Beginning credits play over: Transylvania 1887
🎬 Opening Credits: Melodic War Productions presents
🕯️ 0:00–0:08 | Title Reveal: The Root Awakens
A single lantern swings from a crooked post above Krezk’s gate—its flame steady despite the wind. Beneath it, bootprints vanish into churned snow. Lavender bundles hang from doorposts. A raven watches from the wall.
The screen exhales: BAROVIA, carved into a moss‑eaten milestone.
The camera pans to a frostbitten signpost: Zmei – 3 miles.
The wind groans.
🌲 0:09–0:20 | The Village Holds Its Breath
Krezk’s cottages huddle close, their steep roofs dusted with snow. Smoke curls from chimneys. Children peer from behind curtains.
A scarecrow stands at the edge of the square, its chest pierced with a card: The Innocent.
The mist parts. The soil hums.
🚶♂️ 0:21–0:33 | The Travelers Settle
Fleetwood (Richard Armitage) sharpens his blade beneath a frost‑covered arch, eyes scanning the treeline.
Clarion (Gwendoline Christie) kneels beside a coughing elder, voice low as she recounts the tale of Saint Markovia.
Silverleaf (Tatiana Maslany) listens, gaze distant, fingers brushing frost from a raven feather.
Felonious (Ben Whishaw) sketches sigils in the snow, each fading like breath.
Greegan (Matt Ryan) rolls his bone dice—they clatter against a stone step, revealing The Healer and The Broken One.
Ireena Kolyana (Tamsin Mackenzie) walks with the spirit mirror uncovered, its surface rippling.
Arabelle (Cailee Spaeny) pauses at a roadside shrine, placing a sprig of lavender. The mist curls upward, forming a spiral that lingers.
🌫️ 0:34–0:46 | The Road to Zmei
The party leaves Krezk behind. Pines lean inward, their branches clawing at the path.
A broken milestone reads: ZMEI – 1 mile.
A child’s doll lies half‑buried in the snow, its porcelain face cracked.
A crow circles overhead, cawing once—sharp, warning.
🏚️ 0:47–0:58 | Zmei, Devoured by Silence
The ruined village emerges: roofs collapsed, doors hanging open, frost clinging to shattered windows.
A crooked well stands in the square, its rope frayed and frozen.
A card flutters from a broken beam: The Ghost.
The chapel bell sways though no wind touches it.
🛡️ 0:59–1:10 | Argynvostholt Rises
Beyond Zmei, the fortress looms—its towers broken, its battlements crumbling.
The silver dragon sigil above the gate is half‑erased by moss.
The doors hang open, groaning softly.
Inside, the great hall lies in ruin: shattered stained glass, a fallen chandelier, a hearth long cold.
A raven lands on the balcony and screams.
The final card drifts into frame: The Avenger.
🎭 Starring
Richard Armitage as Fleetwood
Gwendoline Christie as Clarion
Tatiana Maslany as Silverleaf
Ben Whishaw as Felonious
Matt Ryan as Greegan
Tomasin Mackenzie as Ireena Kolyana
Cailee Spaeny as Arabelle
Morena Baccarin as Ezmerelda d’Avineir
with:
Jared Harris as Brother Marek
🎼 Main Title by Alan Silvestri
COLD OPEN BEGINS:
ARGYNVOSTHOLT - Western Wing
Background Music: Ruins of Argynvostholt | Unofficial Curse of Strahd Soundtrack | 1h TTRPG Background Music | Loop
INT. RUINED BEDCHAMBER – LATE AFTERNOON
ANGLE ON the jagged remains of a noble suite, its grandeur drowned beneath shattered timber and dust. Sunlight filters through broken beams, casting fractured patterns on the wreckage. The camera glides behind GREEGAN, poised on a trembling plank.
CLOSE ON GREEGAN’S FACE
His bravado is quieter now, edged with tension. He eyes each step with care, breath shallow.
GREEGAN: (softly, to himself) “One step at a time. No ghosts yet.”
