Session 13 - Argynvostholt

2nd Day of the 4th Quarter of the Moon of Songs, Season of Wines, Year 766.

Days in Barovia: 5. The moon waxes gibbous.

Welcome to the House of Fun

“I must say, I did think Barovia would be far enough to escape her…” Paris sighed, looking upon the corpse of his hated old patron. “What can I say- the ladies love me.”

“Our lifestyle is getting steadily more violent,” said Dickie as he relinquished his hold on the body. “I’m not sure I’m enjoying it.

Cornelius laughed jovially, clapping his manservant on the back. “What a hilarious jape, Dickie! You’re loving it right now!”

Clarence agreed with his brother. “Do you not find it exciting to prove yourself against those lesser than you?  To revel in your victory?”

“Not in the same way it appears you do… But the money’s still good, so it’s all worth it I suppose.”

Clarence suggested they picket the huge black horses harnessed to the black carriage of Ravenloft; the vehicle they arrived in may need to be returned to the monster hunter they sought, and the black carriage would provide them an alternative transport.

Just to the south of the mansion Dickie found the blackened beams of a wooden stable burned to its foundations.  Looming above the wreck was the partially exposed south end of the mansion, all three floors exposed to the elements. When Dickie relayed this information to the party, Cornelius decided to give the damage a quick once-over. The senior Bullingdon’s architectural education allowed him to deduce that the collapse had been caused by siege weapons, but not any time recently; his conclusion was that the structure had been derelict for centuries.

Paris’ suggested that the structure could be… liberated… from destitution, and brought back to its old glory as a Bullingdon residence was well received.

Meanwhile, Dickie approached the huge black horses, with the intention of picketing them somewhere. As he neared, the closer horse eyed him with a certain amount of malice. It shook its mane, snorted, and stamped a hoof.

“I’m beginning to wander if these horses might be happiest left where they are. Undisturbed. At a safe distance. They don’t appear friendly.”

“Come on, give it a go,” Paris urged, “they look like they’ve been well trained.”

“Consider who they’ve been trained by.”

“A discriminating lord who no doubt desires docility and easy temperament in his beasts of burden?” Clarence offered.

Cornelius didn’t care. “Why are we even bothering about these bloody horses anyway when Castle Bullingdon stands before us, ripe for the taking?”

It was decided that, as Dickie didn’t want to risk getting kicked by a horse before going into the house, they would leave the carriage and if push came to shove they could take the magic wagon they had arrived in.

Young Victor Vallakovich did not want to go into the mansion – it looked too spooky, and he was still shaken from the earlier incident with the “illusion” of a giant frog monster. Cornelius, Dickie and Paris were all too happy not to have Clarence’s protégé tagging along, and he was told to wait in the magic wagon.

Flagstone steps flanked by stone railings climbed to a landing in front of a pair of tall wooden doors, knockers carved into the shape of small dragons. Carved into the lintel above the entrance was the word ARGYNVOSTHOLT. The doors were unlocked and Dickie pushed them open to reveal a large foyer. A grand staircase led up to balconies held aloft by stone pillars and arches. From an iron rod above the staircase landing hung a tall, faded tapestry depicting a nobleman in silver armour.

Six sets of double doors led from the foyer. Along the walls, displayed on marble pedestals, were three alabaster busts of handsome men. A fourth bust and its pedestal had been knocked over, the shattered remains strewn across the mosaic floor.

Paris eyed up the statuettes, pondering their value. “A shame those busts are likely to be heavy.”

“Who’s going to buy a statue of a dead guy in a place like this?” Dickie asked.

“I would.”

“You’d buy one of these?”

“They’re very fine!”

“Paris,” Cornelius said kindly, “you understand the kind of difference between this kind of bust and the sort you’re usually interested in?”

“I can appreciate art as well as the natural form, my lord!”

Cornelius prompted his manservant to open the nearest door, the first on the north side of the foyer, and gestured for everyone else to stand back as Dickie approached the door with some trepidation; as far as he could tell, it was unlocked, and led to a ransacked den. Seeing nothing amiss Dickie waved the party in.

Suddenly, a fire erupted from the dead hearth, flames crackled and flickered and took shape in a draconic form, unfurling wings of smoke. The apparition hissed at the party:

“My knights have fallen in to darkness. Save them if you can. Show them the light they have lost!”

And the fire extinguished.

