Session 9 - Cleaning House

7th Day of the 3rd Quarter of the Moon of Songs, Season of Wines, Year 766.

Days in Barovia: 3. A half-moon rises.

Not The Lady You Were Expecting

“Another victory for the Bullingdons!” Paris wheezed, still winded, as Clarence started to gag and bind the ‘book club’, tearing long strips from their black cowled robes. Dicky produced a long length of rope with which to tie them all together. Lady Wachter was bound and gagged as well, and a cursory search of her person revealed a wand.

“Clarence, give that to Pairs, he knows how to use them,” Cornelius commanded. Paris stumbled over, wincing excessively. “Wands are indeed my speciality.”

Cornelius asked if it contained any dark magics; Paris applied a quizzical eye to the item, and couldn’t really tell. “There is certainly great power in this artefact. I will need longer to decipher whether or not it is… ‘evil’, per se, but it could certainly be useful to one with magical talent. I’d better take this for now.”

Lady Wachter’s gag was removed. “You don’t know what you are doing!” she said, “You fools!”

“We’re not fools!” Cornelius retorted, “We are the Bullingdon Boys! Bully Bully Bully!”

“Oi! Oi! Oi!” came the cry of his companions. Dickie took a moment to consider that actually, maybe they were fools, as Lady Wachter watched incredulously. “No wonder you are working for that fool of a baron.”

“We work for no men but ourselves!” Cornelius replied.

“And justice!” Clarence added. He was still glazed with a thin sheen of frost as the warding spell he had cast earlier persisted.

“Yes, and justice! And those in need! And you, Lady Wachter, are in need of a good beating if you don’t tell us what’s going on here.”

“When the lord of this land is done with you, you will be dust on the wind, like all the fools who’ve come before you.”

Cornelius declared they had no fear of the villain Strahd, having fought him off numerous times already, but Lady Wachter wasn’t listening; she was clutching at her wound, face twisted in pain. Clarence replaced her gag.

“Where’s Ernst Larnak?” Dickie asked, remembering the last they’d seen the manservant had been in the parlour, unbound and looking thoroughly displeased at the beating he’d received from the Bully Boys.  

Clarence addressed the manservant. “I shall go upstairs and distract Slarnak, you sneak up behind him once I have his attention.” The younger Bullingdon then shifted his appearance to that of Lady Wachter, who’s eyes widened and she cried against the gag. In her guise, Clarence smiled and waved, then he and Dickie headed back through the scattered bones in the cellar and up the stairs into the house.

Ernst Larnak was sat looking bruised and beaten, holding a damp cloth to his face and nursing a glass of wine. “My Lady,” he drawled, as Clarence entered the room looking like Lady Wachter, “Did all go as planned with those fools?”

Lady Wachter’s voice came from Clarence’s lips. “The interlopers have all been dealt with, and forced to bow before the power of our gracious lord!”

Larnak didn’t bat an eye. “Good. I’m glad. That Cornelius was a brute! Not to mention the disrespect they showed to you, my lady.”

“Can you imagine them sneaking around my home like that?”

“It is disgusting.”

“Anyway. Slarnak, is everything in place for the ritual?”

“Yes my lady, come, I was just preparing the final piece when they interrupted me.” Larnak stood and led Clarence through to the den, making no mention of the fact that his long term employer and confident had just addressed him by the wrong name. Clarence used his telepathy to instruct Dickie to follow into the parlour.

“Come my lady, look!” Larnak pointed Clarence to a book open on the table in front of the fireplace in the den. Clarence told Ernst to tell him of his work to measure his understanding, while Dicky, seeing Larnak’s back to the door, slipped into the room with sword in hand.

Larnak pointed to the book – “Well, if you look here-“ then in a swift motion drew the long knife at his belt and lunged at the false-Wachter. Dickie’s blade was faster, but only nicked Larnak, failing to stop his strike at Clarence. The long dagger sliced into Clarence’s side, slicing through the long robe; but Clarence’s protective enchantment was still active, and his blade struck Larnak went rigid, frost spreading up his arm from the blade, his mouth opened for a scream that never came as he froze solidly then shattered, falling to the ground in icy chunks.

“Argh! By the outer darkness!” Clarence whined, dropping the glamour and tentatively prodding at the cut on his side. “That’s a nasty little wound. Did you see that? He managed to stab me.”

“Well, it doesn’t seem to have gone to well for him.” Dickie replied, feeling queezy at the sight of frozen meat chunks starting to defrost on the carpet. “He’s in… a lot of pieces.”

“Yes,” Clarence said, dressing his wound with great care, “It is a powerful spell. A most useful spell. And quite effective at reducing one’s foes into tiny pieces.”

“It’s a lot more traumatic than when it happens to skeletons.”

“It is all the same to the magic.”

“Well, it’s not all the same to my stomach. If you’ll excuse me...” Dickie almost ran to be away from the gruesome remains.

Captive Audience

Meanwhile, in the secret room in the cellar, Cornelius clapped Paris on the shoulder. “I feel I maybe lost my temper with you earlier. This is understandable as there aren’t many times in my life when I’ve been attacked by the living undead.”

“Forgiven already my old chap.”

“Good. In the future, perhaps display a bit more vigilance when dealing with people who are potentially our enemies.”

Paris admitted his fault, blaming it on Lady Wachter’s ‘womanly wiles’. This settled, the pair decided to go and see what Clarence and Dickie were about, as they should’ve come back by now. Cornelius got the prisoners to their feet, and tied in a line, marched them up out of the cellar and into the parlour, where Dickie waited looking paler than usual.

“Now everybody take a seat!” Cornelius commanded, gesturing to one of the elegant couches, which Lady Wachter and her four allies managed to awkwardly squeeze onto. “Now, none of you move. Dickie, You look ill. Did you manage to capture that dastardly villain Larnak?”

Dickie brought his master into the den to discuss the matter, where Clarence was investigating the bookshelves for any interesting material. The manservant gestured to the now defrosted chunks of Ernst Larnak on the carpet and explained what had transpired.

“The idiot failed to realise my defensive abjurations were still at full power!” Clarence gloated. While a shocked Paris chastised his pupil for this excessive use of force, Dickie took the shovel and poker from the fire and started to move pieces of Larnak into the flames. The flesh started to sizzle and pop.

“The Bullingdons have blood on their hands, Clarence!”

“Well, not on anyone’s hands, per se,” Dickie contributed.

Clarence was had no remorse. “I suppose it has ruined the carpet.”

“And to do it in such a brutal fashion! Where is the magical elegance I’ve come to expect from you?”

Some concerned noises leaked into the den from the parlour, with which the double-sided hearth was shared, as the stink of burning flesh began to infuse the rooms. Dickie quickly stopped his activity.

Cornelius and Paris were concerned that there may be legal repercussions for freezing a man to death and shattering him into chunks, even if the man was a suspected villain. Clarence was unrepentant – Larnak shouldn’t have attacked him! And he was injured – he showed his fellows the small nick on his side. “It is quite painful!”

Cornelius finally threw his hands up in frustration. “Look, I know how to deal with this.” He stepped into the parlour, where four of the prisoners stared at him wide-eyed. Lady Wachter’s eyes were unfocussed, and her dress was soaked in blood from the untreated wound dealt by Dickie.

