Session 5 - All Will Be Well

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

Days in Barovia: 2. The moon waxes crescent.

Of Wolf and Raven

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

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

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

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

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

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

The rest of the party was thoroughly convinced.

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

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

“But Clarence killed one earlier?”

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

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

Clarence doesn’t believe in bad luck.

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We! Can’t! Hear! You!”

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

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

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

Welcome to Vallaki

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Now look here sonny-Jim-“

“Take your hands off me.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Good,” said the man, “follow me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No Church in the Wild

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Session 4 - Toil and Trouble

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

Days in Barovia: 2. The moon waxes crescent.

Something Wicked This Way Comes

As the party stood pondering their strange encounter with the vampire lord, thunder rumbled in the distance, and the bleak landscape was momentarily lit as lightning crashed to the east, illuminating the huge gothic castle in the distance. The dark clouds above them broke and heavy rain began to fall upon the party, turning the earth around them to mud.

Cornelius chastised Dickie for not having thought to bring an umbrella to protect Ireena from the rain, but the hardy Barovian was more comfortable in this weather than the foreigners. The Bullingdon party put up their hoods and headed west along the muddy track, turning away from the castle and hoping to reach Vallaki before nightfall.

Shortly the Old Svalich Road once again was swallowed by forest, and the trees arching thickly over the road provided some measure of shelter from the foul weather. The path twisted and turned but seemed to hold roughly west, and after about an hour the trees began to thin and the lowland was revealed before them. The road lazily hugged the hillsides as it descended into a fog-filled valley, where they could just about discern a walled town on the shores of a great mountain lake, waters dark and roiling.

Before the town there was a fork in the road, leading to a promontory upon which there stood a windmill. Something tickled Clarence’s memory but he didn’t recall the warning of the strange Barovian woman the night before; he had been far to engrossed in his arcane tome and her words had not stuck with him.

The windmill was maybe only an hour away, and then Vallaki another two or three hours beyond it. Cornelius decided that if it were in habitable condition it may be a good idea to take shelter there until the worst of the weather was past.

So another hour was spent trudging through the rain, staying to the road; while Barovia was open before them, the foul weather and steeply descending hills of the harsh landscape made any thought of leaving the road considerably unpleasant.

As they approached the spot where the road split with one arm heading to the windmill, they could see the building in better detail; a stocky, onion-domed edifice, leaning forward and slightly to one side as though turning away from the stormy sky. A wooden platform encircled the grey brick in a balcony above the doorway leading in to the building.

The party could now see a figure approaching from Vallaki, a few hundred feet down the old road, bundled tightly in a cloak against the weather and pushing what looked like a peddler’s cart. Dickie proposed that the rest of the party talk to the local while he investigates the windmill to see if it would provide suitable shelter. Cornelius assented to this plan, despite feeling that subtlety is vastly overrated; and Dickie disappeared into the fog and rain. The rest of the party waited to see what the peddler might be selling. 

Fair is Foul and Foul is Fair

As the figure approached Cornelius, Paris, Clarence and Ireena made out a horrible tuneless singing, remarkably jovial considering the weather. Suddenly a host of black forms alighted from some nearby trees and set upon the figure, who started to flail at them with a rolling pin, screeching as the flock of ravens attacked her. During this commotion a burlap sack tied to the side of the cart came loose and fell to the ground; thus freed, the sack then started to try and crawl away.

“Paris, quickly, use some of your magic to help this poor woman,” Cornelius commanded. Paris Digby used his magic to triple the volume of his voice, and waving his wand for effect shouted “Leave that woman alone, you disgusting, shaggy old ravens!” The birds were briefly stunned at the psychic assault of the vicious mocking, and while they were momentarily distracted Clarence lashed out with a bolt of crackling eldritch energy, and a raven fell to the ground dead. The old woman’s hob nailed boot crashed down on the bird’s corpse, crushing it as she exulted a triumphant “HA!”. Cackling, she tied the sack back to the cart, giving it a whack with the rolling pin for good measure, and started to push the cart towards the party.

