Dinner with the baron

THEY HAVE GIFTS OF SCENTED CANDLES FOR THE BARON AND ARE DRESSED IN DRIP

🏰 Arrival at the Vallakovich Estate §

You arrive at the Vallakovich estate — a grand, almost gaudy manor standing like a brightly polished tooth in a rotting mouth. Where most buildings in Vallaki lean under the weight of despair, this one shines. Fresh paint. Carefully manicured hedges. A banner from the most recent festival—still flapping, sun-faded with some obviously patched up holes—hangs proudly above the doorway.

You knock. The door flings open, revealing a man who seems to be trying very hard not to sweat. You’ve seen him once before, when he sent an old woman to the stocks for trying to save her son.

Baron Vargas Vallakovich:
“Ah-HAH! There you are! Welcome, welcome—champions of joy and sensible governance! Izek told me you’d be gracing us with your presence. Come in, come in!”

He’s rotund, his clothes overly tight, he may be the fattest person you’ve seen in all of Barovia so far considering how meager life is here.

He ushers you in, gesturing proudly at his lavish interior. It’s clear to you the signs of inherited wealth—plush furnishings, clean rugs, thick velvet curtains drawn to block the dreary light outside. Unlike the battered homes you’ve seen in Barovia, this one refuses to acknowledge the world beyond its walls.

Two enormous mastiffs lie at the foot of a high-backed chair. At your entrance, the dogs stir and growl low in their throats.

Vargas:
“Now now, Claw, Fang—manners! They’re guests, not rebels. Yet.”

The dogs settle a bit, still staring at you all. Vargas, still beaming, seats himself like a lord presiding over court.

Vargas:
“Please, please, sit! Make yourselves comfortable”

Pleasantries, introductions

Vargas:
“Now then! Izek tells me you thwarted a vampire infestation? Please do recall the tale

Answers

Brilliant! Exceptional! It’s heroes like you who give hope a fighting chance, eh? Not like the miserable wretches in town who wouldn’t lift a finger to save themselves if it wasn’t festival time. That’s why I—have to—make the festivals mandatory, you understand. The people… they lack vision. But I? I am trying. I care! I work tirelessly to keep us safe. And I do feel safe. Don’t you?”

Answers

Vargas:
“Izek! Izek, come—tell our esteemed guests how safe you feel in Vallaki.”

Izek:
“I feel as safe here as I would anywhere, my lord. Also, dinner is ready.”

Vargas:
“Ah, magnificent! I am simply famished. Izek, gather my darling wife and dear Victor. Our table awaits!”

---

🍽️ Dinner with the Baron §

The table is set extravagantly… with wolf. Thin-sliced wolfmeat finger sandwiches. Ground wolf and onions on stale crackers. Pickled beets swimming with wolf knuckles. Overly spiced sausages that fail to mask the flavor of desperation. And at the center: a quivering mold of wolfblood pudding, with unidentifiable bits suspended like a culinary dare.

Vargas:
“YES! Thank you, my good man. Let us feast! For we dine not merely on meat—but on the bounty of courage, on the spoils of joy!”

Lydia, his wife, smiles quaintly, the smile of someone trying to avoid a scene. She takes delicate, barely-there bites, shifting items around her plate with the air of someone hoping to make them disappear.

Lydia:
“Oh no, I couldn’t possibly finish all this—must preserve my figure, you know.”

Vargas:
“Hah! Women and their dainty habits!”

He thumps the table. “Well, I intend to enjoy every bite!”

And he does. He eats with the kind of determination reserved for sieges and contests of will. By the time he’s a third of the way through, he’s sweating freely, eyes slightly glazed, but his grin remains plastered on—gleaming and grim.

Victor:
“Is all this ‘meat’ left over from the Dead Dog Boo—”

Vargas:
“Wolf’s Head Festival!!”

Victor:
“—whatever. There’s a reason it’s left over. No one wanted it then, and no one wants it now.”

Vargas begins to tremble with barely suppressed fury. His face darkens to a dangerous hue, but he swallows it. Then, with a sickly sweet smile, he turns to you.

Vargas:
“Nonsense! Our honored guests are clearly delighted. Such rare flavors, such… rustic charm! Isn’t that right? Which dish has most delighted your senses?”

Player responses

Victor just sighs and says

Victor:
“I already ate my fill and should be excused, don’t want me crowding your esteemed guests,” as he hands back a plate still full of food.

Vargas:
“Bah! You’ve already eaten your fill, begone, boy! You’re jolly well excused. I don’t want you crowding my esteemed guests, we have important business to discuss after all.”

Victor: “As you say, Father.”

and Victor walks off with a slight air of joy? confidence? assuredness?.

Izek eats mechanically—just enough to not be scolded—and then begins topping off his goblet with wine. Vargas nods at him, pleased.

Vargas:
“Yes. A soldier’s appetite. A man’s appetite. If only my actual son…”

He trails off, then forces a laugh.

Vargas (raising his goblet):
“The leftovers are being enjoyed. It’s like the Wolf’s Head Festival never ended! All. Will. Be. Well.”

---

👻 After Dinner: The Haunting §

You all finish your meals, or perhaps make it look like you finished. Vargas dabs his glistening brow.

Vargas:
“Well then! A fine meal, wouldn’t you say? Nothing invigorates the soul like wolf and willpower!
But I must now turn to matters more… serious.”

He waves his hand dismissively toward his wife.

