Session 3 - A Night on the Road

5th Day of the 3rd Quarter of the Moon of Songs, Season of Wines, Year 766. 

Days in Barovia: 1. The moon waxes crescent.

Eat, Drink and Be Merry

The fortune telling left Madam Eva wearied and she beseeched the Bullingdon party to let her rest; letting them know they were welcome in the Vistani camp. Outside the elder’s tent, some discussion was had over the authenticity of the readings; Paris felt her methods were sub-par; Cornelius happy to indulge a local custom as a bit of fun, not to be taken too seriously; Clarence’s curiosity was perked as some of her words spoke true to him; and Ireena and Dickie convinced by her sincerity and severity.

This discussion dissolved into Dickie and Paris quibbling about respect; Cornelius called out his manservant for giving orders to Paris, but was left flat-footed by Dickie’s logic that as the Marquis’ chief manservant, he was also head of staff, and therefore above Paris in the social order. “Well, his logic is impeccable!” said Cornelius, “Paris, you must defer to Dickie in all things.”

Paris did not like this.

Dickie sought out his old friend among The People, the man Vasili, who was introduced to the party; he seemed surprised to see Bren Tanner in the company of nobles and powerful practitioners of magic. Vasili invited the Bully Boys to spend the night among the Vistani, as they would not make Vallaki before the fall of night. The group settled in among the Vistani, who welcomed them gladly, sharing wine and food and hospitality.

Paris, urged on by giggling Vistani children, put on a small but impressive show of performance magic; bringing and imaginary battlefield to life in miniature with bangs and flashes and illusory effects. The wizard then suggested his protégé put on a display, but Clarence’s attempt was less successful: all of the windows on the Vistani wagons blew open, and a small, sad looking dragon appeared above his head and mewled gently before disappearing. The onlookers burst into laughter, which was not the response Clarence had wished to invoke, and the children started pestering the two spellcasters for more tricks and entertainment.

As his brother and the wizard made idle use of their magics, Cornelius was approached by a Vistani woman curious as to if he were a practitioner of greater powers also. Cornelius doesn’t buy into any of that magic malarkey – his fist is his wand. On these grounds he declined to buy any of the magic potions she was trying to sell; there’s nothing a potion can do that can’t be solved with a good right hook.

Ireena seemed a little wary of the Vistani but Paris and Clarence’s shenanigans softened her and she found herself warming to them; the ever-perceptive Dickie noticed that occasionally a faraway look would come over her and her eyes would be drawn to the great castle looming over the valley.

After a few hours eating, drinking, resting and socialising at Tser Pool, Cornelius decided it was time to press on to Vallaki. He paid through the nose for a set of tents at Bilgrath’s Mercantile before leaving the village, and he was going to get his money’s worth out of them even if it meant spending the night on the road. What’s the worst that could happen? So Dickie rounded up the troops, Paris spluttering in indignation and protest, and the Bully Boys left Tser Pool.

The hanged man still swung at the fork in the road; this was the work of the Vistani, it turned out, who claimed the Barovian was a horse thief. A raven sat feasting atop the body. The south-western fork lead weaving into the woods and up the hills at a steep gradient which took hours to complete, eventually emerging at an arching stone bridge of mould-encrusted stone crossing the great chasm where the River Ivlis tumbled hundreds of feet into the pool below. Cornelius’ academic knowledge of architecture and stonework gave him insight into the construction and stability of the bridge, which he found to be of distasteful and archaic design but perfectly serviceable. They crossed without incident, Dickie even lending Paris some assistance on the slick stones.

Ships in the Night

The Bullingdon Boys failed to make camp without descending into another debate about their relative positions in the social strata, with Paris almost leaving the group and demanding to be paid; uninterested in this mortal quibbling Clarence summoned a mindless spirit to complete the menial tasks of making camp. Ireena proved capable of setting up her own tent.

Not totally ignorant of the dangers of night time in open Barovian country, the party was astute enough to set watches; again, after some quibbling about class responsibilities it was determined that while taking watch was beneath a nobleman Cornelius also needed a well-rested manservant.