“Oh, hello dearies! Who’d have thought to see folk travelling in this dreich! And I’ll peg you foreigners an ae if I’m nae mistaken, same as myself. What are the chances? So fair and foul a day I haven’t seen.”

“Now good woman, this fine fellow here is Cornelius Pfeffil Bullingdon the third.” In Dickie’s absence, Paris stepped into the role of functionary; “now you tell us what’s in that sack!”

The crone protested that she was just an innocent pastry seller and that the sack contained pastry selling supplies. Cornelius demanded she open it and show him; she claimed she just wanted to get home out of the rain having been attacked by a flock of foul ravens. Paris claimed that she was indebted to them, as he and Clarence had driven off the birds, so she should do as they say. Cornelius offered to assist her by carrying the sack, which seemed liable to fall of the cart again; the old woman prodded it with her rolling pin to show it was tied on quite securely - “Now are you going to let me be on my way or are you going to keep on harassing me?”

“You can’t fool us, we’re all highly intelligent gentlemen,” lied Paris, “We saw that sack trying to run away!”

“Riddle me this then: if you’re all so highly intelligent, what are ye doing in Barovia?”

Cornelius replied: “We, good woman… are Vampire Slayers!” which drew a “Ha!” from the crone.

Cornelius did not take being laughed at well, and became indignant with this peasant; she claimed it hadn’t been a laugh and that she was an old woman and being out in the cold and rain was giving her a cough, and she would probably catch her death; she demonstrated with some fairly unconvincing coughs.

Cornelius commanded Paris to use his magics to open the sack. The wizard intoned an incantation, sparks and smoke flew out of his wand and in a thoroughly convincing display of magic he pulled the sack open with his other hand. The old woman’s rolling pin lashed out and sharply rapped the knuckles of the foppish wizard.

Clarence’s raised his definitely-not-evil voice. “Excuse me. Would you like to tell us what is in the sack, dear lady?” and as he spoke, he cast a subtle spell of mental manipulation whereupon he would suggest a course of action to his victim and they would obey. The woman turned to him, and said… “I’m not telling you anything you cheeky wee bastard! You can stop trying to use yer puny magic tricks on me. I’m going to get angry in a minute! And you-” to Paris- “Get off my sack!”

The sack now open, Paris saw the top of a child’s head, and started to try and free them from the bag. “Were you going to bake this small child, you hag?” cried Cornelius as he saw this, and tried to grab the crone by the front of her cloak as he shouted at her, but the rolling pin batted his hands away.

“Well you’re all very rude, aren’t you! You’re a bunch of rump-fed ronyon!” the old woman stepped back from the cart, hitched up her cloak, and vanished.

…

Meanwhile, Dickie approached the decrepit looking windmill, ignorant of his fellows’ actions back on the road. While there only seemed to be one entrance on the ground floor, he was easily able to climb up to the wooden platform encircling around the first storey, which had access to a number of windows. Peering through one of the grimy windows, the thief-turned-manservant saw two women, one of middle years, the other youthful, stood by a stone millstone with a surly looking boy of seven or eight years between them. The women wore flour-covered aprons and held their hair in tight buns with long ivory bodkins; one of them held on of these hairpins and prodded it into the arm of the boy, drawing blood. The boy barely flinched and didn’t cry.

With no way to enter the first storey without alerting those within, Dickie tried to climb up to a window on the next storey; however, he found no purchase on the crumbling bricks, slick with rain. He moved back to ground level and slowly pushed open the front door, and stealthily entered the building.

The ground floor room was a filthy makeshift kitchen, with baskets and old dishware piled everywhere, a chicken coop, a heavy wooden trunk, an out-of-place wooden cabinet with pretty flowers painted on its doors. An open, upright barrel gave off a foul odour which overpowered the sweet smell of pastries coming from the brick oven. Over the clucking of chickens and croaking of frogs (seeming to come from the trunk), Dickie could hear the raised voices of two women in argument from the top of the stone stairs climbing along the wall.

Dickie found this all very suspicious. He drew his rapier and snuck up the stairs. The two women were arguing. The older claimed the boy was useless and they’d have to get rid of him; the younger advised patience, that “Nanny” wouldn’t make such a mistake. “She’ll be back soon, let’s see what she has to say about it before we do-“ she stopped midsentence and sniffed the air suspiciously. “By the pricking of my thumbs… Something wicked this way comes.”

