Session 5 - All Will Be Well

6th Day of the 3rd Quarter of the Moon of Songs, Season of Wines, Year 766.

Days in Barovia: 2. The moon waxes crescent.

Of Wolf and Raven

Some miles further down the road the Bullingdon Boys stopped to recover from their misadventure at the windmill. They had mostly escaped with nothing worse than hurt feelings, but Clarence had suffered a considerable psychic assault at the hands of the trio of witches.

As they came to rest the younger Bullingdon receded from the group, angrily muttering to himself about not having enough power, never enough power. Paris Digby told Clarence not to beat himself up, and made the offer of some more magic lessons – “I’m more than happy to help less-able students of the arcane arts!” This invoked a frustrated groan from the student which Paris ignored as he clapped Clarence on the back and left him to think it.

Cornelius allowed a short time for the party to recover before rallying them for the last leg of the trip to Vallaki. They decided that they would try to return Myrtle to her parents, even though they sold her to a lady who wanted to bake her into a pie.

As they headed along the Old Svalich Road, which once again twisted and turned through woodland, the Bullingdon party noticed a raven flitting amongst the trees, keeping pace with their party. Then, they noticed another, likewise following the party while keeping a distance away; then the pair was joined by another, and another, until there were ravens in front, behind, above, surrounding the party, never getting too close, beady black eyes watching the Bully Boys.

Dickie asked Paris if there was anything magical about the birds.

“You did right to talk to me about this Dickie. Let me see what I can feel in the air…” He breathed deeply, closed his eyes, and held his arms out in an “arcane” posture. Paris didn’t know if these ravens were magical, or if it was even abnormal behaviour. He had no idea, but he wasn’t going to let his comrades know that. “This is dark indeed. These ravens are almost certainly the servants of the cursed Strahd. I can feel it in the rancid air about them. We need to be wary.”

The rest of the party was thoroughly convinced.

“If they are servants of Strahd, Paris, surely we should kill them now?” asked Cornelius.

“I do not recommend we shoot the ravens now. It would send the wrong message to Strahd, who is surely watching our every move. Anyway, ravens of this kind of power could not be destroyed except by the most complex of the magical arts.”

“But Clarence killed one earlier?”

“That wasn’t a special raven,” Paris explained.

Ireena spoke up, saying it was ill fortune to harm a raven, and that they would probably be cursed with bad luck now that Clarence had killed one.

Clarence doesn’t believe in bad luck.

Cornelius was keen to keep the group moving. “We’ve been stopped too long while these ravens flock around us. I say we don’t send a message to Strahd through violence, but by bravely soldiering onwards, with no fear or wavering from our path or righteousness! Bully bully bully!”

Which was met, of course, by a chorus of “Oi! Oi! Oi!” from Clarence, Dickie and Paris. The surrounding ravens joined in too, with mocking cries.

…

Some way down the road the ravens set a flutter, crying and cawing and flapping. Through the trees the party saw a familiar foe; a half a dozen wolves, interested by something on the road. Paris leapt into action, drawing his wand with a flourish; with a flick of the wrist, a blossoming ball of fire tumbled from the end of the wand towards the wolves. The wolves threw themselves out of the way of the fireball which exploded and did… nothing, because this was Paris’ Wand of Illusory Fireballs.

The wolves were left scattered and confused, even more so once Clarence moved forward and summoned a cloud of spectral daggers among the pack; his brother, Cornelius, closed the distance with incredible athleticism and gave one wolf a strong right hook, feeling bone crack underneath his knuckles. Dickie took a moment to note whether anything was sneaking up behind them to steal off Ireena and the child; seeing nothing suspicious, he loosed a quarrel from his hand crossbow at a wolf but missed.

The wolves had, at this point, had enough; fireballs that didn’t explode, biting daggers out of thin air, and a large bald man charging in to attack them with his hands wasn’t what they had come to the road for this afternoon. The pack scattered into the woods, some bloodied from the daggers, one limping from Cornelius’ blow. The elder Bullingdon gave another a hearty slap on its rump as it fled, near breaking its leg. “Ha! Must have heard of the Bullingdon Boys before!”

Wolves gone, the party saw what had drawn them to the road; a dead horse, which they appeared to have killed, saddled and bridled but with no sign of rider. They failed to find any tracks, so carried on towards Vallaki.

Shortly then they reached the town. Thick fog pressed up against the wooden palisade wall that stretched either side of the iron gates where the dirt road ended. Pikes impaled with the heads of wolves flanked the approach to the town.  On a parapet behind the gate the Bullingdons could make out two figures.

“Hello to the gates,” called out Clarence. The front of two crossbows appeared at the parapet, followed by the heads of two Barovians, in iron helmets.