After Ireena retired, the group has a quick ‘business discussion’, where they weighed the merits of various courses of action. They could deliver Ireena, take the money and run before they get too deeply involved; they could keep up with the quest to defeat Strahd, accruing the treasures of which Madam Eva spoke and ‘investment’ from the local community, then head to the hills with the wealth accrued; or destroy the monster, and win all of the riches of Barovia’. Clarence even suggested imitating Strahd himself, using his powers of deception, illusion and mimicry. Cornelius took a liking to the title “Marquis of Saxonia, Hero of Barovia, Slayer of the Dread Count Strahd Von Zarovich” and it was decided they would continue opposing Strahd until it became pertinent to flee Barovia... If they could.

Clarence’s watch was the first. He spent his time engrossed in the totally normal wizard’s spellbook which he never let away from his person, which certainly wasn’t a forbidden tome of fell power through which a great and distant entity could extend its influence among mortal men.

Engrossed in his book as he was, the younger Bullingdon was caught completely unawares by a voice hissing for his attention – “Psst, wizard!” He turned as a figure stepped into the firelight – a tall, lithe, hawkish looking Barovian woman with a stern face and short cropped dark hair, wrapped in a dark cloak. “I am sent here to warn you. The Vistani are not your friends.” She told him many Vistani were willing servants of the Devil, and that when the Bullingdons reached Vallaki they should seek the Blue Water Inn, where they would find true allies. She warned him to avoid the windmill they would pass along the road, and left him with a local saying: “Never harm a raven, lest ill fortune befall you!”

And with that she was gone, stepping out of the firelight and consumed by the darkness. Clarence’s questions were met with silence. “Townsfolk with over developed senses of the dramatic”, he muttered to himself, going back to his book.

Dickie’s watch passed without incident. Paris, very nervous, watched the darkness fervently, ready to jump out of his skin. He almost did when he heard something moving from the woods on to the road. It sounded like a number of people, trying to move stealthily but betrayed by their haste. Now on the road they would pass right past the camp. Suddenly, vague silhouettes loomed in the fog that the firelight illuminated, and the figures rapidly came to a stop. Paris clicked a magical light into being, and greeted the figures with a ‘good evening’.

The light revealed four stocky and wide-built humans with wild beards and hair, almost hidden in the fog by the thick grey mud, clutching weapons made of wood and stone. The leader held up its axe as if to ward Paris off as he enquired “Are you friend or foe?” loud enough to rouse Dickie from his always-light slumber; the manservant lay awake, listening for now.

Paris kept his composure, and with softly assuring tone and gesture managed to persuade the wild folk that they needed no confrontation; the barbarian leader prompted his fellows, and without turning their backs on the wizard they circled around the camp, then moved further south towards the falls and were to the the mist and darkness.

...When the Devil Drives

Morning came without further incident. As his watch ended and the skies were grey-lit with dawn, Cornelius roused

the camp with a booming rendition of the Towton Beating Song, the anthem of the Bullingdon brother's old school.

Paris regaled the party with a tale of how he defeated a troop of mud-coated savages single-handed; Dickie's dream

diary contained no new entries; Clarence started the morning with eldritch chanting to summon an unseen servant

to break camp, then mentioned the visit of the strange Barovian woman and her concern with the Vistani.

They marched north through the fog and mist and drizzle until the dirt road before them split. One arm continued

north-west, towards their destination of Vallaki; the other widened and headed east. The eastern road held patches

of cobblestone and paving that suggested it had once been an important thoroughfare, now fallen into ruin. There

was only one landmark to the east: Castle Ravenloft.

A large black carriage stood waiting at the fork. Two huge black horses snorted steam and stamped their feet in the morning mist. Ireena looked on in horror, clutching her neck – “Oh, not here, when we are so close… It is Him.”  As she spoke the shutter on the door facing them was drawn down, and a pale hand emerged from the darkness within, beckoning them forward.

Cornelius wasn’t convinced. He shouted for the person in the carriage to identify themselves. There was a pause.

