lies in a pile of treasure, beyond a set of amber doors.
9 of Glyphs — Traitor
Look for a wealthy woman. A staunch ally of the devil, she keeps the treasure under lock and key, with the bones of an ancient enemy.
Master of Glyphs — Priest
You will find what you seek in the castle, amid the ruins of a place of supplication.
The road gradually disappears and is replaced by a twisted, muddy path through the trees. Deep ruts in the earth are evidence of the comings and goings of wagons.
The canopy of mist and branches suddenly gives way to black clouds boiling far above. There is a clearing here, next to a river that widens to form a small lake several hundred feet across. Five colorful round tents, each ten feet in diameter, are pitched outside a ring of four barrel-topped wagons. A much larger tent stands near the shore of the lake, its sagging form lit from within. Near this tent, eight unbridled horses drink from the river.
The mournful strains of an accordion clash with the singing of several brightly clad figures around bonfire. A footpath continues beyond this encampment, meandering north between the river and the forest’s edge.
“A mighty wizard came to this land over a year ago. I remember him like it was yesterday. He stood exactly where you’re standing. A very charismatic man, he was. He thought he could rally the people of Barovia against the devil Strahd. He stirred them with thoughts of revolt and bore them to the castle en masse.
“When the vampire appeared, the wizard’s peasant army fled in terror. A few stood their ground and were never seen again.
“The wizard and the vampire cast spells at each other. Their battle flew from the courtyards of Ravenloft to a precipice overlooking the falls. I saw the battle with my own eyes. Thunder shook the mountainside, and great rocks tumbled down upon the wizard, yet by his magic he survived. Lightning from the heavens struck the wizard, and again he stood his ground. But when the devil Strahd fell upon him, the wizard’s magic couldn’t save him. I saw him thrown a thousand feet to his death. I climbed down to the river to search for the wizard’s body, to see if, you know, he had anything of value, but the River Ivlis had already spirited him away.”
Magic flames cast a reddish glow over the interior of this tent, revealing a low table covered in a black velvet cloth. Glints of light seem to flash from a crystal ball on the table as a hunched figure peers into its depths. As the crone speaks, her voice crackles like dry weeds. “At last you have arrived!” Cackling laughter bursts like mad lightning from her withered lips.
| d20 | Treasure |
| 1-10 | None |
| 11-13 | Sack of 100 ep (each coin stamped with Strahd’s visage in profile) |
| 14-16 | Pouch containing 4d6 gemstones worth 100 gp each |
| 17-19 | Sack containing 3d6 pieces of cheap jewelry worth 25 gp total and 1d6 pieces of fine jewelry worth 250 gp each |
| 20 | One magic item (roll once on Magic Item Table B) |
| Playing Card | Tarokka Card |
| King of hearts | Ghost |
| Queen of hearts | Innocent |
| Jack of hearts | Marionette |
| King of spades | Darklord |
| Queen of spades | Mists |
| Jack of spades | Executioner |
| King of diamonds | Broken One |
| Queen of diamonds | Tempter |
| Jack of diamonds | Beast |
| King of clubs | Donjon |
| Queen of clubs | Raven |
| Jack of clubs | Seer |
| Joker 1 | Artifact |
| Joker 2 | Horseman |
Under layers of mud, this wagon sports a fresh coat of purple paint, and its wheels have fancy gold trim. A brass lantern hangs from each corner, and red drapes cover a tombstone-shaped window on each side. A steel padlock secures the back door, hanging from which is a cheap wooden sign that reads, “Keep out!”
The tower door is made of iron, with no visible handles or hinges. In the middle of the door is a large, embossed symbol—a connected series of lines with eight stick figures set around it. Carved into the lintel above the door is a word: Khazan.
Rotting wooden beams support the scaffolding, which groans and creaks with the slightest breeze. A series of ladders and platforms lead to a hole in the northwest wall on the third floor.
The flagstone floor is strewn with debris, and a few old crates stand near the east wall. A torn curtain to the south partially obscures the tower vestibule.
A five-foot-square indentation in the center of the floor contains four pulleys attached to taut iron chains that stretch up through a similarly sized hole in the rotted wooden ceiling. Standing next to the chains are four tall clay statues.
Dust and cobwebs fill this otherwise empty room, the wooden floor of which is badly rotted and partially collapsed.
