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

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

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

Bearer of Bad News

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

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

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

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

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

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

              

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

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

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

“In a manner of speaking.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s with regard to your brother.“

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

“The devil has taken his life.”

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

“I’m very sorry.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Toys in the Attic

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You bought it didn’t you, Clarence?”

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

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

“… Of course.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

A Bone to Pick

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dickie hailed the muscular youth.

“What do you want?”

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

“Who are you?”

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

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

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

“I don’t know anyone called Stella.”

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

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

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

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

“My share, milord.”

“Hm. Very well,” Cornelius said unhappily.

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

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

“Who is he? What did you do?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Session 6 - All is Not Well

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

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

When Morning Gilds the Skies

Clarence and Paris, in the servant’s quarters, were woken by the sound of the nearby kitchen. As they began to rise, a woman’s voice at the door called for Greta, and the doorknob turned. “Go away!” Clarence boomed, slamming the door with magical force as it opened. “Do not disturb those who are your superior in power!”

“Excuse me, but this is my house, and I will not be talked to so by the staff!” came the indignant voice of the woman.

“I am no servant!”

Paris sighed, wrapping himself in a fine dressing gown. “Clarence, just put your trousers on and open the door.”

The door opened to reveal what must be the baroness, who was somewhat surprised to see the two magic users – she apologised, she’d forgotten they had visitors. Her husband had mentioned that he’d found some hedge wizards to teach Victor, and queried if that’s who they were, and when they would begin his lessons if so.

“We will endeavour to teach him some… control,” said Clarence, “although, order is just the imposition of human minds on the raw universe below! POWER!” It was a little early in the morning for the warlock.

This drew a strange look from the baroness but her husband had already vetted the wizards and she trusted his judgement. She chided Clarence and Paris for their morning tardiness, and went off to find the servants.

...

Meanwhile, Dickie and Cornelius awoke in the bedroom of the baron’s son. The room was handsomely appointed, with fine furniture; when they had entered there had been an ornate gilded birdcage on the mantelpiece but that had mysteriously disappeared… likely into Dickie’s bag.

There was a large, soft bed that Cornelius commandeered and slept very well in. His manservant, relegated to sleeping on the floor, had a more restless night. Dickie had left the party to do some investigating during the night; he took the opportunity of being in private with his master to debrief Cornelius.

Having contacted a Vistani in the Blue Water Inn, Dickie learnt that there was good trade in valuable commodities. On a more concerning note, the town had festivals every week; those who aren’t happy about them were dragged off to the stocks, or the baron’s mansion.

              

Cornelius wasn’t too concerned about the festivals. “We can find these relics of Saint Mark or Andrew or whatever, flog them for cash, high-tail it out of here, and take whatever money we get with us.” Dickie told him selling such relics is dangerous in Barovia; even just old bones. “Probably not even human bones, you know these churchy types.”

Dickie had also heard about a “monster hunter”, well regarded by the locals at the Inn, who had been looking for help from local wolf-hunters.

              

“He’s paying well for able bodies to take him to a haunted ruin to the south-west. ‘Ere, when we got our fortune told back with the Vistani, didn’t something get said about a monster hunter?”

“I have absolutely no idea Dickie, I didn’t pay that any bother. As you know Dickie, we kill a hundred wolves for breakfast! I say we find this ‘monster-hunter’ chap, take him to whatever ruin he wants to see, take his money, cut him a couple of times, take his stuff and then scarper with the rest of our winnings.”

“A shrewd plan, milord,” Dickie said sardonically, “you truly have a mind for business.”

“That’s why I’m in charge, Dickie.”

There was a knock on the door. Dickie opened it to find a member of the Vallakovich staff, with a message for Cornelius. Ismark, the brother of Ireena, awaited them outside, here to pay their reward for successfully escorting his sister from Barovia to Vallaki. On their way down the stairs Cornelius and Dickie ran into Clarence and Paris, heading upwards to find Victor. Cornelius informed them of Ismark’s appearance, and they party went to greet the Barovian as a whole.

Ismark awaited them on the road outside of the house, almost exactly as they saw him last, except for a travelling cloak and a burlap sack.

“Greetings Ismark. How was the journey to fair, er…” Dickie helped; “Vallaki, milord.” “Exactly!”

