---
campaign: Curse of Strahd
type: session
session_number: 3
date: 2025-12-04
arc: Vallaki
status: planning
next: "[[session_4]]"
---
# Session Intro
>[!quote] Out of Character:
>“Last time, you left the Village of Barovia behind and set out along the Old Svalich Road, following a clue about Mad Mary’s daughter and a toymaker’s village. It’s been a while for us; it’s been a while for them too.”

>[!quote] Time Skip
> For days, you walk the same road through the same gray forest beneath the same pale sky. The sun never truly shows itself — only a lighter patch in the clouds.
> Once, you pass a farmhouse with its door hanging open. No bodies, no blood, just plates still set at the table and a cradle gently rocking in the draft.
> Another day, you hear distant weeping in the fog. By the time you reach the sound, you find only a single shoe in the mud.
> The mists are patient. The road is patient. [[Barovia]] does not seem surprised to see you.
> “Before we zoom into the present scene, each of you: give me _one small moment_ from these days on the road. Something your character did, or a way we saw them handle the weight of this place.”
> “We pick up on the **third morning** since you left the village of Barovia…”

# Broken Riders
10-15 minutes.
## The Horse
>[!quote] Narration
>The fog has been thick for hours, muffling even your own footsteps. When the wind shifts, a new smell rolls through it — hot iron and rot, fresh enough to sting.
>A shape stumbles out of the mist ahead of you.
>Or… what’s left of one.
>Its flank is torn open, ribs glittering slick and white beneath shredded muscle. Its left eye hangs loose by a thread of sinew. Steam rises from its wounds in slow, choking billows.
>The animal takes two trembling steps toward you, lifts its head as if asking for help,
> and collapses sideways with a _wet, cracking thud_, its legs folding like snapped reeds.

Ask them what they do. If they stall, prompt:
1. Do you approach?
2. Keep your distance? 
3. Check the tracks?
4. Call out?

If they choose to poke around, nothing moves or attacks. Just a horse bleeding into the mud. The forest holds its breath.

## The Rider
>[!quote] Narration
> The fog behind the fallen horse shifts again.
> You hear armor clattering. Not marching — stumbling.
> A second horse steps forward, led not by reins, but by momentum alone. Its rider sits slumped in the saddle, head lolling at an angle that a human neck should not allow.
> The rider’s helmet has been crushed inward. Bone pushes through broken metal like chalk through tin.
> The horse takes one more step.
> The rider slides sideways off its back.
> He hits the ground spine-first.
> **CRACK**
> The sound echoes. Too loud. Too close.
> The man’s body folds wrong in the middle, legs twitching independently of the torso, nerves firing their last confused signals.

If they examine the body:
	- The spine is shattered in 3 places
	- Shoulders dislocated.
	- Lower jaw broken, and hanging by a hinge of skin.
	- He did screaming, in pain, and recently.
He is holding:
	- Something wrapped in a blood-stained scrap of parchment.
	- A wooden toy figure painted with a smile.
	- Burned into the back- "Is No Fun, Is No Blinsky"
## The Thing in The Mist
>[!quote] Narration
>A shape moves in the fog behind the fallen rider — taller than a man, wider at the shoulders, dragging something heavy across the road with a long, scraping whisper.
>It stops at the edge of the mist.
>And steps out.
>The figure is massive — a man in rusted armor caked with drying blood. His skin is corpse-pale and rubbery, black veins rising beneath the surface like roots.
>His eyes burn faint red, but not with hunger. With recognition.
>Not of *you*.
>But of what *you* are.
>The thing cracks its jaw sideways until it snaps back into place, with the same sound as the rider's broken spine.

