Opening credits play over: Transylvania 1887
🎬 OPENING CREDITS (Revised: “The Road to Vallaki”)
Melodic War Productions presents:
🕯️ 0:00–0:08 | Title Reveal: The Lantern Leads
A single lantern swings from a crooked post at the edge of a forest path—its flame steady despite the mist. Beneath it, a trail of bootprints fades into damp earth. Ribbons tied to skeletal trees flutter like warning flags. A deck of cards lies scattered, half-buried in leaves. The screen exhales: BAROVIA etched into a moss-covered milestone. The camera pans to reveal a signpost: Vallaki – 12 miles.
🌲 0:09–0:20 | The Road Awakens
The forest leans inward. Branches claw at the sky. A Vistani wagon rolls past, its lanterns casting dancing shadows on bark that seems to flinch. Ravens fly overhead, then vanish into the canopy. A hand—weathered, ringed, trembling—reaches into frame and turns over a card nailed to a tree: The Traitor. A charm of bone and braid dangles from the signpost, spinning faster than the wind allows.
🚶♂️ 0:21–0:33 | The Travelers Move Forward
The wanderers walk the road, each step echoing with memory:
Fleetwood (Richard Armitage) walks apart from the others, eyes scanning the treeline for threats that never quite show themselves.
Clarion (Gwendoline Christie) strides ahead, her cloak billowing like stormclouds, her gaze fixed on something unseen.
Silverleaf (Tatiana Maslany) trails her fingers along the bark, whispering to the raven that follows them.
Felonious (Ben Whishaw) mutters incantations under his breath, the air around him shimmering faintly.
Greegan (Matt Ryan) rolls his bone dice as he walks—they clatter against stone, revealing The Marionette and The Horseman.
Starring Richard Armitage as Fleetwood
Gwendoline Christie as Clarion
Tatiana Maslany as Silverleaf
Ben Whishaw as Felonious
Matt Ryan as Greegan
🃏 0:46–0:58 | The Fortunes Shift
The scattered cards rise from the ground, spinning in midair. Five remain suspended: The Traitor, The Horseman, The Innocent, The Marionette, The Darklord. As each is drawn, the forest reacts—leaves fall upward, shadows stretch, a distant howl pierces the silence. Behind the cards, Strahd’s silhouette flickers like a mirage—never present, always watching.
🎵 0:59–1:10 | Final Note: Vallaki Looms
The party crests a hill. Below: the distant lights of Vallaki flicker like candles in a crypt. The final card lands in Silverleaf’s hand: The Artifact. The forest hushes. Even the ravens stop cawing. Fog curls into the shape of a gate, then dissipates. The road continues… but the destination is no longer in question.
🎼 Main Title by Alan Silvestri
COLD OPEN BEGINS:
Background Music: Veteran of the Psychic Wars
EXT. TSER FALLS BRIDGE – NIGHTFALL
The last light bleeds into mist. Wind shrieks through the ravine, drowning all but the creak of ancient stone and rope. The bridge groans—not from movement, but from memory.
A KNIGHT stands at the center. Motionless. Sword planted. Helm dipped. Armor weathered, not rusted—like something preserved by ritual, not time.
The party halts. The wind dies. The silence is ceremonial.
GUARDIAN: (voice low, resonant) “Many old things stir again. Long-slain names whisper through the roots.” (Beat. The knight lifts its gaze. Eyes hollow. Unblinking.) “And the master of Castle Ravenloft walks the forests once more.” (beat) “Do you serve him?”
The question lands like a blade laid gently across the throat. No threat. Just weight.
FLEETWOOD steps forward. Feet planted. Hands loose. Shoulders square.
FLEETWOOD: (steady) “We do not serve monsters.”
CLARION joins him. Her voice is quiet. Unshaken.
CLARION: “We walk with the living. Whatever stirs from the grave has no claim on us.”
SILVERLEAF’s eyes flick to the knight, then to the mist beyond. She says nothing. Her silence is a verdict.