Ismark’s journey had been fine; he told them he’d left almost two days after the Bullingdons, having completed his business in the village, and had been fortunate enough to hitch a ride on a Vistani wagon for most of the way.

He thanked them for bringing Ireena to Vallaki, and threw the sack towards Dickie. “Your reward, as promised.”

While Dickie hefted the bag, hearing the pleasing clink of coins within, Paris queried “Ismark, if you don’t mind me asking, why did you follow us so quickly?”

“Well, I didn’t. As I said in Barovia, I would have come with you but I had to sort out some things in the village. Once that was done, which took me a couple of days, I left to join you and as I said the Vistani gave me a ride. When did you reach Vallaki?”

“You have taken care of the loose ends left by the unfortunate death of your father?” Clarence confirmed.

Ismark smiled. “Everything in Barovia has been… taken care of.”

The Devil You Know

Dickie took the sack over to Cornelius and opened it for his master to inspect. Among the glitter of copper and electrum and gold, Cornelius saw a slack face with tangled hair and dead eyes; a severed head. The severed head… of Ismark.

Cornelius, aghast, pulled the held the head up for his companions to see. The Ismark stood before them began to laugh, deep and mirthless and chilling. Dickie’s hand went to the Bullingdon rapier as the illusion fell, Ismark’s face dropping away to reveal the cruel and noble features of Strahd Von Zarovich. Paris screamed, and Clarence lecturing about how the difference between death and life were trivialities in the grand scheme of things, which everyone ignored.

Cornelius whipped the head around by the hair – “Fiend! Murderer! Blood-sucking vampire!” and hurled the body part at Strahd. The clumsy missile flew wide, onto the road behind. Dickie dropped the sack of coins and drew his sword, ready to defend himself from the monster. Cornelius closed the gap, and his gnarled fists lashed out, but with almost imperceptible movements Strahd avoided the first blow; the second landed, hitting a body as hard as steel.

“I visited Ireena last night.” The creature ignored Cornelius’ attack. “I crossed the threshold of that church, where I have not trod in generations.” His gaze found Dickie, and the manservant was overwhelmed by a force of will as strong as a gale. The fear of the vampire was replaced by feelings of friendship and trust, to be heeded and protected, as Dickie fell to Strahd’s vampiric charm.

“Aaah, fiend! Keep away from Ireena!” Paris drew his Wand of Illusory Fireballs with a flourish, and a fireball tumbled towards Strahd… who simply waved his hand and dismissed the illusion. “I have been practicing the arcane arts for four hundred years. You cannot fool me.”

Clarence realised this was not a time for lecturing. He made the strategic decision that attacking Strahd was unwise; getting someone else to attack Strahd would be better, and Dickie was stood there sword out not doing anything. He whispered to the thief-turned-servant, “Dickie, get him!” pointing at Strahd, and stepped to put Paris between himself and the monster.

Dickie was now under the influence of conflicting magical motivations. For now, Clarence’s won through, and the rapier was thrust into the torso of Strahd. As the blade withdrew, Dickie felt a suction as the wound seemed to close even as the blade moved away.

Cornelius again struck at the devil, with a flurry of blows. Again, the devil stepped around the blows, as if Cornelius were shadowboxing. A tin whistle pierced the air, and two of Vallaki’s guards came running down the street, one of them shouting “To arms! To arms!”

As Cornelius struck, Strahd spoke. “She called for me. I answered. And now she is… more willing.” The vampire’s open hand lashed out, cracking Cornelius across the jaw. His gaze turned to Dickie – “Stop!” – but Clarence’s suggestion still overpowered the vampire’s charm.

“Come on Cornelius, you’re a vampire slayer!” Paris slapped his employer on the rump, and Cornelius felt the pain in his jaw dim, and his confidence reinvigorated by the words of his employee. Clarence released a small blast of eldritch energy at the vampire, perfectly aimed but completely ineffective.

Strahd laughed mockingly at the party as thunder boomed.  Lightning crashed above them, and the heavens opened, heavy rain pouring upon the fight in the street.