“You may have noted an unusual smell coming from the fireplace. Ernst Larnak stepped in accidently while we were asking him some questions. He’s absolutely fine, but just this moment he bolted through the window and I’m afraid we’ll never be able to catch him, and I wouldn’t be surprised if you never see or hear from him ever again.” The conscious prisoners looked absolutely terrified. “But you, you’re all going to the baron! Lady Wachter, why are you lolling around over there?”

Dickie, ever trailing Cornelius, moved over to Lady Wachter and attempted to staunch her bleeding. Medicine is not his forte, and Cornelius shouting “Dickie, that’s not how you do it!” then trying to get involved as well did not help matters for Lady Wachter. While they fumbled at the best way to tie improvised bandages, the lady slipped into unconsciousness. Finally, Clarence wandered over and placed his hand on her head. There was a soft glow of magic and her bleeding stopped; her shallow breathing becoming more regular.

Dickie was sent ahead of the party to inform the Baron. As he left, the Wachter’s dour servant came into the parlour, announcing “My lady, your dinner will be ready shortly – ah.” He seemed unfazed by the sight of his mistress unconscious, bound and gagged with half of her guests. Cornelius leapt over to him, throwing him to the floor and clamping a hand over his mouth. “Who is he?”

“Just a servant,” Paris reminded him.

“Well, he could still be involved. Is he involved?”

Given the man’s unemotional responses through the evening, Clarence suspected the servant may be undead. “I suspect, brother, hat he has no will of his own.”

“Yes, I can see he’s a peasant, Clarence.”

“Insofar as I mean I believe him to be a necromantic construct created by the Lady Wachter.”

“Are you a necromantic construct?” Cornelius shouted at the servant, lifting his hand so he could respond.

“No, my lord,” he replied calmly, “What is a necromantic construct?”

“Clarence, what IS a necromantic construct?”

Clarence explained the concept – using the example of the skeletons Lady Wachter had summoned forth earlier. Cornelius continued his interrogation:

“Are you like one of Lady Wachter’s skeletal minions?”

“I am a servant of Lady Wachter, and I have a skeleton?”

“But were you summoned from the ground?”

“I was summoned from the kitchen.”

“How many times have you died before?”

“I don’t think any?”

“Paris, we need that Zone of Truth.”

Paris did not have the capacity to cast that spell currently, and was dubious of any guilt on the servant’s part. Cornelius and Clarence decided he should be bound and gagged with the others. Clarence went back into the den and dumped the chunks of Larnak out of the window, and magically removed the stains on the carpet.

…

Dickie swiftly found his way back to the Vallakovich mansion, and found the baron in his study. Upon being informed that Lady Wachter was planning a coup, the baron was very concerned. He was not thrilled that the Bullingdon’s had answered her dinner invitation, but Dickie convinced him that it had all worked out for the best as they had foiled her plans and found evidence of her guilt.

Vallakovich summoned his monstrous henchman, Izek, and sent him with Dickie and the guard to put Lady Wachter and her allies under house arrest.

While Dickie was away, Clarence began to study the treatise that they had found among the treasure in the hidden room in Lady Wachter’s library – the Grimoire of Four Quarters. Shortly those in the parlour – Paris, Cornelius and their prisoners – heard mutterings of “Yes, of course! Yes, well, most interesting!” and the occasional cackle.

“My lord!” Dickie cried as he arrived back at the house, “I’ve come with the guard!” Izek swept brusquely past him into the room, snarled at the unconscious Lady Wachter, then looked at the rest of the prisoners, the huge hand on his monstrous arm thumbing the axe on a loop at his belt. “I’m going to chop all of your heads off,” he growled.

Paris pointed out the manservant was potentially innocent, but Izek did not care. “If he works for the traitor, he’s probably a traitor.”

“Clarence reckons he’s a necrophilic constant!” Cornelius contributed.

“I don’t know what those words mean.”

“Well, nor do I,” Cornelius admitted, and Paris again explained the concept of a necromantic construct. Izek lifted the manservant by the throat to inspect him, and after a moment said “He is clearly alive.”

“Of course, of course. Shall we, ah, show you some of the evidence we’ve found?”

Izek looked at Cornelius flatly. “I don’t need to be convinced.” Dickie reminded the henchman that the baron was pleased that there was evidence, and that wanted to see it. Izek said it could wait until the morning, and made it clear that now he was in control of the situation the Bullingdon Boys weren’t needed.

“Well then, we should get the bones back to the-” Paris blustered, realizing Izek and the baron didn’t know about the stolen bones of Saint Andral. “I mean, we should rest our weary bones. TAKE our BONES BACK, to, ah, bed. Yes.”

“And we can go and see our good friend Ireena!” Cornelius added. This drew Izek’s attention. “How is my sister?”

Cornelius recalled the distressed state in which he had left Ireena when last he saw her. “She’s perfectly fine!”

Law and Order

“Oh, shit!” Paris said a short while later, as the approached the church, “We need to free Lady Wachter’s daughter!”

“We’ll do it in the morning!” Cornelius said.

After hammering on the door of the squat church for a few minutes, the thick wooden door finally creaked open to reveal Father Lucien Petrovich illuminated by the dim light of a single candle.

“We have found the bones!” Cornelius bellowed. Clarence propelled the chest forward on his floating disc. “Behold, your relics! For what worth they are in this uncaring universe.”

Petrovich was clearly overwhelmed with relief, and struggled to find the words to thank the Bullingdons. He ushered them into the church, to get the bones back where they belong. Once they were interred the old man turned to Cornelius.

“Thank you! How can I ever repay you?”

“Financially, of course.” Cornelius didn’t skip a beat; the Bullingdon’s had demanded an undetermined payment upon accepting the task from the priest.

“My good man,” Paris interjected, “We don’t need any monetary recompense – just remember to tell everyone you meet how brilliant the Bullingdon Boys are.”

“That is very kind of you. I was worried – I do not have much money to give… But maybe there is something I can give you.” The priest of the Morninglord lifted the heavy chain from his neck, on which there hung a large sun medallion. He softly brushed his fingers across the sun and murmured “Mané”, and the sun began to glow with a soft yellow light. He passed it to Cornelius. “With this, the Morninglord will guide you in dark places.”

Cornelius turned to Dickie and said under his breath, “This is worth… bloody loads!” He fell to his knees. “No thanks is enough for a prize this great! I shall wear it proudly, this medallion of… the…”

“The Morninglord,” Petrovich reminded him.

“Yes, the Morninglord! Praise be to him!”

…

As they returned to baron’s mansion to sleep, Clarence informed his fellows “If at any time I inscribe a circle of blood on the floor… try to stay within it.” They did not sleep well.

…

As Clarence awoke he turned to Paris, with whom he shared a room. “I heard the most beautiful song last night.”

“Yep?” replied Paris, mostly ignoring his tutee while he precisely arranged his hair.

“A song of piercing beauty. One that echoed from the highest heaven to the lowest sea. It would have broken your heart to hear it, Paris.”

“I’m sure it would’ve old chap, I’ve always had a delicate sensitivity towards music. I think if I’d have learnt I would have been an aficionado.”

“I can feel myself throbbing with arcane power!

Paris gave Clarence a stern look. “We need to have a talk about keeping your throbbing power to yourself.”

Upstairs, the baron knocked on the door to Cornelius’ Room. He was greeted by Cornelius –“Baron!” ­– wearing only a pair of trousers, medallion of the Morninglord glowing proudly upon the sculpted musculature of his chest.