WIDE SHOT
He navigates the wreckage like a dancer on a rotted stage. The floor groans, but it holds.
CLOSE ON the satchel nestled beneath fractured beams—Brother Marek’s satchel, embossed with a faint celestial sigil.
GREEGAN: (kneeling) “There you are, troublemaker.”
He lifts the satchel. A hush. Then—
SFX: A thunderous CRACK.
CUT TO: PARTY – JUST OUTSIDE THE DOORWAY
Dust bursts outward. Timbers shift.
EZMERELDA: (alarmed) “Greegan, move!”
INT. BEDCHAMBER – CONTINUOUS
The floor begins to collapse inward, like a sinkhole swallowing memory.
GREEGAN: (clutching the satchel, eyes darting) “Not like this—”
A CHOICE—visibly etched across his features.
SLOW MOTION:
He hurls the satchel toward the hallway—CLARION dives and catches it.
In one fluid motion, Greegan leaps for the doorway. A beam lashes his thigh—he grunts, stumbles, grabs a stone sconce.
SFX: WOOD COLLAPSING LIKE ROARING WATER
He scrambles out just as the room implodes behind him, coughing, blood streaked down his leg.
FELONIOUS: (rushing forward) “You left the party dramatically. Respect.”
EZMERELDA: (tending his wound) “Next time we send the bird.”
GREEGAN: (wincing, through a smile) “No regrets. I made a trade. Weight for life.”
CLARION: “And the satchel made it. Brother Marek’s secrets live on.”
PUSH IN ON GREEGAN
Sweat-soaked and bruised, he watches dust settle where he nearly died. His hand grazes the sigil on the satchel now in Clarion’s arms.
GREEGAN: (quietly) “Hope it was worth it.”
FADE TO BLACK.
🎬 Scene Title: “Echoes of Devotion”
Episode 9, Act VI – Western Wing Aftermath
INT. ARGYNVOSTHOLT – OUTSIDE THE BEDCHAMBER – TWILIGHT
The ruined doorway yawns behind them like a scar. Dust settles in streaks on the floor, lit by a warm spill of amber light. Greegan sits with his back against the corridor wall, bloodied, bruised, and thoroughly alive.
CLARION: (cautiously unlatches the satchel) “Let’s see what Brother Marek risked a lifetime for…”
ANGLE ON: Clarion pulls out a small, leather-bound prayer book, faded by time. No jewels. No scrolls. Just weathered pages and an iron clasp carved with the sign of the Dawn Father.
CLARION: (quietly) “That’s it. Just this.”
GREEGAN: (grimaces, then chuckles) “That better be one hell of a prayer.”
IREENA: (kneeling beside him, eyes wide) “Greegan, that was incredible! The timing, the leap—the heroic anguish! It was like watching a legend take its first breath!”
GREEGAN: (winces) “The legend’s got splinters in places he didn’t know had skin.”
EZMERELDA: (leans against the wall, arms folded) “Not bad… for someone whose relationship with gravity is borderline toxic.”
FELONIOUS: (mock serious, approaching) “We almost lost our comedy relief. Tragedy and prayer books in one day? The ratings would plummet.”
CLARION: (flipping through the pages) “There’s writing. His own hand. Margins filled with notes. Names… regrets.”
SILVERLEAF: (glances once at Greegan) “You retrieved what was needed. The rest was expected.”
GREEGAN: (dryly, through a grimace) “Glad to meet your expectations. Wouldn’t want my near-death to be disappointing.”
IREENA: (laughing, touching his arm gently) “You weren’t disappointing. You were... perfect.”
CAMERA PULLS BACK
The party stands amidst the crumbled history of Argynvostholt, prayer book in hand, the ruins behind them sighing with old silence. Greegan exhales, looking up at the cracked ceiling.
GREEGAN: (softly) “If Brother Marek was praying for a fool, he got one.”