…

As the crone vanished, Paris lifted the child, a girl of five or so, out of the sack, and set her down on the floor. The child was weeping and snivelling and showed bruises from the ministrations of the woman’s rolling pin; she stayed clasped to Paris’ leg as he sat her on the floor. Cornelius, showing a remarkable amount of tact, kindly introduced himself and asked her name, which they learnt to be Myrtle. “Don’t worry, child,” he said, “my faithful manservant has just been to a windmill nearby, which I’m sure you will be able to rest in a while.” Paris tried to find her some food and Clarence searched the cart as Ireena wrapped the child in her cloak. The cart, a one wheeled peddler’s cart, was partially stocked with pastries of the sort the two peasants in the village had been fighting over.

Cornelius asked the girl “These pastries. Were you to be used as an ingredient in them?” she looked at him with horror. “I, I…” “Spit it out, woman!”

“Cornelius, this kind of thing, saving young girls – it’s our kind of business. You can treat the little wench more kindly, can’t you?” interjected Paris.

“Perhaps I forget myself. I am a gentleman, a gentleman who treats ladies with deference and respect. I apologise, young Martha.”

They managed to discern that Myrtles parents hadn’t had enough money to buy pastries from the peddler, so had traded her away in exchange for some of the treats. At this point, Clarence flung an eldritch blast at the spot where the old woman had vanished; but there was nothing there for it to hit.

Cornelius decided it was time to go and see what Dickie was up to – “Probably putting his feet up by a cosy fire in that windmill!” – and they left the hag’s wares on the road, with Ireena carrying Myrtle.

Dickie heard the door into the windmill close. Looking around, he saw nothing. Sensing trouble nonetheless, he tried to find a hiding place; the only one obvious to him was the large wooden trunk which sounded full of frogs. And it was full of frogs; as he opened the trunk hundreds of them were released, jumping around, ribbiting, croaking. Dickie decided the trunk was not a good place to hide. Instead, he pressed himself up to the side of the stone stairs, so that anyone coming down the stairs may not see him, trying not to make a sound, trying not to breath.

The door burst open under the boot of Cornelius. “Ah, Dickie, there you are! How is the place? Safe, warm, and spacious, I see!” his ignored the finger Dickie held to his lips and his voice boomed through the windmill. At this racket the windmill’s two inhabitants descended the stairs.

The older woman spoke, addressing Cornelius. “Well well, what’s all this then? Are you here to buy some pastries? You’re making an awful ruckus.”

“You sound like the baby-baker outside!” Cried Cornelius, as Paris demanded “What have you been doing with with the children?”

“What do you mean ‘with the children’? Now listen to me, I understand you wanting to come in here and get out of the rain, but I won’t have you in here insulting my business. Now do you want to buy some pastries or not?”

Standing in the midst of a few hundred dispersing frogs, Cornelius replied, “I don’t want to buy your pastries, your sadistic woman! Now I can understand eating frogs when peasants like you run out of food but children? That is really beyond the pale, even for plebs!”

At this Paris ushered Ireena and Myrtle outside to wait for them, as the situation seemed to be escalating.

The older woman told them she wouldn’t have her business insulted, and asked the Bullingdon’s to leave her property. Not everyone in Barovia is as well off as the foreign toffs, and if people want to pay by… alternative means… who was she to deny them? She wouldn’t reveal the fate of the children – “trade secrets” – and demanded that they buy pastries or leave, immediately.

Given this ultimatum, Cornelius walked up to the two women on the stairs, pointed a finger in the face of the younger who was closer to him, said “Now look here,”… And punched her in the face.

At this the old peddler woman reappeared in the centre of the room, said “Now that’s quite enough!” and pointed a finger at Cornelius. She intoned “Thrice the brinded cat hath mew’d!” and there was no effect; whatever spell she cast Cornelius simply shrugged off.

