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Flemming moves up the stairs to a vantage where he can see both the base of the stairwell and the weird butler. From his new location he watches as Tural darts forward and impales the weird butler in one swift move. The little man falls down the stairs, and the strong hand of the Crow grips it’s hair and stops the corpse from bouncing down more steps. Below, a soft thumping sound is followed by silence.
The shocked butler is still oblivious to the The Crow, and she sneaks back up the stairs to let Noogie dissertate on the studied target.
The weird butler turns at the steps behind him, but not swift enough to react. Noogie cracks his cheek, and likely the bone, and blood flows freely down his face. The twisted little man ignores the pain and dark words spill out of his mouth.
The stairwell would have been blanketed in a thick fog, obscuring vision to five feet, and even making that distance imperfect, but Noogie thumps into the little man again before he can complete the dark prayer.
Sergei and the butler: Butler: 21 Sergei: -
I probably missed some current bonuses for the Initiative, please double check what I have in there and adjust as needed.
”Yeah, I tol’ you the ‘gon is on fire. Now, is there another coffin or not?” The butler starts sputtering in anger. Stamping up the stairs he yells back, ”Is there a coffin! You demand a new coffin! What about another wagon, you numbskull!” "Such language! The Divine Light of the Dawnflower caused the wagon and the vampire's box to burn. You're welcome.” The little butler is nearly upon the duo before he catches a glint of Tural's blade and stops cold, then quickly drops into a crouch. After the butler strides upward, Flemming, with the studious Mimi just behind him, sneaks to the bottom of circular stairway. A low ceiling, stone cellar, the size of the tower, is illuminated by everburning torches attached to the four central pillars in the room. Fireplaces are located in same position as the rooms above, and both burn with fresh logs illuminating the furniture around them. In the western end of the cellar a mound of goods is stacked poorly, contrasted by a single large chest that sits removed from the clutter at the base of the stone pillar. Beside the mound of clutter, crouched before a smaller chest, and with his back towards the stairs, is a creature familiar from the battle on the carriage in the rain. Sergei turns his head and calls back over his shoulder, ”What does he say about the wagon burning? How?“
"The wagon is on fire, and coffin with it! Is there another coffin around that we can pack instead?!" ”The wagon is on fire! You want another coffin! Are you mad, what in the infinite hells is going on up there!” While Borracho distracts the butler with ineptitude, Flemming sneaks down the stairs to the chamber below. His moves are subtle and deft, yet not good enough to avoid the skills of the butler. Thus, it’s with good fortune that the Crow slithers down the central pillar of the circular stairway and grabs the monk by his collar and pulls him into shadow just before the butler comes striding up the stairs. Blinded by his rage at the burned wagon and coffin, the servant misses the duo just a short arm’s reach away, and continues up several more steps to shout further insults. ”You green bellied, small minded, juice bags better get this right! The Master doesn’t need all of you where we’re going! We’ll have a fresh supply, you low flow sludge buckets! How, the devil, did the wagon catch on fire?” The little butler moves 5 feet past Flemming and Mimi, and then pauses with one foot on the step above him as he waits for an answer, unaware of the threats at his back. From their new vantage point, both the Crow and the monk can see the bottom of the stairs 10 feet below them.
Flemming leads the way down the stairs, with the flickering torchlight casting odd shadows that dance along the walls. His perceptive skills detect no traps, but his foot dislodges a small pebble that bounces down the steps. Tural follows at a distance, and his foot finds two pebbles that bounce down the steps, adding to the light noise. Borracho follows after Tural, and solidly kicks the dislodged mortar that resulted in the pebbles on the stairs. The large chunk bounces down to Flemming with a loud rattle, then thankfully the monk snatches it before it can continue down the stairs. The troupe freezes as the conversation stops, then in the silence below the butler shouts back up the stairs. ”You oafs! I told you to never come down here! Get those horses hooked to the wagon, and wait in the yard!”
