You notice several things as you exit the front doors of the death house.

A church bell tolls from somewhere to the east, and high above.

It is cold and foggy. The mist comes and goes with a chill wind.

The sun is completely blocked out by gray storm clouds that boil and threaten to douse you at any moment.

Your new mansion is flanked by two others just like it, on top of a hill at the north, overlooking the village; the rest of the homes are single-story pine cottages with stone chimneys and thatch roofs.  Pigs and chickens are kept in indoor pens and coops so that they don’t freeze. The backyards have their own private cemeteries, and they each appear to have been dug up.

The bell rings from the massive Abbey at the top of a hill to the east.

A cobblestone street leads into the village from here, east to the abbey, or north toward a natural pool with a shrine.

A man has been cutting his grass in the yard of the house to the east of you. He has stopped and is watching you with his mouth open in shock that anyone has left the death house.

Stretching his head up, Chokahr looked at the clouds with a sigh. Being outdoors surely was nicer than waddling through a death house. However, something didn't feel right. The air smelled... no, tasted wrong. Frowning, he nodded at the neighbour and walked over.

"Hey, gardener. We just fought our way through madness and horror, and lived to tell the tale. Where in this place can we find a gallon of mead and a nice roast to celebrate being alive?"

the man’s jaw wasnt working from shock: “guh guh guh...”

then he composed himself, pulled up his suspenders and snapped them on his saggy chest. “greetings! i am Dmitri Krezkov, burgomaster of krezk. and this is krezk. you are fortunate, and i hope you can help. come, i will give you a feast.”

he gestures to his front door

“Xie xie ni,” Jun Jia said in the mother tongue, then remembered herself. “Thank you, Dmitri,” she said with a small half-bow. “We are weary from our journey and our battle. We would appreciate food.”

"Many thanks," said Ceila.  Still, odd that this wasn't an inn, or something else of the kind.  What kind of fare would this Dmitri have for them?

Vyktor bowed respectfully, but it was one of an equal in rank rather than affording the man any acquiescence of superiority. "I return the greeting Burgomaster, I am Si-, that is, I am Vyktor of Rosewylde. As my companions have said, we're new to the neighborhood. I've recently laid claim to yonder estate to which you've referred. As it were, I am on the lookout for staff. If you hear of anyone seeking employ who is loyal and trustworthy, I would hope you'd send them my way? Now then, we shall gladly accept your hospitality...."

As the group turned to follow the Burgomaster, Vyktor asked a few questions in the way of small-talk. "Krezk? I'm assuming that's the Burg of which you administrate? How did you come to receive such an honor? Were you elected or was inheritance your lot?"

"This is Krezk. My ancestors built this wall that keeps us safe. The abbey was already here. I warn you, stay away from that cursed place. The abbot is no man of god. He claims to be god. What's worse is he has power to prove it..."

Looking down the hill you only see cottages with their farms, nothing that sticks out like a tavern, welcoming patrons and advertising food and drink.

You follow Dmitri into his humble mansion, much dirtier than your mansion. Much less alive as well. You stare at the walls and balk that they do not breathe. When ushered into the dining room you stare at the drapes that do not drip blood. WHAT KIND OF PLACE IS THIS??? Everything is dead.

As he begins to fix you a breakfast in the adjoining kitchen he answers Vyktor, "As you can see, I am without loyal help myself. As Burgomaster I accept your claim of the Durst Estate, you can have a new moniker fashioned for the address at the smithy down the road, Vyktor of Rosewylde."

Dmitri introduces you to his wife, dressed in black mourning clothes. Despite this, she is of firm resolve, almost emotionless as she explains that the last of their four children, Ilya, died of an illness seven days ago at the age of fourteen. Given their age, the Krezkovs are unlikely to have more children—a source of great consternation to everyone in the village, since that means the end of the Krezkov bloodline.

Dmitri claps his hands at that, "Tea!" and begins to pour , glad to change the subject. He apologetically bows to Chokahr, "Now sir, you asked about ale was it??? I regret so much to say our entire town has gone dry. We usually receive a monthly shipment from  the winery known as Wizards of Wine, but they have not come. If you plan on leaving our walls I beg of you to swing by and investigate. I will send you with coin in good faith."

“I am sorry for your loss,” Jun Jia said softly to Mrs. Krezkov. She joined the party for tea to avoid offending their host. Still, Jia cast the grieving a sympathetic look before sitting with the others. Silently, she mused about the change in their environment.