Cornelius addressed the guards: “As you may have heard by my reputation, which precedes me in these parts, I am Cornelius Pffefil Bullingdon the Third, Marquis of Saxonia and vampire hunter. I come here to Vallaki with the fair Ireena, to seek safety and refuge in these walls, and I promise you people of Vallaki that as long as the Bullingdon Boys are resident in this city, no harm shall come to it from the vicious vampire Count Strahd Von Zumbabitch. For a reasonable fee!”

Standing proud, cape rippling in the wind, Cornelius noticed he had been shouting in to the wind, and his words had not reached the men on the wall. One cupped his hands around his mouth and bellowed “What? We can’t hear you! State your business or we won’t let you in!”

“I am Cornelius Bullingdon! I’m a vampire hunter!”

“We! Can’t! Hear! You!”

Clarence began to draw his brother’s words in large illusory script. Paris magically loudened his voice and boomed Cornelius’ message up to the walls.

The guard seemed satisfied and replied “We’re going to let you in. But I have to tell you, once you’re inside the gates, you have to be happy, OK? It’s the baron’s orders. And you have to leave all those ravens outside!”

Cornelius bellowed back “Every day is a happy day with the Bullingdon Boys!” Behind them, the dozens of ravens that had been shadowing them through the woods had stopped at the edge of the treeline. Ahead, the iron gates swung open.

Welcome to Vallaki

As they entered the town, Clarence queried the guard as to the location of the nearest tavern; Cornelius overruled him and asked about the location of the town’s ruler, the Baron Vargas Vallakovich. Cornelius was confident that being fine noble gentleman himself, this Baron would accommodate them in whatever castle or palace he resided in. The guard could not comply with Cornelius’ demands to lead them there but did give succinct directions to the Baron’s mansion. The guard sent them on their way with an “All will be well!”

Vallaki, while poor, looked considerably nicer than the impoverished village of Barovia. The houses were in better repair, with very few appearing destitute or empty. The main road took the Bullingdon’s past a stockyard; Myrtle tugged on Ireena’s arm and pointed beyond the stockyard, saying “My house!”

After some debate ofwhether the child should be returned to the parents who sold her to be baked into a pie, or whether she would have the correct etiquette for meeting with the Baron, the party decided it would be easiest to send her home. Dickie took the girl across the stockyard and into the house – more a hovel – she indicated. Within the single room there were some straw pallets, a fireplace, and a woman snoring loudly as she slept in a chair, a familiar pie resting on her chest. Myrtle seemed quite content to sit and play as her mother slept, and Dickie let her be, leaving as he noted there was nothing worth stealing.

The main road took them into the town square. The square appeared to have recently hosted a festival as it was decorated with limp, tattered garlands and boxes filled with recently-dead flowers. Several men, women and children were locked in stocks, wearing crude plaster donkey heads. In the centre of the square, locals used cups and vases to draw water from a crumbling stone fountain, upon which stood a grey statue of a man facing west.

Around the square, the party saw two proclamations posted – one for the “Wolf’s Head Jamboree”, and over those, a proclamation for the “Festival of the Blazing Sun”. The posters both required attendance per the Baron, and both held the phrase “All will be well!”

Dickie suggested taking Ireena to the church before they found the baron, but Cornelius didn’t see why she shouldn’t come with them.

As they moved through the town square they saw a huge man, almost seven foot tall, leaning against a wall and smoking a pipe. The puffs of smoke from the pipe rose in the shape of small skulls before dissipating. The man’s right arm was monstrous; red, scaled and swollen; barbed and spined, with long talons at the end of the fingers. Two guards stood next to this man, questioning a nervous looking citizen; he waved his huge hand and they escorted the dejected looking local.

This monstrous man saw the party approach and gave them a baleful glare, but then his eyes widened in surprise and he almost dropped his pipe. He strode up to Ireena, ignoring the Bullingdons, and said “You are my sister. Come with me now.” Ireena shied away – “I don’t know what you’re talking about!” and Cornelius laid a hand on the man’s shoulder – he had to reach up to do so as the man loomed over him.

“Now look here sonny-Jim-“

“Take your hands off me.”

“I take my hands off no man! I am Cornelius Pffefil Bullingdon the Third, Marquis of Saxonia, and you are clearly a peasant!”

The monstrous hand wrapped around Cornelius’ wrist and moved his arm back. “I work for the Baron, stranger.”

“Well, I’m a marquis, and a marquis outranks a baron by several degrees.”

The man barked a harsh laugh. “We’ll see what the Baron has to say about that.”