FELONIOUS adjusts his collar. A flicker of bravado beneath the dread.
FELONIOUS: “No offense, but if he wants a vassal, he can dig one up somewhere else.”
IREENA : “I do not serve him. I survived him.”
A long pause. The knight does not move. Then—
It steps aside. Just enough.
GUARDIAN: (softly) “Then walk. But know this—he does not require servants to claim souls.” (beat) “Only silence.”
A gust of wind rasps through the helm. Like something inside exhales.
The knight lowers its head. The party crosses. One by one. Each glancing back longer than they mean to.
The bridge moans behind them. Like it remembers.
EXT. FOREST ROAD – EAST OF RAVENLOFT – TWILIGHT
Background Music: Lands of Barovia | Unofficial Curse of Strahd Soundtrack | 1h TTRPG Dark Background Music | Loop
The light bleeds out slowly. Shadows stretch long and thin. The party slows—no signal, no command. Just instinct.
This stretch of forest doesn’t creak. Doesn’t sigh. Doesn’t live.
A stone juts from the earth, half-swallowed by briars and root. Not a grave. Not a marker. A memory that refused to fall.
It stands just shy of six feet. Moss-soft. Weather-slick. Leaning west—toward the castle.
SILVERLEAF steps off the path first. Not curious. Called. The underbrush parts like it’s been waiting. No insects stir.
GREEGAN: (quietly) “Looks like the kind of place names go to die.”
CLARION approaches. Her fingers brush the stone. Beneath the moss—carvings. Runes, floral and ancient, melting like rain-soaked ink. One symbol catches the light—gold beneath grime.
FELONIOUS crouches beside a cracked circle etched into the base.
FELONIOUS: “Old binding circle. Worn... but not broken.” (He frowns, studying the lines.) “Whatever it held—it’s been gone a long while.”
IREENA stays back. Arms crossed. Her breath shallow. The hairs on her neck won’t lie down.
A breeze stirs. Just once. Like something exhaling.
FLEETWOOD: (low) “We can read it... Or we can walk on.” (Beat. He looks to the stone, then to the castle’s silhouette beyond the trees.) “But this isn’t just road dressing. This is Barovia speaking.”
The camera lingers on the stone. The wind dies again. And the forest listens.
EXT. OLD FOREST STONE – NIGHT’S EDGE
The trees press close. Breathless. Ancient. The party stands encircled. At the center: a monolith. Not a grave. Not a shrine. A memory no one asked to keep.
CLARION kneels. Her fingers trace a golden-etched sigil—half-buried in moss, half-lit by dying light. Her brow furrows. Reverence, not fear.
CLARION: (softly) “It feels sacred.” (beat) “But not to any god I know.”
GREEGAN shifts uneasily. His voice barely breaks the hush.
GREEGAN: “Places this quiet? Never trust 'em.”
FLEETWOOD watches IREENA. Not the stone. Her.
She’s staring. Mist curls around her like breath held too long. Her lips part. Eyes flicker—recognition. Then—gone.
IREENA: (whispering) “I... almost knew.” (beat) “But I don’t.” (She swallows. Steadier now.) “It’s old. Older than him.”
The silence tightens. Like wolves in tall grass.
FELONIOUS glances back toward the road. His voice is dry, but not dismissive.
FELONIOUS: “If this thing’s older than the Devil... Maybe we let it sleep.”
They linger. Just long enough. The glyph shimmers—almost legible. Then fades.
FLEETWOOD places a hand on the stone. Brief. Acknowledgment. Then steps back.
Together, they move on. The road waits. And behind them—
The stone stands. Watching nothing. Or remembering everything.
EXT. BASE OF OLD BONEGRINDER HILL – EARLY NIGHTFALL
Background music shifts: Come Little Children (Lyrics)
The forest thins. Mist recedes. And there it stands:
The windmill. Onion dome tilted. Arms limp. A silhouette too still to remember wind.