“Goodness me! Cornelius. I was just heading to Wachterhaus to see about this business with Lady Wachter. Do you wish to join me?”

The baron was wearing a thick raincoat and his two dogs, as ever, trailed on his heels. Cornelius and Dickie put on their coats as well; Cornelius refusing to put on a shirt, and Dickie donning the armour found in Wachterhaus. They joined Paris and Clarence downstairs. Vallakovich was in a jovial mood as they trod through the rain, chattering to the Bully Boys eagerly.

“I’m very excited about the festival today! I think it will do the town a great deal of good, especially when we can tell them that these nefarious malcontents have been brought to justice.”

“And what exactly does this festival consist of, sir?” Paris asked.

“Ah, you’ll see, you’ll see! It will be very impressive, even for a magician, such as yourself.”

…

Two guardsmen stood at the front of Wachterhause, and graced the baron with an inexpert salute as he arrived. The not-undead servant, the four members of the ‘book club’ and Lady Wachter were all still tied together on a couch in the parlour, with Izek straddling one of the chairs from the dinner table backwards. One arm rested on the back of the chair, the other on the head of his axe.

“Good morning Izek!” chirped the baron. He turned to Cornelius. “Now, your manservant said you had evidence of a plot?”

“I have this letter,” Paris said, offering the baron the note that they had found on the desk in Lady Wachter’s library. The baron’s lips moved as he read it. “What is this, a nursery rhyme? Oh. Oh I see. Where did you find this?”

“In her library,” Clarence told him. “I think it is some sort of spell to overthrow you. We can also show you the pit from whence she summoned skeletons to attack us.”

“Skeletons and spells! Is this true, Lady Wachter?” the baron waved the note in her face. The woman stared and cursed something through her gag.

“It’s true,” Cornelius said, “skeletons savaged me and my men!”

“Well, that’s all I needed to hear.” The baron waved a hand at the prisoners. “Izek, kill them.”

“Just one moment here baron, there’s one more thing I should mention,” Cornelius went on. “Lady Wachter had a servant – someone called Ernest LaMarc. He too was involved in this scheme. He lunged for my dear brother Clarence-”

“He attempted to murder me most foul-”

“And in the resulting scuffle, he escaped from this property-”

“And from this mortal coil.”

“The house, Clarence means, he escaped from the house. Now if you ask me, you’ll probably never see or hear from Ernest LaMarc ever again, but I’d have your men be on the lookout as this dangerous criminal may well be loose.”

The baron nodded his understanding. “You hear that, Izek? Make sure to keep an eye out for that Larnak fellow. I never trusted him! If you see him, arrest him immediately.”

Clarence, to Paris’ dismay, suggested the baron hold the executions in public at the festival. Vallakovich thought it was an excellent idea, and instructed Izek to make the arrangements. Cornelius managed to wrangle some gold out of Lady Wachter’s stash, found by the guards, as payment for uncovering the conspiracy and saving the baron’s life.

Finally, the Bullingdons wanted to look in on the Lady’s daughter. The baron advised against it, telling them the girl was insane and thought she was a cat. Cornelius was interested at the prospect of a rich heiress in need of a ward, so they went to the girl’s room; however, she appeared to be beyond their help and they abandoned her as a lost cause.

The festival did not begin until noon. Clarence left his companions to visit Victor; the rest of the party were somewhat concerned about their blooming relationship. Dickie snuck away to fence some of the items he had picked up in Wachterhaus, while Cornelius did some promotion of the Festival, wandering the streets of Vallaki with his medallion blazing on his chest. 

Session 8 - Wachterhaus

7th Day of the 3rd Quarter of the Moon of Songs, Season of Wines, Year 766.

Days in Barovia: 3. A half-moon rises.

Cards on the Table

 “How do you feel about killing the baron?”

In the parlour of Wachterhaus, Lady Wachter’s question was met by a silence unusual for the Bullingdon Boys. After a long moment, Paris was the first to speak.

“Um… Excuse me? Did we mishear you, my lady?”

The lady noted their reticence. “Well, maybe not kill him. But certainly overthrow him. Depose him. Dethrone him. I don’t know how much time you have spent in his company, but the man is a bumbling idiot completely divorced from reality. He is no more fit to lord over Vallaki than those dogs that trail him everywhere.

You are in a unique position – you are strangers to Vallaki, yet you have the baron’s trust it seems, and have been welcomed into his home. You are in a perfect position to bring about a change in regime.”

She looked each of them in the eye, and waited for a response. It was Cornelius who spoke:

“I believe my friends and I may require some time to confer amongst ourselves before we make this decision, my lady.”

“Well, that is completely understandable! I’m sure I may have shocked you. I suggest you sit and discuss it over dinner. Don’t be rash, sit there a while, partake of my food and wine and ponder my offer. If you help me overthrow the baron there will be rich rewards for you. Better than any you will find in his service.”

Lady Wachter then excused herself, informing the party that they were not her only guests that evening.

Once she was gone, Paris asked “Do you think she might be listening?”

“Almost certainly,” Dickie replied. “I wonder who her other guests are?”

Dickie started to look for peepholes and through keyholes to see if they were being spied on. Cornelius kept his gaze on the large portrait of a smirking nobleman above the hearth, to see whether its eyes followed him suspiciously. They found no eyes lurking behind the keyholes of the three doors out of the room.

The door closest to the large dining table opened and a servant pulled a trolley of silver platters through. Seeing the party standing around the room, he shrugged and began placing the fare on the table; mutton and beets and other vegetables, and fine wine. Once done, Cornelius told him to clear off so the servant couldn’t spy on them.

“We seem to be caught up in some sort of revolution!” Paris said, as Cornelius took up a glass of wine.

“It doesn’t sound like a revolution, Paris. Just some jockeying amongst the nobles. I think we can turn this to our advantage. Everybody gather round.”

Cornelius posited that if the baron were to die, his fortune would be inherited by his son; they should be able to convince the naïve boy into making Clarence his heir, and then have him join them on their journey… Where he might have a tragic accident. Thus leaving Clarence, and by extension the Bullingdon Boys as a whole, with the fortune of the baron.

“You’ve escalated this rather a lot, milord.”

Paris was shocked. “Killing the baron is one thing, he doesn’t seem like an awfully good ruler, but killing a child? Surely there’s got to be some more simple way.”

Clarence too disliked this plan. “The child has considerable talent. Talents I would… Not wish to see wasted.”

“Fine!” Cornelius said, throwing his hands up. “We kill the baron, and convince Victor to pay an exorbitant fee for his magic training, leaving him bankrupt and us rich.”

“Do we really have to kill the baron?” while lacking many scruples, Paris was not murderous. “He’s a strange man, but does he really deserve to die? Is there some other way we could depose him in exchange for the money?” He looked at the faces of his companions. “Dickie, back me up, come on.”

“He may not have to die… I’d rather not kill the man,” Dickie said, after a moment of thought. “It seems to me quite likely that there are other ways to disenfranchise a ruler.”

“All things have their end,” Clarence intoned.

“What about your honour?” Paris asked. “Killing nobility is a dangerous precedent.”

Cornelius pointed out that Ismark and Ismark’s father were both dead nobility, they were intending to kill Strahd, and that nobility dying was probably pretty common considering the type of place Barovia is.

