Session 8 - Wachterhaus

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

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

Cards on the Table

 “How do you feel about killing the baron?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“All things have their end,” Clarence intoned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ah. Fair point.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Carry on.”

“I… I don’t wand to.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I bloody knew it.” Dickie muttered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Open House

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Skeletons in the Closet

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

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

“It is my daughter, Stella.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But we, we bested the skelet-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bearer of Bad News

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

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

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

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

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

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

              

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

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

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

“In a manner of speaking.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s with regard to your brother.“

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

“The devil has taken his life.”

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

“I’m very sorry.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Toys in the Attic

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You bought it didn’t you, Clarence?”

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

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

“… Of course.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

A Bone to Pick

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dickie hailed the muscular youth.

“What do you want?”

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

“Who are you?”

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

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

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

“I don’t know anyone called Stella.”

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

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

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

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

“My share, milord.”

“Hm. Very well,” Cornelius said unhappily.

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

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

“Who is he? What did you do?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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...