Time and the elements have all but destroyed this chamber, leaving a gash in the northwest wall and slimy black mildew on the walls. The wooden floor is completely rotted and has begun to fall away in places.
Unlike the levels below, this room shows signs of recent habitation, and although the place reeks of mold and mildew, it has plenty of creature comforts, including a cozy bed, a desk with matching chair, bright tapestries, and a large iron stove with plenty of wood to feed it. Light enters through arrow slits as well as through dirt-caked windows with broken shutters. Other features of the room include a standing suit of armor and a wooden chest. Old wooden rafters bend under the weight of the tower roof, which has somehow remained intact. Mounted to the rafters are pulleys around which hang iron chains that support the tower’s elevator platform.
The woods part to reveal an expansive clearing: a small, grass-covered hill with low houses built into its sides. Fog obscures the details, but you can see that these buildings feature elegantly carved woodwork and have decorative lanterns hanging from their sculpted eaves. Atop the hill, above the fog, is a ring of barrel-topped wagons that surround a large tent with a column of smoke pouring out through a hole in the top. The tent is brightly lit from within. Even at this distance, you can smell the odors of wine and horses that emanate from this central area.
Standing quietly in front of this house, bathed in the warm light of its lanterns, are three sullen, gray-cloaked figures, their angular features and black, flowing hair half-hidden under their cowls.
A grim, gray-cloaked figure stands in front of the door to this house.
The hilltop is covered with steaming piles of horse dung. More than two dozen horses are tethered to stone blocks inside the circle of wagons but outside the tent. Most of the animals are draft horses, but a few of them are riding horses equipped with saddles.
This barrel-topped wagon is nicer than the others. Drapes of golden silk hang in the windows, and the wheels have gold, sun-shaped hubcaps. An iron chimney pipe protrudes from the roof.
You hear heavy snores from within this barrel-topped wagon.
Loud voices and laughter spill from this barrel-topped wagon.
This barrel-topped wagon is filled with the raucous screams and laughter of children.
Two iron padlocks secure the door of this barrel-topped wagon.
This house seems disgusted with itself. A slouching roof hangs heavy over furrowed gables, and moss-covered walls sag and bulge under the weight of the vegetation. As you study the house’s sullen countenance, you hear the edifice actually groan. Only then do you realize the extent to which the house hates what it has become.
The front door opens into a narrow vestibule. Three stained-glass doors in wooden frames lead from it.
A wooden staircase leads up to a balcony. At the foot of the stairs is a landing with three stained-glass doors in wooden frames.
Servants' coats and aprons hang from hooks in this room, and boots are neatly lined up against the wall.
Iron torch sconces cling to the wall of a stone staircase that cuts its way through the heart of the old house.
The furnishings in this room are bereft of imagination: four simple beds with equally austere wooden chests.
Here three elegant couches surround an oval table made of black glass. All are set in front of a blazing hearth, above which hangs the portrait of a smirking nobleman sporting a broken nose and a tangle of hair graying at the temples. Several smaller portraits hang on the north wall.
An ornate dining table stretches the length of this room, a crystal chandelier hanging above it imperiously. The silverware is tarnished, the dishes chipped, yet all are still quite elegant. Eight chairs, their backs adorned with sculpted elk horns, surround the table. Arched windows made of a latticework of iron and glass look out onto the small, fog-swept estate.
Wood paneling, embroidered rugs, colorful furnishings, and a blazing fire make this chamber stifling. Mounted above the mantel is an elk’s head. Across from the hearth, tall, slender windows look out over dead gardens.
A hallway with a window at each end wraps around the staircase railing. Framed portraits and mirrors festoon the walls, surrounding you with judging looks and dark reflections. You hear something scratching at one of the many doors.
This bedroom contains nothing out of the ordinary: a neatly made bed, a table with an oil lamp on it, a handsome wooden chest, a slender wardrobe, and a window box with drapes.
This room is musty and dark. An iron-framed bed fitted with leather straps stands near a wall. The place has no other furnishings.
Scurrying away from you on all fours is a young woman in a soiled nightgown. She leaps onto the bed and hisses like a cat. “Little kitty doesn’t know you!” she shouts. “Little kitty doesn’t like the smell of you!”
