Tiberiu Randa

[Goetia]

♪

Late Winter, 771.

The winter had been perilous already, as most are in the demesne of Count von Zarovich. It was only the summer past a young up-and-coming merchant of the Randa family had taken a beauty as bride. Their union provided an end to a decade of petty mercantile rivalry between the Gregorin and Randa family, with it a promise for combined expansion beyond the realm of Barovia.

It was during this cruel winter the new bride was visited by the black dog of depression. The newly wed couple had departed the wealthy district of Vallaki and it's safety for a quiet home upon the shores of Lake Zarovich, where it was presumed the consumation of marriage- the making of an heir, would be easier on the young couple. As with all things in Barovia, however, nothing was quite so easy. The lack of such luxuries, the lack of a staff and market and social life wore upon the beautiful Gregorin bride.

Come the falling of the sky and the failing of the sun, the windows and doors were barred with thick oak. Garlic laid before the doorway and the threshold of their home salted, it was as close to religion as either of the pair would get; performed without fail every single night. It was then, during this hour of devils and daemons, the crying of beast and baying of evil was only matched by the ever constant sobbing of the beautiful Gregorin bride.

Weeks had passed and their venture bore fruit, at first disguised in the sickness of morn. A child was forming in her belly, yet she demanded to bring it life only in Vallaki. As he ever did, he kept her pleased and bowed to her wishes- it was the finest way of keeping the malaise of the mind that struck her so at bay. A cart was readied, letters were sent and the departure was prepared for the beautiful Gregorin bride.

Yet Barovia had plans conflicting; a snow begun once more to blow from the ranges of Baratak. Confined again, for fear of the lengthy journey spilling into night they waited at home. The cries of wife and worg mingled in the night air, the guilt and pain of a failing husband only aided to keep him from sleep. Arguments began, patience and mind broke to ruin. She would return to Vallaki, the devil's hours be damned. So she left in silk and in snow, the beautiful Gregorin bride.

She would return, she must. He sat in the lounge and watched the flickering flame and grandfather clock. Return she had, footsteps in the snow. A sulken grim attitude she bore, chiding and berating her husband-her lover- words he'd not heard before. As she stood in the threshold, ranting and raving; insulting her husband for the misery she felt, the loss of prestige and social wealth. It was then she admitted to the man who had loved her, the man who had spent his last fang upon her silken dresses, the man who had saved her from countless nights of inconceivable depression- that the blessing in her belly was not his own.  She had made him a cuckold, the beautiful Gregorin bride.

It was then they came, three broken men who bore the crude and home-made livery of Duke Gundar. The clang of crossbow cutting through the air, slicing their argument in twain. The night as their cover, they approached the home with blood on their mind. Tugging upon the arm of his beloved, the husband brought his wife within, sword at the ready to repel the encroaching rebels and placing himself firmly between the savage raiders and the beautiful Gregorin bride.

The melee was vicious and swift, the details a haze. Randa awoke, coming to in the morning- a dead man slumped upon him, one of the Gundarakites. His wife and two more raiders gone. It could have been hours... days, he did not know yet staggered on with sword in hand to follow the trail that marred the virgin snow. Not long. He'd thought, pursuing the tracks and seeking the beautiful Gregorin bride.

The day was half-passed when he came upon them in the shell of an old barn. They had tormented and tortured the Gregorin bride, performed unspeakable horror upon the beauty. Violence and savagery befell the small barn nestled in a near frozen paddock. As he approached his love, staggering from hurt, he wept to realise she'd been long dead. Unable to speak his farewells he sat in despair until found by Alexandru Dracovich, a local Barovian passing en route to Vallaki. He would return home, never to know if the venom spat in the heat of anger was truth spoken by the beautiful Gregorin bride.

Yet the truth is as valued by humanity, as gold is valued by a dog.

Is there something we have forgotten? Some precious thing we have lost, wandering in strange lands?

Letters to Aaleyah


My darling,

I write to you from the city, I know how much you loved it here. How much you miss it. Barovia has changed; all the cultures you adored, the fashions and languages now fill the outskirts. It is hard to convey why I am so angered by it, by them. I think it's because they remind me of you, of what I once had. I will enlist in the Garda, with your departure from this land business has slumped. Our fathers fell out, after you departed your mother saw fit to join you, whever you are (yet I'm sure you're aware of that!)- business has simply become a means for them to attack one another, as they are too craven to settle it like men.

I will write again to you soon, perhaps as an officer of the Vallaki Garda itself! I love you, dearest wife. Watch for me, please, so I may keep in this life and not join you- as so often is my want after Tsuika.

Forever yours,

Tiberiu.


Aaleyah my love,

It would seem the Garda was not what I should have done. I am unfit for it, truth be told. A smoldering malice lays within me, I hurt others because I hurt inside. Too many things remind me of you, of my loss. I have been dismissed from service, another grief I take in my stride and hope to fix. I've been asked to investigate their corruption and to form a report upon it. Perhaps I can help in a way I didn't know posssible. This is a good oppurtunity my love.