Tural lowers the heavy book into place and a soft click precedes the entire bookcase gently swinging free like a door that’s been unlatched. Moving the case back reveals a set of stone stairs spiraling down. Everburning torches hang in scones, illuminating the narrow stairway in an orange light. The cut and color of the stone matches the lower dungeon of Ravenloft, the ancient area beneath the castle that was built in an older time. The troupe faintly hears the high pitched voice of the halfling butler from below.
Mimi scoops up the book from the chair, and feels the strange weighting in the tome. She quickly looks it over and is surprised by the iron bracket in the spine of the book. She calls the attention of the troupe to the unusual design. The binding and the cover proudly display the title, “Tales Beneath the Crypt”. Borracho focus on the aura, and finds it steadily below him. It’s just a single aura, and the presence is strong, almost enough to overwhelm Borracho’s keen senses, but not quite. Flemming and Tural both look for hidden doors. The book with the iron binding provides a clue, and a search of the bookshelves finds an empty spot with a hidden lever in the back. The book fits perfectly, perhaps the secret panel that Flemming was searching to find? Tural hesitates before dropping the weight of the book against the lever, making sure the troupe is prepared before he triggers whatever might result.
Flemming dashes into the room and flings open the door. The rest of the troupe follows closely, hoping to catch their foe by surprise. Instead, a warm, comfy, and empty room greets them. A fire is burning cheerily in the hearth, like the previous one, and the remains of a fresh meal sit on the table. A large door to the left of the fireplace is open, revealing a passage that leads back toward the western tower. The furniture in the room is sized for a halfling, and a small step ladder leans against the bookshelves. Surrounded by the bookshelves, a stuffed chair sits in the center of a fine rug, an open book resting upon the seat.
Flemming releases the door, the strength in numbers defeating his efforts, and bolts for the eastern tower. He reaches the doorway and cautiously looks inside. Warm air flows out and a fire burns cheerily in the room. A partition wall divides a sleeping area from a storage area, but no one is present in either space. The rest of troupe crowds behind him, seeing the same. As Borracho looks over Fleming’s shoulder, his gaze drops to the floor for a moment, and the detection spell pays dividends. Somewhere below is the foul stink of the undead.
Mimi snaps Noogie at the other hand and a second howl of pain follows as the bloody knuckles are withdrawn, leaving only one guard gripping the door. The acid burned man struggles against Flemming, but Tural’s ball of flame hits and makes the task difficult.
Behind the troupe, the wagon canopy is pierced by flame and the fire grows quickly. The yard is fully illuminated and smoke rolls into the night sky. Borracho continues scanning for undead. He still finds no sign, and that information is valuable within itself. He also sees no movement or response from the eastern tower.
With the extra light from the burning wagon, Borracho’s keen eyes notice several chimney stacks protruding from the top of the eastern tower, while only one is visible on the western tower. The bell stops ringing and the third guard joins the burned man at the door, pulling at it even as he responds to the Crow. ”We can’t switch, he’d kill us, or something worse. Let us alone, the other tower is open.” Guards: burned: 15 bell: knuckles: porter: dead
Borracho continues to concentrate, turning his attention on both towers, but still no undead make their presence felt.
Flemming grips at the door, trying to force his way inside, but his efforts can’t overcome the guards pulling it closed. But the monk’s efforts do keep the door open for a few moments, and Tural throws a flask of acid through the gap. It flies perfectly and shatters against the chest of a guard. He screams in pain and one hand releases the door.
Mimi slides forward to the left and snaps out Noogie at the pink fingers gripping the door.
The other guard howls in pain and snatches away the smashed fingers. The playing field leveled, Flemming maintains his grip on to the door and wins ground against the injured gaurds.
Flemming strides to the large doors of the western tower. His looming shape, with the backdrop of flames and smoke, gives the coffin guards an option, ”Just Walk Away!” The closest guard, holding the lead rope of the horse, screams and drops it, then runs off into the night away from the fearsome Flemming. The horse also bolts, running out from the tower and down the road, disappearing into the night. Inside the tower, another of the coffin guards grabs a hanging rope and pulls it, and the loud clanging of a bell rings through the yard. The two other guards inside the tower rush forward, but not to attack the monk. Instead they pull the large doors closed, trying to shut and bar the troupe out of the tower.
