The Galen Saga, Part the First: A Babe and a Carnival

[Drinnik Shoehorn]

The wind and rain battered the lonely Barovian town of Vallaki. It hit the window panes of the Malodorous Goat Tavern with such force that young Evee Beiderbecke thought that they might break. She sat on her own in the corner of the tavern and looked at the other patrons. Rumours abut the strange collection of people who frequented the tavern had spread through out the town, she had no idea why she had decided to come here tonight, but, she mused, it was better than staying in. In actuality, it was not far off dawn, but the Goat rarely closed its doors. Her brother was being looked after by a friend and Evee needed the company. She was a bright young girl, always quick to smile and laugh. Now, though, she was frightened. The wind howled around the old building. The occasional flash of lightning illuminated the street, making the bookshop opposite the tavern seem a ghostly white.

She was aware of someone watching her. She looked and caught the eye of a well muscled half elf. A rarity in Barovia, half elves where seen as something to either pity or attack. Here in this tavern, he seemed content. Not completely at ease, but more settled than he would in other taverns around the country. She smiled and winked at him. He blushed and looked at his drink. She looked at the rest of the patrons. There was an elderly man with greenish hair in deep discussion with a halfling. The older man looked at the halfling with an expression of half amusement, half genuine compassion.

A man with a greenish tint to his skin stood at the bar. He had not removed his armour and seemed anxious for some reason. Evee sighed; this was truly the place for her. She did not know her place in the world yet, and reasoned, with the assuredness of youth, that she would find it in a tavern, for that is where all great adventures started. The door to the tavern slammed open, shaking Evee from her reverie. A man with strangely indefinable features came in carrying a bundle of rags. He placed it in front of the fire and sat on one of the comfier chairs that had been placed near it. A strange cooing noise came from the bundle and the man reached down and said something softly to the rags. He looked up and noticed Evee looking at him. He grinned foolishly and gestured to the rags, shrugging. Evee stood and walked over. To her surprise a baby was swaddled in the rags. She looked questioningly at the man, “It’s a poor parent who brings a baby into a tavern, especially this one,” she said playfully.

The man grinned again, “Fortunately, that isn’t my problem. It’s not my baby.”

Evee frowned, “What?”

The man picked the baby up, “I found it, outside on the step before I came in. It was just lying there, swaddled in these rags, poor thing.” The baby began to cry, attracting the attention of most of the tavern. A young woman with auburn hair walked over and started fussing over the baby.

“Oh, Brom!” she squealed, “You never told me you had a baby!”

Brom laughed, “Does it look like me, Jeris?”

The girl looked at the baby. Indeed it did not look like Brom; it did not look like any baby she had ever seen. It looked about two months old, but had grey skin and a shock of white fuzz covering its young head. “He’s so sweet!” Evee said.

Brom grinned again, “You like him so much, you can have him. I can’t afford to look after a baby.”

A hand rested on Jeris’ shoulder. “An unusual babe indeed,” a voice rumbled, “But are you sure it’s a boy at all?”

“I never checked,” Brom confessed, “I just assumed.”

“You should assume nothing,” the man said, walking past Jeris. He took the baby from Brom, “A mother will be looking for her child. We’d better make sure we give her the right one when we find it.”

The green-skinned man gently removed the rag serving as the baby’s nappy. He gasped. “What?” Evee asked, “What is it?”

The man turned, “By the gods, this baby has no sex.” He showed them the baby’s smooth skin. Nothing marred it; the baby simply was neither male nor female.

The older man and the halfling stopped talking, “What?” the man said.

“The baby has no bits,” the halfling said, taking a swig from his glass. “Really, Trebor, I would have thought you’d hear that. They’re making a lot of noise.”

The man identified as Trebor stood and walked over to the group, the halfling following him. “Lady’s grace!” he exclaimed as he saw the child, “You’re right.”

The half elf Evee had seen earlier came over to the group. He touched Evee’s elbow and smiled. She was hugging herself, truthfully she was frightened. The baby unnerved her somehow. Its sudden arrival at somewhere that had the reputation of the Malodorous Goat was something unusual in itself. She sat with the half elf who introduced himself as Castor Ravenwood. He smiled sheepishly at her, his countenance at odds with his attire. He was dressed as a warrior, a man ready for battle, all though in Barovia his armour was probably to protect him against the slings and arrows of the populace rather than any evil threat.