In other news, our fathers have descended; fallen from wealth in their pursuit to cripple one another financially, resulting in mutual devastation. Your departure has hurt so many, if only it had been me and not you, my love. I tried to join you again last night, yet something within me refuses to give up.

Your husband,

Tiberiu.



A.R

I've made a dire mistake. In my investigations I pressed a man I shouldn't have, confided in another man I shouldn't have. The Garda is a pit of snakes, they scheme and plot with trivial ease. I've found out far too much, told men things they shouldn't know. I've been left a note at the Lady's Rest, it tells me I've made a dire mistake... In a hand I think familiar. My paranoia has only grown worse, my love. I must leave Vallaki now.

Yours,

T.R


 
Darling,

I've returned to Vallaki. I couldn't stomach the lake house, the familiar paths. It was horrific. Alexandru took me to Barovia Village for a while, we traveled the land and he told me things that turned my stomach. I had confided in a man who had loved his sister, physically. A man who is within the Garda. On the pay roll of shady men who had once tried to kill me (do not fret, it's water beneath the bridge now)

It has been a turbulent few weeks and I have travelled much. I had to leave Barovia due to my work for the Garda, I was informed of impending charges being drummed up against me. To silence me. Why do they not realise I am of no consequence, no threat to them. I've washed my hands of their scheming; their game is too corrupt, has too many double standards and no rules.

It would seem the one I had so much loathing for, was truly the only that wasn't corrupt and broken inside.

Yours forever,

Tiberiu.


Love,

I write to you hastily now, I was accused of planning a revolt and conspiring to smuggle black powder into Vallaki. For what reasons, what motives, I cannot say. I had once drunkenly spoke of a Militia, to defend the lands- lawfully -when the Garda were unable (too busy taking handouts) I had even brought it to the attention of Sergeant Brusilov, my own idea to better reach an understanding!

I have fled once more, taken to dusk. Warned by friends I would like to think, yet likely cast aside to not bring eyes upon their profit nor business. There was only one man who knew of my interest in the hobby of pistols, I wager he blew out a story to try and impress his boss- at the cost of an innocent woman, a nice woman. You would like her, I think.

I hope I get to see Alexandru soon. I find myself, yet again, without friends. Perhaps I should return to Port, there were some good souls there. I tire of Vallaki intrigue; it is so dull and lower class, all smearing and rumour mongering. I should know. 

Yours,

Tiberiu.



My beautiful bride,

I have shamed you. A woman came to the tavern, pleading our help in the rescue of her son. I felt her pain, despite reluctance (and no want to appear craven) I joined the party bound to rescue the child. Once upon the 'Rift', we discovered a trail of blood leading to the body of a boy. From there, things grow hazy. I simply recall fangs and claws, being knocked to my backside and my cheek and throat being torn into. I've never been one for the excitement of combat, as you know. I think I lost control of my bladder, even.

When I awoke, after having the strangest dreams (I'd heard your voice, seen you even!) I felt a man. Hot blood coursing through my veins, pumping life into every inch of my body and soul. The boy's mother offered herself up to me, I took it. For that I apologise, as I have to others- despite leaving her without consummating the agreement and paying her a good amount after seeing the despair and disrepair of their household, most good folk think I took her by force.

I thought it would be wise to throw some fang toward a Bard who inquired about my venture, things appear to have gotten a touch out of hand now. I'm hailed as a hero, was offered a job within the Garda and paid for my deeds. There are posters about town that laud my success, single-handedly! It's a shock, yet perhaps this could still play out in my favour- maybe.

I long to return to you, my love, today I thought I would.

Yours,

Tiberiu.

When the sun has set, no candle can replace it.

[Goetia]

♪

Within the Wandering Billy, a lute plays- one of questionable skill. It would appear a bard has been singing the same song, for quite some time.

Allow me to regale, a most virtuous tale, of the brave Tiberiu, a splendid male,

Tiberiu the brave- who never did quail:
sitting in peace drinking his ale,when bursting through the door,
with a shrieking wail,calling for her savior, Tiberiu leapt from the floor!

Without any doubt, our hero set out, to save the day once more
behind his back his merry band, who’d prove to be quite a bore
With wit and charms as his only arms, our savior breached the Pass

Into the cave journeyed Tiberiu the brave, and his men who were quite alarmed
though stout in heart, at once they were disarmed!

“Beware of the shadows, ambushes and guile. The devils are coming to add to their pile…”

At once pounced the beasts, from up and below,
wanting to eat them all, from head to toe,
whilst the weakhearts fled, only Tiberiu could face the foe.

Although wounded in flesh and his virtue intact,
he carried the boy himself all the way home, in fact

The towns folk would cheer;

”Tiberiu the brave, how did thee survive such a foray?”

He’d shun them and say-...

“To save the boy, I battled beasts and guile. A cunning foe, indeed”
“A bloody mess, come what may!”
as he fearlessly marched away.

So ends the tale, of Tiberiu, who is never slack,
there is little he lack, even good in the sack!
and to this day, the peasantry say, that he’s always welcome back!

