Gypsy Musings

[ShadyWraith]

"Your future.. have you had previous dealings with.. perhaps a corrupt government?"

"Y-.. yes.."

"Those issues shall return."

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Tarja sat quietly in the basement of the Lady's Rest.  The night's journey left her tired and weary, and the argument that lead to such a trip had her feeling even more drained and exhausted.  The Tarot reading Nevena had given her left her uncomfortable and more worried than she'd already been.  Perhaps returning to Vallaki was too bold.  Perhaps being in Barovia wasn't a good idea, but it was too late to turn back now.  No matter what trials or tribulations she'd faced, her heart always tugged her back to her roots.  Try as she might she could hardly fight such a calling, and it only seemed natural that she return here when she felt lost.

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Despite her intent to lay low she immediately felt restless and struggled to keep herself in line.  She knew the seer's predictions would come to light.  Perhaps not today or tomorrow, but surely in the near future.  She'd need to be prepared and ready to face whatever fate may befall her.  She was alone now, and perhaps that was how she liked it.  Nobody else to worry over, no one to fear for and no one to concern herself with possible betrayals or back stabbings. 

The guard lacked a certain presence and she wondered if the Wachter conflict had taken a harsh toll.  The entire land seemed to have suffered and she recognized no one.  All of her old friends were either dead, swept back up by the Mists or moved on to other lands. 

For the time being she would busy herself with hunting, building her supply of coin back up, and forgetting about the rest of the world.  She couldn't stand to dwell on the things that made her sad.  She missed her family.  She missed her friends.

[ShadyWraith]

A full, pale moon overlooked the misty mountains connecting Vallaki to Krofburg.  The night was silent and still, draped in a facade that could easily make one think that they were safe.  In a clearing far off of the road, hidden away by snow and withered shrubbery rested a well built tent kept warm by a carefully tended fire burning bright enough to create an illuminating glow.  In the comfort of the cozy tent rested three generations of Vistani, each cursed with blood diluted a bit more than the previous generation.  Tucked away safely beneath layers of thick furs and curled up comfortably with one another slept a great grandmother, a grandmother, and a young grandson.  

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This particular meeting spot was one that Tarja was all too familiar with.  Her family traveled more than they'd ever been able to remain settled, and she had the patterns memorized.  The clearings close to Krofburg had always been a place of solace and simplicity.  Each winter since the birth of Nicholas the small, blended and dysfunctional family would make time to be together away from the bustle of civilization.  Their time was always brief, however it was all that they needed to rekindle and plan their next brief meeting.  The previous year she'd dragged Ceryn along.  It gave her mother and grandmother some sort of pleasure to see her content with someone who wasn't unstable, and someone who filled in as a father figure for the small boy who'd never had any sort of dependable man to look up to.

Her journey this year would be a bit different.  She would make her way up the mountain alone, and the visit would be more brief than it normally was.  She had matters that needed tending to, but she craved the company of her family if only for a short time.  The sun was just rising in the sky when she began to pack her things, enough clothing and supply for a few brief evening's at the tiny, cozy inn that operated out of Krofburg.  With everything that had been going on she could hardly weight for the wise advice of her grandmother to lift the weight from her shoulders.  Soon enough everything would be as it should.

The brisk wind and chill in the air left her cheeks painted pink and the tip of her nose a rosy shade.  She pulled her cloak tighter as she made her ascent, boots padding through the thick snow with each step.  She passed near the mines and began to make her way along the winding valleys between mountain structures, nearing their meeting ground.  As she neared the clearing she couldn't help but notice the pinkish red tinge splattered through the fresh snow.  The animals were normally not so active this far up, however it was possible for crag cats or even bears to hunt around the valleys.  

The stillness in the air planted a seed of worry, and she couldn't help but think that maybe, just maybe the weather near the Village had been more hazardous and that her family had been unable to make the trip at all.  Surely they would've somehow sent word. She continued her trek, stomach sinking and heart thumping a bit harder as she finally arrived at the small clearing.  There, hidden away by the shriveled up shrubbery was the small, colorful tent.  It had been torn to shreds, tattered pieces of the cloth fluttering in the wind.  The structure was broken and the tent was collapsed upon itself.  There were signs of a struggle.  Food, clothes and personal belongings were strewn about.  The wooden sword Ceryn had given Nicholas lay near the lifeless campfire.  