Evee watched as the green skinned man, who she discovered was named Grigg Deadbreaker, argued with Trebor. Grigg wanted to take the child to the shelter of a church, but Trebor argued that something as unusual as the babe should be taken somewhere where freaks were known, the Carnival. Minntt argued that the Carnival arriving the day previously and the babe’s arrival could not be coincidental. Castor agreed, saying he had a friend who travelled with the circus who might be able to help. The halfling, who Evee learnt was not actually a halfling but some creature named a “kender,” something akin to a halfling, but separate enough to warrant the distinction, watched the argument with little to no interest. It bounced the babe absently on his knee. Brom had since handed over the babe and was in discussion with a man whose tonsured head marked him as a monk wearing a white robe with an owl’s face embroidered on the cuffs.

“It needs a name,” the kender said. “Everyone’s got a name, except him… her… whatever.”

“Well, big boy,” Evee smiled knocked Castor’s arm with her hand, “what shall we call this little one?”

Castor flushed red at Evee’s nickname. “I-I had a companion back home. A stalwart cleric friend named Galen,” he swallowed, “What about that? Galen was a true person, a better name for a newborn I can’t think.”

The kender smiled, “Galen. I like it.” He turned the babe to face him, “You, little one, are called Galen. Galen Vallaki after this place we found you.”

Evee wrinkled her nose, “Galen Vallaki?”

The kender grinned, “It’s better than Galen Malodorous or Galen Goat.”

Trebor’s raised voice suddenly caught their attention, “I will not hand the child over to a church, especially one as fragile as the Cult of the Morninglord.”

Brom and the monk walked over, interrupting Trebor, “Oscar here said that there’s a monastery in Mordent, a place the child will be safe. Obviously none of us can look after it, what with our occupations and some of our… special needs.”

Trebor nodded, “Fine, but we go to the Carnival first.” He sighed, “Drinnik, stop making ridiculous noises.”

The kender made a face at Trebor, “What?”


So it was decided that the group would take the child to the Carnival. Leaving for the crowd where Evee, Castor, Brom and his friend Jasper of the Nine Lives, Jeris, Drinnik, Trebor, Grigg, Oscar and Oscar’s travelling companion, a man named Javier Phengernon. The Carnival had set up on the outskirts of Vallaki. Like all of Barovia, the Vallaki citizens feared the night. The ten where the only people on the streets. Trebor whistled a jaunty tune.

They arrived at the Carnival, the gaudy lights and colours assaulting their eyes, the smells and sounds attacking their other senses. Evee was amazed; she had never guessed such a thing as the Carnival had ever existed. She had heard stories of a travelling show, but Carnival outlived her dreams tenfold. The group walked towards the circus and were greeted by a man who was dressed like a jolly undertaker. His striped suit and top hat where purple, as was his cape. His dextrous finger’s curled a slender cane behind his back. He smiled broadly at the group.

“Greetings one and all! Welcome to Carnival! A better show in the Land of Mists there is not! We have freaks, geeks and treats all to dazzle the mind and tempt the purse! I am Tindal; I will be your guide today!” The man said.

Castor bowed his head to the man, “We come seeking information. I need to speak to a, damn what’s the word? Trouper! I need to speak to a trouper named Jack Frost. I’m an old acquaintance.”

Tindal cocked his head to one side, “What do you want with Jack, George?”

“He’s an acquaintance. He might know something about my current situation.”

“And what situation is that?” Tindal said, his lopsided smirk never fading, as if he knew the punch line to the greatest joke.

“That’s between us and Jack,” Trebor said, pushing his way to the front of the group.

Tindal’s grin froze. His brow creased in a frown. “Jack’s in the middle of a performance. It is not prudent to interrupt a show. Please leave and come back later.”

Tindal turned on his heel and stomped off angrily. A shadow detached it’s self from a near-by vardo and walked towards the group. A man dressed in white with white face paint smiled at the group. “Ignore Tindal. Follow me. My name is Monsieur Gris-Gris and I will be your guide,” the man said with a thick Dementlieuse accent.

Trebor looked disdainfully at the proffered hand. He raised one eyebrow in a high arch. “Our guide to what?”

