Greek Speaking - D&D 2014 - Curse of Strahd

About the adventure

CURSE OF STRAHD — A GOTHIC HORROR CAMPAIGN DESCRIPTION “A kingdom not dead, only forgotten by the gods. A tyrant not living, only denied his grave.” The mists do not beckon. They do not seduce. They take. Without warning, without reason, without mercy. One moment, you walk the world you know. The next, fog clings to your skin like a wet shroud, your footsteps swallowed in silence, and the road behind you... gone. You’ve entered Barovia. A land suspended between decay and dreaming, where the sun is a myth, prayers die before reaching the heavens, and the forests hum with teeth. Villages survive, not thrive. The people don’t hope, they endure—faces hollowed by generations of grief. Time doesn’t pass here. It circles. Wounds never heal, only deepen. Above it all, perched in the heart of the valley like a black crown, stands Castle Ravenloft. From there, he watches. Count Strahd von Zarovich. A name older than memory, a curse older than sin. He was once mortal—once a general, a conqueror, a brother. But love twisted him, envy sharpened him, and blood sealed the pact. Now he rules eternal. Not as a man, not even as a vampire, but as something worse—a soul so consumed by hunger, time forgot to bury it. And now, he's interested in you. In Barovia, you are not heroes. You are not saviors. You are broken things tossed into a broken world. The mists brought you for a reason—whether to amuse him, challenge him, or feed him. That truth is yours to discover… or deny. There is no chosen one. There is no prophecy. There is no promise of return. The land will test you. Not with simple monsters, but with the slow death of certainty. Every ally has a shadow. Every triumph has a cost. You will be offered choices—mercy or cruelty, sacrifice or survival, faith or flame—and none of them will be clean. Can you kill the devil of Barovia? And if you do… what will be left of you? This is not a story of good versus evil. This is a story of rot, of desperation, of the flickering candle against the devouring dark. And yet… even here, there is beauty. A violin echoing through the night. A soul reborn in defiance. A final stand on a rain-soaked bridge, where you do not run. Welcome to Barovia. You may never leave.