Opening credits play over: Transylvania 1887
🎬 Opening Credits: 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, bootprints fade 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 a new signpost: Wizard of Wines – 6 miles.
🌲 0:09–0:20 | The Road Narrows 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 Broken One. A charm of grapevine 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, eyes scanning the treeline for threats that never quite show themselves.
Clarion (Gwendoline Christie) strides ahead, cloak billowing like stormclouds, 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.
Ireena Kolyana (Tamsin Mackenzie) walks behind them, her cloak drawn tight, eyes fixed on the spirit mirror slung across her back.
Arabelle (Cailee Spaeny) lingers at the edge of the group, her cloak drawn close. She pauses, kneels, and presses a raven feather into the mud. Mist curls upward, briefly forming a spiral before dissolving. Her gaze lifts, sly and knowing, as if she’s listening to something the others cannot hear.
Starring
Richard Armitage as Fleetwood
Gwendoline Christie as Clarion "
Tatiana Maslany as Silverleaf
Ben Whishaw as Felonious
Matt Ryan as Greegan
Tamsin Mackenzie as Ireena Kolyana
Cailee Spaeny as Arabelle
🕯️ 0:34–0:46 | The Fortunes Shift The scattered cards rise from the ground, spinning in midair. Six remain suspended now: The Broken One, The Horseman, The Innocent, The Marionette, The Darklord, The Artifact. 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.
Arabelle’s eyes catch the final card as it drifts past. She does not reach for it, but the mist coils around her hand as if marking her.
🍇 0:47–0:58 | The Vineyard Beckons The mist parts to reveal rows of twisted grapevines, their branches skeletal, their fruit withered. Ravens circle above, cawing in patterns that sound almost like words. A wooden sign creaks in the wind: Wizard of Wines. The camera lingers on the sagging roof of the winery, its timbers bowed, its windows dark. A single raven lands on the milestone, tilts its head, and flies toward the vineyard.
🎵 0:59–1:10 | Final Note: The Winery Looms The party crests a hill. Below: the winery sprawls crooked against the valley, its vineyard stretching like veins across the earth. 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 door, then dissipates.
Arabelle watches, her expression unreadable—half child, half oracle.
The road continues… But the destination is no longer in question.
🎼 Main Title by Alan Silvestri
COLD OPEN BEGINS:
🎬 SCENE: “Twilight Among the Vines” — Wizard of Wines Perimeter, Nevyar 10, Early Evening
Background Music: Lands of Barovia | Unofficial Curse of Strahd Soundtrack | 1h TTRPG Dark Background Music | Loop
🎥 CAMERA OPENS on a slow pan through tangled vineyard rows. The trellises sag like broken ribs across the landscape—grapevines shriveled, the earth beneath them soaked not with dew, but a sour, fungal rot.
The sky is a bruised violet. Distant crows circle—but no sound reaches the ground.
🏚️ CAMERA SWEEPS to the old Wizard of Wines winery, nestled in a hollowed dip behind twisted fruit trees:
Shingles hang like weary teeth from the rooftop
The weather vane spins lazily despite no breeze
Barrels, once proud, lie cracked beneath creeping moss
Windows shuttered, but flickering with faint lantern glow behind heavy curtains
A gnarled branch juts across the main trail like a warning. A sign—partially burned—still bears the faded grape sigil of the Martikov family.
🐴 CAMERA FOLLOWS the party riding slowly into frame:
Fleetwood leads, reins taut, eyes sweeping for movement
Silverleaf rides beside Muriel, bow across her lap, gaze narrowed
Felonious mutters to a shimmering glyph tucked in his palm
Clarion and Ireena exchange quiet glances, weapons drawn but lowered
Greegan, ever watchful, circles wide, blades loose at his sides
Arabelle turns her face upward—not to watch for threats, but to feel something unseen
ARABELLE “They’re listening. Not just the druids. The vines themselves. Every root remembers what’s been poured into it.”
Her words hang heavy, unsettling even the seasoned riders.