Ask the players what they do- but none of it matters. It is not afraid of them, nor is it interested in them. It merely has a point to prove.
## Prey
>[!quote]
>The creature steps past the horse and leans down, gripping the dead rider by the throat with one enormous hand.
>Flesh squishes. Vertebrae grind.
>It lifts the corpse effortlessly — like a butcher lifting an animal for inspection.
>The creature turns its head slightly, as if studying all of you.
>Then its grip tightens.
>CRRSHHK.
>The throat collapses. The head lolls sideways. A spray of dark blood freckles the mud.
>The thing throws the body onto the road at your feet.
>Not as a threat.
>As a **reminder**.
>“Prey,” it growls, voice thick with gravel and rot.
>Then it turns. And walks back into the fog.
>Not fleeing.
>Not hiding.
>It simply lost interest.
## Player Specific Horror
>[!quote] Elara
>As the creature disappears, you feel _roots_ shifting under the soil. Not natural. Not alive.
>The land of Barovia recoils from what passed here — and recoils from _you_, as if recognizing you and rejecting you in the same breath.

>[!quote] Corvyn
>The rider’s broken spine mirrors your own reflection in the blade of your weapon for a heartbeat — bent, broken, rotting.
>And when you turn away, your shadow lingers a moment longer… still facing the direction the creature went.

>[!quote] Balkuum
>Helm is silent.
>Not absent.
>Not disapproving.
>Silent — the way a commander watches a soldier walking into a battlefield that cannot be won.
>You feel no divine comfort.
>Only the weight of your own breathing.
## Interactions
- Searching the bodies:
	- They were from Valaki
	- They were trying to get home
	- Whatever killed them left their valuables- it didn't care to rob them.
- Tracking the creature:
	- Is not possible. It walks into the mist, and the mist swallows all trace.
- Healing the horse:
	- It's dead.
	- Magic cannot fix crushed lungs and a severed spine.
	- If they try anyway:
		- >[!quote] Narration
		>"The body does not respond."
- Burying them:
	> [!quote] Narration
	> The ground is so wet with old blood that the soil stains their hands dark red no matter how deeply they dig.
## Transition Out
>[!quote] Narration
>The fog closes over the road again, swallowing the bodies, the blood, and the shapes of the trees.
>The only sign anything happened is the faint crackle of drying blood on your boots as you walk.

# Cart in the Ditch (Elara Focus)
5–10 minutes.

>[!quote] Narration
> The Old Svalich Road bends around a steep rise in the earth, fog swirling low and heavy. As you round the curve, the horses snort and slow — something lies ahead in the ditch to your right.
> 
> A small wooden handcart has toppled onto its side, a wheel splintered clean off. The produce that once filled it — apples, onions, a few burlap sacks — lies strewn across the mud. Everything is pale with mold, as though it has sat there for weeks… and yet, the bruised fruit glistens wet with morning dew, as if someone dropped it only hours ago.
> 
> Perched atop the cart’s broken frame are **six ravens**, unmoving, watching.
> 
> Silent.
> 
> Too silent.

Prompt the party:
- Do you approach the cart?
- Hang back and observe?
- Call out for whoever might own it?

If they hesitate, remind them:
- The road is quiet.
- The ravens don’t startle or fly off. They just **watch**.

## What Each Character Notices

- **Corvyn**  
  - The cart’s wood is gouged — *long, straight claw-like marks* in the side boards. Wrong for wolves. Too deliberate.
- **Balkuum**  
  - The fruit is fresh-rotted — the mold is too thick, too fast. This feels like the land is **feeding**, not just decay.
- **Elara**  
  - All six ravens turn to face her at the exact same instant.  
  - They do not blink.

>[!quote] Elara Focus
> Elara, the ravens’ black eyes fix on you and you alone.
> There is no fear in them. No curiosity.
> Only recognition — as if they have been waiting for you to arrive at this exact piece of ditch, on this exact day.

Ask Elara:
- Do you approach them?
- Speak to them?
- Avoid their gaze?

## If Elara Approaches the Cart

>[!quote] Narration
> As you step closer, the ravens do not flee. Instead, they hop sideways along the broken frame of the cart, never breaking eye contact with you.
> 
> Up close, you see the fruit is not merely rotten. Fine white threads of fungus cling to it, stretching from apple to wood, from onion to wheel — like veins, or roots, growing too fast, too hungrily.