Dickie stabbed the vampire clean through the neck. “I’m so sorry about this!” the manservant cried, under the combined effects of two magical compulsions. As the blade withdrew, the wound closed shut before Dickie’s eyes.

“Fight like a man, you girl!” Cornelius shouted in response to the slap, and landed two clean punches; blows that would have rattled a mortal opponent, even broken bones, but the vampire didn’t seem to notice them.

“Stop! Stop fighting in the streets! Er, you’re all under arrest!” The guard called out from a safe distance, his comrade still blowing the whistle.

Strahd stepped back from Cornelius. “Lay off your dogs, Bullingdon, and fight me like a man.” He spread his arms wide. “You claim to be a vampire slayer? Slay me!”

Paris leapt into action. “Ok, I’ll cast… no that won’t work, maybe I can… oh wait, how about I… no, no, come on Paris…damn it! Fear the might of the Bullingdons, Strahd!” The psychic lash of the taunt made Strahd wince.

Clarence wove a glamour to disguise himself as the baron, and in the baron’s voice he shouted at the guards to attack the vampire. The guards didn’t look convinced. Dickie succumbed to his conflicted state and froze, looking from Strahd – “I’m sorry, my lord!” – back to Cornelius – “I’m sorry, my lord!”.

Cornelius told the guards and his comrades to stand back and launched himself again at Strahd. Again, Strahd dodged his blows with ease. “I am the lord and master of Barovia. This land is steeped in the blood of foreign heroes!”

Paris cried out, voice shaking: “We are not just heroes! We are vampire-slaying heroes!” and again the words cut into Strahd’s psyche and the vampire winced. For a briefest moment the party heard the lub-dub, lub-dub of a great beating heart.

Clarence, startled, tried to identify the sound; a direct response to the damage Paris dealt to Strahd, he discerned, and the sound was the result of some enchantment or ward tied to the vampire.

Dickie was still too conflicted to act; Cornelius was not, and his fist caught Strahd square on the jaw but the vampire was barely moved. He grabbed Cornelius around the arms biceps, drawing him close. “No matter what the fortune of the cards foretold; no matter the trinkets you gather, the allies you surround yourself with; no matter if you face me like a man, Cornelius Bullingdon, or run like a dog… You will die here.”

“How about less monologues and more punching!” called Paris, but this time the vampire ignored the barb.

The telepathic voice of Clarence forced its way into Dickie’s skull – “What are you doing, you fool? Stop standing there!” whilst the baron’s voice emitted from Clarence’s mouth – “What am I paying you for! Get in there! Arrest that man!” and the guards saw the baron point at Strahd. At this point, the clamouring of whistles became louder, and another dozen guardsmen came charging in from the top of the street. They were led Izek, monstrous arm holding a huge battleaxe.

“I think you have things wrong, sir! I will defeat you! I will liberate this land from your vile evil!” Cornelius shouted, glancing around to make sure the guards could hear, “and when I am done with you, I shall return and reclaim my homeland, for I intend to die in Saxonia!” And then, arms restrained, the nobleman attempted to head-butted Strahd.

The vampire just lifted Cornelius clean off his feet, then pulled him in close- the devil pushed his mouth against Cornelius’ neck, and there was no warm breath, just dry, cold lips, and the sharp pain of two pinpricks as the vampire’s teeth pushed into the jugular. Cornelius’ eyes managed to roll towards his brother; he croaked out “Tell them… I never surrendered…” and fell limp.

Strahd dropped the body like a ragdoll, and began again laughing, without humour or mirth, at the rest of the Bullingdon Boys. “I am the ancient,” he said, “I am the land!” and as he laughed, lightning flashed, thunder rolled, the rain fell, and the vampire vanished, the laughter fading on the wind.

That Old Black Magic

As the guards approached the party, Paris called out “Now wait just one second! Our leader has just been killed! Everyone needs to calm down and help us take control of the situation.” Izek succumbed to the magic lacing the words, and threw out an arm to halt the guards. He bowed to Clarence, in disguise as the baron, and asked how he could be of assistance.

Clarence approached the unconscious body of his brother, muttering to himself “My declarations of earlier to the contrary… about how there is really no difference between life and death… and it’s all really meaningless, and we are all but sparks in the void… Well, I still feel the flow of life on my brother.” He touched the body and through the slightest magical impulse halted Cornelius’ descent into death.