🌲 CAMERA TILTS toward a small cottage tucked just off the winery’s main lane—partially hidden beneath a sagging cedar. A lean figure with a sharp beard and piercing gray eyes steps out, cloak mottled like bark, gaze sweeping across the approaching riders.
Davian Martikov (Ciarán Hinds).
Weathered skin
A raven feather braided into his beard
One hand on a staff shaped from a broken barrel stave
The other raised—not in warning, but welcome
Muriel gasps, dismounting in a scramble:
MURIEL: “Davian! You’re alive!”
He nods grimly, voice gravel-coated and low:
DAVIAN: “Barely. The druids came days ago. The vines weep poison now. We fled here. The root cellar holds what’s left of the family. You came just in time.”
🎥 CAMERA TRACKS the party as they follow him toward the concealed refuge—stone walls half-swallowed by bush, a sliding hatch tucked beneath an overturned cart. Smoke curls from a hidden chimney. The sound of hushed voices beneath. A single raven watches from a nearby post.
Davian opens the hatch.
DAVIAN: “Come inside. And listen. We’ve more than wine to guard now.”
🎬 SCENE: “Nature Twisted” — Martikov Cellar Refuge, Wizard of Wines Winery, Nevyar 10, Stormrise
Background Music Shifts: Keepers of the Feather | Unofficial Curse of Strahd Soundtrack | 1h TTRPG Theme Music | Loop
🕯️ CAMERA FADES IN on the flickering hearth inside the stone cellar, casting long shadows across the Martikovs and the assembled party. Thunder rumbles above—deep and slow—like something waking rather than roaring.
Silverleaf stands slightly apart, arms folded, her gaze set not on the wine barrels, nor on the Martikovs, but on Davian—whose weathered hands rest on the rim of a cracked cask, eyes distant.
Her voice cuts through the stillness. Low. Certain.
SILVERLEAF: “I don’t know what twisted grove spat this rot, but druids don’t blight the land they serve. The ones I knew would have bled themselves dry before letting the vines scream like this.”
She steps forward, the wine-slick floor creaking beneath her boots.
SILVERLEAF: “And I’ll tell you this—I don’t care how deep the curse goes. I’m a ranger. And I intend to heal this.”
🎥 CAMERA CLOSES on Davian’s face—creases deepened by grief and dirt, a single raven feather braided into his hair trembling slightly.
He nods, slowly.
DAVIAN: “Aye. I remember that kind of druid. The ones who whispered to the soil and wept when the leaves turned early.”
His voice catches—not sorrow, not defeat. Anger held in reverence.
DAVIAN: “But these aren’t the same. Not anymore.”
🌫️ CAMERA TRACKS Davian as he moves to a shelf, pulling down a tattered parchment—a map etched over years, vines scratched in ink, blighted zones marked with charcoal crosses.
DAVIAN “They call themselves the Forest Folk now. Born out of Yester Hill—where the land first drank blood to birth prophecy. They whisper to things beneath the roots. Things no true druid would name aloud.”
He presses a finger to a dark stain near the eastern edge of the vineyard.
DAVIAN: “And that’s where the children of the Gulthias Tree rose. They don’t protect nature—they mimic it, wear it like skin.”
🎭 Silverleaf’s eyes flash. She steps closer.
SILVERLEAF: “Then they’ve forgotten what the forest truly is. It breathes. It heals. It remembers.”
Davian meets her gaze.
DAVIAN: “Then show them.”
🕯️ CAMERA WIDENS to the rest of the room:
Felonious burning a ward into the edge of a barrel lid
Fleetwood sharpening his blade with quiet tension
Clarion tracing the Huntress sigil in ash along the stone
Ireena examining her boots, silent but ready
And now—Arabelle. She sits cross-legged near the hearth, a raven feather in one hand, a shard of vine in the other. She presses them together, whispering in a language half-forgotten. The feather blackens, the vine bleeds sap.
ARABELLE: (soft, almost playful) “They don’t just mimic. They feed. Every root here remembers the taste of blood. But blood can be taught to sing instead of scream.”
She looks up, eyes glinting with mischief and certainty.
ARABELLE: “Let me remind them of the song.”