🎬 Scene Title: “The Silent Witness”
Argynvostholt, Upper Floor
INT. STONE STAIRWELL – DAY
The party climbs the narrow spiral staircase. Dust sheds with every step. The silver familiar perches on Felonious’s shoulder, wings tucked and eyes alert. A hush settles.
INT. UPPER CHAPEL – CONTINUOUS
They emerge into the Upper Chapel—a ruined sanctum stretched beneath vaulted beams and fractured stone. Light slants through narrow slits in the wall, catching on shards of broken pews and a toppled altar.
No voices speak. But the silence has gravity.
FLEETWOOD: (low, reverent) “Something happened here. Something final.”
CLARION: “Or sacred enough to linger.”
Arabelle walks ahead, her hand trailing across the old altar. She closes her eyes. The silver flame flickers beside her.
ARABELLE: “He’s near. I feel him watching.”
INT. UPSTAIRS GALLERY – MOMENTS LATER
The corridor widens into a long, solemn gallery. The party steps in slowly—light shifting as the mood deepens.
CAMERA SWEEP
Background Music shifts: The Abbot | Unofficial Curse of Strahd OST | 1h Dark Orchestral & Piano Theme Music | Loop
Dark wood paneling creeps halfway up the walls, carved with faded filigree.
Above that: murals—religious figures locked in rites of passage. A baptism. A healing. A burial where the soul glows as it rises.
At the far end, a tattered curtain sways slightly despite the stillness.
In the center: a radiant scene—a luminous angel descends from the heavens between them. His wings are stretched wide, his robes rippling with divine gravity.
— The old man looks up, eyes awash in reverence.
— The young woman bows her head, hands clasped tight, eyes closed in solemn prayer.
— Between them, the angel lowers a silver statuette into the woman’s open hands, and in that instant, the sunlight gathers and pulses—the statuette glows with the same brilliance encircling the angel’s head.
IREENA: (stepping close to the windows) “Andral… Saint Markovia. It’s not the Morninglord...” (not quite certain) “But that angel—he looks just like the Abbot.”
She touches the glass with gentle reverence. The sunlight behind her casts golden flecks across the floor.
FELONIOUS: “They’re watching. Or waiting.”
EZMERELDA: (softly) “Marek haunts this gallery?”
ARABELLE: (eyes still closed) “Not here. Just beside it. He waits between breath and shadow.”
She lifts Brother Marek’s prayer book, resting it in the beam of light beneath the Morninglord’s image.
ARABELLE (CONT’D): “Let’s see if he’s ready to speak.”
The silver dragon chirps once—quiet, clear, crystalline. And the curtain moves.
Not from wind.
From invitation.
🎬 Scene Title: “Cold Fire, Warm Voice”
Argynvostholt, Upstairs Gallery
INT. UPSTAIRS GALLERY – DAY
Sunlight slants through the stained-glass windows depicting two kneeling figures and an angel descending between them. Dust coils gently in the rays. The party stands still, breath caught in anticipation.
CLOSE ON FELONIOUS as the spirit dragon stirs, lifts off his shoulder, and glides forward on quiet wings.
FELONIOUS: (startled) “Where are you going, little flame?”
The dragon flutters toward the ancient torch sconces flanking the central window. With a trill like glass chiming in wind, it rears back—and breathes a stream of silver fire into each bowl.
SFX: FWOOMPH — COLD IGNITION
The torches flare to life with cold silver flames, flickering without heat. The gallery is bathed in moonlight-hued luminescence, casting pale halos across the murals and stained-glass.
ANGLE ON CLARION
She kneels with Brother Marek’s prayer book clasped gently in her hands. The light from the torches illuminates the marked page—its ink old but stubborn, scrawled with practiced reverence.
CLARION: (reading aloud)
“O Light that dwells not in flame nor sun nor star,
but in the unseen breath between,
we seek your grace.
Let memory be our shield,
and devotion our blade.”
A hush falls. The silver fire pulses once.
ARABELLE: (softly, trance-like) “He heard that.”