Her stomach tightened into a gut wrenching knot and she began to search wildly, screaming and yelling, begging for any sign of life to make itself known.  The cold stung her eyes as they welled with tears, forced to take in the gruesome, morbid sight that lay deeper south into the valley.   The snow had been painted a sickening shade of red, and bare trees were forced to support the weight of the tattered, mutilated bodies of the ones she held dearest.  Bloody, blank faces stared back at her with eyes gouged out and jaws wrenched open.  She nearly wretched as she took in the scene, unable to fully process what such a horrific display truly meant.  

By the darkened color of her fingertips she could only guess that her grandmother had been the first to go.  Her poor, frail body had been forced to endure such pain that she could hardly bear to look at her.  Weakened limbs look like they'd been broken again and again and her colorful skirt was stained with such an unnatural amount of blood that it looked almost black.  The corpse of her mother was bruised and battered, the flesh torn and hanging in pallid ribbons.  Her color was drained, warm caramel colored skin now a stark white that bordered on a gray hue.  It was as if the life had been pulled right out of her.

And there.. on the smallest, weakest tree hung the body of the most perfect little thing she'd ever known in the entirety of her life; her son, Nicholas.  His innocence had spared him nothing at the hands of whatever creature was foul enough to commit such a vile, wicked act.  His poor body had endured more than even the most unpleasant criminal should have to.  Nearly every inch of his skin was discolored by bruising or the start of rot.  His beautiful face was twisted in a look of agonized horror.  He'd been stripped nearly naked and on his chest had been carved deep into the flesh a large, carefully marked "A".

Emotion overcame the helpless Giomoto and she cried, screamed, yelled, and cursed the name of any particular god that came to mind.  What had she done in this life to deserve such a punishment?  Why had they suffered and she been spared?  Her animalistic shrieks cut through the cold air and she collapsed in a heap, laying trembling on the blood tinged snow for hours as the sorrow crushed her.  The sun set and a dark moon settled high in the dark sky, and still she sobbed and cried.  

She finally regained enough strength to push herself up and cut the nearly unrecognizable bodies down.  The task alone seemed to drain her once more and she lay helplessly, cradling the body of her precious son for hours.  Try as she might, no enchanted strips of linen, no blessed orb and no carefully crafted potion could revive the souls that had been torn from the shells of bodies that remained.  A nightmare filled sleep overcame her for a time, and when she once again came to her eyes were nearly swollen shut from the tears.  Her throat was raw from the screams and cries, yet there she lie, alone and unbothered by whatever force had separated her from her loved ones.  

She lacked any sort of motivation to continue, but it would kill her to know that the ones she treasured the most had been desecrated and left in such a vile state.  With the last bit of energy she had she made her way back to the road and flagged down a frightened delivery boy.  For a sum he stood watch over the road leaving to the clearing where she'd left Nicholas for the time being.  She struggled to move her mother and grandmother further up the mountain and paid a handful of locals to oversee what could be considered a ritualistic burning of the bodies.  She collected the ashes in a small clay vase, sealed it closed and made her way back down the mountain.

Nicholas was wrapped in the finest cloth she'd been able to acquire in Krofburg.  She hadn't even stopped to eat or see to cleaning herself up.  There was no time. She cradled the stiff body like precious cargo and carried him down the mountain.  Her mind was hazy and she felt weakened, but she couldn't bear the thought of her son being buried anywhere but beside his father.  

In the dead of night and with the help of Fade the pair cut through the frozen ground.  She wrapped Nicholas snug in the finest furs and silk she owned, clipped two small locks of his dark auburn hair, gave him a kiss on the forehead and buried him with the little wooden sword he could never be seen without.  There was no sound like that of a mother mourning her child, and she couldn't help but curse herself for what she could've, should've done more of to protect him fiercely enough that no harm could've overcome him.

With Fade standing vigil she lay near the grave of her son and broke down once more, her body shuddering with each sob.  She continued to beg and plead for some sort of miracle that would never come.  It was in this moment that she felt utterly broken and helpless, like half of her own soul had been cut away.  She would never be whole again.