Instead of heading into the western tower where people are bringing horses out the large doors, Flemming instead uses the goods already in the wagon and helps Mimi and Tural start a fire. The flames lick at the coffin and the lacquered wood catches fire quickly. Borracho scans the western tower and again finds no sign of undead. Just to be safe, he scans the eastern tower again as smoke starts pouring from the wagon and finds no signs there either. The large door in the western tower open further and you can see the back of the animal handler trying to drag the horse out of the tower. The animal must have caught the smell of smoke and is pulling heavily against the lead rope and snorting in fright.
Flemming drags the body of the heavy set man, not an easy task, around the dark side of the eastern tower. A trail of blood remains on the stones in the yard, a clear indicator of violence, but not as obvious as a body laying on the ground. While the monk is dragging the body away, Mimi hops in the back of the wagon and quickly moves the bags off the top of the coffin, then pries the lid free. The scent of earth greets her, and Inside the coffin she finds only a layer of fresh dirt. Borracho scans the southwest corner, and finds no sign of undead. The large barn doors in the eastern tower continue to open slowly, while the calming sounds of the animal handler can be heard through the yard. Taking advantage of the slow progress with bringing the animals out, Borracho also scans the southeast quadrant and finds no signs of undead there either.
Borracho holds the scan on the east tower as the doors on the west tower open slowly and light spills into the yard. He detects no undead inside the east tower, and the troupe sees no movement through the one open door.
The troupe springs from the wagon and merges on the heavy set man. He falls under the onslaught of blows and lays motionless on the ground. Blood pools on the stones beneath his head, proving he was a living creature. Nobody appears from the open door in the eastern tower. Warm lantern light spills out and inside you can see stacks of goods and barrels. Borracho scans for undead toward the western tower. No undead auras are found, but his investigation is rewarded when he sees a crack of light appear between the barn doors in the western tower and hears the faint sounds of a horse nickering and the calming words from a handler.
When the heavy set man turns away from the wagon and heads back to the tower, the troupe charges. You catch him completely by surprise, almost too completely it seems, as he doesn't react at all to your approach.
The troupe cautiously sneaks forward when the heavy set man turns away from the wagon. You’re able to cross the yard, and using the wagon as cover, each of you takes a position to observe the tower. Mimi peeks around from the corner, while Tural crouches down and watches from under the wheels, and both Borracho and Flemming climb into the driver’s seat. Inside the tower you see several people moving about, all humanoid. Borracho is close enough in the driver’s seat that his detect undead should recognize any undead amongst them, but nothing triggers in his senses. The four workers that you see moving inside the tower are all dressed as laborers in the local garb of Barovia, nothing about them seems unusual. The inside of the tower looks clean and organized and well lit, not at all what you expected for a gatehouse that was suppose to be abandoned. The heavy set man returns to the wagon with another sack, it’s labeled FLOUR in large letters, and places it in the back.
Perception DC 25:
The light from the tower falls across the heavy set man just right and you notice the telltale twin puncture wounds on his neck. He’s not undead, but he does appear to have been bitten by a vampire. Inside the tower, a halfling appears dressed fully in the garb of a fancy butler. Not only is a butler out of place for the gatehouse, but the halfling has a grotesque quality about him that seems unnatural. Still, Borracho’s spell detects nothing of the undead nature. The small butler yells commands at the workers about prepping the horses and retrieving the other goods from the cellar, and the group clears out of view, leaving only the heavy set man to continue his task of loading the wagon.
Borracho hesitates on casting detect undead as the wagon is outside of the spell’s range. As the troupe watches, a second person joins the heavy set man in carrying something from the tower and putting it into the back of the wagon. The second person returns to the tower, then the tower’s double doors open wide, spilling more light into the yard, and a group of four people stagger out carrying a heavy load between them, suspiciously the shape of a coffin. After a minute of grunting and cursing, they mange to get the long, heavy object in the wagon, then the group moves back to the tower, closing one of the two doors behind them. The heavy set man continues his task of carrying stuff from the tower to the wagon.