FLEETWOOD slows. His brow furrows. SILVERLEAF’s shoulders tighten—barely. But enough.
Then—movement. A figure trundles down the slope. A cart clinking behind her. She’s round-faced, kerchiefed, socked at the ankles. Her shawl crocheted. Her smile—impossibly kind.
A painted sign atop the cart reads: DREAM PASTRIES – Satisfy Your Cravings.
FELONIOUS murmurs, just for himself:
FELONIOUS: “Too much joy for this much fog.”
She stops. Her smile widens. Voice bright, like hearth light in a crypt.
OLD WOMAN: “Oh, what lovely travelers! Just in time—I baked fresh for the evening walk.” (patting the cart) “Dream Pastries. Guaranteed to take the weight off your soul.”
CLARION steps forward. Cautious. One brow raised.
CLARION: “You walk these roads… alone?”
OLD WOMAN: (chuckling) “:Child, I’ve walked these roads longer than your name’s had breath. Fear doesn’t bother a good recipe.”
The scent rolls over them—spiced sugar and something else. Something buried.
FLEETWOOD’s jaw tightens. SILVERLEAF narrows her eyes. GREEGAN steps subtly in front of IREENA.
The woman’s smile lingers—like she knows who would bite first.
Above them, the windmill creaks. Once. Loud.
But the wind is still.
EXT. BASE OF OLD BONEGRINDER HILL – NIGHT DESCENDING
The last light sinks behind the trees. Mist clings low. The windmill looms above—arms limp, silhouetted like a gallows caught mid-swing.
The party stands still. The old woman curtsies. Her basket shifts—warm pastries nestled in cloth, steam rising despite the chill.
FLEETWOOD’s hand rests on his blade. Not drawn. Just ready. In Barovia, even kindness wears a mask.
FLEETWOOD: (measured) “And who are you, to bake dreams on a road where they go to die?
She chuckles. Soft. Disarming.
MORGANTHA: “Oh, just an old mother hen, dear. Morgantha. I live right up there.” (She gestures toward the windmill. Its silhouette unmoving. Watching.) “With my two daughters. The house has been ours longer than Vallaki’s had gates. Lovely girls. A bit shy.”
SILVERLEAF’s lips purse. CLARION shifts her weight—subtle, wary.
MORGANTHA: “Just back from town, actually. Festival today—Wagons of the Blooming Flame, or some such nonsense. Another next week, I’m sure. The Burgomaster does love a distraction.”
(She pats the cart. The pastries steam. Sweetness in the air—spiced sugar, and something beneath.)
CLARION: (low) “Dream Pastries… what do they do?”
Her smile widens. Too warm. Too easy.
MORGANTHA: “Oh, such restful nights. One bite and the world hushes. Pain dims. Worry lifts. Every burden you carry—softly put to sleep. Wouldn’t that be nice?”
GREEGAN leans toward FELONIOUS, voice low.
GREEGAN: “You ever see someone that cozy look so wrong?”
FELONIOUS: (still watching the windmill) “Only in churches with too much gold.”
The air stills. The windmill creaks—once. No wind. Just memory.
MORGANTHA’s smile never shifts. But behind her eyes— Something ancient. Waiting. Patient. Hungry.
EXT. OLD BONEGRINDER CROSSING – NIGHT, UNDER A FADING MOON
The chill settles in like a verdict. Mist curls low. The windmill looms above—its silhouette skeletal, its arms still.
MORGANTHA wraps each pastry with practiced grace. Waxed cloth crinkles. Steam rises—warm, sweet, nostalgic. Like a childhood dream half-remembered.
MORGANTHA: (cheerful) “Why don’t you try one? The first one’s free, don’t you know—for such fine travelers as yourselves.”
FLEETWOOD turns the pastry in his hand. Silent. War taught him caution. Barovia taught him silence.
GREEGAN’s brow lifts at “free.” In safer lands, that’s a warning. Here—it’s a flare.