When the Burgomaster presented his offer, Jun Jia replied. “We can assist you in this matter, especially if it will help your village. Is it true that wolves...or even werewolves...have attacked any who leave the village?”

"...How do you even eat?" asked Ceila.  "Do crops grow?  Do your fowl and kine live?"

Vyktor frowned at the grim tidings which the Burgomaster was revealing about Krezk and his own circumstances. At Celia's question, he seemed to snap back into the conversation, an eerie feeling beginning to creep up his spine...

"How many children are in Krezk? What becomes of the youth when they come of age?"

"We ourselves are very new to this land, and while we're not novices in our individual pursuits, we do seek to travel and learn the way of the land, as well as the means to - perhaps - leave it!"

the burgomaster forcibly laughs away all of your questions.

“the abbot up in the abbey can take you away. oh yes. but we are content to live our hopeless lives in Barovia, cursed to live, die, live again, all because of Count Strahd Zarowich. our lord. our master. our darklord.”

then mrs krezkov brings out a silver platter of charcuterie for you to fill your stomachs on.

With a satisfactory growl, Chokahr dug into the meat plate, sliding First a chunk or two of the fine pieces.

"That's more like it. By the way, this is First," he said, holding the skull up higher. "Can't really remember where we picked her up, but she's good company. Say hi to the nice burgomaster, First. Too bad about the ale. But sure, I'll get your shipment for you, if you can spare the extra coin and a cask or two. Why'd they make ale in a winery anwyway? Isn't it a whole different trade?"

Dmitri stares at First for a moment, not blinking, not speaking.

"Ale??? I believe I'm not acquainted. That's a foreign drink, isn't it?"

Jun Jia ate only what she needed from the plate, picking a few pieces of meat and a few vegetables. The Burgomaster’s description of life in Barovia caught her attention more than the food. “You speak of a cycle of birth, death, and rebirth. In my land, some believe in a similar cycle. They might call it ‘Karma’.”

Jia stared at Krezkov with a thoughtful expression. “I do not think that you mean reincarnation, though.” She was genuinely curious, but didn’t want to offend a host and an elder.

"An endless cycle like that... it need not be a curse, I suppose," said Ceila, dubiously.  "Except for what you must live through, again and again.  Therein lies the curse, I expect."

"This Count certainly sounds sinister based on the little we've heard of him so far... But I truly doubt a lord so powerful as what you say could have the time nor the resources to ply his heavy hand to the day-to-day matters of this entire realm." Vyktor had spent a significant amount of time rubbing shoulders with powerful nobility, and reasoned from his own experience that powerful lords and ladies need choose their battles and marks carefully lest those whose necks they tread upon should find the weight to mostly consist of pride and arrogance!

"If I may take the liberty of speaking for my companions," he glanced to make sure there were no dissenting head shakes, "I believe we shall visit this winery and sort out the troubles behind the supply problem. No doubt if Krezk is suffering there are other clientele of said winery who are coming up short as well."

Vyktor paused to take some food, but for some reason it lacked much of the flavor he'd expected, and had a texture which eerily reminded him of ashes upon his tongue.

Chokahr stifled a laughter and nearly choked on his piece of sausage. This land was very strange indeed.

"What, no ale in this place? Never been to a place where folks didn't know about ale. You take germinated grain, mash it and boil it with water and flavoring herbs, then strain, add yeast and let the brew macerate in a cask until it's foamy. Takes about a month. Dad used to make his own."

Pushing back the plate, the big man wiped his mouth on his sleeve ang gave a satisfactory burp.

"Gonna have a talk with those wine people. It's time they learned about ale."

The Krezkov's seem cheered by your explainations of the circle of life and death. To hear you speak of incarnation as a thing familiar to you furthers their own resolve that this is how it must be.

Dmitri is very interested in the Ale recipe. He jots it down into his journal. He is determined to have some of the townsfolk with freetime begin to work on this.

Finally he hands Vyktor a small coin purse, in it, 10 gold. "It's not much, I know, Sir Rosewylde, but we don't really need coin in Krezk. I am proud that I have made my society completely self-sufficient. We no longer use coin. Within these walls, they grow trees that provide ample wood to keep them warm on cold nights, and they draw water from a blessed pool. They have chickens, hares, and small pigs, as well as gardens of beets and turnips. The only thing they depend on from the outside world is wine. Thank you so much for taking this task upon you, I'll have one of the guards fit you with the proper wagon. Good luck. May the Morning Lord light your weary way...."