In which the party decides what their most important errand is, and gets a first taste of Barovian wine.
“Nu-uh. I’m not going anywhere. Certainly not to a funeral.” says Grismar from the bench on which he’s seated. “Neither am I,” Fillegan adds. “You can keep your squabbling women and your disappearing daughters and mysterious pastries and your dearly departed. I need a break. And a drink. And some company that appreciates the same.” He lifts his glass to Grismar, then resolutely turns away from the rest of the party.
Kurwin shrugs and turns for the door, where Ismark Indirovich, son of late burgomaster Kolyan Indirovich, brother of Ireena waits impatiently. The others follow him outside. Before the door closes, they can hear Grismar calling “If that letter asking us for help was forged, why would you even want to be here?”
The day passes and night comes and goes. Neither Grismar nor Fillegan have left their table by the hearth or their wine glasses for longer than required to let out what was taken in. But Barovian wines are strong, so now they sleep, heads on their arms, under the glinting eye of the Vistani barkeep. He does not seem to mind the snoring.
A skeletal hand opens the door to the tavern. The hand is soon followed by Chand, who, unlike those who come in after him, looks like he’s taken the time to groom himself, and may even have had the services of a looking glass. When the sorceror stands next to his sleeping companions, he clears his throat. Fillegan shoots bold upright. “Right away, capt’n!” He blinks. “Oh. It’s you. Did you bury him, then?” Chand nods. “So we can go now?” Fillegan asks, looking hopeful.
Sumu aims a watery smile in his direction and shakes her head “E-even if there was nothing for us to do here, it seems that just leaving is n-not an option.” Fillegan deflates a little, but rallies,“So, then what?”
Fitzworth drops himself onto the bench next to Grismar, whose snoring continues without interruption. “We take Ireena to an abbey some distance away. It turns out that this Strahd fellow has an eye on her and she isn’t safe here. Then, we’ll take things from there.” Fillegan thinks this over for a few seconds, yawning and stretching and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “Why didn’t you just do that yesterday?” “Because there were other things we had to do.” Chand seems to be speaking with a bit more emphasis than usual. “Such as burying the late burgomaster, and finding out precisely what the village priest was hiding in the church basement. It would have been so very nice if you had been there to help.”
Fillegan eyes the sorceror for a moment, then decides to ignore his tone. “Should we get going, then?” Fitzworth hems and haws a bit. “I was sort of hoping for breakfast. I have the appetite of a direwolf!”
Kurwin, who has kept a position by the door of the inn, shrugs. “We should use what little daylight we have. However, eating here may let the dwarf wake up as well, and he’s a useful sort.”