Across from the door, a fire sputters and struggles for life in the hearth, above which hangs a framed family portrait: a noble father and mother, their two young sons, and a baby daughter in the father’s arms. The sons are smiling in a way that suggests mischief. The parents look like uncrowned royalty.
Wood paneling covers the walls of the room. A closet and a framed mirror flank a curtained window to the south. To the north, a wide, canopied bed lies pinned between matching end tables with oil lamps. Stretched out on one side of the bed is a man dressed in black, his eyes each covered with a copper piece. He bears a striking resemblance to the father in the painting.
This room is crawling with cats. Bookshelves hug the walls, but most of the shelves are bare. Other furnishings include a desk, a chair, a table, and a wine cabinet. The room has an irregular shape, and none of its angles seem quite right, as though the shifting of the house has set the whole place on edge.
Behind the hinged panel in the bookcase lies a dusty, ten-foot-square room with a curtained window and shelves lining three walls. On the bottom shelf rests an iron chest. The other shelves are bare.
A slanted, wooden cellar door with an iron pull ring and iron hinges stands against the foundation of the house.
This large root cellar has a dirt floor. Two ascending flights of stone steps enclosed by wooden railings stand across from one another. Tracks in the earth lead from one staircase to the other, and other trails go from both staircases to the center of the bare west wall. Four neatly made cots are set in a row against the south wall.
Flickering candles in iron holders fill this room with light and shadows. This room has a ten-foot-high ceiling and a large black pentagram inscribed on the stone floor. At each point of the pentagram rests a wooden chair. Seated in four of the five chairs are men and women in black robes with hoods: a young man who has the face of an angel; a balding hulk of a man; a squat, middle-aged woman; and a taller, younger woman with an unsettling glare. They rise to confront you.
| d20 | Temperature |
| 1–14 | Normal for the season |
| 15–17 | 1d4 � 10 degrees Fahrenheit colder than normal |
| 18–20 | 1d4 � 10 degrees Fahrenheit hotter than normal |
| d20 | Wind |
| 1–12 | None |
| 13–17 | Light |
| 18–20 | Strong |
| d20 | Precipitation |
| 1–12 | None |
| 13–17 | Light rain or light snowfall |
| 18–20 | Heavy rain or heavy snowfall |
The open jaws of the wolf’s head form a fifteen-foot-high canopy of rock over the cave mouth, held up by natural pillars of rock. The ceiling rises to a height of twenty feet inside the cave. Torches in iron brackets line the walls. From somewhere deep inside, you hear the echoing sounds of a flute. Some of the notes are discordant—painfully so.
If the characters arrive here with Emil Toranescu (see chapter 4, area K75a) in their company or their custody, he can command the other werewolves in the den not to attack the characters as they make their way inside.
Here, the cave splits to the left and right. Standing on a five-foot-high ledge between the divide are two feral-looking women wearing shredded clothing and clutching spears.
A five-foot-high stone ledge overlooks this large cave, which has a smoldering campfire at the far west end. The floor is covered with gnawed bones.
The old man cackles. “When Kiril returns,” he says to you with his last breath, “he’ll skin you alive.”
A gash in the rocky ceiling allows the gray light and cold drizzle of the outdoors to seep into this dank, torchlit cave, where an underground spring forms a pool of water roughly forty feet across and ten feet deep. A five-foot-high ledge to the north overlooks the pool. A similar ledge spans the eastern wall, with a rough-hewn staircase leading up to it. A few crates sit atop the eastern ledge.
A maze of torchlit tunnels and caves expands in front of you. Bones lie strewn upon the floor.
At the back of this cave hangs a curtain made of human skin.
Rough-hewn stairs lead down to a torchlit cave and a bizarre sight: wide-eyed children stand behind wooden bars and stare at you in terrified silence. The cave holds six wooden cages, their lids held shut with heavy rocks. Two of the cages are empty, and each of the others holds a pair of frightened children.
A crude wooden statue stands between the cages. It bears the rough likeness of a wolf-headed woman draped in garlands of vines and night flowers. Piled around the statue’s base is an incredible amount of treasure. A woman in shredded clothes kneels before the statue. Behind the statue, two maggot-ridden corpses hang from iron shackles bolted to the wall.
A twenty-foot-diameter ring of stones dominates a rocky ledge on the mountainside. Within the ring, you see spattered blood and small, gnawed bones. Lying on the ground outside the circle are several spears stained with dry blood.
