Opening credits play over: Transylvania 1887
MELODIC WAR PRODUCTIONS PRESENTS:
🕯️ 0:00–0:08 | Title Reveal: The Lantern Settles
A lantern sways above Vallaki’s gate—its flame steady, but dimmer now, as if bracing for what’s already inside.
Boot prints converge in muddied cobblestone. A child’s ribbon, once tied to a skeletal tree, now hangs limp from the hinge—frayed, faded, forgotten. A deck of Tarokka cards lies scattered on the guardhouse floor, half-buried in ash.
🎥 The screen exhales: VALLAKI, etched into a rusted plaque. The camera pans upward—walls tall, torches guttering, rooftops hunched like shoulders in the cold.
🌲 0:09–0:20 | The Town Breathes
The gates creak wider.
Inside: narrow streets, shuttered windows, festival banners limp in the wind. A child watches from behind a curtain. A raven lands on a rooftop, caws once, then vanishes.
A hand—weathered, ringed, trembling—reaches into frame and turns over a card nailed to the gatepost: The Innocent. A charm of bone and braid dangles from the latch, spinning slowly—this time, with no wind at all.
🎭 0:21–0:33 | The Travelers Within
The wanderers move through the gate, marked not by arrival—but by intrusion.
Fleetwood (Richard Armitage) walks with his blade half-drawn, eyes scanning windows now, not treetops.
Clarion (Gwendoline Christie) moves like a storm held in check, her shield catching torchlight like a warning.
Silverleaf (Tatiana Maslany) watches the raven above, fingers brushing stone walls like reading a forgotten language.
Felonious (Ben Whishaw) mutters incantations—quieter, sharper—the air around him twitching with restrained magic.
Greegan (Matt Ryan) rolls bone dice on a windowsill. They clatter once: The Beast. The Broken One.
🎥 A shadow watches from the alley. Broad shoulders. Burnt hand. Izek Strazni (Rory McCann) steps into frame—slow, deliberate, like a man who’s never needed to run.
🎭 0:34–0:45 | The House Awaits
Wachterhaus looms. Iron gates ajar. Ivy strangling the stone.
Inside: velvet drapes, candlelight, and a porcelain mask resting on a silver tray. A servant folds a letter. Seals it. Burns it. A cat watches from the stairs, unmoving.
A voice, smooth and dry: “Lady Wachter is expecting you.”
🎥 Outside, Izek watches the gates. Doesn’t enter. Doesn’t blink.
🃏 0:46–0:58 | The Fortunes Shift Again
Cards scatter across a velvet table: The Queen of Swords. The Marionette. The Broken One. A glass of wine spills—slow, deliberate. The music falters. Then resumes.
🎥 A hand—scarred, gloved—picks up a card from the floor. The Executioner.
🎵 0:59–1:10 | Final Note: The Gate Closes
The party steps inside. The door shuts behind them.
🎥 The screen fades to black. And somewhere upstairs, laughter begins. Downstairs, a boot scrapes stone. Izek loads his crossbow.
Cold Open Begins:
Background Music: Izek Strazni Theme | Unofficial Curse of Strahd Soundtrack | 1h TTRPG Dark Theme | Loop
🎬 SCENE: “What Makes the Monster” — Outside the Blue Water Inn, Nevyar 5, Evening Deepening
🎥 Mist curls tighter now, pressing against the stone walls of the Blue Water Inn like it wants to listen. The courtyard fountain sits still, its water cold and unmoving. Lanterns flicker. The world holds its breath.
Ireena stands at the edge of the fountain, parchment clenched in her fist. Her knuckles are white. Her voice barely escapes.
IREENA: “Izek Strazni is my brother? He grew up here while I was in Barovia Village with… Kolyan. And no one—no one knew?”
🎥 Her voice cracks—not with rage. With grief. Grief twisted into something sharper.
IREENA: “Does it say how he became that?” “The arm. The fire. The rage?”
🎥 Felonious steps closer, coat brushing dew from the wrought-iron railing.
FELONIOUS: “The archives say: ‘Entered the household as ward. Unstable temperament. Useful strength.’ That’s all.”