Seeing his party were not keen on the murder plan, Cornelius presented an alternate. “We reveal Lady Wachter’s plans to the baron, taking a significant reward from him, and perhaps being granted the lady’s property as a reward for revealing a dangerous traitor. Or! A third alternative: we send Dickie out right now to rummage the lady’s jewels, run away with the most expensive things we find, and never come back to this stupid town again!”

Dickie, tiring of the conversation, stood from the table and opened the nearest door to see if they were being spied upon or perhaps if the Bones of Saint Andral were lying around. The door opened into a smoking room, sharing the hearth of the parlour/dining room. Lounging in an armchair in front of the fire, with a book open in one hand and a goblet in the other, was a man that Dickie had seen earlier that day; the man who had extended Lady Wachter’s invitation to Cornelius, the man they believe coerced Milivoj into stealing the bones - Ernst Larnak.

As Dickie opened the door Larnak looked up and said “Good evening.”

“Ah… Sorry to disturb you,” Dickie said, somewhat surprised. Larnak tipped his head in forgiveness, and Dickie shut the door.

Aware that they may well have been listened in on, the party were a little nervous about what they said.

“I suggest we accept the Lady Wachter’s offer,” Clarence spoke aloud, then telepathically to his companions: “And then betray her to the baron at the first opportunity.”

Dickie agreed. “Yes, I think accepting the offer would be best for business.”

As Cornelius suggested just beating the man up so he wouldn’t tell anyone, Clarence excused himself to the “little wizard’s room”. Finding the water closet, he began the ten-minute-long ritual to summon an unseen servant, chanting mystically.

The rest of the party decided it may be worth questioning Larnak on Wachter’s motivations and the location of the bones. Paris prepared a charm spell and threw the door open, to see the back of Ernst Larnak as he clambered out of one of the room’s windows.

“Come Ernst, I thought we were friends! Stay and chat?” Paris’ spell seemed to take no effect as Larnak looked over his shoulder and muttered “Shit.”

Cornelius flew into the room, barrelling Paris out of the way, and hauled Larnak back into the room, pinning him to the floor. “Get your hands off me!” Larnak cried, to which Cornelius replied “Don’t give orders to me, you peasant!”

Paris waved his hands in the air and called out “How about a little dose… of Truth!” and once again cast his favourite spell. Dickie resisted its effects as he entered the room, but Paris, Ernst and Corenlius were rendered unable to lie.

Larnak managed to wriggle free of Cornelius, but Paris and Dickie stood between him and the closed door. He stood, his hand going to the hilt of a long knife at his hilt, and he said “What is this? Is this how you treat the hospitality of a noble lady?”

“No,” said Cornelius, “But it’s how we treat a spy!” and punched him in the face. Twice. Larnak was knocked back to the floor, reeling.

Paris stayed Cornelius, as they needed to question Larnak. Cornelius promised “As long as he remains on the ground, no more harm will come to him.”

“We’re in the Zone of Truth man, so you know he speaks truly,” Paris explained to Larnak, who pressed himself back into the corner, holding a handkerchief up to his bloody nose.

Dickie began the interrogation. “If you just answer a couple of questions, I’m sure this can all be resolved without further unpleasantness.”

“Why should I dalk to you, when you’ve jusd come in here and assaulded me?” The words were muffled as Larnak tried to staunch the flow of blood from his nose.

“Because you are a spy!” Corenlius accused, “Listening in to our conversation and reporting it to some nefarious villain!”

Larnak gaped at Corenlius. “You’re paranoid.”

 “Why were you trying to escape out of the window, if you’re not a spy?” Paris asked.

“I overheard you talking about coming in here and beading me.”

“Ah. Fair point.”

“We were only going to beat you so you wouldn’t tell anybody about us! Will you tell anybody about us?”

“I will tell the Lady Wachder about this,” answered Larnak.

“I don’t think you want to do that. Or I will have to beat you again!” Cornelius showed Larnak his clenched fist.

Larnak protested against his treatment, and the disrespect Cornelius was showing to Lady Wachter’s hospitality. There was a knock on the door and the dour servant who had delivered their food stuck his head into the room.

“Sir, one of the guests is producing some strange noises from the water closet- oh. Excuse me.” He looked nonplussed from Cornelius to Larnak cowering on the floor. “Is everything alright, Mister Larnak?”

Larnak looked up at Cornelius stood above him with clenched fists. “Go aboud your dudies Gunder, and tell the Lady Wachder she should redurn to her guess.”

“Don’t do that!” Cornelius interjected. “You can tell the Lady everything is fine here.”

Cogs turned slowly inside the servants mind. He was used to taking orders from Larnak. But Cornelius was a legitimate nobleman. Finally the instinctive obedience to the social hierarchy won out, and Gunther bowed to Cornelius and left the room.

This distraction dealt with, Paris asked Larnak about the stolen bones.

“Lady Wachder asked me do make sure that they were- damn id! Why did I tell you thad?”

“Carry on.”

“I… I don’t wand to.”

“I think you do!” Cornelius waved a fist threateningly.

Larnak was confused and scared by the situation. “I seem to be incapable of telling a lie. I don’t know what magic you have worked, but I tell you I do not wish to betray my lady. But I also do not wish for you to punch me!”

“Why not tell me where the bones are now?”

“They’re with the Lady’s prized poddeddiond in the masder bedroo- oh, damn! Damn!”

Cornelius told Paris to heal the man’s broken nose with his magic.  Paris, not wanting to waste his magic on the man, offered him a tincture, while Larnak slurred “I think my node is broken” from behind the bloody handkerchief.

“Well that’s fine because my tinctures can’t heal a damn thing, oh shit!” caught in the Zone of Truth, Paris was hoisted on his own petard.

“I bloody knew it.” Dickie muttered.

Larnak had the bones stolen on Lady Wachter’s orders, they discovered. The Lady’s position, it appeared, was of support for Strahd Von Zarovich as the true and rightful lord of Barovia; and the Baron’s opposition to Strahd through endless festivals to make everyone happy were both traitorous and a huge waste of resources.

Meanwhile, Clarence’s chanting of “Astnahz zin-a-kull! Astnahz zin-a-kull!” as he progressed through his ritual was interrupted by a knock on the door, and the flat voice of the Wachter servant asking if everything was alright. Clarence briefly paused, told the servant he was fine and to leave him, and then continued his chanting. Moments later, the ritual completed and an ethereal spectre appeared in the bathroom. “Wait here, and after I leave the room, lock the door and keep it locked until I return.”

Clarence went exploring. He found a cloakroom. He found the kitchen, where the servant was bent in front of the fireplace; Clarence shut the door as he turned and, perfectly mimicking the voice of Dickie, apologised and said he was looking for Clarence. Clarence then disguised himself as the serving man, and returned to the dining room, finding it empty. He opened the door leading to the den, where the rest of the party were interrogating Larnak.

“What the hell have you been up to?” he sent telepathically to Clarence.

Cornelius looked around the room, and spoke in response to a question no one else heard. “We’re just talking to this man. Who I’ve punched to the floor.”

Clarence rolled his eyes, dropped the servant disguise, and telepathically messaged his brother to come out.

“Well, Clarence wants me to go now,” Cornelius said, again, apparently unprompted. Just outside the door, still within the Zone of Truth, Cornelius candidly explained the events that had passed while Clarence was in the toilet. Within the room, Dickie found suitable materials to bind and gag Larnak, and pilfered the gold cup Larnak had been drinking from. The party came up with a plan to get them access around the house: Clarence would disguise himself as Ernst Larnak, and take the rest of them on a tour of the house, while they stowed the real Larnak in the toilet room.