Dickie ran to the side of his master, checking his pulse, checking for signs of life. His heart still beat, if faintly. “He yet lives! His might is too great, even for the devil himself!”

“Aah! He is undead!” cried Paris. “Undead do not have a pulse, Paris. As you yourself taught me!” Clarence remembered he was disguised as the baron. “Ah… As you taught me last night? I remember you telling me.”

At Paris’ command, the charmed Izek lifted Cornelius like a child. Clarence-as-the-baron told him to dismiss the guard, as the Bullingdons had handled everything. As Izek dismissed the guards back to their posts, a voice above called out “Father! Father! Send me that man!” A gangly teenager was leaning out of an attic window, shouting at the baron/Clarence and pointing at Paris. “I saw him do a fireball! I want to learn the fireball!” 

“Yes, yes, of course my sweet fluffykins, I will of course send him to you!” The window slammed shut and the boy withdrew, whilst Paris spluttered.

The ‘baron’ dismissed himself, and shortly Clarence appeared from around a corner. Dickie retrieved the sack of coins that had held Ismark’s head, and Clarence retrieved the head itself as Izek carried Cornelius into the mansion. 

Remembering his restless sleep of the night before, Dickie checked the journal that on the first night in Barovia had recorded his dreams. It held a new entry, again in his own hand writing; describing his pursuit by some mysterious, horrible beast.

As Cornelius rested, Dickie stayed at his side faithfully, while Clarence and Paris went off to discuss matters arcane, find books to read and serving girls to woo. Eventually Cornelius regained consciousness. Bleary eyed, the first thing he saw was his dour manservant.

“Dickie! You… You killed yourself so you could serve your master in heaven?”

Dickie sighed. “You yet live, my lord.”

“Oh. So Strahd is defeated?”

“He fled, sir. Clearly you broke his spirit.”

“Again? He fears we great vampire hunters!” Cornelius gloated. “But never matter. Did you get the sack of money?”  

Dickie confirmed that the money and Ismark’s head had been recovered. Cornelius, when asked, was feeling fit as a fiddle, and declared that they should bring Clarence and Paris the good news.

Clarence was in the smoking room, deeply engrossed in his arcane tome, making a strange gesture with his left hand. Paris was in the kitchen, regaling the female servant with tales of his heroism. As Cornelius and Dickie reached the bottom of the stairs, the real baron came through the front door. His dogs, as ever, trailed his heels.

“What’s going on here, I heard there was some sort of ruckus!”

“Strahd came, my dear friend baron!” Cornelius explained, “And we saw him off! Behold, the vampire slayer remains unslain.”

The baron blinked at Cornelius in amazement, thoroughly convinced. He was amazed that both the devil had come to Vallaki, and that the Bullingdons had driven him off. Paris and Clarence approached at the conversation.

“Oh I wish that I had seen it with my own eyes. I suppose I’ll have to ask Izek to debrief me. Well I sup-“

“Don’t ask Izek to debrief you, he’s been traumatized.” Recalling that Izek and the guards had all seen ‘the baron’ on scene, Paris acted quickly. “In fact, don’t speak to anyone about it. Only speak to us about the event.”

“Izek, traumatized? Ah, is that something to do with this sister of his?” The baron queried, bemused.

“I couldn’t say, but if you mention it to him he starts to cry and runs off. So I’d keep it to yourself for, say, about a year?”

“Ah, I suppose if that’s what you think is best.” The baron retreated to his library, confused by the whole affair but convinced that the Bullingdon Boys were legitimate heroes of the day.

Clarence pursued the baron, seeking to get confirmation of payment for teaching his son, before they begin. Baron Vallakovich was a little surprised at this, as he understood that Paris was the tutor and that payment was to be arranged with the whole party present. Clarence was persistent and managed to coax a pouch of gold, payment for the first lesson, with the caveat that the arrangement for further payment would be negotiated later and openly with the rest of the group.

Paris and Clarence had a small discussion about how they were going to approach the magic lessons.

“Paris, shall we proceed to introduce the young man to the wonders of the arcane arts?”

“Er, yes, but, ah, we’re… not actually going to show him anything, are we?”