The tattered curtain at the west doorway shifts. There’s no wind. No hand.
EZMERELDA: “That’s not just a passage. It’s a threshold.”
GREEGAN: (sitting heavily, still nursing bruises) “Then let’s see if the ghost behind it wants conversation… or confession.”
🌁 Scene Title: “The Waking Glass”
Argynvostholt, Upstairs Gallery
INT. UPSTAIRS GALLERY – CONTINUOUS
Background Music shifts: Order of the Silver Dragon | Unofficial Curse of Strahd Soundtrack | 1h TTRPG Theme Music | Loop
The cold silver flames flicker, casting elongated shadows across the polished bones of the ruined chamber. All eyes turn toward the left stained-glass window, depicting a robed man kneeling beneath an angel’s outstretched hand.
The hues of orange and azure begin to animate—first flickering like candlelight, then spilling across the glass like molten color. The man within the glass twitches. His fingers flex as if made from quartz and regret.
ANGLE ON THE WINDOW
With deliberate slowness, the figure rises to stand, no longer frozen in holy supplication. The folds of his robe ripple as though stirred by a spectral wind.
He lifts his head and locks eyes with the party—or rather, with something ancient stirring behind their gaze.
STAINED-GLASS MAN (Jared Harris) : (voice echoing, distant; glass quivering) “This husk is as cold as I recall.” (beat) “Why do you fill its broken halls with benedictions it forsook?”
The gallery vibrates like a string drawn taut, every shimmer of flame catching fractured reflections in the man’s crystalline face.
CLARION: (quietly, thumbing the prayer book’s spine) “He remembers the betrayal.”
FELONIOUS: (breathless) “Not a memory trapped in glass. A sentinel.”
EZMERELDA: (reaching for her weapon but pausing) “Or a judge.”
GREEGAN: (watching the figure stiffen) “We came with reverence. Not repentance.”
STAINED-GLASS MAN: (voice darkening; a low tremor like breaking ice)
“Then name the vow you honor here… and name the one you broke.”
The other stained-glass figures remain still. But veins of light begin pulsing through their contours—like hearts considering whether to beat again.
FADE OUT.
—
🎬 Scene Title: “A Shard of the Divine”
Argynvostholt, Upstairs Gallery
INT. UPSTAIRS GALLERY – CONTINUOUS
The gallery burns with cold silver fire. Reflections ripple in the stained-glass windows. The leftmost figure stirs—a robed man who now stands within the confines of the glass, animated by spectral light.
CLOSE ON CLARION
She steps forward, prayer book cradled against her chest. Her voice echoes softly.
CLARION: “Brother Marek… Who is the angel in the window?”
CAMERA SHIFT – STAINED GLASS
The robed man turns. His voice reverberates across the chamber, tinged with grief and grace.
BROTHER MAREK: (distant, echoing) “The figure you see… the one I now echo… is Saint Andral. Once Moste High Priest of the Church of the Morninglord.”
He raises a flickering hand within the glass—toward the central panel, where a radiant angel descends between two kneeling figures.
BROTHER MAREK (CONT’D): “That is Ithuriel, the Dawnbringer. The Morninglord’s emissary, forged from dawn and mercy. And the woman… Saint Markovia, kneeling with closed eyes—she was a warrior, tempered by suffering.”
CAMERA PANS TO THE WINDOWS
Sunlight streams through the depiction. The silver statuette glows in the angel’s hands as it touches Markovia’s.
BROTHER MAREK (V.O.): “This mural captures her anointment. In that moment, Ithuriel placed a shard of his divinity into the icon he bestowed. She became not merely a servant—but a voice.”
A pause. The light deepens.
ARABELLE: (to Clarion) “Prophet of the Morninglord.”
FLEETWOOD: “And the shard… does it still exist?”
BROTHER MAREK: (quietly) “It remembers… even if few now do.”
He turns back toward them—his eyes in the glass heavy with eternal vigilance.