Open House

Knowing the bones were in the master bedroom, and not knowing when Lady Wachter would return, the Bullingdon Boys headed upstairs. These led to a hallway with walls festooned with portraits and many doors. From behind one door half way down the hall came a scratching sound. Clarence (as Ernst) tried to open the nearest door, to find that it was locked; but proved no match for Dickie’s thieves’ tools.

The door opened into a room crawling with white cats; alive, unlike those in Victor Vallakovich’s attic. The room itself was a library. Dickie caught sight of something glittering on a chain around one of the cats necks. Idly reaching down to pet the creature, Dickie’s deft fingers freed the chain and he found it held a small key.

Upon a writing desk there was an empty wine glass, a half-filled inkwell and some recently written notes. Paris picked up the topmost note, and read it aloud:

“ ‘Mirror mirror on the wall, summon forth your shade; night’s dark vengeance heed my call, and wield your murderous blade’. Wait, there’s more… beneath this rhyme it says, ‘That’s it! All the long hours in this library finally paid off. It’s funny, almost like a nursery rhyme. That foolish baron has no idea what’s right under his nose! Now I just need to get a hold of it. Or even just to steal a few minutes alone with it. And that will be the end of Vargas Vallakovich!’ Well, this is rather incriminating.”

Clarence’s astute eyes found an inconsistency in one of the book shelves, which he investigated; there was a hollow space behind it, and after a minute pushing and pulling and knocking, he found the hidden hinges that allowed the shelves to be moved, revealing a doorway into a hidden storage chamber. Within this chamber, there was a lone chest, which Clarence found to be locked. Dickie found the key taken from the cat fit the lock.

Within the chest there were bags of coin in gold and electrum. There were notarized deeds allocating parcels of land to the Wachter family, written some three centuries ago. Cornelius claimed a finely crafted wooden pipe that looked to be a Wachter family heirloom, from its presence in various portraits around the house. A leather bound treatise titled “Grimoire of the Four Quarters” was claimed by Clarence, and at the bottom of the chest Dickie found the pieces of a finely crafted suit of studded leather armour.

Paris smelt a hint of magic about the armour, and discerned that it was enchanted with some glamour or illusion magic. The detail of that enchantment would require some time spent with the armour.

“I would like to take the armour for further study,” Paris said, “don’t quote me on this, but I think it might have magical properties. I’ll let you know in due time.”

Dickie was keen to have the armour for himself. “I would be open to be using some of the share of my findings here to get a first look at this armour.”

“Well then!” said an excited Cornelius, “Let the bidding begin!”

Paris was not willing to stoop down to Dickie’s level, and refused to bid, so on Corenlius’ command he begrudgingly he gave up the armour. “Fine,” he muttered, “but you’ll never be able to use it like a true wizard would.”

The library explored and gutted, the party headed back into the hallway. Wanting to avoid trouble, the next door they went to open was beyond the one from which the scratching was heard. As they passed by that door, they heard a quiet voice saying something like “Can little kitty come out to play?”, but they ignored the voice and went into the next room. This was a small bedroom, a quick investigation of which divulged nothing of particular interest.

The door across the hall from this, once Dickie defeated the lock, opened to reveal the room they were looking for – the master bedroom. A framed family portrait above the hearth showed the Lady Wachter, a husband, two sons and a baby girl in the father’s arms. From other paintings and the lady herself, this would have been painted a dozen years ago or more.

Stretched out on one side of the large canopy bed was the body of a man, dressed in black finery and with two copper pieces placed upon his eyes. Clarence found the body devoid of signs of life, additionally free of bite marks on its neck, which Cornelius made sure he check for.

Disturbed, Dickie went to the far end of the room and searched the large closet there. Among shelves of fancy footwear and fine garments there was a black, hooded, ceremonial robe, and on a high shelf, he found a small iron chest. He hauled the chest down – it matched the description of the chest containing the sacred bones given by Father Petrovich the night previous. Opening the chest confirmed it contained some old human remains.

They had their prize, and apart from a jewellery box that Dickie pocketed, there seemed to be nothing left on this floor for them. Cornelius didn’t want to waste time getting the bones back to the church, but Paris was intrigued by the strange voice and scratching coming from the room across the hall. Clarence pointed out that it had been a profitable expedition so far, and he could summon forth his floating disk to move the bones with ease. He began chanting.

Dickie went to the occupied room, and put his eye to the keyhole – then swiftly jerked away as he saw an eye pressed to the other side. “Agh, there’s someone out there!”

“Can little kitty come out and play?” the high-pitched voice raised the hair on their necks. “Little kitty is sad and lonely, and promises to be good this time, she really does!”

“That,” said Dickie, “sounds dangerous.”

“Sounds like she’s mad, not dangerous.” Paris said, and prompted Dickie to open the door.

He bent to the task. As he worked the lock open, a voice came from the top of the stairs at the far end of the hall.

Skeletons in the Closet

“I’d really rather you just let her be, if it’s all the same to you.” Fiona Wachter looked disappointed.

“Who is behind this door, Lady Wachter?” Cornelius demanded.

“It is my daughter, Stella.”

“Stella?” Paris recognized the name – carved onto the bottom of the toy they had found the gravedigger’s sister playing with. “And why is your daughter locked up?”

“Because the baron’s son drove her insane. She is a danger to herself, and those around her, and unfortunately I must keep her locked in that room, for her own sake. So I would rather if you left her be.”

Cornelius provided and excuse for their presence, prompted by his brother telepathically. “We heard the scratching, and came to investigate!”

 “I am sure.” Lady Wachter’s reply was flat. “I see that when I left you at dinner, rather than think about my offer and come to a decision, you preferred to poke around my house and assault my servants. But still, I beseech you: help me overthrow the baron. Give me one more opportunity to convince you.”

Lady Wachter explained again how the Baron wasted the town’s resources in endless festivals that did not make anyone happy, and wasted the towns resources; how he punished and oppressed the people of Vallaki for trivial offences; and how one of his son’s failed magical experiments had shattered her daughter’s mind.

She admitted to taking the bones, and to being a servant of Strahd, who was the rightful lord of the land; but she beseeched Cornelius give her one chance to convince him. She claimed to have irrefutable evidence that would change his mind.

He was not convinced. “She’s a friend of our enemy, who murdered Ismark. Who assaults Ireena, time and time again. If we aid her, we are aiding Strahd himself! We should clap her in irons and take her to the baron, exposing her for the traitor she is.”

However, Dickie and Paris considered it may be in their interest to hear the lady out. After some discussion they decided to see what she had to show them. Clarence finished his ritual and re-joined them, the relic carried behind him by a floating magical disk.

Lady Wachter led them down the stairs, and back through the parlour, Ernst Larnak, now freed from his restraints, glared at them as they walked by. She led them through the servants quarters and into a storeroom, where she revealed a secret door hidden in what seemed like a seamless section of wall. More stair led down into the bowels of the house, into a large root cellar with a dirt floor. Through a door open to another room came the flickering light of candles and the muttering of voices.