The door swung open languorously, revealing a silhouetted figure sat in the dark interior. With impeccable regal bearing, the figure descended from the carriage. The pale light trickling through the morning cloud revealed the cruelly handsome man they had seen that first night in Barovia, mists swirling at his feet: Strahd Von Zarovich.

Cue Cornelius: “He may be a vicious undead monstrosity, but you’ve just got to admire the man’s style!”

The Devil, Strahd, held his cloak infront of himself with one hand and effortlessly executed a perfect bow. The words of the vampire rang deep and clear across the gap between them.

“Hail to thee of might and valour. I must… apologise for my conduct in the village. When indulging passions of the heart it is easy to forget one’s manners,” – a pointed look at Cornelius – “I’m sure you understand. I am Strahd von Zarovich, lord and master of fair Barovia and all within her borders. And now, introduce yourself.”

“I am Cornelius Pffeffil Bullingdon the Third, Marquis of Saxonia. VAMPIRE SLAYER!” And Cornelius delivered his most intimidating look.

The Lord of Barovia matched his gaze evenly and Cornelius felt the incredibly strong will of Strahd imposed upon him through the intent gaze, and he was almost bent… But the self-belief of the Bullingdon scion is too strong and the unholy charisma of the creature broke around him like a wave around rock.

The lord of Barovia smiled. “And we are properly introduced. Now, to the matter of this evening: I feel you do not take my interest in you seriously. I intend to rectify this. I am going to kill you, or one of your companions. Know I am not without mercy – you may decide amongst yourselves who will die. But if you do not choose, I shall. I will give you… two minutes.” Strahd turned on his heel and sauntered back in to the carriage, the door closed behind him.

Cornelius made his decision quickly: It couldn’t be him, as the leader of the Bullingdon Boys; nor Dickie, as he could not be without his faithful manservant; Clarence was his only brother, son and heir of the Bullingdon fortune. So therefore it must be Paris.

Paris did not like this.

“Why not send Dickie, he’s been to prison!”; “Now, now, you couldn’t get along without me, your mighty friendly old wizard!”; “Come on now chaps, look here…”;“This is a different thing entirely, he’s said he’s going to kill us, it’s not a fair fight!” And so Paris managed to wheedle his way out. Dickie wasn’t keen on being the getting killed either; and eventually it was Cornelius who was swayed into making the noble sacrifice.

He turned to his friends, to get assurances that were he to die Clarence would carry on the legacy of the Bullingdon clan, and be a brave and mighty representative of their house; that Dickie would be able to go on without him, and would know what to do with himself; that Paris would tell every lady he wooed of the heroic Cornelius Bullingdon.

These assurances met, Cornelius Pffeffil Bullingdon the Third stripped off his travelling cloak, his suit and his shirt, revealing a chest rippling with muscles and arms with bulging biceps. As he turned towards the carriage, he started to sing, that old song that had reverberated throughout his childhood and into his adult life. Three voices joined his, and as the man strode towards his fate the Barovian air rang out with the Towton Beating Song:

“Jolly beating weather!

Fist swinging in the breeze

Float like a feather

And sting like the bees!

Swing, swing, to-gether, their head between your knees!

Swing, swing, to-gether, their head between your knees!”

A single tear rolled down Cornelius’ cheek, and his lip quivered. “Come on then, Strahd Zopabadopavich. We finish this here and now!”

…

There was no response from the carriage. Dickie checked his watch, to see that around five minutes had passed since Strahd gave his ultimatum of two. One of the great black horses snorted, stamping its foot and shaking its head. Cornelius cautiously approached the carriage. No one had seen Strahd leave; Ireena was still with them. Cornelius looked through the wooden grill into the carriage, seeing within fine black upholstery but no vampire lords. He reached for the door. He opened it. The carriage was still empty. Cornelius’ voice rang out.

“The spineless coward has gone and done a runner! The Bullingdon Boys have scared him off again! Bully! Bully! Bully!”

With tones of relief his party responded, completing the chant of the Bully Boys: “Oi! Oi! Oi!”

As Cornelius moved back to the party, having scared off the vampire once again, the great black horses reared and whinnied; their hooves dug into the ground, and with powerful strides they hauled the empty carriage east, towards the castle.