Dickie was somewhat shaken by this, muttering again about bloody wizards and their bloody wizard tricks. Cornelius, however, was pleased that his soon-to-be new home came with some built-in magic. He wasn’t so pleased with the state of the place, and told Dickie to start making a list of what would need buying – the wrecked furniture would all need to be replaced, and the cabinets held only broken wineglasses.

The rest of the ground floor of the north wing held a parlour, pantries, servants quarters, a kitchen, and a wine store (although the wine had all turned to vinegar). As they explored the empty rooms, long left to ruin, they could not help but note the persistent theme in the decorations; dragon murals painted on the ceiling, dragon shaped doorhandles, table legs sculpted into dragons, chairs backed with dragon-wings; dragon imagery placed almost everywhere it could be, to the point of tastelessness.

Dickie was told to make note - all of the dragon stuff would have to go.

As they left the wine storage and re-entered the foyer, a great winged shadow swept across the walls and disappeared with a soft, bestial hiss; in wake of this strange sight came… nothing, and now more unnerved the Bully Boys continued their search.

At either side of the stairway at the end of the foyer stood two sets of doors, which led into a large dining room. From the adjoining kitchen the party had seen a small graveyard on the grounds outside, the door to which appeared to be through the dining room: they wanted to investigate this graveyard, as undead had so far been much more troublesome than ghostly dragons.

Beyond the dining room, through leaded glass doors between stained glass windows, was a dark, misty room containing the door to the graveyard. This room appeared to be a chapel. Cracked wooden pillars supported a wooden balcony that overhung the room across three walls. Narrow archways on either side of the room led to spiral staircases connecting to the balcony and beyond, for this was the base of the tallest tower of the ruin. At the east end of the chapel a stone altar was flanked by iron candelabras, the altar carved with a familiar rising sun bas-relief. One of the tall, arching stained-glass windows beyond the altar had been shattered, allowing thick fog to enter and fill the room.

Through the fog, the Bullingdon Boys could see three armoured figures kneeling before the altar.

Wight Knights

As the Bully Boys entered the chapel, the three knights rose and turned as one. Tattered chainmail hung on the pallid flesh of these walking corpses, and three rotten hands went to the hilts of three longswords. “Go away,” one rasped, “You are not welcome here,” and three swords were drawn.

“There will be no squatters in Castle Bullingdon!” roared Cornelius, charging into the midst of the undead knights, fists swinging. He was quickly surrounded by the trio, who hewed at him with their longswords, but Cornelius was nimble enough to avoid any serious injury as his manservant stepped up to support him, the Bullingdon rapier searching for weak points in ancient armour.

From the back of the chapel, Paris and Clarence launched arcane artillery at the knights. This had the consequence of drawing one out of the melee, where Dickie and Cornelius traded blows with the other two revenants. As the knight charged at the foppish wizard, Paris almost fumbled his wand; when the knight caught him a glancing blow, he cried out in pain and somewhat unexpectedly his foe was engulfed in hellish flames. A laughing Paris evoked an incantation that threw the knight- and Clarence- from their feet, then retreated into the doorway to the chapel.

Clarence pushed himself to his feet and called upon his eldritch power to encase himself in armour of ice. The knight pushed itself to its feet and smashed its sword into this armour, which shattered: the enchantment shielded the younger Bullingdon from the worst of the strike, and reciprocated an icy blast at his assailant.

In the centre of the chapel, the combat between Cornelius and Dickie and the two revenant knights was a gruelling, bloody affair. The knights were slow, but clad in ancient armour, wielded heavy swords and their long-dead forms ignored wounds that would slay living men. The master and servant struck hard and fast, nimbly dancing around the knights’ blades, but the pair were lightly armoured and mortal. They struck and dodged and parried and riposted, and in turn were nicked and grazed and scratched and bloodied.

Finally, nimble thrusts of Dickie’s rapier brought one of the knights to its knees and Cornelius, calloused knuckles raw, was able to crush its skull with the powerful blows of his fists.

Clarence fled up one of the spiral staircases to the wooden balcony overhanging the chapel, giving him a commanding position to throw eldritch blasts down into the combat below. One undead knight pursued Paris while the other hacked at Dickie and Cornelius, dogged now by the nobleman and his manservant.

Paris shouted at the creature attacking him and a blast of concussive energy rung out, shattering the stained glass windows flanking the doorway, making the wooden balcony lurch worryingly and knocking the knight to its knees. Steadying himself above, Clarence focussed his eldritch energy and blasted the back of the knight, leaving a gaping hole where its chest had been. The undead knight fell, and did not rise again.