Lady Wachter came stopped in the middle of the cellar. “You would call me a traitor and support the baron Vargas Vallakovich; when he betrays his true lord, the lord of this land.” As she turned on Cornelius with these words, she waved her hand in front of her and intoned, “Restless dead arise, and destroy these traitors!”

The earth of the cellar floor began to shift and move as fleshless hands reached up, and ten skeletons pulled themselves from the soft ground, wicked rusting swords in their hands. Two skeletons arose directly in front of Lady Wachter, who slipped away into through the open door which closed behind her.

Paris screamed in fear, and intuitively channelled the noise into a thunderous blast that severely rattled three of the skeletons. “Um, a-ha! Feel my magical wrath!” Paris cried, trying to save face. Cornelius dove in fists flying, but his blows scattered off rotten armour. Dickie moved up beside his master, and deftly thrust his rapier through a hollow eye socket, knocking the skull off one of the rattled skeletons which collapsed into a pile of bones.

Half of the skeletons pressed in against Cornelius and Dickie, as the others approached Clarence and Paris. A rusty blade nicked Paris’ ribs, but Clarence managed to avoid their blows and summoned a suit of spectral, frosty armour. A skeleton slipped inside of Dickie’s guard and delivered a vicious blow, driving the wind from the manservant.

“What did I do, what did I do?” Paris muttered, trying to remember the spell he cast in the attic earlier. “Obey me, oh earth!” and around him the ground shook, tumbling the skeletons around him and throwing Clarence from his feet as well.

Cornelius, now surrounded, was undaunted, scattering the bones of two of the undead assailants with his bare fists. “See, milord? I knew this would raise your mood!” Dickie quipped, his rapier finishing off another skeleton. “We get to smite some evil. You like smiting evil, milord!” Cornelius’ mood did not look raised; his eyes burned with rage.

Paris continued to be pressed, as the skeletons around him climbed to their feet. As he was struck once more, he cried out “You dare attack the mighty Paris Digby?!” and the skeleton was momentarily engulfed in flame, blackening its undead bones. Two took the opportunity to lash out at Clarence as he rose to his feet, and as their blows struck the ice-magic of his enchantment froze them in place and they shattered. Laughing maniacally, Clarence cast a hex on the nearest skeleton, followed a blast of eldritch energy which missed wildly.

Cornelius ducked and weaved against a skeleton’s attack while Dickie was struck again. “Feeling a bit hot under the collar, are we?” Paris mocked the charred skeleton, still stood before him. Cornelius destroyed another assailant, Dickie’s rapier passed through the empty space between some ribs, a sword in a skeletal hand stuck Cornelius, Clarence bludgeoned the hexed skeleton into bone-dust with his staff, and Paris drew the seldom-used sword at his hip, said “Um… En guarde?” closed his eyes and flailed. When his eyes opened, the skeleton before him was no longer animate, much to his surprise. Dickie slipped over next to him and said “Let me show you how to use it,” and slew the final skeleton.

With the battle against the restless dead won, Cornelius stalked over to Paris, anger written on his face. “Another victory for the Bullingdons! Ugh-“ Paris crumpled as the dispossessed marquis punched him in the gut. The wizard coughed and spluttered, finally managing to whimper “You call that a punch, you big girl?”

“In case you have forgotten, Paris Digby, I am Cornelius Pfeffil Bullingdon the third. I am the marquis of Saxonia, and I will not be questioned by manservants and two-bit hedge wizards any more!”

“But we, we bested the skelet-“

“We wouldn’t have had to best any skeletons if we’d apprehended Lady Wachter at the top of the staircase, as I wanted.”

As Clarence and Dicky went to investigate the door through which Lady Wachter had disappeared, it was flung open to reveal the lady, saying “And now my friends, you see how my minions have destroyed- oh.” Dickie struck without hesitation and as his blade sunk into her midrift, Clarence blasted her with fell energy and she crumpled to the floor in a sprawl. “No… wait…”

Behind her in the room were four figures in black hooded robes. Cornelius strode in, and his fist connected with the jaw of the nearest figure, who dropped out cold.

“Surrender yourselves,” Dickie commanded, his blade at the neck of the fallen Wachter. “You’ve lost this!”

“Don’t kill her!” a woman’s voice came from one of the black cowled figures, as three still conscious held their hands up in surrender. “We weren’t doing anything wrong!”

Session 7 - A Severed Head, Some Stolen Bones, and a Dinner Invitation

7th Day of the 3rd Quarter of the Moon of Songs, Season of Wines, Year 766.

Days in Barovia: 3. A half-moon rises.

Bearer of Bad News

As Paris and Clarence’s “tutelage” of the baron’s son began, Clarence and Dickie headed to the church, to inform Ireena of her brother’s death and deliver his remains. Of these they had only his severed head; Dickie found a suitable basket in which it could be carried surreptitiously.

On their way to the church, a Barovian with lank greasy hair and furtive eyes approached them. He delivered to Cornelius an invitation to dine with the Lady Fiona Wachter. Having checked that the Lady Wachter was wealthy – “She is the wealthiest woman in all Vallaki.” - Cornelius accepted the invitation with enthusiasm.

Outside of the church of St. Andral, old father Petrovich was talking earnestly with a tall youth. The boy looked sullen and uncomfortable, and the priest seemed to be pleading with him. “I’m not a thief!” the boy shouted, and shouldering the shovel he carried, turned on his heel and left. “Please, Milivoj!” the priest called after him, unheeded.

“Ignore that boy, father!” Cornelius called out, “We have much more pressing business!” Petrovich directed them to Ireena, who was within the church where they had left her the previous night. She looked perhaps a touch paler than when they saw her last, and her scarf was worn tight around her neck. 

Surprised to see the pair, she enquired “Cornelius! Bren! Have you found the bones of the saint?”

“Not yet!” Cornelius told her. “But we have… we have some good news for you, and some less good news. I’ll start with the good news first.

              

Just hours ago, that devil Strahd sought to come upon me once again, but in the streets, in front of an audience of people, I beat him off. Now I’ll admit, the man was lunging at my neck like some kind of anaemic sex-maniac, and I may for a small amount of time have fallen to the floor. But he still fled before my might! Yet one more nail in his coffin! As long as we Bullingdon boys are in Barovia, all will be safe!

The bad news… I think I’ll let Dickie handle.”

Ireena looked at Cornelius with disbelief. “You… You bested Strahd? In combat?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“I find it hard to believe that a man like you could overcome a man like him…”

“Well, I’m still here, while Strahd has fled to his castle once more!”

She turned to Dickie. “Bren, is this true?”

“We did indeed have an encounter with the devil, and we do indeed live to tell the tale.”

“Dickie here is just being modest! He made a pincushion out of the man!”

Dickie recalled how he had thrust his rapier clean through Strahd’s throat, and how the wound had healed even as the blade withdrew. “Takes to being stabbed like no one I’ve ever seen, I must say.”

“I’m amazed,” she said, disbelieving. “What was the bad news?”

Dickie let out a long sigh. “You may want to prepare yourself, my lady, this news is… I think you will find it diffuclt.”

“What is it? What’s happened? What’s wrong?”

“It’s with regard to your brother.“

“Ismark? Is he… What’s happened to him?“

“The devil has taken his life.”

Ireena let out a quiet, stunned “What?” and could not seem to find any words.

“I’m very sorry.”

“But hey! Now-“ As Cornelius spoke, Dickie raised his voice: “CORNELIUS! Now is not the time!”