BROTHER MAREK (CONT’D): “If you chase the devil’s end… you must learn the truths his shadow never dared to swallow.”
Scene: The Shrine of the Stained Vow
BROTHER MAREK: (quiet, reverent) “You come bearing relics… but you bear too late. The valley bled dry while we prayed and died. The Order of the Silver Dragon failed. And for that failure… damnation was our only reward.”
He lifts his ghostly gaze. The chapel grows colder.
BROTHER MAREK (continued): “There is no redemption for us. No resurrection. No light. The shadow you chase is not Strahd—it is the echo of our cowardice.”
FELONIOUS (stepping forward): “We came to end the shadow. You speak as though hope has no place here.”
BROTHER MAREK: (his voice rises, trembling with bitterness) “Hope? You dare speak that word in this grave? I have stood knee deep in mud and bone, and filled my lungs with pyres’ ash. I have seen knights of valor fall, oaths shattered with their bodies and blades. I have dug trenches for the refugees; I have prayed for their deliverance, and waited for salvation that never came.”
He moves forward—not walking, but pressing through the air like a memory too heavy to fade.
BROTHER MAREK (intensely): “Hope is but a lie on the wind—a worm that devours the hearts of men. There is no escape from this Hell while Strahd von Zarovich yet lives.”
Silence follows, thick and aching. It is Ireena, hands trembling, who breaks it.
IREENA: (softly) “Then we must become what the Order could not.”
A beat. Marek stares at her—an echo of faith flickering within the haunted glass.
BROTHER MAREK: (quietly, almost unsure) “Then let your blade speak louder than your prayer.”
Scene: The Chapel’s Breathless Silence
Setting: Inside the ruined shrine, lit only by moonlight fractured through broken glass. The air hums with frost. Brother Marek’s spectral image flickers above a cracked dais of stone. The scent of old incense mingles with the cold rot of time.
CLARION: (steps forward, voice steady but aching) “We didn’t ask for this. We didn’t come to prove anything. The mists took us—tore us from our homeland and cast us into this place. And whether we are chosen or condemned, we stand here because something beyond us refuses to let Strahd rule unchallenged.”
Marek’s expression shifts—a shadow passing across translucent eyes.
CLARION (continued): “We’ve returned St. Andral’s bones to rest. Faced one of Strahd’s brides in battle and buried another. We’ve seen what remains of the angel who dared defy him—and what such defiance costs.”
She opens her palm, revealing the Holy Symbol of Ravenloft—its light pulsing faintly. Then, the Tome of Strahd, tethered in shadow.
CLARION (quietly): “Two artifacts Madame Eva foretold lie in our hands. And even with those relics, we’re not enough. Not yet.”
She meets Marek’s haunted gaze.
CLARION (resolute): “But Argynvost still lingers. His flame—his justice—was not meant to fade. We need his guidance, not for glory or absolution… but because we cannot do this alone.”
A long silence. Then, slowly, Marek’s image grows sharper, as if drawn back into focus by her conviction.
BROTHER MAREK: (hoarse, flickering) “You call upon a dragon who turned his gaze from mercy to vengeance. He did not save this land. He burned in it.”
CLARION (without flinching): “Then let his ashes speak.”
BROTHER MAREK: (somber, distant) “Better warriors than you have marched on Castle Ravenloft, And yet their work has only swelled the ranks of the dead, while the vampire still rules from his shadowed towers.”
A gust of wind passes through the chapel, ruffling dust.
BROTHER MAREK (continued): “When the Order’s fallen marched four centuries ago, the seer—Madam Eva—told them this land had become an eternal prison, forever bound in the Mists. We did not believe her. We do now.”
He pauses—then turns toward the adventurers.
GREEGAN: (grinning, cocky) “I’ve got out of worse jails than this. With my hands tied.”
Laughter clatters in the silence. Marek does not smile.
BROTHER MAREK: (measured, deliberate) “Then break these chains with more than bravado. Seek out the younger of the twin dragons that linger above. Reignite the silver flame it once wielded, and remind it of the oath it once served.”