Finally, Cornelius and Dickie, beaten, bloodied and exhausted from the long melee, put down the final foe.

…

“Well, uh, I think you’ll agree we made pretty short work of those fools,” wheezed a winded Paris.

Cornelius, bleeding from a number of cuts and with sweat thick on his brow, agreed. “Of course, of course. Now I’ve taken a couple of scratches, so hand over one of your famous healing tinctures, Paris.”

Paris obtained a mysterious ointment from his pack and applied it to some of Cornelius’ cuts in a seemingly-medical way. “Aha, my tinctures always work a treat!” he lied, as he tended to his employer with the fake medicine. “I think you’ll find that cut will be as right as rain in no time!”

Cornelius beamed at Paris.

Medical duties completed, Paris began to summon the Golden Bully Hut to provide them a safe space in which to recover their energy. In the tense ten minutes it took for him to raise the arcane structure, brick by golden brick, Dicky had a quick investigation of their surroundings. Above the bas-relief of the symbol of the Morninglord, on the stone altar he found a necklace of prayer beads. Among the red-wood beads were four beads of aquamarine, one of black pearl and one of topaz; and the item had the itch of something faintly magical.

Shortly the Golden Bully Hut was complete and the party sequestered within. Paris regaled everyone with how the Bully Boys had come up trumps once again. Wounds were patched, muscles stretched; Clarence complained loudly about the small scratch he had obtained; Paris liberally applied “tinctures”, and Dickie sat concentrating on the prayer beads he had found.

Castles in the Sky

“Shall we investigate the cemetary to ensure that if there are any more creatures like that, they remain at rest?” Clarence suggested; that had, after all, been the reason they’d come into the chapel.

“If you insist, Clarence,” his brother replied, “I suppose it can’t do us any harm.”

“If you feel like fighting more of the bloody things,” Dickie muttered, while Paris checked that everyone was feeling fighting fit and didn’t need any tinctures, ointments or other medical ministrations.

Unbarred, the door leading from the chapel opened to a cemetery enclosed by a tall fence of wrought iron. Fog lay thick on the ground. At the far end of the cemetery stood a severe stone mausoleum.

Five graves stood open and empty. Clarence deduced that the corpses buried within had crawled out of the earth; but of those missing corpses there was no sign, and the fence was intact.

“Well. We have taken care of these revenants, but there are two others yet remaining.”

“Oh, good,” came Dickie’s sarcastic drawl, while Paris optimistically said “They shouldn’t be too difficult!”

“Indeed. They shall no doubt pose little obstacle to us. Let’s check the mausoleum before we go back inside.”

“You would want to check the mausoleum, wouldn’t you,” sighed Paris.

“I feel quite anxious about leaving it at our back.”

“A month ago if someone had said to me, ‘let’s check that mausoleum’, I would have said they were mad.”

“Well anyway,” interjected Cornelius, “we’d best go and see what the new Bullingdon mausoleum looks like.”

Tarnished, silver-plated gargoyles shaped like – once again – small dragons, clung to the stone-tiled roof of the structure and caused the party to hang their heads in despair at the tactless décor. The eight foot tall marble door of the tomb was engraved with a name: ARGYNVOST. Realization dawned on Dickie: “Oh, it’s a bloke!”

Cornelius declared that the inscription would be replaced with the Bullingdon family crest. Then, eying the huge, heavy marble door, and looking at the scrawny physique of Clarence; Paris’ winsome but girlish frame; and Dickie’s lean, stringy build, sighed.

“I’ll open the door to the Bulligdon mausoleum. Just this once! In fact, it’s probably better that only I can open it – to ensure that only the best in the family gain entry.”

“There’s only two of you,” Paris noted.

“There will be more of us, Paris,” Cornelius spluttered, “we’re not postmenopausal!”

“You’re going to marry one of these Barovians then?”

“Once I’m king of Bullindon-ovia, women will be flocking to throw themselves at my feet!”

“What, like those horrible old witches?”

“Young and nubile women, Paris-“ Cornelius recalled the Dowager Baroness Rhineheart’s strange relationship with his house wizard- “Not the sort you’re into.”

“That’s unfair,” whined Paris as Dickie and Clarence guffawed, “You don’t know the circumstances.”

“Well you have plenty of time to explain the circumstances while I’m opening this door.”