Vargas:
“Lydia, darling, you’ve done your part brilliantly, as always. Why don’t you go lie down. You must be exhausted after that meal, hmm?”

Lydia:
“Of course, dear.”

She curtsies slightly to you and exits swiftly.

Vargas leans in. His grin tightens.

Vargas:
“You see, dear friends… I do try to maintain a certain atmosphere in this home. Hopeful. Dignified. Unblemished. But, well… even in the brightest rooms, shadows do gather in the corners.”

He swirls his wine, not drinking.

Vargas:
“I suppose I can trust you, yes? You’ve already proven yourselves brave. Capable. Perhaps… useful.”

Encouraging response or silence

Vargas:
“For the past two months, this house—my house, the finest in Vallaki—has been… bothered.”

Vargas:
“A spirit. Or something like one. Flitting shadows in mirrors. Pale shapes in windows. Cold spots in perfectly heated halls. Things moving without cause — books, goblets, curtains fluttering when all is still.”

Vargas:
“Servants talk. Servants whisper. Two of them—my butler, and Lydia’s lady-in-waiting—quit, if you can believe that! Cowards. Ungrateful cowards! I gave them employment, and they fled like dogs from thunder.”

Player reactions

Vargas:
“Oh but it gets better. Tereska—the cook, sturdy old mule of a woman—saw it. Claims it walked past her in the larder. Walked! Had to double her pay just to keep her from running too.”

He slams the table, then smooths it over.

Vargas:
“My wife hosts these… little lunches. Charming circle. They make costumes for the festivals. If they found out, they’d scatter. Then what? No festival? No joy? No hope? I will not allow it!”

Questions about the spirit, or investigation

Vargas:
“I don’t know what it is! A ghost? A trick? Strahd himself?! Trying to erode my mind, sow chaos in my house, drive a wedge between me and my people… Ha! He’ll find me unbreakable!”

He softens again.

Vargas:
“But the truth is… I need it gone. Discreetly. I can’t have rumors. I can’t have panic. The people must believe this house is untouched by sorrow. That Vallaki is winning. That the festivals are working.”

Players respond

Vargas:
“Excellent! Knew I could count on you. The moment you stepped through that door, I said to myself, ‘Vargas, you are in the presence of doers.’”

He raises his glass.

Vargas:
“To harmony, to order, and to the eternal light of hope that shines in Vallaki!
All. Will. Be. Well.”

🕯️ Conclusion of the Meeting §

Vargas (suddenly remembering):
“Ah! Speaking of the Barovian delegation, you arrived with that young woman—what’s her name—yes, Ireena Kolyana. Fine posture. Regal, if a bit provincial. She came to me this morning to plead her little case.”

He waves a dismissive hand, but you notice a subtle shift in Izek’s posture nearby. He straightens slightly, though his cheeks are already flushed with wine and his focus is glassy.

Vargas:
“She was very… impassioned. Wanted me to allow more of her refugees into town. Said they’re freezing out there in that makeshift camp—eh, what’s a little cold? Builds character, I say!”

He chuckles, sipping again, though the laugh doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

Vargas:
“I explained that Vallaki isn’t a charity. Letting more of those sullen faces in would sour the mood, and we are on the cusp of the Festival of the Blazing Sun! We can’t have outsiders trampling in with their… baggage.”

Player questions or reactions

Vargas:
“Still, she was persistent. And polite. A future ally, perhaps. She does have that look about her—like a girl in need of structure, hmm?”

He lets the suggestion linger just long enough to feel uncomfortable.

Izek’s eyes narrow slightly. He downs the rest of his glass and refills it.

Izek (quietly):
“She still in town?”

Vargas:
“What was that?”

Izek:
“Just… wondering. She seemed… interesting.”

Vargas gives Izek a curious look, then shrugs.

Vargas:
“She’s staying somewhere, I presume. She has your protection, after all.” (He says this last bit with mock praise.) “As for the refugees, I’ll think on it. Perhaps if the spirit is dealt with… I’ll be in a more generous mood.”

Izek (slurring slightly):
“Yes… yes, very generous.”

“Friends, where is it that you are staying if I may ask?”

answers

“Ah the Blue Water Inn, yes a fine establishment. A fabulous establishment you might say. One of the best in town. Incredible work they do there, I love that place, incredible work that the uh, what was it again uh, the Markovs yes the markovs incredible work they do there. Not as fine as my own servants of course but you know.”

As Izek pours yet another glass, the Baron wipes his face again. The glint in his eyes dims, his facade cracking under the weight of the day.

Vargas (with a heavy exhale):
“Well, dear friends… what a productive evening! A bountiful feast, candid conversation, and mutually beneficial arrangements. But alas… even leaders must rest.”

He rises with effort, groaning slightly as he pushes himself up.

Vargas:
“You are dismissed for the evening. Feel free to enjoy what remains of the wine — Izek, leave some for tomorrow, won’t you?”

Izek (drunkenly):
“Mmm… no promises… got my watch.”

He stands, wobbling slightly as he reaches for his weapon belt.

Vargas (watching Izek stagger):
“Well. Do try not to fall on your blade out there.”

Izek grunts and exits, wine sloshing from his mug with each uneven step.

Vargas (quietly, mostly to himself):
“All will be well… All must be well…”

The room quiets as the flickering candelabras cast long shadows across the wine-stained table. Behind the cheer, something colder waits in the walls.

The Baron retires for the night, leaving you to return to the inn.