Chaya's Journal #7

On the Road to Vallaki from the Winery

The sun is setting behind us, painting the sky in shades of blood and fire, and I cannot decide if it is beautiful or ominous. We are returning to Vallaki victorious, in a sense. The winery is reclaimed, the Martikovs are safe, and the wine is on its way. This should feel like a victory. And yet, I cannot shake the feeling that we are only walking deeper into the storm. The druids had twisted nature itself into something cruel—those creatures of twig and thorn were unnatural, mindless things, and yet Gretch now holds sway over them. He says they will be useful, that they will serve us in delivering the wine, but I cannot shake the feeling that we are playing with forces beyond our control. Perhaps I am being overly cautious. Perhaps it is simply my exhaustion speaking. But when I looked at the staff in his hands, I felt the same unease I felt in Castle Ravenloft. Power taken from darkness rarely comes without a price. Gretch’s control over the twig creatures is… unsettling. I watch them skitter and shuffle ahead of us, their hollow eyes empty, their bodies twisted mockeries of life. Gretch seems pleased. The others seem unconcerned. I wonder if I am the only one who sees the danger lurking beneath this power. What happens when he no longer controls them? What happens if they control him?

And then there is Yester Hill. Another place steeped in ancient power, another dark corner of this land that we must pry open if we wish to set things right. The Martikovs have given us little information beyond its name, but that alone is enough to make my stomach twist. I have learned that nothing here is just a name. At least we have Horvar with us now. He seems capable, though I know little of him beyond the fact that he was willing to fight by our side. I suppose that is enough for now. Trust is not given lightly in this land, but we have little choice but to extend it. I am weary. So, so weary. My bones ache, my heart feels heavy, and my mind is clouded with too many worries and too few answers. Perhaps the festival will be a reprieve, however brief. A moment to remember what it feels like to be something other than a hunted thing. But for now, I will be grateful for the quiet of the road. For the chance to breathe before we plunge forward once again. And perhaps, if we are fortunate, the Festival of the Blazing Sun will offer us a moment of respite. If only for a little while.