“Werewolves in the mist!” You’ve heard these dreaded words spoken again and again by farmers, merchants, and adventurers alike. The hamlets east of Daggerford have fallen prey to a pack of werewolves that spills out of the Misty Forest on nights of the full moon, cloaked in crawling mist that seems to follow them wherever they go. The beasts spread death and mayhem, slaughtering adults and stealing children before retreating back into the woods. Others have tried to combat the werewolf menace, with little success.
A Harper named Zelraun Roaringhorn knows a metal�smith who will silver your weapons for free. He also provides some helpful magic.
“We strive to protect the powerless,” he says. “If the children kidnapped by the werewolves are still alive, I would see them safely returned.”
You don’t need to consult with others in the Emerald Enclave to know that the werewolves are upsetting the natural order. For balance to be restored, they must be eradicated. It seems the gods of nature agree, for they’ve sent good weather and preserved the monsters’ tracks.
A Lords’ Alliance operative from Waterdeep named Eravien Haund comes to Daggerford bearing news that alliance agents have not only captured one of the werewolves but also conducted a thorough interrogation before putting the creature out of its misery.
The Black Network sees the werewolf menace as an opportunity to provide lords and nervous landowners with mercenaries to protect their holdings. But at least one of your fellow members has a grudge against the lycanthropes. Davra Jassur, a member of the Zhentarim based in Waterdeep, arranges a private meeting with you.
The woods darken as the trees begin to close ranks, their needle-covered arms interlocking to blot out the sun. The shroud of mist that covers the ground turns into creeping walls of gray fog that silently envelop you until you can’t see more than a few feet in any direction. Soon, even the werewolf tracks disappear.
Parked in the loading dock is a wagon with three barrels set in braces on the bed. A raised wooden walkway runs along the west, south, and east walls. Through a hole in the ceiling you see the wooden arm of a loading crane with ropes and hooks dangling from it.
Strips of iron and wood lie in neat piles on the floor of this workshop, the walls of which are lined with tools. Two worktables stand against the east wall.
Rows of new barrels fill this room. A narrow stone staircase spirals upward in the southwest corner.
Resting on a flagstone veranda are three five-foot-diameter wooden tubs, their insides stained with grape juice. Each tub has a short ladder bolted to its side and a catch basin tucked underneath.
At the back of the veranda is a large set of sliding wooden doors as well as a normal-sized wooden door. Stone pillars and arches support the upper floor above.
Sweet-smelling herbs hang from the eaves of this ramshackle wooden outhouse, which has a small crescent moon carved into its door.
Bare hooks line the walls of this storage room. Shelves to the south hold several pairs of stained wooden sandals with oversized soles. Both doors to this room hang open. The one to the west is fitted with iron brackets and leads outside into the rain. Lying on the floor next to it is a five-foot-long wooden beam.
The rich smell of fermenting wine fills this large, two-story chamber, which is dominated by four enormous wooden casks, each one eight feet wide and twelve feet tall. A wooden staircase in the center of the room climbs to a ten-foot-high wooden balcony that clings to the south wall, which has four windows set into it at balcony level. Stacked against the wall underneath the balcony are old, empty barrels with “The Wizard of Wines” burned into their sides. The balcony climbs another five feet as it continues along the west and east walls, ending at doors leading to the winery’s upper level. Underneath these side balconies are several doors, some of which hang open. Beneath the sloping roof stretch thick rafters, upon which scores of ravens have quietly gathered. They watch you with great interest.
The balcony creaks, drawing your eye to a wild-looking figure hunched over the westernmost cask, pouring a flask of thick syrup into it. She wears a gown made of animal skins and a headdress with goat horns, and her hair is long and unkempt. Suddenly, you see something skittering across the floor. It looks like a tiny creature made of twigs. It moves from its hiding place under the stairs and disappears behind the easternmost cask.
A dirty window in the south wall allows dim light to enter this room. Wine bottles are manufactured here, as evidenced by the tools lying about, the wooden rack full of freshly blown glass bottles along the south wall, the hearth built into the southwest corner, and the barrel of sand standing next to it. A staircase descends underground, and between it and the rack of bottles stands a barred door.
This turret contains a stone spiral staircase. Windows in the outer wall allow light to enter.
This turret has a sloping, wooden floor that spirals from the cellar to the upper levels. Scratch marks suggest that barrels are rolled up and down the ramp on a routine basis.