“Indeed we will, for we were just on our way to meet with the Baron!” replied Cornelius.

“Good,” said the man, “follow me.”

The huge man led them out of the town square, down the road and towards a large mansion, grand double doors standing open. The Bullingdons were led within, through an entrance hall adorned with portraits and past a wide staircase, past the open door to a dining room where women’s voices could be heard. A voice called from that room “Oh hello Izek! Who are these men you’re bringing into my home?” which the huge man, presumably Izek, ignored. He ushered the party into a room across the hall and told them to wait there while he fetched the Baron.

They had been left in a smoking room or den, with comfy armchairs, a drinks cabinet, and the stuffed head of a large bear hanging on a wall. Cornelius decided they should avail themselves of some complementary beverages, and sent Dickie to raid the drinks cabinet.

As the manservant finished pouring, footsteps approached the door, which was unlocked and opened by Izek, who intoned “The Baron.” The lord of Vallaki then entered, a short man with lank grey hair in a fine red tunic, flanked by two large black mastiffs.  

“My lord,” spoke Izek, “These strangers, I found them in the town square. This one,” he pointed to Ireena, “She is my sister. And this one thinks he is greater than a baron, or something.” He indicated Cornelius with this.

The Baron raised an eyebrow at this and looked at Cornelius expectantly. “Greater than a baron you say? And who might you be, stranger?”

Cornelius made his usual introduction: “I am Cornelius Pffefil Bullingdon the Third, Marquis of Saxonia, proud and mighty noble, victorious vampire slayer. Here to protect your fair city, for a reasonable fee. And of course I am accompanied by my two wizards and my manservant.”

At his mention, Dickie bowed in a manner he thought appropriate.

“Saxonia? I’ve never heard of it. You do have a noble bearing, but that is not definitive.”

Ireena spoke up, saying “He is a good man, and a noble one, too.”

“Who exactly are you that you can vouch for this man? Izek, you say this is your sister?”

Cornelius interjected – “Look here, I need no person to vouch for my pedigree. My scroll will do so instead!” and with this he handed the Baron his scroll of pedigree.

The Baron studied this for a moment. “Very well, I suppose I must take you at your word. Allow me to offer you the proper hospitality of the Vallakovichs’.” The Baron said he would have his son’s room made up for Cornelius to sleep in – the boy, Victor, spent most of his room in the attic – and Cornelius’ staff could sleep in the servant’s quarters, where there were two free beds as two of the Baron’s staff had recently disappeared. He suggested Ireena could take Izek’s room; the henchman would sleep at the inn.

Cornelius declared there was no need, as they were charged to take Ireena to the ‘cathedral’, where she would stay. Izek spoke against this, which led to Paris asking the Baron “Why does your manservant keep insisting this fine lady is his sister? She couldn’t possibly be his sister!”

“I would know my own sister,” Izek replied with menace.

“But she does not know you,” said the wizard, “do you, Ireena?”

“I have never seen you before in my life!”

The Baron, baffled by the exchange, asked “Who exactly is this woman?” And Clarence clarified that she was the daughter of the burgomaster of Barovia.

“Ah, you’re Kolyan Indirovich’s girl? The stray he found in the woods? How is the old bumbler, still making a mess of managing that dreary village?”

“I’m afraid it’s his son making a mess of the village now,” Cornelius said, “The old man is dead.”

Paris was indignant at the Baron’s tone. “How dare you refer to my lady as a stray, sir! Have you no honour?”

The Baron didn’t like Paris’ tone either. “Do you need a muzzle for your dog?” he asked Cornelius. “What is this one anyway? He doesn’t look like a servant.”

“Paris is a mighty wizard! The house mage of the Bullingdon clan. Paris, give the Baron a demonstration of your arcane magic!”

“I will!” Paris conjured arcane lights to provide dramatic framing to his features, and the ground shook as his magically-enhanced voice boomed out.

“I am one of the finest wizards in Saxonia!” Paris lied. The Baron was convinced; so impressed in fact that he asked Cornelius if he could hire the wizard to provide some tutelage to his son, a self-taught mage.

“You’d have to make a business discussion with Paris himself, but I warn you – he’s quite expensive!” Cornelius turned and winked at Paris.

The voice of Clarence appeared in Cornelius’ head, unheard by anyone else there.  “Should we not make our business dealings as a single entity, my brother?”

Cornelius turned to Clarence, then turned back to the Baron. “But of course nowadays the Bullingdon Boys generally make their business dealings as a single entity. Hire one of us, you hire all of us!” He turned and winked at Clarence.

Paris said to the Baron “Yes indeed, I’d be only too glad to assist you.”