🎥 He holds up a second parchment—smaller, torn. Ireena doesn’t reach for it.
FELONIOUS: “Nothing about the fire. Nothing about the arm.”
🎥 Silverleaf joins him, frowning.
SILVERLEAF: “There were rumors. Notes in the margins. Not official.”
FELONIOUS: “In my homeland, there are stories. Demon grafts. War rituals. Pieces of something other fused into soldiers. Or sinners. Or victims. It’s experimental, even Bargle wouldn’t touch it. There’s no recipe. No blueprint.”
🎥 Clarion listens, expression stricken. Fleetwood stands nearby, fists clenched. Greegan watches Ireena with rare seriousness. Rictavio leans against the gatepost, shadows hiding most of his face.
🎥 Ireena lowers the parchment. Her voice steadies.
IREENA: “So he was remade. By the Baron. Or by something else. He lost our parents. So did I. He was consumed. So was I—just differently.”
🎥 She turns to the group. Her eyes clear. Her stance firm.
IREENA: “If we face him… I won’t strike first.” “Not until I speak. Not until he knows.”
🎥 Fleetwood nods. Silverleaf touches her arm. Felonious exhales.
FELONIOUS: “No monster begins monstrous. Not completely.”
🎥 Above them, the wind carries no answers. Only the rustle of parchment. And the weight of blood—not remembered, but reclaimed.
🎬 SCENE: “The Ash in the Message” — Vallaki’s North Walk, Nevyar 5, Twilight
Background Music shifts: Baron’s Mansion | Unofficial Curse of Strahd Soundtrack | 1h TTRPG Dark Background Music | Loop
🎥 Cobblestones whisper under boot soles as the party nears the Blue Water Inn. A warm glow spills from its windows—comfort stitched into flame. But just as the inn’s sign creaks overhead, the air thickens. The kind of stillness that tingles across the skin like ozone before lightning.
Fleetwood halts mid-step, hand on the hilt. Clarion’s eyes narrow. Her lips part.
🎥 And then—
🔮 Victor Vallakovich’s voice crackles in their minds.
VICTOR: (telepathic) “Don’t enter the inn. I need to speak. Not here. Not with eyes. Walk south. Toward the weeping grove. I’ll find you.”
🎥 The party diverts. Quietly. Tension rising as they slip from lanternlight into the shadowed fringe of Vallaki’s southern edge—a space that once might have been a park, now half-swallowed by thorns, gnarled benches, and trees that lean too far inward.
🎥 The grove breathes frost and ash. Silent, save for the hiss of leaves.
Victor emerges from behind a crooked birch. His cloak is too fine for the woods. His eyes haven’t slept. His fingers twitch near the seam of his sleeve—restless. Arcane.
VICTOR: “You went to Khazan’s tower? Tell me. What did you find?”
🎥 Fleetwood exchanges a glance with Clarion. Silverleaf lowers her hood. Felonious clears his throat.
FELONIOUS “Nothing usable. The mirror, the ink, the artifacts—they were corrupted. Dead. The tower itself offered nothing.”
🎥 Victor pales. Steps back a half-measure. Like the wind just stole something from him.
VICTOR “Nothing? No glyphs? No residue? No answers?”
🎥 Ireena watches him closely. Her coat catches a dying breeze.
SILVERLEAF: “We tried.” “Whatever Khazan locked away—it’s been unraveled. Or devoured.”
🎥 Victor’s jaw clenches. A thin crackle of magic flickers across his fingers.
VICTOR “Damn it.” “That tower was the last thread. His journals. His gate spells. His memory safes…”
🎥 He turns to Silverleaf. Eyes wild.
VICTOR: “Do you know what it means if Khazan’s legacy is truly gone?”
SILVERLEAF: “It means someone erased him. And that’s worse than absence.”
🎥 The wind stirs dry leaves. They curl across the broken path like forgotten pages. Victor exhales. Folds his arms.
VICTOR: “If we’re blind in the past, we’ll bleed in the future.” “Strahd’s magic doesn’t survive. It replaces.”
🎥 Felonious steps forward. His voice quiet. Steady.
FELONIOUS “So what now?”
🎥 Victor doesn’t answer. Not yet. His gaze drifts toward the treeline—toward something that isn’t there. Or isn’t supposed to be.