Clarence put the old woman to shame, calling upon his dark powers to lock her in place. The woman of middle years, seeing the assault on the younger, threw a spell at Cornelius as well- “Thrice and once the hedge pig whined!” - and this time the magic was effective, as the brave Bullingdon senior was suddenly turned into a frog. The display of magic prompted a retaliation from Dickie, but his attack went awry due to his awkward positioning.

Paris demanded of the younger witch, “Turn our fearless leader back into a man immediately!” and despite lacing the suggestion with magical power, the woman simply replied “No!” She then picked up frog-Cornelius, and taking one of her long, sharp hairpins held it to his little froggy chest. “Stop it right now or I’ll skewer him!”

Dickie placed his sword at the throat of the paralyzed old woman. “Now you let go of that frog, or you know very well what will happen.”

Clarence recognized the witch’s spell as Polymorph, and knew that despite being transformed his brother was in no real danger; if his frog form was sufficiently damaged, Cornelius would revert to a human form. The witch’s threat was empty, so he flung a blast of energy at her.

The middle-aged witch told Dickie not to do anything stupid, trying to de-escalate the situation. To hold the witch to her word, Paris Digby cast Zone of Truth; magic suffused the room and compelled everyone except Paris to tell the absolute truth.

“What were you doing with that child up there?” Dickie asked

The witch at the top of the stairs replied. “We were seeing if he was fit to be baked into a pie.”

“A-HA! I knew it! I knew zone of truth would, would… The truth will out!” Paris was thrilled at the effectiveness of his spell.

While this occurred, Clarence loosed his eldritch power onto one of the many frogs scurrying about. The frog was obliterated, leaving a bloody smear of frog guts and a wisp of smoke. This was not the effect Clarence had anticipated; these frogs, or some of them it seemed, were just frogs and not polymorphed children.

The actually polymorphed frog, Cornelius, slipped loose of the young witch’s grasp and hopped towards the freedom of the door. She let out a frustrated sigh as he escaped her grasp. “If you can sort him out from the rest of these frogs then you’re free to have him back. Now are you going to be on your way or not? I promise – and I cannot lie – I promise that we won’t hurt you, if you leave us be. We just want to be left alone.”

“But will you promise not to cook any more children into pies?” asked Paris, and Clarence corrected him - “Pastries, not pies! Not to cook children into any form of pastry!”

“I promise not to bake children into pies ever again. If you go.”

The party then discovered that no one else knew that the pies were made from children, to the hags’ knowledge – no customer had ever thought to ask. They wouldn’t reveal the secret of the pies addictive nature.

Bored with the congenial chit chat, Clarence blasted the frog he thought was his brother. His aim was true and the frog was destroyed, returning the older Bullingdon to his natural form. “You’re welcome, brother.”

Now the witches had no leverage on the party. Paris mentioned that even if they left, the authorities would have to be informed, which drew grim laughter from the middle-aged witch.

“The only authority in this land is Strahd. And he would much prefer we don’t kill you, so he can have his sport with you. So it’s in all of our best interests for you to walk away.”

Dickie lowered his rapier from the neck of the crone. “I think it would be in everyone’s interests if we went on our way?”

This was not well received.

Paris - “Surely we can’t let this insult slide! They murder children!”

Cornelius - “They turned me into a frog, we should knock their bloody lights out!”

Clarence - made no protest, but stepped up to the frozen elder and blasted her with eldritch power. 

When the Battle's Lost or Won

And then it went all went downhill.

Cornelius stepped up next to his brother and threw some punches at the paralyzed witch; even so, one of his punches seemed to only glance off of her. The witch of middle years was unimpressed with this escalation of what had seemed a settled issue; “Harpier cries, ‘tis time, ‘tis time!” and a violent vision rocked Clarence, wrecking his mind, bursting blood vessels in his eyes and nose and almost killing him with psychic pressure as he was clutched by an absolute fear of the witch. “Begone with you all or we’ll bury you here!”

Paris cast a sleeping spell – “Sleep now, witches!” – but could not gather enough magical power to overcome any of the witches, and the spell dissipated amongst the nearby frogs. A stream of foul magical energy leapt from the finger of the young witch – “In the poisoned entrails throw!” – towards Clarence, but splashed harmlessly on the stone at his feet. The old crone then snapped out of her paralysis.

