Seven of the Twelfth Moon, 347

It behooves me to begin my chronicle this morning, as yesterday marked my final victory over my foes.

Barovia was our home. For hundreds of years the von Zarovich clan ruled the mountainous land with the support of the other clans: Dilisnya, Katsky, and Petrovna. Though a small kingdom in northwestern Bissel, the land was rich and powerful. Barovia was targeted by a vile clan of barbarians called the Neureni. The great Barovian clans resisted the onslaught; my ancestor General-Princess Nicoleta von Zarovich halted their advance and sent them running.

We enjoyed almost a century of peace and prosperity following the war against the Neureni. Greed set in like it always does and the civil war of Silver Knives ripped the land apart. For two years, assassins and skirmishes claimed many lives. My father, a kind man, ended the war my placating the other nobles with land and titles. Kindness often leads to weakness, and our fragmented forces and the other clan’s new agendas made us vulnerable.

The Terg clan invaded in 320. A mongrel horde they were, washing over everything. They shattered our defenses and forced our people to flee. Those that could not flee, were enslaved. I was a teenager at the time, my younger brother but a babe and my youngest brother not yet born. I was enraged. In my youth I thought of the people that could not flee, a home I would never see again.

We were accepted by the neighboring kingdoms and my father was an exiled king. He was defeated and broken, refusing to muster the troops and return to Barovia. I saw his weakness and I knew what I must do. I left my parent’s court and hired a mercenary army. I vowed to march on Barovia and take my home back.

At first it was just myself and soldiers fighting for coin. But as I won more battles, the exiled clans joined me. I offered them a place in Barovia. The Tergs were brutal foes, but I was greater, I was craftier, I was better. They fell, inch by inch, mile by mile. For twenty-seven years we fought and died against the Terg.

But it ended yesterday. We broke the last regiment of Tergian warriors. Like the general-ruler Nicoleta , I faced the Warlord Slyarc and smote him. I recall his disgusting blood splatted my face, but I did not care. With his death, the war was over. Barovia was ours once again.

I was home.

Seven of the Twelfth Moon, 347

Lost in the Mists ignatiusvienna