He pockets his. Then SILVERLEAF’s, with a quiet nod.
FELONIOUS smiles. Fingers deft. He slips his into his satchel with magician’s ease. The grin never touches his eyes.
MORGANTHA turns to CLARION. Offers the last.
CLARION reaches out. Just one hand. And in that instant—
FLASH CUTS:
—A child laughing, twirling in a flour-dusted apron. —A wheel creaking. A scream. —A millstone turning—wet, not dry. —Cinnamon. Soaked in something red.
CLARION’s hand jerks. She doesn’t drop it. Doesn’t speak. Her knuckles whiten around the pastry.
The party sees her face. And they understand.
No one eats.
MORGANTHA smiles. Pleasant. Unbothered. But her gaze lingers on CLARION—just a moment too long.
MORGANTHA: (sweet as tea) “Well. Suit yourselves. But it’s always the stubborn ones who come back.”
She trundles past. Cart wheels crunch softly on gravel. The windmill groans—once. Though the wind never moves.
Cut to:
EXT. WOODLAND ROAD – NIGHTFALL
Background music: Keepers of the Feather | Unofficial Curse of Strahd Soundtrack | 1h TTRPG Theme Music | Loop
The forest closes in. Branches arch overhead like ribcage. The last light clings to the sky, thin and reluctant. Behind them, the windmill fades—already stale in the mist.
GREEGAN brushes his coat. Pastry crumbs. Or bad thoughts.
GREEGAN: “Almost as smooth as the pushers on Fogor Isle. Almost. And it’s always the sweet old biddies who hide the longest knives.”
FELONIOUS huffs a short laugh. His smile is bitter. Crooked.
FELONIOUS: “Not always old ladies.”
A beat. A flicker—Eliza’s blade. The sting. The silence after trust breaks.
The trees whisper. Like they remember.
Then—fluttering. They look up.
RAVENS. A dozen or more. Perched high on crooked limbs. Still. Sharp-eyed. Watching.
From SILVERLEAF’s pack— A burst of feathers. Her rescued companion lifts into the air. Small. Proud. Fierce despite its mended wing.
It arcs through the fog. Joins the others. They caw softly—not to chase. To welcome.
But one or two ravens remain focused. On the party. Not hostile. Attentive.
Messengers. Or sentinels.
SILVERLEAF: (quietly) “They’re not his. Not this time.”
CLARION’s fingers brush her holy symbol.
CLARION: “No. These feel older. Maybe kinder. If anything here can be.”
They walk on. The birds follow.
And for once— In Barovia— The silence doesn’t feel so alone.
Cut to:
EXT. FIELD BEFORE LAKE ZAROVICH – NIGHT’S EDGE
The road bends. The trees fall away. And the hush of the forest gives way to open land—rolling grass, dark with dew, stretching like a veil across the earth.
In the distance: The lake. Vast. Still. Black as spilled ink, save for a shimmer of moonlight dancing across its glassy skin.
The party slows. Mist coils low, hugging the ground like breath held too long.
Weathered docks jut from the shoreline. A boat rocks gently against stone. The sound of water meeting land—soft, relentless—like a whisper: “Come closer.”
Background music shifts: Ireena Remembers | Unofficial Curse of Strahd Soundtrack | 1h TTRPG Thematic Background Music | Loop
IREENA stops. Sudden. Her hand flies to her mouth. Eyes wide. Locked on the curve of the shore.
IREENA: (whispering) “It cannot be.”
FLEETWOOD steps beside her. His gaze follows hers. Then returns to her face.
FLEETWOOD: “What do you see?”
IREENA’s voice trembles. Not with fear. With something older. Recognition twisted by dread.
IREENA: “The lake. This is… it. From my dream.”
A beat. The wind stills. The grass whispers. And the lake waits.
EXT. CREST ABOVE LAKE ZAROVICH – NIGHT’S EDGE
The party stands in hush. Tall grass brushes their knees. Below, the lake shivers—black and glassy, stirred by a wind that doesn’t touch the trees.
