Whispered Rumors
May 11, 1736
Tirgoviste, Romania
This has been quite an evening. Quite unsettling, if you ask me. In fact, I am writing this entry because my heart is racing with fear; I cannot sleep. Sufficed to say, we have made our inquiries about town; I wish that we hadn't. For one, we first went to the local church to see if there was a member of Markus' order. They knew of it, but no one could help us. It was a small church but honestly, if you are out in the middle of things, it would be a good idea to have someone on hand. Honestly. He talked with markus for a long while, handed him a branch of Hawthorn, and only acknowledged me with several hasty and fearful signs of the cross. Honestly. Anyway, Markus came away from this talk with a grave look on his face, one I hadn't seen before, so I was already on edge when we were en route to the Inn. Once there, Markus showed his holy symbol to the innkeeper, and whispered to him something that i didn't catch. Suddenly, the entire place got quiet, as if everyone had heard what they had said. Except for me, of course. Well, that was the first of a series of quite strange events. First, we enquired about a guide to the hidden tomb of Vlad. THe barkeep looked very nervous about this turn of questioning, even with Markus' insistance that he was a messenger of the Church. He summoned us to a small room behind the bar, and as we left the common room, I caught a rag tag bunch make a hasty exit out of the corner of my eye. I thought nothing of it at the time, but it seems as though it could be important now. The bar keep told us that it would be difficult to find a guide to that place, if it was even possible. The wait could be weeks or even months, and going in there without one was suicide. Or worse. He made sure to emphasize that. He also said he could ask around-for a price. Markus said he would not be bribed. I asked him to be reasonable, but he was stubborn, and the man said he couldn't help us. I left, slightly detached, as things didn't bother me one way or the other; Markus, on the other hand, was fuming. As we made our way to leave, we met Viggo.
-X
Tirgoviste, Romania
This has been quite an evening. Quite unsettling, if you ask me. In fact, I am writing this entry because my heart is racing with fear; I cannot sleep. Sufficed to say, we have made our inquiries about town; I wish that we hadn't. For one, we first went to the local church to see if there was a member of Markus' order. They knew of it, but no one could help us. It was a small church but honestly, if you are out in the middle of things, it would be a good idea to have someone on hand. Honestly. He talked with markus for a long while, handed him a branch of Hawthorn, and only acknowledged me with several hasty and fearful signs of the cross. Honestly. Anyway, Markus came away from this talk with a grave look on his face, one I hadn't seen before, so I was already on edge when we were en route to the Inn. Once there, Markus showed his holy symbol to the innkeeper, and whispered to him something that i didn't catch. Suddenly, the entire place got quiet, as if everyone had heard what they had said. Except for me, of course. Well, that was the first of a series of quite strange events. First, we enquired about a guide to the hidden tomb of Vlad. THe barkeep looked very nervous about this turn of questioning, even with Markus' insistance that he was a messenger of the Church. He summoned us to a small room behind the bar, and as we left the common room, I caught a rag tag bunch make a hasty exit out of the corner of my eye. I thought nothing of it at the time, but it seems as though it could be important now. The bar keep told us that it would be difficult to find a guide to that place, if it was even possible. The wait could be weeks or even months, and going in there without one was suicide. Or worse. He made sure to emphasize that. He also said he could ask around-for a price. Markus said he would not be bribed. I asked him to be reasonable, but he was stubborn, and the man said he couldn't help us. I left, slightly detached, as things didn't bother me one way or the other; Markus, on the other hand, was fuming. As we made our way to leave, we met Viggo.
-X