He begins to kneel—slowly, returning the stained-glass figure to its ancient pose of reverence.
BROTHER MAREK: (final words, fading) “Do this, and the memory of the Silver Dragon may return to fill it once more.”
The spirit flickers—then vanishes with a chill rush of wind and flickering candlelight. The glass freezes in place, a knight forever bowed before a shattered altar.
Silence.
Scene: The Pact Beneath Pale Sky
Background Music Shifts: Elegy | Patrick Cassidy and Lisa Gerrard | Immortal Memory
The decision hangs between them like a blade: vengeance, prophecy, survival.
FLEETWOOD : (resigned) “In for a kopec, in for a Royal. We’re all in agreement, then. The Nosferatu must die?”
FELONIOUS: (dry) “I thought we agreed that when we first saw this land.”
GREEGAN: (smirking) “I’ll go to the funeral if lunch is provided.”
CLARION: (distant) “I never got to ask him about the amber…”
SILVERLEAF: (focused) “It will be the greatest hunt of my life.”
EZMERELDA: (stepping into the circle, eyes fierce) “And the only one worth dying for. He took my teacher. My home. I swore to make him choke on his legacy.”
(She lays a silver stake across her palm—unspoken oath made manifest.)
ARABELLE: (quietly, from the edge of the group) “My Baba Eva says the threads are winding faster now.” (She gazes toward the peaks, voice like candlelight) “Barovia is bound to him—but not all chains last forever. Maybe you are the breaking.”
IREENA: (voice trembling, but resolved) “I’ve seen his eyes in my dreams. Felt his voice in my spine.” (She grips her blade tighter.) “If this is the only way my soul will ever be mine again… then yes. The vampire must fall.”
🎬 Scene Title: “Ghosts of Stone and Silence”
Episode 10, Montage – Argynvostholt Exploration
MUSIC CUE: Ruins of Argynvostholt | Unofficial Curse of Strahd Soundtrack | 1h TTRPG Background Music | Loop
VISUAL MONTAGE
— The camera sweeps through a RUINED BATHROOM: porcelain cracked, mirror shattered in lace-like webs. A claw-foot tub tilts sideways as dust spirals in shafts of light. Fleeting reflections flit through the glass, then vanish.
— Cut to a ROOM WITH A COLLAPSED CEILING, where broken beams rest like ribs above the party’s heads. Ezmerelda scans the edges, Greegan balances across a precarious board, and Arabelle turns her eyes upward to hear… something unseen.
— Another door creaks open to reveal BEDROOMS AS PRECARIOUS AS THOSE BELOW: mattresses blackened by mold, dressing gowns stiff with centuries of disuse. Ireena pauses at a child’s wooden toy—its smile worn away by time. She doesn’t touch it.
— The group enters a RUINED AUDIENCE HALL: grand pillars cracked like old teeth, a crumbling dais where silence once gave way to command. Tattered banners droop like mourning veils. Clarion steps across the rubble, her footsteps echoing far louder than they should.
— A wide shot captures them from above: eight figures picked from ash, framed against a backdrop of rot and fading grandeur.
VOICEOVER – BROTHER MAREK (V.O.): “This fortress does not grieve. It remembers. And memory is colder than death.”
🎬 Scene Title: “Ashes of Honor”
Episode 10, Act II – Argynvostholt, Study Room
INT. ARGYNVOSTHOLT – THE STUDY – DUSK
A solemn hush falls over the chamber. Dust dances where light bleeds through broken glass. The study, once a place of strategy and lore, is now a hollow witness to time’s indifference.
CAMERA TRACKING SHOT:
Each character scans the room with quiet reverence, tempered by disappointment.
CLARION: “The silence is louder than it should be.”
FLEETWOOD: “The knights are gone. And with them, the truth.”
IREENA: “Not even a ledger. They wanted this place forgotten.”
EZMERELDA: “Then let’s remember louder.
