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Rahadin scrunches his nose in disgust as he discards the last body off one of Ravenloft’s high towers. This one was alive, barely clinging on to dear life, but at that moment Rahadin’s concern was only for his lord. The bastard group of rowdy adventurers had somehow gotten their hands on a holy symbol that emits pure sunlight, and Strahd Von Zarovich was now barely standing.
“My lord,” Rahadin rushes over to the other man, now doubled over, and places a hand on his shoulder. “Strahd. Are you alright?”
The count barely manages a slight nod as he attempts to control his labored breaths. Standing there in silence, Rahadin looked out into the faded blue of the valley and began to hear the fluttering of wings and feel the cool breeze that comes in with the morning sun. Dawn is nearing.
Turning his attention back to Strahd, who is now standing, he watches the man’s wounds close up right before his eyes as they’ve done countless times before. The vampire rolls his shoulders and straightens his back, smoothing out his now crumpled tunic and running a hand through his hair. He is not meeting Rahadin’s eyes but simply gazing out to where Rahadin had been staring mere moments before.
He suddenly looks weary.
Ah.
Taking in his surroundings once more, Rahadin breathes out a bitter sigh. This bloodbath had taken place on the very ledge Tatyana Federovna had jumped in her wedding dress all those years ago.
Rahadin had forgotten how the tragic memory still affects Strahd; it had been so long since they had both come up here. But of course, the past had kept its clutches on the vampire’s mind, twisting it until he could see nothing, feel nothing else but the consequences of his past mistakes.
According to the Barovian people, time supposedly heals all wounds. Bearing the gift of immortality should be a blessing then, but Rahadin fears this will never be the case for Strahd Von Zarovich. Not with all the constant reminders. Especially the ones with fiery red hair and kind eyes.
Someone...some thing out there is making sure of that, century after century.
And Rahadin wants nothing more than to end that cycle.
Snapping out of his reverie, Rahadin once again places a hand on Strahd’s shoulder. “Come, let us go inside. Dawn will break soon, and you must rest.”
Strahd turns to look at him as if just noticing his presence, eyes slightly glazed over. He gazes back out at the deep blue horizon once more, mouth slightly agape.
“When does this end…,” He breathes out softly, Rahadin barely hearing him over the gentle winds wrapping around them.
Rahadin doesn’t speak but simply stares at the other man. Strahd looks weak. Hurt. Vulnerable . More so than ever. It unnerves Rahadin.
“I tire, Rahadin. Every time… every attempt is all the same,” Strahd continues. “Every year my hope fades. They cannot kill me. They cannot free me.”
A pause.
Change the topic, quickly .
“You do not find joy in this anymore, my lord?” Rahadin attempts, but he doesn’t have to ask. He knows the answer. He’s seen the transition from joyful bloodthirst to the reserved shell of a man happen before his very eyes.
“No,” Strahd humors him with a squint of his eyes. “I fear I no longer share your enthusiasm for defeating those who make attempts on my life. Does this disappoint you, my friend?”
The implications of it do, he thinks. And yet-
“No,” Rahadin presses his lips into a thin line. “But you simply aren’t meant to meet your end at the hands of...those who claim to be heroes .” The word drips with disdain. It is a well-known fact to Rahadin that Barovia and everything that steps foot into these cursed lands is out to rob Strahd of everything he deserves. They’ve already taken too much from him.
Strahd gives a bitter smile. “What does it matter? I have no end. I am gone for mere decades and then return home to this very castle. I always do.” He says the last part with a tired temper. “Their victories are short-lived and... pointless . Cruel even, to instill hope in my people, that the ‘Devil Strahd’ has truly disappeared...only for me to come back and begin this cursed dance all over again.”
He wipes a smear of red blood from his cheek.
Rahadin’s mind storms, concern whirling behind his eyes. He has much to say but settles for: “I am always glad to see you come back, my lord. Ravenloft will always welcome you with open arms.”
“I know, my brother. I know you will always be here. Even if this castle crumbles, I am glad to know I have you by my side. But you worry for naught. I am fine, you see? I have my body, my mind, my books...,”
But you are not the man you once were.
“All is well.” He finishes with a small smile upon his pale face, his clawed hand gently clutching his side where the amulet had done its damage. He shudders a breath. “I am just tired, Rahadin. Tired of it all.”
A few moments more in the gentle wind pass, their tattered capes flowing about them. The morning mist settles on the town below, and Strahd strides back into Castle Ravenloft’s embrace.