🎬 SCENE: “Behind the Glass” — Secret Passage to the Baron’s Mansion, Nevyar 5 Nightfall
Background music: Baron’s Mansion | Unofficial Curse of Strahd Soundtrack | 1h TTRPG Dark Background Music | Loop continues
🎥 Moonlight glances off rooftops like a thief fleeing judgment. The wind is hushed—not absent, but listening. The party stands just beyond a crooked hedgerow behind the Baron’s estate, boots damp with dew and dread.
Victor Vallakovich emerges from the mist like a ghost with too many plans. His cloak brushes aside vines near the wall, revealing a stone panel. It grinds open with a shudder.
VICTOR: “Come. Quickly. I’ve kept the passage secret since before I could trust my own guards.”
🎥 The party enters. Footsteps muffled by a strip of decaying velvet. The tunnel is narrow, torch-lit by arcane flame. Old sigils flicker in the stone—protective? Experimental? Unclear.
Victor speaks without turning.
VICTOR :“Stella and Erasmus… they told me you’d be helpful. Especially him.”
🎥 He gestures toward Felonious, who raises an elegant brow.
FELONIOUS: “Well. I do enjoy flattery. But which Stella—and who in the Hells is Erasmus?”
🎥 Rictavio stops. His mouth slack. Grip tightening on his cane.
RICTAVIO: “You said Erasmus?”
Victor turns, surprised.
VICTOR: “Yes. He’s with Stella.”
🎥 Victor waves a hand over a mirror embedded in the wall. A shimmer appears—ethereal, flickering. The girl they saw earlier. Stella Wachter. Her outline glows like memory refusing to fade.
🎬 FLASHBACK SCENE: “The Circle Beneath the Candles” — Baron’s Mansion Attic, Three Months Ago
Background music shifts: Encounter in Barovia | Unofficial Curse of Strahd Soundtrack | 1h TTRPG Combat Music | Loop
🎥 Thunder rolls across distant mountains, muffled by stone and velvet. The attic glows with candlelight—dozens flickering in nervous communion. Tomes stack like sentinels. Parchment litters the floor, ink smudged by haste and trembling hands.
Victor Vallakovich, face thin and frantic, hovers over a chalk circle laced with copper filament. Gloves stripped. Sleeves rolled. A young mage chasing salvation before doom breaks through the mist.
Across from him kneels Stella Wachter. Hair braided tight. Nightgown stained with ink. Eyes brighter than anyone has seen since the festival. Her hands tremble over a sigil etched from memory.
STELLA: “The Devil’s returned.” “We have weeks. Maybe less.”
Victor doesn’t look up.
VICTOR: “Then we finish this in days.”
🎥 He flips open a battered spellbook—stitched leather, title faded. The margins lined in Khazan’s script. A style only Victor can read.
VICTO:R “It’s old. Forbidden. But it works. A circle strong enough to breach the veil around the valley.”
Stella traces one glyph—reverently, like touching a map to freedom.
STELLA: “Where does it lead?”
Victor pauses.
VICTOR: “Anywhere. Away. Maybe Ravenrock. Maybe Athkatla. Maybe somewhere else altogether. The coordinates are flexible. The arcane flow is the real problem.”
🎥 A gust hits the attic window. Papers scatter. A vial trembles. Stella catches it mid-roll. Her hand sure despite her breath.
STELLA: “Promise me we leave before he finds out.”
Victor swallows.
VICTOR: “He won’t. He has the city. Not the stars. And we build this circle under his shadow—so we vanish before it stretches too far.”
🎥 Stella stands. Steps into the unfinished circle. Her silhouette flickers with candlelight.
STELLA: “Then we finish it.” “Before my mind breaks. Before your heart forgets.”
🎥 Their hands touch—briefly—as they pour powdered garnet into the runes. Outside, wolves howl like clocks running out. Inside, a boy and a girl build an exit out of desperation, hope, and forbidden ink.