“I see no reason why not.”

“What are you going to show him?”

Clarence began to cackle. “That which lies beyond the borders of the universe that man can ever comprehend!”

“Ok, ok, but just don’t tell him my fireballs are illusions, ok?”

“Of course.”

“Don’t let him use the wand.”

“Of course.”

“Ok. Fine.”

The pair headed upstairs, then up again, to the door that lead to the attic. Upon the door, someone had carved a large skull, and from the handle hung a sign that read All is NOT well!

Clarence approached the door cautiously and summoned a spectral hand to knock. As the mage-hand touched the door, a glyph on the door lit up and emitted a bolt of lightning at the hand… to no effect.

From within, a voice shouted “Go away!”

“I am Clarence Bullingdon, and this is my companion Par-“

“I am Paris Digby, mighty wizard!” Paris interrupted.

The door was heaved open and the gangly Victor Vallakovich stood infront of them. “Are you going to teach me the fireball?”

Paris replied “Err, I can certainly show you fireball. And I can show you everything I know, but this talent isn’t something everyone possesses.”

The teenager insisted he was talented; he’d been teaching himself, he could do advanced spells. He invited them in to his attic workroom. On top of a pine box, there was the animated skeleton of a cat stretching lazily; a couple more cat skeletons wandered around.

“Don’t mind the cats, they’re something I’ve been testing on. You see, I can do the magics!”

Victor explained how he had found an old spellbook in his father’s library and had been teaching himself from it. He held it out for them to see; an old leatherbound tome, full of arcane writing. He enquired as to where Paris’ spellbook was.

“Who needs a spellbook when it’s all up here?” Paris said, tapping his temple. “Only the best wizards have no need of spellbooks!”

Clarence disagreed. “A spellbook can be most helpful in forcing a semblance of order on the raw mitigated power that lurks just beneath the surface of reality!”

“Oh, for some folk, certainly.”

“It provides a conduit! Behind which your will is expressed on the fabric of the universe itself!”

Victor was staring wide-eyed at Clarence. He silently mouthed the word yes.

As Paris didn’t have a spellbook, Victor was convinced that he wasn’t a real wizard, as real wizards all had spellbooks. He asked the pair if they knew how to make a teleportation circle.

“Of course,” lied Paris, “elementary.”

“Oh, good.” Victor pulled away a large rug on the floor, revealing a circle scrawled on to the floor, surrounded with arcane runes, decorated with candles, cat skulls and strange patches of dried fluid. “I think I’m almost done.” He flipped his spellbook open to reveal a diagram very similar to that chalked on the ground. “You’ll help me finish this spell and I can be free of this horrible place!”

“Now, you’ve made a very basic error here,” Paris said smugly as he desperately tried to recall everything he knew of the Teleportation Circle spell. “There needs to be a second circle elsewhere.”

“I know.” Victor showed them again the book, and indicated the sigils that linked to three different locations, outside of Barovia.

“You’re trying to get out of Barovia?” Paris asked.

“Of course I’m trying to get out of Barovia! Why would anybody stay here?”

Paris paused. “Good point.”

Clarence asked to examine the book. Victor acquiesced, but only on the condition that while Clarence inspected Victor’s book, Victor could examine Clarence’s; cautiously, they exchanged books.

Victor’s spell book must have belonged to a powerful Wizard; it contained spells Clarence had never heard of, the purpose of which he could not discern.

Clarence’s book was a forbidden tome that he had stolen; bound with seven sigils, locked with seven chains, and warded by seven spirits, it contained knowledge not meant for the feeble minds of men, written in a forgotten language from beyond time. Clarence was not concerned that this boy would find anything useful within.

“What language is this? It’s all just, it’s gobbledegook, it’s… nonsense… Is this even. Hmm.” Victor became engrossed in the book, holding it close to his face, drawing his fingers down the pages.

“Do you-“ Victor waved a hand at Clarence to shush him. He looked up from the book, towards the pair. “This… This is power.”

“Oh dear,” thought Clarence, “I may have made a mistake…”

...

Meanwhile, Cornelius and Dickie had left for the Church of St. Andral, to see if Strahd had spoken true about Ireena and to deliver her brother’s head to her...

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.