The storm howls above. The ravens stir. The vines tremble.
Silverleaf—already turning toward the hatch—places a hand on the old cellar stone, whispering to it like a promise:
SILVERLEAF: “Let me remind them what the wild truly sounds like.”
ARABELLE rises beside her, feather and vine still in hand, the stormlight catching her face.
Together, they move toward the hatch.
🎬 SCENE: “The Raven and the Lout” — Martikov Cellar Refuge, Wizard of Wines Winery, Nevyar 10, Stormfall
🕯️ CAMERA SETTLES in the low golden light of the hearth. Rain drums above like a thousand claws on rotted wood. The walls hum with wind and anticipation, but inside, the flicker of survival holds strong.
Fleetwood leans against the barrel-stack, still damp with soil and battle smoke. His voice is level—but carries the weight of someone tired of circling the truth.
FLEETWOOD: “Unwin sent us. From the Blue Water Inn. Said the wine stopped flowing, asked us to find out why.”
A beat.
CAMERA CUTS to Davian Martikov.
He doesn’t turn at first. Just exhales through his nose, the sound sharp—then snorts, lips twisting in grim amusement.
DAVIAN: “The audacity of that lout.”
He spins, cloak shifting like wings.
DAVIAN: “Sits pretty behind tap and timber, doesn’t he? Thinks just because he pours our sweat into cups, he owns the vineyard’s pulse.”
Muriel stiffens slightly.
Fleetwood raises an eyebrow, unfazed.
DAVIAN: “Unwin might be a fool, but he’s not wrong to worry. And you’re here. So he did one thing right.”
🎭 Stefania (Kelly Macdonald) chuckles from her cot, folding a quilt.
STEFANIA: “He once tried to bribe us with honeyed mead from Vallaki. Called it superior vintage.”
Adrian (Aneurin Barnard), sharpening a stake, mutters:
ADRIAN: “He said wine was ‘fickle as a lover.’”
Davian rolls his eyes, beard feathers twitching.
DAVIAN: “Wine is loyal. It just bleeds easy.”
📽️ CAMERA TRACKS back to Fleetwood, who nods once.
FLEETWOOD: “We’re not here for Unwin. We’re here for the land. For the truth.”
Silverleaf speaks up from beside the cellar’s narrow stairwell, voice steady:
SILVERLEAF: “We’re here to put right what shouldn’t grow.”
Davian studies them all, then steps closer, shadows dancing over the lines in his face.
Arabelle shifts near the hearth, her cloak drawn close. She plucks a raven feather from the floor, twirls it between her fingers, then presses it flat against the stone. Ash curls upward, forming a spiral before dissolving.
ARABELLE: (soft, sly) “Unwin worries about cups. But the land worries about roots. And roots remember longer than men.”
Her words hang in the air, unsettling even the Martikovs.
🎬 SCENE: “Ash in the Barrels” — Martikov Cellar Refuge, Wizard of Wines Winery, Nevyar 10, Stormfall
🕯️ CAMERA FADES IN on the flickering light of the hearth, shadows stretching over wine-slick stone and dust-thick rafters. Thunder thuds overhead, rattling the beams like drums announcing war. The party gathers close—mud-streaked, weary, their fire still intact.
Fleetwood steps forward, eyes hard beneath wind-tangled hair. His voice carries:
FLEETWOOD: “Enough smoke and shadows. Davian—what’s going on here?”
🎥 CAMERA TRACKS as Davian stares into the flame, his hand clenched around the stave of an old barrel-axe, knuckles pale.
He speaks without ceremony.
DAVIAN: “Four druids. Forest Folk. Invaded the winery four nights past. Came through the grove like ghosts—whispering to the vines in tongues the land should’ve forgotten. They broke our wards. Spoiled the fields. Their blights spread fast—faster than we could burn.”
He steps back, pulling open an old crate. Inside: dried vine roots charred black, humming softly with leftover malevolence.
DAVIAN: “We fled here. Hidden tunnels beneath the oldest press. My family’s been below ever since.”