If Elara inspects the rot (Perception or Nature, DC 12–16):
- DC 12:
  - The rot is **accelerated**. This is too much decay for how fresh the dew is.
- DC 16:
  - The fungal threads **pulse** faintly, as if something in the soil is pumping life into death.

Prompt:
- “Elara, does this remind you of your dream - the cracking earth and dying forest - or does it feel like something new?"

Let the player decide their own emotional read.

## If Elara Speaks to the Ravens (or casts [*Speak With Animals*](https://www.dndbeyond.com/spells/2258-speak-with-animals))

If she just talks normally (no spell):
- One raven hops closer and drops a mold-bitten apple near her feet.
- Another caws once, sharply — a sound that feels more like a **warning** than a greeting.

If she uses *Speak with Animals*:

>[!quote] Ravens (impressions, not full sentences)
> The ravens do not answer in clean words. Instead, feelings press into your mind like cold fingers:
> 
> **Danger… ahead.**
> **Death… behind.**
> **The land… remembers you.**
> 
> One raven’s presence brushes your thoughts stronger than the others:
> 
> > “Chosen… or devoured…  
> > You do not yet know which.”

Don’t over-explain — keep it impressionistic, eerie.

You can also add:
- They sense **Strahd’s influence** everywhere.
- They recognize something *old* and *familiar* in Elara, but not in the others.

## If Elara Touches the Cart

>[!quote] Narration
> The instant your fingers brush the wet wood, all six ravens explode into motion at once — wings beating, feathers slapping the air, fog scattering in a flurry of black.
> 
> A chill shoots up your arm, like something cold and slick just slid beneath your skin and settled there.

Elara gets a flash of not-quite-vision:

>[!quote] Elara Flash
> For a heartbeat, your senses are not your own.
> 
> Small hands strain against rough wood. A child’s hands. You feel the weight of the cart dragging behind you, mud sucking at your boots. You hear someone shouting your name — but the voice is muffled, distant, swallowed by fog.
> 
> The hands let go.
> The cart tumbles into the ditch.
> 
> Then it’s gone. You’re back in your own skin, standing by the ruined cart.

Let Elara react:
- Does she share this with the others?
- Or keep it to herself?

## If They Investigate for Tracks / People

- There are **cart tracks** on the road leading *toward* Vallaki.
- Fainter, lighter **footprints** (small, child-sized) alongside, eventually disappearing into the fog on the other side of the road.
- The prints stop abruptly. No body. No struggle. Just… gone.

If someone asks “Did something drag them off?”:
- No clear drag marks.
- It’s like they walked into the mist and never walked out.

## If They Take Something from the Cart

If they take:
- A piece of fruit:
  - It rots fully within hours, turning to black sludge in a pack.
- A bit of wood:
  - The next time Elara casts a nature spell, the wood cracks and crumbles into dry splinters.
- Nothing:
  - The scene still lingers in their minds — a quiet, unsolved wrong.

Optional spooky button:

>[!quote] Narration
> As you move away from the ditch, you hear a single raven caw in the distance behind you.
> When you turn, the cart is already half-lost in the fog, like it was never there at all.

## Party Interaction Hooks

Use this to pivot into RP between characters:

- To **Corvyn**:
	- “You watched Elara interact with… whatever that was. Does this make you trust her more, or less? Do you say anything to her?”
- To **Balkuum**:
	- “The ravens seemed drawn to her — not to you, not to your holy symbol. Does that bother you? Do you try to read this as a sign from Helm, or something darker?”
- To **Elara**:
	- “You felt the land react to you — like it recognized you and recoiled. Do you lean into that connection, or try to shut it out?”

Let them talk for a few minutes. This is your RP glue.

## Transition Out

>[!quote] Narration
> The cart and its spilled cargo fade behind you, swallowed by the fog and the curve of the road.
> 
> The ravens have gone.
> 
> The forest feels a little closer now, leaning in over the road. The air tastes faintly of mold and old secrets.
> 
> Unless you choose to linger, the Old Svalich Road stretches on — gray, patient, and waiting.

From here, move on to your Vallaki arrival scene.