🎬 FLASHBACK SCENE: “The Soul Between Circles” — Baron’s Mansion Attic, Ten Weeks Ago
🎥 Candles flicker in ritual obedience. Chalk lines glow faintly on aged floorboards—glyphs sharp enough to cut through dimensions. The prototype circle is complete: etched, layered, infused with every spark Victor Vallakovich could coax from Khazan’s spellbook.
The air hums. Not with promise. With warning.
Victor paces. Gloves off. Fingertips smudged with ash and powdered garnet. At his feet, two small undead rabbits twitch—bones reassembled with delicate precision. They vanished cleanly. The magic worked.
But rabbits don’t dream of freedom.
Stella Wachter steps forward. Barefoot. Braid unraveling. Nightgown streaked with charcoal. Her expression: courage braided with desperation.
STELLA: “Enough experiments.” “If it’s going to work, let it work on someone who needs it.”
VICTOR: “If we miscalculated…”
STELLA: “Then we learn fast. Or die slower.”
🎥 She steps into the ring. The activation begins. Sigils flare. The floor shakes. Books vibrate like they want to scream.
But no light bends. No gateway opens.
Just a snap. Like glass breaking in three planes at once.
Stella screams—and collapses. But her body remains. Only her soul moves.
🎥 In the Border Ethereal, everything turns frost-blue and silent. Stella’s spirit floats—weightless, trailing particles of memory. Shapes loom. Dark. Ancient. Clawed. Reaching not for body, but for essence.
One grabs her soul’s edge. Tears strands of her mind into the void.
And then—Erasmus arrives. Light without flame. A voice like safety made audible.
He whisks her away—part vision, part guardian. Shelters her beyond reach. Until the dark retreats.
🎥 Back in the mansion, Victor crumples beside Stella’s body. Convinced he’s shattered her mind. Two weeks of frantic experimentation follow. Fear eats his sleep like acid.
Then a servant speaks:
SERVANT “She’s in the mirror.” “Not the reflection—the ghost.”
🎥 Victor dashes to his mother’s parlor. The spirit mirror shimmers—dual realms flickering. Within: Stella. Mouth forming silent syllables. Eyes pleading.
He begins with gestures. Then frost-traced letters. Then signs learned from a dusty book in his father’s library.
They speak.
Since then, Victor and Stella have fought to undo what the circle shattered. But every attempt has failed. Her body remains comatose. Her soul hides in twilight. And something hunts her in the Border Ethereal. Something that wants what’s left.
🎬 SCENE: “The Mirror’s Warning” — Victor’s Workroom, Baron’s Mansion, Nevyar 5 Evening
🎥 The room glows with eerie blue. Candlelight dances off glass tubes and abandoned scrolls. The party stands near the spirit mirror—uncertain whether to lean closer or step away.
Victor remains still. One palm hovers above the chalk circle he refuses to erase.
Stella’s spirit drifts within the mirror. Her image flickers—like the glass itself trembles.
VICTOR: “We don’t know what it was. The thing that clawed her from herself.”
🎥 He steps back. Eyes shadowed.
VICTOR: “Not me. Not Stella. Not Erasmus.” “We’ve all seen fragments.” “But Erasmus has seen it most. On the Ethereal Plane. Near Vallaki. Often.”
Silverleaf folds her arms. Her gaze flicks toward Stella’s ghost.
SILVERLEAF :“It hunts her?”
VICTOR “Yes.” “It circles. Lingers when she speaks. Fades when he shields her.”
🎥 He looks to Fleetwood. Clarion. Felonious. Greegan. His voice sharpens.
VICTOR: “Erasmus calls it a gallows speaker.”
🎥 A hush falls. Even the mirror dims.
Felonious steps forward.
FELONIOUS: “That’s not folklore.” “That’s necrotic myth.” “Spirits bound to execution sites. Made not just of sorrow—but of justice denied.” “They don’t speak. They accuse.”
Clarion closes her eyes.
CLARION: “And they cling to the souls of the wronged like frost to graves.”
VICTOR": “It doesn’t care about her body. It wants what’s left of her.”
🎥 He turns to the party.
VICTOR: “If we’re going to fix this—bring her back—one of you will have to face it. Shield Stella. Or sever it.”
🎥 Ireena looks into the mirror. Jaw tight. Fleetwood steps beside her. Fists clenched. Rictavio, silent till now, watches the glass with haunted eyes.