🎭 Silverleaf stiffens. Felonious murmurs something in Draconic. Clarion glances toward Stella, shielding her subtly. Greegan listens—but his grip on his blade tightens.
Davian continues:
DAVIAN: “They brought dozens of blights. Rotten-born. Fanged. Dripping sap that eats steel.”
He gestures toward the ceiling, where a faint tremor pulses above with each gust of wind.
DAVIAN: “And three greater Strix—not born of soil, but conjured in swampfire by Baba Lysaga. The witch of Berez.”
🩸 Muriel shudders visibly. Ireena lowers her blade, gaze shadowed.
📽️ CAMERA PUSHES IN on Fleetwood’s face—stone-like, jaw clenched.
FLEETWOOD: “Why would this witch help them?”
Davian shakes his head, voice a rasp:
DAVIAN: “Don’t know. Not for sure. But Lysaga doesn’t lend power without a price. And whatever these druids offered? It’s something deeper than wine and vines.”
🕯️ Ursula (Frances Conroy), silent until now, lifts her hand. She traces the symbol of the Huntress into ash on the stone floor. Her voice is barely a whisper:
URSULA: “They don’t want the wine. They want what sleeps beneath it.”
🎥 CAMERA PANS over the party—each of them weighed now not only by purpose, but by prophecy.
Arabelle leans forward, eyes glinting in the firelight. She presses the charred vine root from Davian’s crate into her palm. Sap stains her skin, and she smiles faintly.
ARABELLE: “Roots don’t sleep. They wait. And if the druids woke something beneath them… Then it’s listening still.”
Her words settle like a chill, the storm above answering with a crack of thunder.
🎬 SCENE: “What Sleeps Beneath” — Martikov Cellar Refuge, Wizard of Wines Winery, Nevyar 10, Stormfall
🕯️ CAMERA HOLDS on the flickering glow of Ursula’s ash-drawn symbol, her fingers lifting from the floor with reverent hesitation. Outside, wind screams like the wounded, and thunder cracks as if a great beast turns in its sleep.
Silverleaf’s voice cuts through the cellar’s hush, clear and resolute:
SILVERLEAF: “What sleeps beneath, then?”
📽️ CAMERA TRACKS as Davian walks to the far wall, pressing his palm against a plank older than the rest. It shifts with a groan, revealing a narrow tunnel wrapped in twisting root. It leads deeper—not to wine, but to history buried in breathless dark.
He finally speaks.
DAVIAN: “A seed. Not of vine, but of balance. They say the land gave it to the Huntress herself. To grow sanctuary in Barovia before the Devil had a name. We called it the Heartgem. Its power fed more than grapes—it fed the memory of what this valley could be.”
Felonious whispers, eyes wide:
FELONIOUS: “That’s what they want.”
Davian nods grimly.
DAVIAN: “The druids seek to twist it. Lysaga seeks to weaponize it. And we—just seek to keep it sleeping.”
🎭 Muriel steps beside Silverleaf, voice trembling:
MURIEL: “But it’s waking, isn’t it?”
Ursula exhales, hands trembling:
URSULA: “Dreams ripple through the roots. Either it wakes gentle—or it wakes in wrath.”
📽️ CAMERA CLOSES on Silverleaf’s expression—resolute, fierce, yet strangely protective.
SILVERLEAF: “Then we choose how it wakes. Let it remember the Huntress. Let it remember us.”
🕯️ CAMERA SHIFTS to Arabelle, seated cross-legged near the hearth. She has taken one of the charred vine roots from Davian’s crate, pressing it against her palm until sap stains her skin. She hums softly—a tune without words, half lullaby, half omen.
The raven feather she carries trembles, as if stirred by unseen breath.
ARABELLE: (soft, sly) “Seeds don’t dream alone. They dream through us. If we whisper Huntress, it will wake Huntress. If we whisper wrath… it will wake wrath.”
She looks up, eyes glinting in the firelight, childlike and ancient all at once.
ARABELLE: “So whisper carefully.”
The cellar grows quiet again.
But far beneath the vines, something stirs in the soil. Not evil. Not good.
Just old.