“The Carnival, of course,” Gris-Gris smiled. There was a glint in his eye that Evee didn’t like.

Next to her, Drinnik bounced the babe gently. She looked at Castor nervously. A frown played across the half-elf’s face. Gris-Gris bowed to the group. He launched into a pre-prepared speech about the marvels of the Carnival. Evee only listened with half an ear. The sights and sounds of the Carnival overwhelmed her. She caught Jeris’ eye, only to see that the other girl was in as much wonder as her. Gris-Gris lead them through the Carnival, pausing at such attractions as “Ronin Thunder,” “Wood-n-Head” and “The Imp.” Evee was amazed with everything, but she could see that some of the group were not as impressed as she was. There was a commotion to the side of her. Drinnik looked slightly flustered. The pink light of dawn started to peak over the mountains.

“Is there somewhere where I can, urm, change the baby?” Drinnik asked.

A white face Vistani boy appeared from no where. Evee was shocked, it was like her had just blinked into existence. The boy gestured to Drinnik, the kender smiled and followed. Evee watched as the boy took them to a vardo. The girl turned her attention back to the group. Castor was talking to a man who looked, to Evee’s eye, very cold. His breath clouded in front of him though it was a pleasantly warm dawn. Frost played upon his hair and eyebrows, making him look as though he was dusted with flour. She could not see Gris-Gris anywhere.

Castor nodded to the cold man and walked over to the group. “Jack suggests we take the babe to the Mordentish sect of the Church of Ezra. He says that they often deal with unusual children, such as those who show signs of sorcery.”

Trebor was about to say something, more than likely a scathing retort, when he was thrown aside by an unseen force. A loud, piercing shriek filled the air. Black smoke poured from no where, forming a writhing, cowled robe. Hands with paper thin skin slipped from the sleeves. They pulled back the cowl to reveal the twisted face of an old, old woman. Her eyes blazed green and a roughly cut stone hung from her neck. Two large, curved horns protruded from the woman’s temples. She cackled, “My child! You have my child!”

She started to walk towards the vardo that contained Drinnik and Galen. Trebor, Brom and Grigg moved to intercept her. With a gesture she swept the three men aside and continued towards the caravan. Trebor stood up and frowned.

“That wasn’t very friendly,” he said. He reached into a pouch hanging from his belt and pulled out a scroll. Rattling off some arcane words that burned his tongue, he hurled five shards of light at the woman. They hit her in the back and caused her to fall to her knees. Brom pulled a flint-lock pistol from his belt and fired at the woman. The shot buried itself into her shoulder, but she barely registered it.

With shaking fingers, Evee pulled a large, old weatherworn book from her backpack. She rifled through it, her heart racing with fear. Finding the passage she wanted she began to speak. A patch of greasy, oily liquid bubbled up through the ground in front of the woman. The hag lost her footing and slipped on the grass. Grigg and Castor dived at her, swords drawn. She managed to block Grigg’s blade with an arm that seemed to be carved from a gravestone, but Castor’s sword drove through her body.

The hag threw the two men off of her, bleeding heavily. “You dare strike me! I am Arianthe; I am the Mistress of your doom!”

Trebor grinned as he pulled another scroll from his pouch, “Why do you lower-planar types always harp on about doom?”

Arianthe sneered, the started to mutter arcane words under her breath. The pair raced to finish their spell first, but Arianthe won. Trebor felt like spiders where crawling all over his skin. He looked and saw cobwebs rapidly forming over his robes and the ground, as if invisible spiders where weaving their webs. He noticed that Evee and Jeris were trapped too. Jeris fumbled with a small knife, trying to slash at the webs.

The blade caught on the sticky strands. Jeris sawed furiously, but to no avail. Trebor tried to pull the webs free, but ended up trapped. Friar Oscar and his companion charged at the Hag, Oscar brandishing his staff and Javier wielding a rapier. The pair leapt at Arianthe. She struggled under the onslaught. A flurry of blows from Oscar’s staff forced her to the ground, whilst Javier’s rapier drew violent lines of blood across her flesh. Suddenly, Oscar and Javier where thrown back by a flash of light. Arianthe cackled and continued towards the vardo that held Galen and Drinnik...