______________________
Rahadin jumps down from his steed and gives the phantom horse a light pat as it dissipates to the mists. He has arrived at his least favorite destination in all of Barovia: The Amber Temple. The temple dedicated to the God of Secrets, or whatever they used to call it. Rahadin would personally call it a grave, but maybe having some semblance of respect toward the ruins would aid him. Throwing his hood back, he takes a deep breath as he stares at the open gates, snow catching in his long hair.
All is quiet, the trees being dense with white powder. He can barely hear the soft chirping of the birds. He is too far from any civilization and too smothered by the mountainous terrain surrounding him.
Rahadin commands his body to take purposeful steps toward the ill-omened temple, even if his mind is hesitant.
I do not like this place. It reeks of sickness and tragedy.
I understand, but we must do this.
Must we?
It is too late to back out now.
You’ve done this before.
Think of Strahd.
And with that last thought, Rahadin calls upon his courage again as he finds himself in the golden honey-colored caverns of the temple. His spine shivers. It’s cold and quiet, like a tomb. Nay… it truly is a cold and quiet tomb. This was never a happy place.
How many times has he done this already? Come to the temple with some expectation of helping Strahd, of relieving him of his pained existence even by just a fraction and getting no response? With each visit, his hope wanes, and yet…
He cannot give up. Not on his brother. Not just yet.
Despite their trusting relationship, Strahd has never been open about the deal he has accepted, never described the voice of the entity, the details of what it had promised. All Rahadin knows is that it lied. Twisted its words. And twisted Strahd’s reality with it. This God of Secrets.
As Rahadin makes his way down the stairs towards the familiar, cloaked towering statue, arms outstretched as if beckoning him for the thousandth time, he remembers his past journeys to this accursed temple.
How they all ended in simply nothing.
At first, he had spoken in demands, a haughtiness to his tone, furious that they had done this to his brother. Taunting them was on the list too. When that didn’t work, he attempted respectfully bowing and politely asking, making simple offerings. But as time went on, Rahadin had resorted to begging , making pathetic pleas of how he would do anything if they would just release Strahd from their grasps. He knows the count would be disappointed if he saw him pitifully kneeling in front of this faceless statue, but he didn’t care.
Sometimes Rahadin would hear whispers in the dark, tempting him:
Perhaps I can help you, O heartless one,
Or,
I will aid you in this request, as long as you bow to only me.
And Rahadin would have blindly accepted these offerings in a heartbeat if it weren’t for the one presence that seemed to snuff out all of these voices, as if telling them to quiet down. That dark presence leaves goosebumps on Rahadin’s skin. No one would answer him as he would call out again and again. The temple always seemed to be much quieter after this event.
Could it be the God of Secrets, still possessing this grave of a temple? What could it possibly want more out of Strahd that would have it insist on sticking around in its very own coffin and sabotaging Rahadin’s pleas?
Despite the vampire lord’s strong will, the man has nothing more left to give.
He’d lost everything the moment he stepped inside the temple and made it his grave.
His coffin.
His undoing.
Something inside this temple is the key to freeing Strahd. It has to be. The place where it all started. Rahadin was determined to spend the rest of his years finding out what exactly that is; he will not rest until then.
Slipping back into the present, Rahadin finishes up his rehearsed pleas and uncaps the jar with the live toad inside, staring back at him with its beady eyes.
Don’t eat me. It begs.
Rahadin smirks sadly. “Little one. However horrible a fate you believe you have come across, you must know it was for a good cause. I do not think twice about the sacrifices I make for my brother, and neither should you.”
And with that, Rahadin completes the ritual of swallowing the creature whole, feeling it slime its way down his throat. It is not a sensation he has gotten used to, but it is not the worst thing that could happen.
As Rahadin turns to leave, he looks back at the statue one last time. His gaze turns to the rubble on the floor and up the cracks in this amber-colored ruin. He swallows thickly as he realizes the meaning of the heavy feeling in his heart.
The darkness in this ruin, the feelings of bitterness and ill will are not familiar to Rahadin only when he is in the temple, he has come to realize. Though it is strong and condensed here, he would be lying if he said that simply standing near Strahd does not make him feel a fraction of the same way.
Rahadin’s brows furrow. Out of sympathy, anger, or discouragement, he does not know, but he storms out of the blasted temple nonetheless.
As he treks through the snowy paths, not yet inclined to call upon his phantom steed, he remembers a vow he had taken years ago. Rahadin would follow and serve Strahd to the ends of the earth. Even if the flames in Strahd’s soul were to die out, even if time beats relentlessly upon him, crumbling him down until he has nothing, he will have Rahadin.
All else may have abandoned his lord, but not him. Never him. He’s going to find a way to release Strahd, to give him the happy ending he deserves. To pry the clutches of darkness off of the vampire lord once and for all, and he will not rest until that cursed coffin of a temple back there cracks .