Thick moss covers the walls of this underground staircase. At the foot of the steps is a landing with an arched wooden door set into the north wall.
Wooden pillars and beams support the ten-foot-high ceiling of this ice-cold cellar, which is split in two by a five-foot-thick brick wall. A thin mist covers the floor. Each half of the cellar features an eight-foot tall wooden partition that doubles as a wine rack. The western rack stands empty, but the eastern one is half filled with wine bottles.
Something moves behind the eastern wine rack. Through the holes, you glimpse a half dozen humanoid figures, one with a full rack of antlers. You hear a gravelly voice mutter the words of a spell.
It takes some effort to push open the secret door, and you are greeted by a blast of cold air. A dark tunnel stretches for fifteen feet, ending at an archway beyond which lies a shallow cave.
This room has a wooden floor with a ten-foot-square hole cut into the middle of it. Looming over the hole is a wooden winch. Perched atop it is a man with wild hair, rotted teeth, and skin painted red with blood. He waves a gnarled staff made from a black branch and babbles at you.
This room contains a four-poster bed, its headboard carved in the likeness of a giant raven. A soft black rug covers the floor between the bed and the door. In the corners of the south wall stand two slender wardrobes with a tapestry of a church hanging on the wall between them. Beneath the tapestry sits a handsomely carved rocking cradle. To the north, under a window, is a plain desk and chair. Other furnishings include a wooden chest and a freestanding mirror in a wooden frame.
This room contains a rectangular table surrounded by eight chairs, an L-shaped cupboard, and a floor-to-ceiling closet pantry. Next to the pantry is a small iron stove.
Two pairs of bunk beds occupy this room. Against the west wall rest four identical footlockers.
In this chamber are a desk, a chair, a tall wooden cabinet, and a strange contraption that takes up most of the northern end of the room.
Three creatures are here. One appears human but is so caked with dirt and mud that it’s hard to know for sure. Her hair is full of twigs, and her face is hidden behind a veil of moss. She is rooting through the contents of the cabinet and haphazardly tossing them onto the floor. Behind her stand two creatures made entirely of dead vines.
The trail through the thick woods leads to a hill covered with dead grass and cairns of black rock. Dark, ominous clouds gather high above, and a single bolt of lightning strikes the hilltop. West of the hill, the land, the woods, and the sky vanish behind a towering wall of fog.The trail splits as it climbs the hillside, forming two concentric rings (area Y2). The trail also leads to the hilltop (areas Y3 and Y4). The wall of fog (area Y5) marks the edge of Strahd’s domain.
Dirt trails run along two concentric rings of cairns that encircle the hillside. Each cairn is a ten-foot-high mound of slimy black rocks.These burial mounds predate the arrival of Strahd and the druids. They have remained undisturbed for centuries. Buried under the rocks are the moldy bones of an ancient tribe of berserkers that once lived in the mountains. (See "Blood Spear of Kavan" in Special Events: Chapter 14.
Atop the hill is a wide ring of black boulders and smaller rocks that collectively form a makeshift wall enclosing a field of dead grass. Lightning strikes the edge of the ring from time to time, illuminating a ghastly, fifty-foot-tall statue made of tightly woven twigs and packed with black earth. The statue resembles a towering, cloaked man with fangs.The ring of boulders that surrounds the field is 250 feet in diameter and ranges from 5 to 10 feet high. Any creature that climbs over the black boulders has a 10 percent chance of being struck by lightning, taking 44 (8d10) lightning damage. Characters can avoid the damage by sticking to the two trails that pass through the ring.
At the south end of the hilltop is a sickly copse, a grove of dead trees and shrubs with a huge, misshapen tree at its core. Blood oozes like sap from its twisted trunk. Skulking around the tree are six gangly humanoid creatures covered with needles. Embedded in the tree is a shiny battleaxe, beneath which lies a humanoid skeleton.
As you look west into the curtain of fog, you see a white fortress on a hill above a great city. The city appears quite distant, maybe a mile away. The fog obscures all detail, but you can hear what sounds like the echo of a church bell.The Dark Powers have created a false image of Strahd’s ancestral home within the fog, just beyond reach. Strahd comes to the hill on occasion to gaze upon the city, even though he knows it can’t be real. The image tantalizes him.