Seeing things turning sour, and Clarence on deaths door, Dickie decided to follow his heart, and run away. His head said “Bugger this!” but his mouth said “Mightily sorry to have offended you ladies!” as he dashed out of the door. Once without, he slowed, to analyse the situation; Ireena was where she’d been told to stay, with the child, and Clarence came flying out of the door hot on his heels. Clarence didn’t slow, and as he past Ireena he cried out for her to flee as well; and she did, picking up the girl and running after him down the road to Vallaki.

Cornelius shouted to Paris “New plan, you torch the place, I’ll lock the door!” as he bolted. The witches moved down the stairs towards Paris. “You’d better go too laddie. And pay no mind to torching the place if I were you.” Paris didn’t need telling twice. “Ah, ah ha, ha, that was just my master’s little joke, now don’t you fair ladies mind us one little bit, and have a very nice day now, and ah, remember, today you saw the Bullingdon Boys in action!”

And a voice followed him out of the windmill: “Oh, we’ll remember who you are!”

And so the Bullingdon Boys fled.

…

Some way down the road, Cornelius, Dickie and Paris caught up with Ireena, Myrtle and a winded Clarence. Cornelius and Paris discussed how they were going to spin this incident; Cornelius thought it best to avoid mentioning the windmill and witches entirely, and they should claim they found the stray child on the road, but Paris thought the venture could be made into a victory of sorts; they’d extracted a promise from the witches not to bake more children into pies. Cornelius let him think on coming up with a glorifying tale of the exploit but made it explicitly clear it must go past him before reaching the ears of the public.

Clarence informed Ireena of what occurred within the windmill, frightening her and the child considerably. Paris applied some healing ministrations to his young protégé, and tried to assuage the ladies’ fears. This task complete, Cornelius pulled his companions into a quick huddle.

“If Paris thinks he can turn this into something good for us, I say we at least let him try. We’ve got the kid, to prove we saved at least one of them. Let’s just get to wherever the hell it is we’re going and find a way out of this place.”

Spoke Paris: “I mean, we all heard them promise, it’s not a lie, is it?”

“Not entirely. Even so, our main concern now is finding out way out of this damned country and getting to somewhere civilised, not infested with baby-eating witches and cowardly vampires. As long as we all agree on a story which makes us appear valiant and righteous defenders of justice, everything will work out fine. Now onwards, to Valler, Valli, whatever!”

All agreed, they continued down the road. Paris suggested a sing of the old Towton Beating Song as a pick-me-up, but Cornelius pointed to the bleak, grey, roiling sky, and told him that this was not “jolly beating weather”.

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.

Session 2 - Barovia Boogaloo

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

Days in Barovia: 1. The moon waxes crescent.

Breakfast of Champions

Dawn breaking over Barovia revealed what the night had hidden; crouched bat-like hundreds of feet above the village atop a sheer cliff, looming huge and gothic over the valley, there was a castle.

In wake of the ray of sunlight alighting upon the grave Donavich was caught up in religious fervour. This was a true blessing of the Morning Lord, true sunlight, so rare in Barovia that he himself had never seen it. The power of his god infused his touch, allowing him to sooth and heal Cornelius’ and Dickie’s wounds and relieve their weariness in the aftermath of the battle. However, the blessing of the Morning Lord seemed short lived as Donavich was unable to heal Clarence or Ismark, despite calling prayers to his god.

As they gathered their things from within the church where they had rested briefly the night before, the black book dropped by the skeleton rider as they entered Barovia fell open in Dickie’s pack, and he noticed the pages were no longer blank and in fact held his own hand writing. The writing told of a disturbing vision he dreamt the night previous, but had forgotten upon waking.

The Bullingdon party set out for town, intending to breakfast at the Blood of the Vine. As they approached the town square they saw two Barovian peasants, a man and a woman, moving a long wooden cabinet in the direction of Bilgrath’s Mercantile. Suddenly the woman dropped her end of the cabinet and lunged at the man, and they began fighting over something in a grubby white cloth. Cornelius stepped in and they determined the pie was the man’s rightfully and gave it to him, and decided that all of this fuss was because they were poor people who were probably starving.

