RVR's Reflections at the Tower

For nearly three decades, I have undertaken to investigate and expose creatures of darkness to the purifying light of truth and knowledge. “Sage” I am named in some circles; “monster hunter” I am called in others. That I have survived countless supernatural assaults is seen as a marvel among my peers; I even hear, with some pride and concern, that my name is spoken with fear and loathing among my foes.

In truth, this “virtuous” calling became an obsession, a draining and bleak career. Even as my life of hunting monsters began, I felt the weight of time on my shoulders. Today I am a man who has simply lived too long.

And those who think me a hero would change their minds when they know the whole truth about my life fighting the supernatural. For I have been the indirect yet certain cause of many deaths, and the loss of many good friends. Mistake me not! I do not merely feel sorry for myself. I have come to grips with a devastating realization: I am the object of a baleful Vistani curse. More tragically, the nature of this hex is such that I have not borne the brunt of it; instead, far worse, those who surround me fall victim to it!

A lifetime ago, a tasque of the Vistani had brought an extremely ill member of their tribe to me one evening and insisted that I treat him, but I was unable to save the young man’s life. In fear of their retribution, I begged them to take anything of mine if only they would withhold their terrifying powers, of which I knew only enough to be afraid. To my lasting astonishment, they chose to surreptitiously take my only son, Erasmus, in exchange for their loss! By the time I realized what had occurred, they were already an hour gone.

Incensed beyond reason, I followed the Vistani caravan through the woods, naively allowing the sun to set before me without seeking shelter from the night. Shortly after darkness fell, I was beset by undead that would have slain me, had not their master intervened. For reasons unclear to me at the time, the lord facilitated me with a horde of the living dead and a method to track my quarry. Unfortunately (I say in hindsight), the plan worked. I found the child-stealers–they came here to Barovia. I threatened to set the zombies on the Vistani unless they returned my dear boy. Their leader replied that he had been sold to Baron Metus–a vampire. Something inside me snapped. I released the zombies, and the entire tribe was eaten alive.

And yet, the horror story has not ended. Before she died, the leader cursed me, saying, “Live you always among monsters, and see everyone you love fall beneath their claws!” Even now, so many years later, I can hear her words with painful clarity. A short time later, I found my dear Erasmus–a vampire. He begged me to end his curse, which I did with a heavy heart. I foolishly believed that the curse had exacted its deadly toll. The death of my wife Ingrid, at the hands of the vampire Baron Metus in revenge for “taking” Erasmus from him, should have been a clue. And yet I wept until an insatiate desire for vengeance filled the bottomless rift in my heart.

And so I have lived on, decade after decade. Long after I turned Metus to dust. Vengeance did not slake my thirst, nor ease my loss. So I swore that I would save as many as I could from suffering as I had. And I learned my lesson from my confrontations with the gypsies, Metus, and his minions. They were faster, stronger, and gifted with more supernatural powers than I would ever be. But I had knowledge. I had patience. I had the daylight. And I had pen and paper, to share what I learned about vampires—and werebeasts, and the ancient dead, and the created, and fiends, and more. Their secrets were as much their power as their claws—and once I took that from them, the hunters became the hunted.

But my greatest asset has been the numerous allies willing to take up the cause, who rallied to me after reading my works, either coming to my aid or in need of it. Only decades later, after losing an uncountable number of friends and protectors to all types of evils, have I realized the truth of my cursed condition. It is for this reason that, as I age, I have kept to my own devices as I hunt my quarry. I can no longer stand to lose those who draw close to me–so I allow none to do so. I fight monsters alone, with my weapons and my knowledge as my companions. 

And now, like an aged gladiator looking for his final glory in the arena, I aspire to leave perhaps my final mark on this bleak world, and I have come to the incontrovertible conclusion that it rests here in Barovia. The place where my own wretched second life began, is the place where perhaps it all will end. For it is here that the heart of darkness beats. It is here that Strahd von Zarovich dwells–the first vampire, among other things. He is supremely powerful, yet has also escaped destruction on more than one occasion, despite evidence that others before have dealt him defeats that should have laid any such creature low. No, there is something about the Devil Strahd that sustains him. And through him, begets generations of darkness and misery. If bringing about the undoing of this singularity of evil is my final act, then perhaps I will have achieved a modest atonement.