2E-1 Weary Horse Inn
Board
Welcome to the Weary Horse Inn.
I’m currently in the middle of redoing my expansions to Barovia and decided to change the naming scheme for my own sanity. I’ll eventually rename/upload the others. But we’re starting at the place where it all begins! This can be used with the “Plea For Help” Adventure hook in the Curse of Strahd adventure, but can also be a reoccurring location as it does exist in the land of Barovia. Enjoy!
Changelog.
Version 1.0 – Release
Ch. 2E-1: Weary Horse Inn
The Weary Horse Inn lies on the Old Svalich Road. It is a natural haven for horse smugglers, being safely within the frontier of Barovia, yet only a short ride from the bright plains of Nova Vaasa.
To a party of seasoned adventurers such as yourselves, this is another dull tavern. Outside the inn, a fog shrouds the evening, draping everything in its clammy grasp. The cold fog chills the bones and shivers the soul.
Ch. 2E-2: Inside the Tavern
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 voices of country folk.
After the players settle, sit down for a meal and drink, or before they head to bed.
Suddenly, a hush falls over the tavern. The tavern door swings open. Framed by the lamp-lit fog, a man strides into the room. His heavy booted footfalls and the jingle of his coins shatter the silence. His brightly colored clothes drape in loose folds about him and his hat is askew, hiding his eyes in shadow. Without hesitation, he walks directly to your table, folds his arms together, and stands proudly in a wide stance.
He speaks with a heavy accent. “I have been sent to you to deliver this message! If you be folk of honor, you will come to my master’s aid. Travel at first light, for only fools travel the Svalich woods at night!” He pulls from his tunic a sealed letter, addressed in beautiful flowing script. He drops the letter on the table. “Follow the west road from here for one day’s march through the Svalich woods. There, you will find my master in Barovia.”
Amid the continued silent stares of the patronage, the man strides to the bar and says to the wary bartender, “Fill their 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 slightly subdued. The letter lies before you. Dated yesterday, the ink is not yet dry and the parchment is crisp. The seal is of a crest you don’t recognize.