This incident adjudicated, the Bully Boys headed into the Tavern, where the barkeep was informing one of the Vistani owners that they were running very low on wine. They demanded large quantities of eggs for breakfast and as these were mercilessly devoured Paris regaled the party with a much embellished rendition of the battle that they had won but hours earlier.

Ismark, son of the old burgomaster, was inspired by their efforts defying the devil Strahd and defeating the wolves. Over breakfast he talked about making a song or poem about the ‘Battle of the Graveyard’, to motivate the menfolk of the village; Paris offered to provide his experience to help an amateur poet. Following the example of the fearless group of strangers, Ismark thought he may be able to make some improvements to the safety of Barovia and the wellbeing of those who lived there.

However, his sister needed to be escorted to Vallaki. The priest had said she may be safe from Strahd in the Church of St. Andral, and Ismark beseeched the party to escort her there while he tried to improve the village. Cornelius graciously agreed to the task once it was made clear the task would be rewarded monetarily. They had one of the Vistani owners, Mirabel, describe the route to Vallaki for them; Clarence tried to manipulate his spectral mage hand into making a map but lacked the deft control required, and it ended up a smudgy inky mess of parchment.

As they had left the church, Ireena had entreated Clarence privately to deal with the priest’s son Doru, who Strahd had turned into one of his vampiric spawn – for the safety of the village, he needed to be destroyed. Over breakfast Clarence used his one-way telepathy to reminded his brother that they had unfinished business in the church, which they decided to deal with discreetly.

Let the Right One In

Breakfast finished, Ismark and Ireena returned to the burgomaster’s mansion to pack for her journey. The Bully Boys came up with a plan to get Donavich out of the church, allowing them to kill Doru. Cornelius, Dickie and Paris hid out of sight around the sides of the church while Clarence used his magical disguise and mundane mimicry to produce an almost perfect imitation in Ireena.

He woke the sleeping Donavich and claimed Ismark needed the priest urgently at the mansion on the other side of the village. The drowsy priest was thoroughly convinced by the deception and pulled his boots on, heading out and leaving the church empty. The party found the trapdoor to the undercroft closed by a heavy padlock, but it was no match for Dickie’s nimble fingers and thieves’ tools.

Descending into the dark basement they saw two pinpoints reflecting the flickering light of thier candelabra. Doru was watching them, still chained to a wooden pillar. Without hesitation Cornelius Pfeffil Bullingdon III laid two solid punches into the creature. Doru laughed off the marquis’ blows, and lunged for his neck, but Cornelius was swift enough to avoid the restrained monster.

Then Doru’s laughter stopped as he was paralyzed by Clarence’s spells, allowing Dickie to push the Bullingdon rapier straight through his heart; Cornelius continued to land devastating punches, and Paris sat back and viciously mocked the impotent creature. Even when the holding spell failed Doru could not break free of the chains as Clarence’s magic sapped its strength.

Despite the vampire spawn’s regenerative powers Cornelius finally managed to lay an uppercut smashing the jaw near clean off, followed by a vicious hook which crumpled Doru’s temple, fracturing his skull with a vicious crunch. Doru fell limp in the chains, apparently finally slain.

Clarence felt the heart of a vampire may hold some powerful alchemical properties; unfortunately, his clumsy attempts to extract it from Doru’s chest left nothing salvageable from the organ. The younger Bullingdon took the opportunity to smear the word STRAHD in blood above the corpse.

They left the church, the undercroft trapdoor re-locked and left as if never opened. Clarence was coated in blood from his botched harvest and decided it may be astute to circumvent the village and clean himself in the River Ivlis. The rest of the party returned to the town square where they saw a confused looking Donavich heading back from the burgomaster’s mansion. They entered Bilgrath’s Mercantile and met the eponymous shop keep and his huge nephew. Despite some tension over prices Cornelius eventually conceded and they purchased the supplies they needed for the journey ahead.