ANGLE ON FELONIOUS”
He slows near the fireplace, something tugging at him. Fingers brush past ash and shattered wood. A glint. A corner of parchment.
FELONIOUS: (softly) “Here.”
CLOSE-UP — THE PAGE
Cracked, brittle. Draconic script etched by a hand steadied in defiance.
FELONIOUS (CONT’D) (reading aloud)
“My knights have fallen, and this land is lost. The armies of my enemy will not be stopped by sword or spell, claw or fang. Today I will die, not avenging those who have fallen, but defending that which I love—this valley, this home, and the ideals of the Order of the Silver Dragon.
The evil surrounds me. The time has come to throw off this guise and show these heathens my true fearsome form. Let it spark terror in their hearts! Let them tell their stories of dark triumph against the protector of the Balinok Mountains! Let Argynvost be remembered as a dragon of honor and valor.
I do not fear death. I have laid down my trappings beneath the tower’s watchful gaze, so that others may carry my legacy in my stead. Though my body will die, my spirit will live on where the oath and fire of the Silver Dragon survive. Let it serve as a beacon of light against the darkness. Let it bring hope to a land fraught with despair.
Now, to battle!”
The room holds its breath.
SILVERLEAF: “He faced it alone.”
ARABELLE: “Not for revenge… but for love.”
GREEGAN: “That’s not loss. That’s legacy.”
CLARION: (resolute) “Then we make sure his words don’t fade.”
WIDE SHOT
The characters stand like statues under the weight of memory. Somewhere in the distance, a faint hum—as if something ancient has stirred.
FADE OUT.
🎬 Scene Title: “What the Wall Remembers”
Episode 10, Act II – Argynvostholt, Study Room
INT. ARGYNVOSTHOLT – STUDY ROOM – NIGHTFALL
The party turns to leave, shadows stretching long as the sun fades. Footsteps echo, softened by dust. But Felonious stops—head tilted, eyes closing briefly, inhaling something deeper than scent.
CLOSE-UP:
The silver wyrmling perched on his shoulder chitters—sharp, inquisitive. Felonious nods, almost mirroring Silverleaf in wild intuition.
FELONIOUS: (murmuring) “Yes... your master hid it well. From them. But not from me.”
He pivots. The others watch as he strides to a tattered portrait, its canvas dulled by time. The painting shows Argynvostholt in vibrant detail—lush valley, banners billowing, towers unbroken.
ANGLE ON PORTRAIT:
Felonious lifts it free. Behind it, stone gives way to a small wooden panel, expertly concealed.
FELONIOUS (CONT’D): “Greegan, would you care to do the honors?”
GREEGAN: (smiling, already unslinging tools) “Thought you’d never ask.”
TENSE BEAT:
He kneels, fingers gliding over the seam. A deft twist, a whispered test. Then a click.
The door creaks open to reveal contents untouched by time.
INSERT – COMPARTMENT ITEMS:
A parchment scroll, sealed with the sigil of the Silver Dragon.
A silver bracelet, etched with protective runes.
A block of white stone, smooth and cool, hinting at celestial origin.
A silver tablet, engraved in ancient Draconic—its text barely visible in the dim light.
A banner, folded meticulously—showing the crest of Argynvost and the Order.
And nestled in a hollow within the mortar...
The silver hilt of a rapier, exquisite in detail, draconic motifs winding along its grip. Its blade, strangely absent, appears to stretch into the wall itself.
ARABELLE: “That sword... it’s inside the wall?”
FELONIOUS : (softly) “No. It’s waiting.”
SILVERLEAF: “Then it’s waiting for the right hand to finish drawing it.”
CLARION: “Or the right story to be worthy of it.”
CAMERA PANS — PARTY FACES
Each expression carries wonder, weight, and realization: Argynvost’s legacy is more than memory—it’s still choosing its champions.
FADE TO BLACK.
End credits play over: Ruins of Argynvostholt | Unofficial Curse of Strahd Soundtrack | 1h TTRPG Background Music | Loop