- The Ermine Minstrel

[Goetia]

♪

What indignity a man will suffer, to spare himself a dance upon the gallows...

He was a wanted man, again. A jape, that's all it was. A drunken jest, that lead from one thing to another. He had claimed himself a Von Zarovich, when questioned by the Garda. Tactless. Foolish; that wretch of a Corporal and her big-eared lackey wanted him gone as it was, why hand it to them? Such thoughts crossed his mind, as they often did when he woke with a sore head from drink. It was a demon of his, ever since she passed- ever since the candle was snuffed.

It was a chance he was willing to take, to bank on their foolishness. To profit from it, even. It could perhaps provide good sport. Grease was to hand, and thankfully the Vallaki Guard Key wasn't too large. With a wince and watery eyes, he stored it safe: far from the hands of any search he'd seen conducted during his time in the Garda. Blowing his lips to the horn they'd left him, he sought to get Nistor alone. A parlay of sorts, perhaps, a fine to clear his name. No, they slapped irons about his wrists and he was dragged naked to the cells of the Citadel, left to rot.

Then she came, bullying a quasi-confession from some poor wretch within her ranks. Stolojan reveled in her menace, her authority. She positively excelled in her tyranny. Smug satisfaction overcame her, as she announced Randa would swing- hanged by the neck until dead. All for a damnable drunken jape, not a fine as hoped for yet the sour bellied contingency was still in play. The man's tongue could slip after a few drinks, yet there was a sharp and dastardly cunning that no man bearing an ounce of pride could hope for. 

It was then they left him alone, taking out a pair of natives to be licked by lash.

He withdrew the key, squatting and rifling through the latrine bucket to muster it. Survival overcame him now, honour and pride were for men who could afford such luxuries, for better men than he. It wasn't long before he'd slipped from the cells, trailed the halls he knew well to memorise when within the Garda and found himself in the sleeping quarters, luck had played the part to ensure no-one slept- to ensure no Garda slept eternal in their cot. Premeditation had ensured the patrols never passed him. He soon managed a Garda outfit from the cupboards and slipped his stinky, stealthy streak through to the final hurdle.

Just as the alarm sounded.

A recruit bowled past him, a new man he was aware of. Cosmin, good hearted and well natured. A guard, yes, but a kind one- a real one. His being harmed was out of the question, especially in this state. They all shouted between themselves, unsure of what the commotion was at first, until the soiled fugitive bellowed out,

"Quickly now, recruits! Watch that door, hell! I'll check on the Sergeant's office, ensure nobody passes!"

He spoke as he'd heard others speak, as he heard Stefan Albescu address him in a past life; with utter contempt. The gamble worked, they did as bid. He slipped from the corridor whose shadow he kept veiled in and found the very front doors unguarded. From there, it was a short walk to the docks, a long wait out in Old Night and a quicker dash to the waterfront come dawn. Within the space of a few hours he'd liberated the Garda of uniforms, horns, keys and prestige.

As the wind blew into his hair, the salt-spray of the sea blasted his weasel face, he reflected: stinky, slippery, degraded...

But alive and free. More alive than he had been in years.

[Goetia]

A Red Grin, from the Red Men.

♪

Nervousness overcame him, as always. His pistols were loaded, cleaned, his farewell letters left with a trustee should he not return. Why should he not?
 It was routine, the chance at something new. The Captain had been more than amicable, hadn't he? Perhaps, yet he had not come this far by being trustworthy. Pages were doctored, redactions made and the last pages of his Black Book sent far abroad, just incase. He took the ones that would matter, the ones that could sway an argument and show his usefulness.

The meeting was smiles, politeness and hollow courtesy. It was going well enough, yet the man was certainly too friendly. Too friendly for a leader, a Captain. It was not long before they walked through the tradehouse, a lounge... one man sat at the bar, he doesn't look too comfortable, his drink only begun. They settled down into the conference room, anecdotes shared before the inevitable tale of his escape. He glossed this and that, exaggerated what he must. Laughter had when cued by the funny details, yes, good, have them lap that up. All the better for later. He heard the sound of doors opening, closing. A faint smile met his lips, composure kept. The day was had. 

"You don't mind if I should take a drink, do you? Where are my manners! I hadn't offered you anything."

"Non, non. I have learnt to stay clear from the drink, do not go dry on my account."

The man excused himself. How very traditional, what a fool you are Tiberiu Randa. He placed the pistol from his jacket upon the table, he would be dead before he could fire. Why cause them a fuss? He was beaten, by men who played the game better than he. His gamble had not paid off, but perhaps the last one would.

"Well done."

Was all he managed, before the blade sank into his neck and tore at his jugular. His world went black, a shadowed mess.

Well done, well done, well done.. it rang out for an eternity, and forever would. Well done, well done, well done.   

[Goetia]

So ends the tale of Tiberiu Randa. Though in the end we may be pebbles cast to the pond, our ripples continue...

Spoiler: show

 Thank you to everyone who was a part of this story, is was a good one to tell.