Ismark and Ireena awaited them in the town square, the latter with a pack upon her shoulder and wearing travelling clothes, the former with a pouch of coin he pressed into Cornelius’ hand. They left the village of Barovia by the Old Svalich Road, and meeting Clarence Bullingdon at the old bridge over the Ivlis they set out for Vallaki.

Fortune Favours the Bold

After a few hours of travel the Bully Boys and their escort came upon a fork in the road, where a corpse swung gently from a gallows. The wind turned the corpse to face them and Clarence saw himself hanged by the neck… but the rest of the group saw only the corpse of a Barovian man.

The northwest path of the fork headed down towards the river, and was signed for ‘Tser Pool Encmapment’. To the southwest the road led to ‘Ravenloft / Vallaki’, and began a steady incline to where it would eventually cross Tser Falls high above.

The owners of the Blood of the Vine had told the party to see a Madam Eva at Tser Pool if they had the chance, and it was past lunchtime so the Bully Boys went northwest to the river to seek out Vistani hospitality. The path led to a clearing where the river widened into a small lake. A number of tents were pitched outside of a ring of colourful barrel-topped wagons, unbridled horses drank from the river and within the wagon circle brightly clad figures drank and ate and sang around a large bonfire.

A Vistani man stepped out of the woods onto the path in front of them, tightening his belt. As he saw the group his eyes widened with surprise and recognition and his face broke into a grin. Bren ‘Dickie’ Tanner recognized Vasili, a Vistani with whom he had engaged in “legitimate business” back in Saxonia, leaving him with some unfulfilled debt to the manservant. He told Tanner that, as a friend of the People, he could call upon the assistance of the Vistani if he invoked the debt.

Vasili led them into the camp where an old Vistani man asked to exchange stories. He told them a tale of a mighty wizard who had come to Barovia and raised a peasant army, only to be defeated by Strahd and thrown from the top of Tser falls. Cornelius began a tale of his days at the university of Jutin but cut himself short as he awoke some haunting memory. His brother instead told the Vistani a tale of an ancient race, unlike men, who delved too deep and awoke unspeakable horrors which brought their doom – this tale was well received by the enthralled travelling folk.

Finally Cornelius and Clarence Bullingdon, Bren Tanner and Paris Digby entered the tent of Madam Eva, who it appeared had been expecting them. She greeted them by name and told them that their destiny was to defeat the devil, Strahd von Zarovich, and save the land; or to die by his hand when he tired of his sport.

The party agreed to draw cards from the Tarokka deck.

As Cornelius drew his card, Madam Eva intoned: “This card sheds light on one who will help you greatly in the battle against darkness.” And turned it, to reveal an image of a skull in a jar, labelled ‘The Artifact’. “Ah… Him. He has hunted monsters for so long, he himself has become on. He hates my people.”

Next, Paris took a card from the Tarokka deck. “Your enemy is a creature of darkness, whose powers are beyond mortality. This card will lead you to him!” His card showed a devilish figure on a dark throne: The Dark Lord. “He lurks in the depths of darkness, in the one place to which he must return.”

As Clarence drew a card, Eva laughed. “Ah, a fitting card for you… This card tells of history. Better knowledge of the ancient will help you better understand your enemy.” And Clarence revealed the 6 of Coins… a man in rags, The Beggar. “An ancient man, maimed of visage, has what you seek. He will part with the treasure to see his dark dreams fulfilled.”

Finally, Bren ‘Dickie’ Tanner drew from the deck. “This is a card of power and strength. It tells of a weapon of vengeance: a sword of sunlight.” His card showed a man in holy vestments holding a brazier, the 8 of Glyphs, The Bishop. “What you seek lies in a pile of treasure, beyond a set of amber doors.”

At the mention of Amber doors Clarence took a much deeper interest. Cornelius, enjoying the local mumbo jumbo nonsense, sent Dickie to fetch Ireena to join in. She came with small interest and drew the fifth card, and as she did so Madam Eva intoned: “This card tells of a powerful force for good and protection, a holy symbol of great hope.” And Ireena revealed the 3 of Glyphs. The Healer. “Look to the west. Find a pool blessed by the light of the white sun. And if you go there… child, you will be free.” And that is where our second session ended.