IREENA stares across the water. Pale. Lips parted. Hands clenched at her sides.
IREENA: (hoarse) “No… I told that story, but… I’ve never been here. I’ve never…”
FLEETWOOD frowns. His voice is low, steady.
FLEETWOOD: “The wolf. The lake. Your father. Your brother. You told it like a memory. Not like a tall tale.”
She nods. But her gaze never leaves the shoreline.
IREENA: “It felt like one. When I said it, it felt real. Every detail. The cold. The splash. The way his fur stank like rot.” (Her voice cracks.) “But now—I’m looking at the water, and I know I’ve never stood here.”
CLARION steps beside her. A hand on her shoulder. Her eyes scan the fog-thick shoreline—mist clinging to stone like a forgotten veil.
CLARION: (quietly) “Because maybe it wasn’t your memory.”
FELONIOUS mutters behind them. His tone dry, but not dismissive.
FELONIOUS: “Or maybe this land doesn’t need your permission to put thoughts in your head.”
SILVERLEAF watches the lake. Still. Like it might rise and speak.
SILVERLEAF: “Or maybe you have been here.”
A raven cries—sharp, sudden. Then silence.
The lake laps at the shore. Soft. Relentless. Inviting. Patient.
GREEGAN grumbles. But even his usual sass is tempered.
GREEGAN: “Whatever this place is… It remembers her.”
IREENA doesn’t move. That strange, aching familiarity clings to her. Unshaken. Unspoken.
Not yet.
EXT. CREST ABOVE LAKE ZAROVICH – NIGHTFALL
The mist settles close. The wind hushes. The lake mirrors the sky—black, empty, waiting.
The party lingers at the edge of the field. Tall grass sways around them. And the realization clicks— Like a trap closing.
GREEGAN breaks the silence. Gruff. Not unkind.
GREEGAN: (low) “Hold on. She told us—back in Barovia. Her and Kolyan both.” (He looks to IREENA. Searching.) “How he adopted you. He found you in the woods, didn’t he? No memory. Just a little girl, alone.”
FLEETWOOD turns. CLARION follows. Even FELONIOUS lifts a brow.
GREEGAN: (continuing) “What if that dream wasn’t a dream? (Beat. His eyes narrow.) “What if it’s a memory? A piece of who you were— Before Kolyan gave you a name and a roof?”
IREENA doesn’t answer. She stares at the lake. Hard. Then slowly lifts a hand to her temple— Like trying to scrape something forward from inside.
IREENA: (softly) “I don’t remember. Not that far back. But the lake… I know it.” (Beat.) “And if this is my past... Then maybe someone wanted me to forget it.”
SILVERLEAF watches her. Voice quiet. Certain.
SILVERLEAF “Or something.”
FELONIOUS speaks low. Measured. Like he’s quoting the land itself.
FELONIOUS: “This place doesn’t erase. It buries. And sometimes it plants a seed with what it takes.”
CLARION meets IREENA’s gaze. Steady. Grounded.
CLARION “Then we find out what kind of root it grew into.”
From the lake— A soft lap of water. Like the echo of a child’s voice, long since gone.
The road still leads onward. But behind them— IREENA’s story just got older.
EXT. DEEP FOREST PATH – NIGHTFALL
Background Music shifts: Encounter in Barovia | Unofficial Curse of Strahd Soundtrack | 1h TTRPG Combat Music | Loop
The forest closes in. Bark and bough twist like a prison grown from memory and root. The path beneath their feet is barely a suggestion. The air tastes of moss and breath held too long.
SILVERLEAF halts. Eyes narrow. Voice a blade drawn in whisper.
SILVERLEAF: “There—”
A flicker. A silhouette. Humanoid. Distant. Just between the trees.
Not walking. Gliding.
Not stalking. Waiting.
And then—gone.
CLARION’s grip tightens on her shield. FLEETWOOD shifts—blade half-drawn, not yet raised.