🎬 SCENE: “Wounds that Drink Deeper” — Martikov Cellar Refuge, Wizard of Wines Winery, Nevyar 10, Stormfall
📽️ CAMERA PANS the close, firelit stone chamber where tension cuts sharper than daggers. The party stands ready, mission in hand. Then—
CLAUDIU (Alex Lawther): (muttering, bitter, arms crossed near the vinegar casks) “What does it matter? They’re just going to die, anyway.”
🎭 STEFANIA snaps around, fury tempered by maternal instinct.
STEFANIA: “Claudiu! Apologize. Right now.”
Her eyes flash toward the adventurers. She bows her head, voice tight with regret:
STEFANIA: “Forgive him. He’s lost more than he knows how to grieve.”
The party reacts. One bristles. Another shrugs, letting the insult pass like a ghost through candlelight.
But before peace settles—
ELVIR’s (Barry Keoghan) voice cuts the quiet like broken glass.
ELVIR: (jaw tight, gaze pointed) “He’s right. You won’t win. The vampire’s reach is longer than your little swords and brave words.”
He steps closer, eyes blazing, daring contradiction.
🎬 CAMERA SHIFTS as Adrian (Joe Alwyn) intervenes, calm voice threading through anger:
ADRIAN: “This isn’t like Elric.”
The name lands like a thunderclap.
ELVIR whirls—
ELVIR: “Don’t say his name!”
🔥 DAVIAN explodes, voice shaking with wrath and wear:
DAVIAN: “Enough! I will not suffer disobedience again in this household.”
The cellar trembles.
But Elvir stares Davian down, voice venomous:
ELVIR: “You drove him away. Just like you drove Urwin. We lose everyone—and you call it leadership.”
Davian’s face flushes crimson. His fists shake.
DAVIAN: “Enough!”
🎥 CAMERA TRACKS Elvir as he storms off, collapsing cross-legged in the far alcove, back to the room, wall to the world.
Stefania and Adrian move like shadows to their father, speaking in hushed tones—words shaped by worry and memories they won’t voice.
Claudiu, pale, curls inward.
Muriel stands like marble carved from stormclouds—ashen, unreadable, as if her heart speaks in languages she’s forbidden herself from translating.
🕯️ CAMERA FINDS ARABELLE near the hearth. She has plucked a raven feather from the floor and presses it into the ash Stefania scattered earlier. Her voice is soft, but it carries:
ARABELLE: “Wounds drink deeper than blades. They drink memory. They drink names.”
She looks at Claudiu, then at Elvir’s turned back.
ARABELLE: “If you keep feeding them anger, they’ll never heal. But if you feed them truth… they might remember how to close.”
Her words hang in the chamber, unsettling, childlike and ancient all at once.
The hearth flickers. The party watches.
Not all battles bleed on blades. Some start in wine cellars— and bloom in silence.
🎬 SCENE: “The Shape of Grief” — Martikov Cellar Refuge, Wizard of Wines Winery, Nevyar 10, Stormfall
🕯️ CAMERA FOCUSES on the soft touch of Ireena’s hand, firm but not forceful, as it finds Elvir’s shoulder. Her voice trembles at first, then gains strength—not from defiance, but from memory.
IREENA: “Strahd killed the man who raised me. The one who taught me how to fight. How to believe. How to hope. He was my father—not in name, but in every way that mattered.”
Her grip tightens, a promise of solidarity—not challenge.
IREENA: “Don’t tell me sacrifice is foolish. Because what we love is what we choose to defend.”
🎥 CAMERA TRACKS to Elvir, gaze shadowed, body rigid.
He doesn’t flinch—but his voice is blade-cold.
ELVIR: “Elric abandoned us. He threw his life away chasing illusions. He deserved what he got.”
The words hit the air like frost.
🎭 Clarion steps forward, her voice gentle as candlelight:
CLARION: “You don’t really believe that. Not in the dark of night. Not when no one’s listening.”
But Elvir turns, stepping back toward the alcove where the wall offers no argument.
ELVIR: “Just leave me alone.”
He sits again, cross-legged, facing the stone.