She lay on the hard caravan bench in silence, alone with her thoughts as she made the bumpy ride out of Barovia.  She cursed the land now more than ever.  She blamed it for her sorrows and all of the loss that she felt.  The image of her helpless little boy mutilated and strung up was embedded in her mind, burned deep into her thoughts to haunt her the rest of her days.  She knew little of the vile creature that could've committed such an act, but that sickeningly carved "A" on her son's chest had been something she'd sketched into her notes to be never forgotten.  It would be the key to bringing justice to her family, and finding some ounce of peace for her broken soul.

[ShadyWraith]

Any sort of awareness of time that she'd had was lost.  Days and nights blended together as she lay in a dirty heap upon the pile of furs and ornately decorated pillows that lined the back half of her small room in The House of Rest.  At times she drifted into a restless sleep, disturbed by vivid dreams of herself roasting on the hot desert sand, burning under the unforgiving sun while her skin turned into a crispy, hardened layer.  She always tried to scream for help but she was unable, for her belly had been stuffed with sand and her throat was dried out and coarse.  The dreams always ended the same.  She would stand over her burning corpse and wash as the wind carried her ashes to be scattered with the sands.

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After an unhealthy amount of time without eating, drinking or bathing she finally dragged herself from the comfort of her makeshift bed.  Her appearance was frightening to say the least; gaunt cheekbones, ashen skin and the dark circles beneath her eyes made her look quite sickly.  The dried dirt and blood beneath her nails and on her feet was enough to make anyone do a double take and question her hygiene habits.  Water was scarce and so she used what she had in her canteen quite conservatively.  Once her limbs and face had been scrubbed she combed the knots out of her hair and tied the lustrous locks into a braid.  Even the smallest amount of activity left her feeling drained and she was soon sleeping once more, though somewhat cleaner this time around. 

She awoke feeling no more energetic than she had when she dozed off, and the realization of how empty the small inn room was seemed overwhelming.  She hated waking up alone, and she wanted more than anything to have someone around to talk to.  Instead of writing in her journal she drew, copying down whatever images came to mind in her sketchbook.  Some were left unfinished while others were given great detail.  It almost seemed as if the more horrific the images in her mind were the more detail they demanded on paper. 

[ShadyWraith]

[ShadyWraith]

"The wight..."

"The scrapin' one?"

"You did.. mention that, didn't you.. "

"Him behind the church in outskirts lots.  Fightin'.  Scarin'."

They had a description, and they had a name.  Black leathers, a tattered cloak, two blades, and a taste for the shadows.  He was called Alex in the days when he lived, and now loathed anything that had that which he lacked; life.  Part of her felt some form of relief that they were that much closer to finding the wretched being that had destroyed her family and slain their son.  She struggled to deal with the mixture of emotions that were multiplied by the coming full moon.  On top of the recent difficulties she'd ran into an old, old friend.

The last time she'd seen Vasile Pavlenco had been when Cervantes was carrying her out of the Citadel.  She was worn and battered, exhausted after being arrested and beaten for information which she'd refused to give the guards on the Romulich family.  Vasile saw to it that she was released into safe hands.  He'd always been a loyal friend, even when the decisions she made were questionable at best.  Unlike many of the other men she'd known in her dancing days he'd never made any attempt to use or take advantage of her.  Upon her return to Barovia she'd sought him out, only to be informed that he'd been slain like many of her other friends. 

She'd been unaware of the strained relationship between Ceryn and Pavlenco, and she feared the tense meeting would end in blows or worse.  Her heart broke for Vasile and the difficulties she knew he'd had to have gone through during the time she assumed he was dead.  Perhaps he was an empty shell of the man he'd used to be, but she couldn't help but feel some speckle of hope when he offered his assistance to her and her husband.  Perhaps it was foolish to trust someone who likely lacked a soul, but they were desperate and his intentions seemed genuine.  She was too exhausted to question him at this point and she could only hope that he was genuine in his promises. 

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The darkened room was silent aside from the quiet, even sound of Ceryn's breathing.  The sun was just beginning to make it's way back into the sky, the first rays peering in through the window.  She sat up quietly and pulled the curtains closed, offering them awhile longer to sleep and regain their strength.  She had very little recollection of the night before, but she was exhausted and a bit sore.  She could hardly even think about dragging herself out of bed and facing the day, and so she nestled deeper beneath the blankets and curled up closer to Ceryn, tucking their bodies together before once more drifting off to a restless sleep, forced to fight the nightmares that seemed to perpetually plague her.

[Basic Barovian]

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