Ireena was distraught. She couldn’t believe that Strahd could have done this. She refused to believe Ismark could be dead. She should have just gone with Strahd from the start, Ismark and their father would still be alive. She blamed Cornelius – he came to Barovia and antagonised Strahd and now her brother and father were dead. If it wasn’t for the Bullingdons this never would have happened!

Cornelius didn’t take well to being blamed. “Look here a minute! I don’t think you can go pinning the blame about this on us. It is not my fault that I was too mighty for Strahd to best, and in his jealous rage he killed your namby-pamby of a brother! I think everyone here needs to calm down and think about the facts of the situation!”

“If I may present you with a fact, my lord: you are dealing with this situation in a very insensitive manner. I think it would be for the best if you stopped shouting inside the church.”

“Fine, Dickie! I’ll just let the honour of the Bullingdon house be besmirched.” Cornelius’ voice dripped acid.

“You have no honour,” Ireena spat at Cornelius. “I see it now, he’ll come for me again and I’ll go with him, I’ll put an end to all of this. I wish I’d seen it sooner, father and Ismark might still be here!”

“He is not a moral creature, my lady. There is nothing that could have been done to prevent this.”

“You don’t know him! This was all a mistake. If I never see you again, Cornelius Bullingdon, I will be happier for it.” Ireena stormed away from the pair, as the commotion drew Father Petrovich into the church.

Cornelius explained away Ireena’s distress with his usual tact. The priest asked if they had found the bones – they told him they were working on it, and left him with Ismark’s head to inter.

Toys in the Attic

Meanwhile, in the attic of the Vallakovich mansion, the baron’s son Victor held Clarence’s Tome of Ancient Secrets. “This… This is power.” Victor’s eyes snapped up from the book and met Clarence’s for a moment, then the boy turned on his heel.

“I don’t set much store by spellbooks,” Paris said, ignored, as Victor stood over the near-complete teleportation circle and began to murmur; a sussuration at first, that grew into a mumble of disjointed half sounds. “Now now my lad, let’s not be trying anything too risky before you’ve completed your studies,” Paris said with rising concern. The faux-wizard could see Victor was trying to activate the teleportation circle, using something he’d found in Clarence’s book. Victor’s voice rose into an arrhythmic chanting. “Just pop that book down-”

“Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn!”

 Above the teleportation there was a sudden blackness, a sphere of absolute darkness and cold that seemed to suck all of the heat out of the warm. Black, and cold, and vacuous. Victor stood before it rigidly, hands locked on the book, eyes rolled back into his head.

“What the hell did you put into that book, Clarence?!”

From the darkness shapes formed and emerged; clumsy pentapods with sloughing flesh, sucker-pod feet and bodies that split open to reveal hundreds of rows of teeth in a lamprey-like mouth. A half a dozen of these detached from the darkness and began to blindly waddle towards Clarence and Paris.

Paris waved his arms in an approximately magical manner – “Return to your sleep, ancients!” – the enchantment had no effect on the strange creatures, but Victor was caught up in the spell and folded into unconsciousness, his rigid muscles relaxing and the book falling from his hands. The sphere of darkness disappeared with a wet sucking sound, but the awful creatures remained.

Clarence invoked his eldritch power to summon a cloud of scything daggers in the midst of the creatures; sucker-ended limbs were hewn from bodies and the pieces churned into chunks of strange, bloodless meat. The remaining two creatures avoided the arcane death-trap and blindly stumbled towards Paris. A lamprey-mouth clamped on each shin and began to grind at the flesh of his legs.

“Leave off my legs, fiends!” the room began to shake, the eldritch creatures fell from Paris as he channelled his magic. “Ha-ha! See how the earth bends to my will?” Clarence lashed out with an eldritch blast, destroying one creature, as the other clumsily regained its feet and lunged again at Paris – this time it only caught the hem of his cloak, which it began to gnaw blindly. “Foolish beastie, chewing on my cloak!” the words, laced with psychic power, caused the creature to twitch and shudder and finally fall still.

Victor moaned and began to rouse, and as he came too he groggily reached towards Clarence’s Tome of Shadows – but the book floated through the air into Clarence’s hand.

“Now that, my boy, is why you shouldn’t play with magic you don’t understand!” Paris chastised.

“What happened? Where’s my book?” Victor managed to stand.

Clarence was not impressed. “You attempted to tap into something that is… not yours.”

“You remind me of Clarence at your age – always meddling with things he didn’t understand.”

“You tried to redirect the energy that flows to me through this book to your own purposes, but were unable to… control… what you had tapped. It is a magic specific to me, and it did not react well to your signature.”

This only confused Victor further. “I don’t understand… What are all these things?” the chunks of the strange monsters were starting to liquefy and evaporate into a foul-smelling mist, which shortly dissipated. “What happened – my teleportation circle!”

The circle was ruined; the sigils had burned away, the cat skulls and candles scattered.

“The materials have been consumed by the energies you tried to summon through them!”

“Now consider that a warning young sir. Leave the magic to the big boys.” Victor gave Paris a jealous scowl at this.

The baronet began to pat down his pockets, looking around for his spellbook. Clarence presented it to the boy. “I… I don’t know what you did, but father won’t be pleased!”

Clarence was not threatened. “The condemnation of those who fail to understand the true nature of reality should never concern an adept.”

“You’re right… I shouldn’t care what father says, he doesn’t know anything anyway. Where did you get that book?”

Clarence gave Paris a sidelong glance. “It is not important.”

“You bought it didn’t you, Clarence?”

“It is… not important. I can however assure you that I can assist you in creating your own link to the powers that lie beyond this reality!”

“Clarence, I assume you’re speaking, ah, metaphorically?”

“… Of course.”

“Indeed. I find my ‘power that lies beyond’ is actually within myself!”

Clarence and Victor ignored Paris. Clarence addressed the boy again. “If you’re interested in finding an artefact such as this, I’m sure one can be… found… for you. I shall meditate upon this problem.”

“Yes, that seems like, ah, what I need to, um, progress, in my studies. As a wizard. Yes.”

“Yes,” Clarence replied, “As a wizard. As a perfectly normal wizard.”

“Yes, a perfectly normal wizard, which we all are.” Paris joined in.

Clarence left the boy with some advice. “I recommend you reflect upon the sensation of the energy that you tapped today. Think of what it meant, how it felt, as though to see for the first time beyond the veil of mundanity – to see into the root of existence that transcends all expression.”

“Yes, I shall think on this,” Victor addressed Clarence, “thank you… teacher.”

“You’re very welcome, my lad!” Paris replied.

Clarence swept out of the attic, cloak swirling and Paris on his heels.

…

Clarence went to find a quiet room for some… private meditation, and Paris ran in to Cornelius and Dickie, returned from the church. Cornelius explained that Ireena had not taken the news of her brother’s death well; but on the plus side, they had been invited to diner with a very, very wealthy lady, which should cheer everyone up.

Alone in a quiet room of the Vallakovich mansion, Clarence lit a single candle and knelt over his Tome of Shadows.

“My lord, whom I serve, you who were before time began and will be after all upon this planet has turned to dust. I know well that you have seen the power residing within this child, as well I have. But he yet lacks tutelage! If he is to become a servant of yours, to grow his own connection to your immense majesty, then he requires knowledge - how to summon his own tome of shadows and channel the strength that you provide. I shall teach him. But I yet need more power! I need more! Fulfil our pact and you will have another servant in this world.”