RICTAVIO: “Erasmus saved her once. If he’s seen it… if he’s still with her… there’s hope.”
🎥 Stella lifts a translucent hand toward the party. Her movement: a whisper across the veil.
STELLA: “I dreamed of voices louder than fear. I think… I hoped one of them would be yours.”
🎥 Behind her, the shadows shimmer. Distant. Clawed. Watching.
🎬 SCENE: “The Old Hunter Speaks” — Victor’s Workroom, Baron’s Mansion, Nevyar 5 Evening
🎥 The room holds its breath. Stella’s spirit flickers in the mirror—candlelight trapped in frost. Victor stands near the chalk circle, gaze low. The party watches shadows crawl across tomes and glass.
But one figure remains stillest of all: Rictavio. Hat in hand. Cane forgotten beside the bookshelf. Eyes narrowed—memory isn’t always kind.
Fleetwood turns first.
FLEETWOOD “Rictavio?”
Clarion, quieter.
CLARION “You know them, don’t you?”
🎥 Rictavio lifts his eyes. Graver than they’ve ever seen.
RICTAVIO “I was taught to hunt monsters. But no one teaches you what to do when monsters whisper.”
🎥 He steps closer to the mirror.
RICTAVIO: “Gallows speakers aren’t born. They’re made. Not by blood. By betrayal. Executed souls with no crimes. Hanged by liars. Burned by zealots. Buried without truth.”
🎥 Silverleaf stiffens. Felonious raises a brow—guarded.
RICTAVIO: “They don’t speak with voices. They speak with memory. With guilt.”
🎥 His voice tightens. Darker now.
RICTAVIO “They follow the innocent. Not to corrupt. Not always to kill.” “Sometimes to claim. To make another vessel for the pain they couldn’t shed.”
🎥 He looks to Stella’s reflection.
RICTAVIO “She was caught in the spell.” “But the speaker—it found her because she dreamed of escape.” “And escape, to them, is the worst lie of all.”
🎥 A hush settles. Then:
IREENA “How do you kill something made of injustice?”
RICTAVIO “You don’t.” “You unravel it.” “You find the wound it speaks for—and decide if healing it is worth the price.”
🎥 Felonious steps back. Fleetwood lowers his gaze. Clarion folds her arms—a blade against grief. Victor watches Rictavio like a student realizing his teacher wore armor beneath the costume.
Behind the glass, Stella’s reflection ripples. The shadows flicker. But for now, they do not approach.
🎬 SCENE: “Names and Shadows” — Victor’s Workroom, Baron’s Mansion, Nevyar 5 Evening
🎥 The mirror pulses low. Even Stella’s spirit seems quiet now. The air tastes like iron and old ink. The party stands still—processing truths unearthed and warnings delivered.
Victor turns. His voice is level. Quiet. Just enough to echo across the chalk lines.
VICTOR “You speak like a scholar.” “You hunt like a soldier.” “You name monsters like someone who buried them himself.”
🎥 He tilts his head.
VICTOR “Who are you, Rictavio?”
🎥 Rictavio remains by the bookshelf. Fingers grazing the spine of a forgotten ledger. Doesn’t move toward Victor. Doesn’t move at all.
Fleetwood turns. Clarion watches. Silverleaf narrows her eyes. Ireena waits. Even Felonious stops fidgeting.
🎥 The silence stretches.
RICTAVIO “I’m a wanderer.” “A bard. A clown. A liar if you ask enough questions.”
VICTOR “That’s not what Erasmus called you.”
🎥 Rictavio’s knuckles tighten. He doesn’t blink.
RICTAVIO “Then he remembers more than I do.”
🎥 A beat. Just long enough for regret to settle in the dust.
Silverleaf steps forward. Softly.
SILVERLEAF “He said you’re his father.”
🎥 Rictavio closes his eyes. A breath drawn in the shape of pain.
RICTAVIO “He was taken. Years ago.” “Torn from me by someone I couldn’t stop.” “I chased that trail into ash and madness. Found nothing but names with no bodies.”
🎥 He turns toward the mirror. Finally.
RICTAVIO “Until tonight.”