🎥 CAMERA LINGERS on the others:
Stefania glancing down, eyes shining but jaw clenched.
Adrian watching Elvir, but not moving.
Muriel—ashen, unmoving—hands pressed to her satchel as if trying to keep something inside from screaming.
Claudiu curling deeper into silence, guilt threading through his stillness.
The storm rages above—but the room holds still.
🕯️ CAMERA FINDS ARABELLE near the hearth. She has drawn a spiral in the ash with her fingertip, pressing a raven feather into its center. Her voice is soft, but it carries:
ARABELLE: “Hope doesn’t die. It hides. It waits for someone brave enough to call it back.”
She looks at Elvir, her tone neither scolding nor pleading—just certain.
ARABELLE: “You can bury it in stone. But the roots will still remember.”
Her words ripple through the silence, unsettling, childlike and ancient all at once.
The vampire stole lives.
But here, in the cellar, he stole something subtler.
Hope.
And yet, in Arabelle’s whisper, the shape of grief bends—toward memory, toward roots, toward something that might still grow.
🎬 SCENE: “Three Warnings at the Threshold” — Martikov Cellar Refuge, Wizard of Wines Winery, Nevyar 10, Stormfall
🕯️ CAMERA OPENS on the stone cellar as the party begins to gather gear, adjust cloaks, and sheath blades. The storm still mutters above, and the mood feels like a held breath—poised on the edge of something older than decision.
Davian Martikov moves toward the hatch that leads into the old wine tunnel. His boots echo against damp floor. His face is stern, framed in shadow and urgency.
He raises one weathered finger.
DAVIAN: “First thing you need to know: The tunnel passes through a mold cavern. Brown mold. We use it to chill the wine. But it’s no gentle fungus.”
🪵 CAMERA PANS to a map sketch on the wine barrel lid, showing a corridor veined with fungal patches.
DAVIAN: “Stick to the center path. Don’t touch it. Don’t attack it. And for the love of all that still breathes—don’t poke it. It feeds off heat, not mercy.”
Silverleaf and Felonious exchange glances. Muriel mutters:
MURIEL: “Mold born of winter’s hunger…”
Davian raises a second finger.
🌩️ Thunder cracks faintly above.
DAVIAN: “Second warning. The druids can conjure thunder’s wrath. If you fail to down one quickly, they’ll howl the others in with lightning on their heels.”
He glances at Clarion and Ireena, voice low.
DAVIAN: “Same goes for loud spells. You fire off something flashy, they’ll hear it. They’ll come ready to shred. That said—storm’s on your side. It’ll mask steel and footfall. But don’t rely on it more than your own silence.”
Fleetwood nods once. Felonious fingers a charm. Greegan mutters:
GREEGAN: “Quiet as a hunt, loud as a kill.”
Davian lifts a final finger, eyes narrowing.
🔥 His gaze shifts to Felonious, then to Arabelle—who raises an eyebrow and twirls her hat, a sly smile flickering.
DAVIAN: “Third and final warning—this winery’s built from old wood and older stubbornness. If you throw flame… you better aim true.”
He steps close.
DAVIAN: “Swear to me, spellcaster—no wild fireballs. No heat spells in a building older than most of your gods. Not unless you want your hero story told posthumously.”
Felonious smirks.
FELONIOUS : “Wouldn’t dream of flaming like a fool.”
🕯️ CAMERA FINDS ARABELLE leaning against the cellar wall, feather in hand. She presses it into the map’s inked corridor, leaving a faint spiral of ash. Her voice is soft, but it cuts through:
ARABELLE: “Three warnings. Three doors. Mold that drinks warmth. Thunder that drinks silence. And fire that drinks memory.”
She looks at Davian, then the party, her tone half childlike, half ancient.
ARABELLE: “Choose wrong, and the land won’t forgive. Choose right… and it might remember you kindly.”
Davian points toward the tunnel.
DAVIAN: “Then you’re ready. Mold below. Blight above. And thunder if you’re slow.”
End credits play over: Shadows of Dread | Unofficial Curse of Strahd Soundtrack | 1h Thematic Combat Music | Loop