There was no immediate response, but as Clarence’s heart sank the candle flickered as if in a breeze, although he felt no wind, and the pages of his book fluttered to lie open on a particular page, a page with which he was familiar, the newest page of the book where obscure diagrams and illustrations seemed to become more detailed and clear before his eyes.

A Bone to Pick

Having brought Paris up to speed, and after some debate about his brother’s legitimacy as a bachelor and Paris’ history with rich old ladies (non-existent and dubious, respectively), Cornelius gathered the Bullingdon Boys to find the bones of St. Andral, as the priest had beseeched them.

Their leads so far pointed towards the gravedigger boy, Milivoj, who Cornelius and Dickie had seen outside the church that morning. Dickie recalled he had seen the boy before – leaving a house when he had returned the rescued child Myrtle to her mother.

Dickie led them to the home of the boy, in the more deprived area of Vallaki. The door was locked, but when they knocked a voice answered from within – the door opened to reveal the small face of a child. She told them Milivoj was not at home, and may be at the church. Dickie caught a glance of the room behind her and saw something out of place in the squalor: a very fine toy Vistani wagon with detailed horses and little Vistani dolls. Clearly something expensive, and clearly out of place.

“Hey, that’s a very nice wagon you’ve got there.”

“It’s my toy! Milivoj got it for me.” She went over to the wagon and started to play with the figures. “It’s fun to play! You want to play?”

While the child rolled the wagon, Paris used his magic to conjure the sound of the wagon rolling and faint voices of Vistani conversation. The child laughed and clapped her hands at this.

“A most marvellous use of the power to reshape reality according to your whim,” Clarence said sardonically.

Cornelius had no interest in joining in the fun. “Dickie. Clarence. Paris. Are we babysitters?”

“Just a moment, milord,” Dickie responded, “this may prove useful.”

“It’s important to make the little people feel special!” Paris added.

Cornelius satisfied himself inspecting the architecture of the house, while Dickie picked up the toy wagon. On the bottom there was an engraved plate that read “Is no fun, is no Blinsky!”, and a second engraving had been made directly into the wood on the bottom which read “To my darling Stella”.

“This is a very nice wagon. I hope you have lots of fun with it,” Dickie said, handing it back to her. “Now if you’ll excuse us, we need to go talk to your brother. You have a nice day.”

Dickie’s conclusion was that Milivoj had stolen the bones, sold them, and used the money to buy his sister the toy. Blinsky’s toy shop was near the Baron’s mansion but Milivoj wouldn’t have sold the bones there; so the party determined they needed to go to the churchyard to find him and track the bones.

Fortunately, they ran into him within minutes, as he appeared to be returning to his home from the church. As he appeared, Dickie suggested that they try to be gentle – they don’t want to get onto the wrong side of the town guards.

“I shall force him to tell the truth if he resists our questioning,” Clarence said.

“Just give me the bell if you want me to cast Zone of Truth,” Paris said.

“And if things get hairy, I’ll get punching!” Cornelius said.

Dickie sighed. “You are all such wonderful companions. I appreciate you deeply.” His voice dripped sarcasm.

“Lead on, our good detective!” Clarence encouraged, and Cornelius said “These are your people, Dickie, we’ll leave it all to you.”

Dickie hailed the muscular youth.

“What do you want?”

“I was wondering if you could answer a question of mine.”

“Who are you?”

“We are… friends to the people of Barovia.” This brought a snort of derision from Milivoj, who obviously wasn’t impressed with this position.

Dickie cut to the chase. “Where’d you get the money for that lovely toy wagon?”

Milivoj claimed ignorance. Dickie didn’t believe him. “Really? That lovely toy wagon you gave to Stella?”

“I don’t know anyone called Stella.”

Dickie was sure he was lying, at least about the wagon if not about the name. He told Milivoj they had visited his house, and that he found it unlikely Milivoj could raise the funds to acquire such an item as the toy wagon.

“What business is it of yours what toys my sister has?”

“It’s not the toy per se. It’s more the source of the income.” Dickie attempted to jog Milivoj’s memory, drawing a gold coin from his pouch and rolling it across his knuckles.

Cornelius cleared his throat, and whispered “Dickie! Who’s money is that you’re holding?”

“My share, milord.”

“Hm. Very well,” Cornelius said unhappily.

The gold piece certainly got the boy’s interest. Dickie reassured him that there was no interest in accusing or punishing Milivoj; they simply wanted to find the missing item and help it find its way back to the church. Persuaded that he will not get in any trouble, and that his sister Yorshka will keep the toys, and with the promise of payment in gold for the information, Milivoj opened up.

“He asked me to do it. I didn’t think there was anything wrong, you understand, they’re just old bones. He said he could provide for Yorshka and for me.”

“Who is he? What did you do?”

“I took the bones from the crypt and gave them to him. It was Ernst Larnak, maybe you’ve seen him around town, he works for Lady Wachter.”

Dickie recalled the invitation he and Cornelius had received earlier, and described the messenger to Milivoj – it was indeed Ernst Larnak.

“That’s him, but you can’t let him know you found out from me.”

“How could I possibly tell him that? I’ve never even met you, my lad. I have no idea who you are.”

Milivoj was confused at this, then understanding dawned in his eyes. He turned to go, but remembered the gold – which Dickie gave to him, with an additional two coins. Cornelius shook his head.

“I never saw any of you either,” Milivoj said, and left.

The situation reminded Paris of his history before joining the Bullingdons. “Sometimes when a wealthy old woman wants you to do something you don’t want to do but she’s offering you a lot of money to do it, you just have to grit your teeth.”

...

The hour of their dinner invitation drew nigh and the Bullingdon Boys found their way to Wachterhaus; a grand, fine mansion north of the town square.

Upon ringing the gargoyle-faced doorbell, the door was opened by a manservant who said “Welcome to Wachterhaus,” and led them in to a parlour, and offered to take their coats. “The Lady Wachter will see you shortly.”

As they waited before the fireplace under the gaze of a large oil painting of a nobleman with a broken nose, the Bulligdons speculated at the absence of Ireena, to whom they had extended the invitation. Soon the manservant returned, and introduced the lady of the house.

Fiona Wachter was a handsome woman of later-middle years, dressed in finery and with regal bearing. She approached Cornelius and held out her hand – he clasped it between his enthusiastically.

“Greetings, dear lady. I am Cornelius Pfeffil Bullingdon the third, marquis of Saxonia and vampire slayer.”

“I am the Lady Fiona Wachter of Vallaki and it is my pleasure to meet you.”

“And it is my pleasure to meet you!” Cornelius replied, “But also you must meet my companions: my brother, Clarence; apprentice wizard to the mighty Paris Digby-“

“Charmed, my lady,” Paris kissed her hand.

“Friends to ladies and the elderly everywhere,” Cornelius added.

Paris smiled awkwardly. “Ha, Cornelius’, ah, little joke.”

“Yes, yes, and another little joke I have with me – Dickie, my manservant.” Cornelius clapped Dickie hard on the back as she cracked a small smile. Dickie gave a respectful bow. “A pleasure to meet you, milady.”

Lady Wachter nodded and smiled at them all in turn. “It is excellent to meet you, I have heard quite a lot about you since you entered town. Now, if you will join me for supper, I think we could get to the business of things. How do you feel about killing the baron?”