Paris sighed. “Well, you know how it is. At first it didn’t seem like it would be too much of a bother and, well, it wasn’t so bad, but you know how things progress and it got worse and worse and… It was hard to escape, after the first time.”

“After she tied you to the bed?” Clarence prompted, and a chuckling Dickie asked “Did you get put over her knee much?”

“We don’t need to dwell on the details. Look, just, suffice to say… It wasn’t very long before I became deeply uncomfortable with the whole thing but found it very difficult to extricate myself. It went on a whole lot longer than I would have liked. I’m not proud of it but… she’s dead now, so.”

“Because we killed her, Paris,” Cornelius reminded him.

“Well, you killed her, actually.”

“Only because I wanted to help you!”

“And also she was a vampire and would have killed us all anyway. So, thank you.”

Cornelius wiped the sweat from his brow as he continued shifting the marble door, inch by tedious inch. Dickie suggested that Clarence maybe assist with some of his magic – perhaps he could summon his unseen servant? Which prompted Clarence to give a long and arduous explanation of why that particular magic would not be able to help in this instance, until Cornelius cut him off.

“It doesn’t matter,” he exclaimed, “We have a seen servant. Dickie, come over here and help me pull!”

Dickie did not make a good attempt at helping to pull but made an excellent attempt at appearing to be helping.

“Excellent work Dickie! We’ll show those wizards who’s in charge.”

Eventually a gap was opened wide enough for the barrel-chested Cornelius to squeeze through. He clapped Dickie on the back, telling him to sit down and have a breather. The inside of the mausoleum was lit only by a thin streak of light – Clarence suggested lighting a lantern, but Cornelius waved off the idea.

“We don’t need a lantern, Clarence – we ride with the Morninglord. Money!”

This was close enough to “mané”, and the medallion of the Morninglord around his chest glowed, casting bright light into the dusty mausoleum. Four alcoves with raised floors stood empty, and upon the back wall a verse was enscribed:

Here lie the bones and treasures of Argynvost

Lord of Argynvost and founder of the Order of the Silver Dragon

“More bloody dragons!” Cornelius grumbled, then relayed the verse to his companions.

Paris, always well prioritized, asked “What was that about treasure?”

“Seems like someone got here before us,” Dickie told him as he squeezed into the tomb. “Or it was upsettingly metaphorical.”

“It was probably the treasure of wisdom or something. Maybe the real treasure was the cooperation between you two to open the door?”

“Maybe the real treasure is somewhere else in the house?”

“That is all shit treasure!” stormed Cornelius. “When this is Castle Bullingdon it will contain a real treasure of gold and gemstones.”

Empty handed, the Bully Boys traipsed back into the chapel, at the base of the tower. Clarence declared that, if there were any powerful items of arcane power, they would lie at the top of the tower. The party followed him as he began to ascend, pontificating.

“Being able to look down upon your surrounds, knowing it is only a metaphor for the way you look down on the petty illusions of reality that others see as truth – THAT is to be a wizard! THAT is to be magi-“

And Clarence tripped over his robes, which Dickie’s foot may or may not have been stood on.

“You should watch these steps, they look a bit uneven,” The manservant suggested, as he stepped past the younger Bullingdon.

“Maybe you should wear shorter robes?” Paris added.

Cornelius nodded at his manservant. “Put it on the list, Dickie – we’ll need a mason, to even out the steps.”

“And a stylist for Clarence!”

So they ascended the stone spiral staircase that stood clung to the north face of the main tower; Paris trying to convince Clarence that maintaining a good image was important, Clarence refusing to conceded that he intentionally made himself look like an evil wizard, Dickie exasperated at both of the “bloody wizards”, Cornelius assessing his soon-to-be new home.

The stairwell took them up beyond the roof of the three-storey tall mansion; through arrow slits they could see that along with the south wing, large sections of the roof itself were partially collapsed. When light from the opening above finally struck them, they must have climbed almost eighty feet.

Dickie, leading the group, was turning back to laugh at Clarence when something stabbed down from the opening in the stairwell above: a blue, translucent arrow protruded from his armour. “Bloody hell! God damn bloody magic!” he exclaimed, and another arrow struck into him from above.

A lone armoured figure stood at the top of the stairwell, with a drawn longbow in hand. Unlike the revenants they had fought in the chapel below, this knight was not a rotting corpse encased in tattered armour: its appearance was whole, the armour and weapons in fine repair, but the creature and its arms were pale blue, translucent and spectral.