🎥 Victor watches him. Realization blooming behind suspicion.
VICTOR “You’re not Rictavio. That’s a mask.”
🎥 Rictavio’s jaw twitches. Then he nods—once. A surrender without ceremony. He moves a pin on his hat, and his form shimmers and changes. A different man altogether - Rudolph Van Richten (Gary Oldman).
Background music shifts: The Hunter | Van Richten Action Theme | 1h Loop | Unofficial Curse of Strahd Soundtrack
RICTAVIO/VAN RICHTEN: “My name was Rudolf van Richten. I buried it. Along with everything else that makes men monsters or fathers.”
🎥 A silence. Heavy. Charged.
Then—Stella’s voice floats gently from the mirror.
STELLA :“He mourns in different names. But I see him.”
🎥 And the room breathes.
🎬 SCENE: “Through the Veil” — Victor’s Workroom, Baron’s Mansion, Nevyar 5 Late Evening
🎥 The spirit mirror pulses faintly, its glow reduced to a heartbeat. Stella’s ghost watches from within—silent, flickering, waiting. The air thickens with consequence: chalk dust mingling with candle smoke, magic lingering like breath before a scream.
Felonious steps forward from the alchemy rack. His hand rests on a scroll he knows won’t help. His usual flair is dimmed—tempered by urgency.
🎥 Every eye turns to him.
FELONIOUS :“There’s a way. A path not just for spirit—but for living breath. For us.”
🎥 He lets the moment settle. Then:
FELONIOUS: “We must enter the Ethereal Plane.” “Not through death. Not through dreams. But bodily. Mortal flesh crossing twilight.”
🎥 Victor looks up sharply.
VICTOR: “That’s not a planar walk. That’s forbidden. That’s—”
FELONIOUS “It’s called Etherealness. I’ve read it. Never learned it. Not yet. But it exists.”
🎥 He glances at Stella in the mirror. Her gaze flickers with hope.
FELONIOUS “From that side… we could alter the ritual.” “Finish what you started.” “Pull her soul back ourselves.”
🎥 Silverleaf’s voice is low. Laced with awe and doubt.
SILVERLEAF: “Is that safe?”
🎥 Felonious doesn’t answer. He smiles. Not charming. But resolute.
FELONIOUS: “No. But it’s necessary. The Ethereal Plane is crowded with things that don’t forget pain. Or names.”
🎥 Van Richten turns. His voice grave.
VAN RICHTEN: “A living man on the spirit road… that’s a beacon. You’ll be hunted just for breathing.”
🎥 Clarion clenches her hands. Fleetwood frowns. Ireena steps closer.
IREENA: “Could it work?”
FELONIOUS: “It must. Or she remains a whisper in glass forever.”
🎥 The mirror hums. Stronger now.
STELLA: “I dream in echoes.” “But I remember light.” “If you bring it with you… I will follow.”
🎥 And the room falls silent again. Not with fear. But with the birth of resolve.
🎬 SCENE: “The Missing Spell” — Baron’s Library, Nevyar 5, Midnight
🎥 The library groans under the weight of time. Wood sagging. Vellum curling. Dust thick as fog. Shelves crowd each other like whispering nobles. Candlelight barely pierces the gloom.
Felonious sits cross-legged in the center of chaos. Parchment scraps circle him like an arcane crime scene. The chalk diagram of Ethereal resonance lies unfinished beside his boots.
Silverleaf leans against a high-backed chair. Sorting through discarded volumes with a hunter’s glare.
Victor, arms folded, eyes twitching over spine titles, mutters:
VICTOR: “I’ve shown you everything. Every treatise. Every tome. Unless it’s buried behind a false back—”
🎥 Felonious freezes. Fingers hover over an open grimoire. Eyes narrow with recognition.
FELONIOUS “No. It isn’t lost. It’s just not here. It’s in the book you asked for when we first met.” “The one your mother locked away.”
🎥 Victor’s head snaps toward him.
VICTOR “Denizens of the Unseen Realms?”
🎥 Felonious nods. Slowly. With dread.
FELONIOUS “Where is it?”
End credits play over: Johnny Cash - Hurt (Official Lyric Video)