First Journal Entry:
It was to be the morning of justice; the warpriests had been dispatched to take on the forces of the dread Amon-tet, and we inquisitors had been loosed upon the city of Bastet to find the cultists loyal to the Ancient Mummy. After what seemed like days of investigations, we uncovered the true evils within the city. It was not for want of its citizenry to see us loosed upon their neighbors; indeed much of our time was spent clearing the names of the innocent rather than bringing whip and brand upon true heretics. And so we arranged the lot of the cultists to be purified, when mists set upon the lot of us. Soon I was taken into the nether, as if the Raven Queen had found my own pittance of faith wanting. I know not what happened of the rest of the Inquisition, the heretics or even the War Priests and Amon-tet herself…only that whatever magic that was taking us also saw fit to erase my home from the reality, as one does when they wake from a dream or nightmare.
In this void did my supplications to the Raven Queen fall on deaf ears. Were a nobler soul taken, perhaps she would not ignore their pleas. But as an Inquisitor who has turned to away from her teachings in pursuit of pre-supposed greater evils, I was granted no such magnificence. My only hope is that by smiting evil in her name, with the dread power I have stolen from the heretics themselves, can I find redemption…or at the very least, martyrdom.
Regardless of what is to be my fate, there were others who stumbled upon the darkness with me. One was a dwarf named Tater who would go on to save my life with wild magic I had long considered blasphemy, but can only guess to be benevolent. Another was a child of the infernal who used magic similar to that of the cultists of Amon-tet, yet which was no gift from the Ancient Terror. He went by the name of Malice, and will require a watchful eye, as the fel brethren that spawn such childer often doom them to a lifetime, be it short or long, of sin. Finally was a dervish of blade and whip by the name of Mitsumi, who is as deadly in battle as she is quick to jump in the fray, better sense be damned. Though she is some sort of mercenary or pirate that could be tempered with coin or treasure, I feel that her mind is easily susceptible to the enchantment of knaves and witches. I will have to uncover blessings to undo any such curses she finds herself under, if only to point her weaponry back unto the direction of evils.
When we found ourselves exited from the nether, we were in lands called “Barovia” by an inn-keeper who was eager to see us gone from his hearth. Indeed, the people of these lands have all the superstitions of faithful with none of the virtue; they are a scared, inbred lot that would see itself converted through brand and flame were the Inquisition to ever set foot, regardless of the Raven Queen’s silence. While my associates mingled, I found an abandoned church, and did my best to repurpose it for the Raven Queen. If any of her more faithful believers find themselves in these cursed lands, mayhap they will be able to reach her with their truer supplications. I will labor through this trial, sans her faith in me, trying to retain my faith in her…for who knows what evils reside in these lands.
Evils such as ratkin who turned upon us when they first saw us. These abominations would show us no quarter, and when defeated offered no useful answers to the mysteries of this land. And so they were put to the ground by myself, after my compatriots used their impressive feats of strength and power to put them under heel. Though each of the monsters took nearly a pound of my flesh, they gave all of theirs. After solving a strange puzzle, as the war priests have mentioned in their verses to commonly encounter in their crusades against wily sorcerers and infernalists, we encountered the individual that was perhaps responsible for the numerous beshilu in the land – one calling himself the Rat King. though he summoned many to aid him, and though they did come close to sending me back to the Raven Queen’s hopefully welcoming embrace, they were no match for us. When I returned to burn his and his kin’s corpses, no one was to be found around the inn. And so I made a funeral pyre and burned the bodies of rat and man, while impaling the heads outside the inn as a message to other abominations.
It was then when the devil lord of this land, Baron Strahd, arrived in his stage coach. To what end, who knows.