Dickie suggested they celebrate with a drink, drawing the Baron’s attention to the fact that they had already helped themselves to his selection. This did not please Baron Vallakovich, who ignored Dickie and poured himself a brandy.

“Well, that’s all settled then. I am sure you are weary from your travels and would like to rest this evening – I will have the servants show you to your rooms.”

“We should really take Ireena to the church first,” Paris insisted.

Izek began to protest but Ireena cut him off- she wanted to go to the church, it was the reason she came to Vallaki, and this stranger wasn’t going to stop her.

“If you came to find sanctuary, you are all safe in Vallaki! We are all safe in Vallaki because Vallaki is safe! So maybe you don’t need to go and bother old Father Petrovic with your nonsense, he’s busy enough as it is!” The Baron was beginning to show signs of frustration.

Cornelius tried to settle the matter; explaining how Ireena needed protection from a vampire, who may be drawn into a bloody confrontation at the Baron’s manor if they didn’t take her to the church.

The Baron put his drink down and slowly turned to Cornelius Bullingdon.

“Now, I have opened my house and hospitality to you; and I won’t stop you going to the church, if that’s what you really want. But I must warn you: I will have no truck with troublemakers in Vallaki. I don’t know about all of this talk about “vampires” and “bloodshed”. That does not sound very happy to me!

The last stranger to pass through the town, well, he did not get the message. He was arrogant, and rude, and spread malicious unhappiness. Izek and the guards saw to it that he will not return to Vallaki. Ha! Some monster hunter he was.

So, that being said – you are welcome, nay, very much encouraged, to join us and partake in the Festival of the Blazing Sun, two days hence at noon. Then afterwards, the Feast of Saint Andral, which is one of our annual customs. The reason I asked you not to disturb the priest is because he is busy in preparation for that event; but if you insist, I will not stop you.

But most of all I ask you to be happy! All will be well! All IS well!”

And with this Baron Vargas Vallakovich left, Izek and his dogs at his heels.

Paris wondered at the baron’s philosophy. “How can any ruler force his people to be happy all the time? You can’t be happy just because you’re told to be happy, surely?”  

Cornelius tested this hypothesis, commanding Dickie to be happy. “Just as you say, milord,” the manservant replied dourly, his face sullenly unchanged from its gaunt and hollow state.

No Church in the Wild

St. Andral’s Church lay on the western side of town, easy to find by following the bulging steeple. The door was unlocked, and the party let themselves into the nave, where fading light still crept through stained glass windows depicting pious saints.

An old man- the priest, by his attire- bustled about the pews, agitated, searching, as if he had lost something of value. Clarence hailed him. The priest looked up, surprised. He told them that he didn’t have time to spare, and they would have to leave.

Clarence said that they had travelled far to find him; and they had come to find sanctuary for Ireena. She stepped forward and explained that the priest in Barovia, Donavich, had said she may find protection here from the devil, Strahd.

“I am very sorry. This church can no longer protect you from him. I cannot give you the sanctuary you need. I’m sorry.” The priest went back to searching.

What the priest was searching for was a religious artefact - the Bones of Saint Andral. Some nights ago they had gone missing from the crypt where they resided; until they were restored, the church would provide no true sanctuary. Ireena was dismayed at this and slumped on to a pew.

Clarence and Cornelius called a quick huddle to determine the best course of action. Cornelius didn’t want to find the bones. Dickie felt like a church’s crypt may hold items of value, and Clarence noted that Vallaki provided more opportunity for turning a profit than the village had done. Cornelius recalled that there had been a second location of safety suggested – a cathedral further to the west. Clarence suggested that the priest may provide financial remuneration if the Bones were restored; and additionally, they could then collect on their promised reward for bringing Ireena to somewhere safe.

“Fine,” Cornelius said, unhappy with this turn of events, “we’ll go and find the bones, we’ll bring them back, we’ll leave Ireena, we’ll get the money and then we’ll get out. But I for one am tired of Barovia! I would like to be somewhere sunny, somewhere without so many dirty peasants, where the nobles are nice to me, and where there’s more stuff to steal.”

Whilst they had been discussing, the priest had been consoling Ireena. Having spoken to her, he was happy for her to stay at the church even while the bones were still missing. The party determined that not many people in the town knew of the bones existence; the nobles in the town, the Vallakovich and Wachter families, probably knew of them, and the priest had told the gravedigger boy Milivoj, to uplift the boy’s spirits. The Bullingdon’s had a look at the crypt, and found it dark, dusty and very empty.

Night now had fallen fully and the task of finding the bones was one for the next day. The Bullingdon’s left the church, Ireena in the care of Father Petrovich, and returned to the Vallakovich mansion.