GREEGAN: (low) “Someone saw us. Someone expected us.”
A loud caw shatters the silence.
Above—wings beat the air. The ravens return. Dozens. Black silhouettes slicing moonlight. They circle once, then settle along the tree line. Not calm. Agitated.
The rescued raven dives— Fluttering near SILVERLEAF, cawing loud and wild. Not aggression. Alarm.
SILVERLEAF: (to the group, tense) “They’re warning us.”
The ravens cry out. Flapping. Shifting. Urgent. As if saying: Don’t stop. Don’t slow. Don’t look back.
FELONIOUS: (grim) “That’s twice now they’ve tried to steer us. And I’m not in the mood to ignore omens that come with beaks.”
From deep within the woods— A crack. A branch. Footfall? Or something heavier.
CLARION: (resolute) “We move. Now. And we don’t stop till we see torchlight or city stone.”
They press forward. Ravens in flight above. Shadows behind. And something ancient— Watching. Just behind the bark.
EXT. CLEARING OFF THE WOODLAND ROAD – DEEP NIGHT
The moon hangs slivered and wan. Its light barely outlines the violence already unfolding.
The hush of the clearing shatters— Five wolves burst from the treeline. A blur of fur and fury. Eyes gleam yellow-gold, torchlight caught in terror. Growls rumble low—like war drums before the first strike.
FLEETWOOD moves first. Sword drawn. Stance braced. Not a flinch— A knight’s answer to chaos.
CLARION throws up her shield, stepping between IREENA and the nearest wolf. Her speed speaks of bone-deep purpose.
GREEGAN: (grinning, low) “Well, this night just keeps getting better. You want chaos? I’ve got your chaos.”
Daggers flash into his hands. Motion incarnate.
FELONIOUS gestures sharply. Arcane syllables hiss through the air. Flame shimmers near one wolf— Its snarl falters.
SILVERLEAF doesn’t move. She watches. Calculates.
SILVERLEAF: “These aren’t hungry. They’re herded.”
FLEETWOOD: (grim) “Then someone just gave the signal.”
The wolves circle. Tails stiff. Heads low. Not beasts. Scouts.
One—larger, gray-streaked, eyes almost human—growls once. Low. A warning. Or a challenge.
Above, ravens cry wildly. But they do not descend.
The forest has set its teeth. And now, it waits.
EXT. FOREST CLEARING – MOMENTS LATER
The wolves strike. So do they.
FLEETWOOD surges forward—steel and fury. His enchanted blade cuts arcs of light through fur and snarl. The first wolf dies mid-air—spine severed, war answered with precision.
GREEGAN is motion itself. Daggers flash like silver lightning. He ducks, pivots, drives steel between ribs—twists with a grin full of firelight.
SILVERLEAF looses two arrows. Both ignite. Flaming shafts explode on impact— One wolf screams, not entirely animal, and crashes against a tree in flame.
CLARION moves beside Fleetwood. Her mace sings holy vengeance. Bone shatters. Her shield rises—deflecting claw and fang with divine calm.
FELONIOUS chants. Sigils flicker at his fingertips. Fire bolts flash—burning through mist, fur, hide. One wolf reels, flank seared to blackened ash.
Then—stillness.
Three wolves lie grotesquely still. And near them— Two naked humans. Corpses smoking. Faces locked in serenity.
CLARION steps forward. Voice low.
CLARION: “ …They shifted back.”
SILVERLEAF’s eyes narrow.
SILVERLEAF: “Not beasts. Not just.”
FLEETWOOD tightens his grip.
FLEETWOOD: “Shifters. Or pawns.”
From deep in the trees— Ravens cry again.
But no wind moves. Only the weight of violence. Not justice. Just message.
A warning. Written in blood.
FADE TO BLACK
End credits play over: Ireena Remembers | Unofficial Curse of Strahd Soundtrack | 1h TTRPG Thematic Background Music | Loop