As the troupe exits the front of the castle, the carriage glides to a stop in the courtyard and the door opens silently. The rain has lessened to a light drizzle and the smell of fresh air is a welcome addition to the evening. Flemming takes the driver’s seat, while the others climb into the plush interior of the gleaming black carriage. With the troupe settled, the carriage quickly picks up speed as it races over the drawbridge and starts the climb into the mountains. Within thirty minutes, and a bumpy ride on the switchbacks leading up to the gatehouse pass, the carriage slows and quietly comes to a stop under Flemming’s controls. A hundred yards ahead, the road widens to the gatehouse and lantern light spilling from one of the towers illuminates the yard. A covered wagon is parked with its back toward the lit tower and the troupe catches a glimpse of a heavy set man moving from the tower towards the back of the wagon. Sheltered by the large rocks and twilight, the troupe sneaks forward to a better position.
As the troupe debates semantics, the spiritual scimitar appears next to the glass heart and strikes. The blade of force is the perfect weapon to bring against the malignant organ, and a loud crack is followed by shards of glass raining down. With the strike and broken glass, the stairway again erupts. Moving like a giant snake, it tries to coil around the blade, then recoils when it can’t damage the object of force. The blade delivers a second strike, sending more glass shards cascading below. The stairway attempts a new tactic, trying to swallow the blade, but it cuts through the stone like it was a thin cloak. The blade keeps slashing at the heart as the stairway fails to stop it, and the fifth strike shatters it. The heart shatters in a cloud of fire and glass. The stairway twists and whips in pain, both scorched and pierced, and the troupe is thankful that none of them were caught in the blast. The gargantuan mimic that had been protecting the heart slithers out the top of the ruined tower and disappears. In the creature’s wake, you see the actual condition of the tower, with it’s missing stairway, and holes in the broken cap at the top. Through the holes, you can see the dusk sky of Barovia, and dark gray clouds that roll too quickly to be natural. Outside the castle, thunder booms with a force that shakes the very stones of Ravenloft. A heavy rain unloads from the dark clouds, and within moments water is streaming down from the holes in the tower. Lightning crashes overhead, bolt after bolt without pause. Strong winds howl against the tower with the strength of a storm, a stark contrast to the calm just a minute ago.
Borracho floats back down to the landing, and Flemming cautiously follows. The troupe takes a protective shelter in the archway of the landing as Tural tests the heart with a bolt. It flies clear of any barriers, but skips off the smooth, rounded surface of the glass heart with a light clinking sound. With the contact, the stairway erupts, twisting quickly, yet not cracking, before it settles again. Knowledge Planes DC 25: You recall the last line in your study of mimics, “Legends and tales speak of mimics of much greater sizes, with the ability to assume the form of houses, ships, or entire dungeon complexes that they festoon with treasure (both real and false) to lure unsuspecting food within.” Could this stairway, or even the whole tower, be a mimic!
The troupe goes back to the junction just 25 feet from the door to the Count’s chambers, and turns to the stairway landing of the tower. Inside the tower, 150 feet above you, the glass heart is burning a bright red and the heartbeat vibrates your teeth. As Flemming starts up the stairs, Borracho takes flight and searches for the presence of magic. He cuts the tie at the first sting of pain, the heart echoes like the orb. Instead, he asks the dagger, Sir Duncan, what it might know.
A hundred feet below, Mimi and Tural begin waving their arms and calling frantically, but Borracho’s keen eyes spot what they see. The stairs that wrap around the tower are moving. A ripple runs through them, and then a bend that shouldn’t be possible in stonework, yet no mortar cracks. Flemming, caught midway between the landing and the heart, surfs the first wave in the stone and braces for more movement.
Tural calls out to Strahd to lower the fire, but there is no change in the blaze.
Flemming knocks on the door and it’s quickly opened by Gertruda. Concern pulls at her face and she beckons you into the room. ”Oh, please, help him! When the beating started, it drove through his head like a dagger. He’s locked himself back in the treasure room with Helga, and he told me to stay away.” Deena fearfully wraps her arms around herself, and Gertruda notices the new addition to the group. ”My dear, where did you come from? Here, take a seat by the fire,” she pats one of the plush chairs, ”and I’ll get you a nice cup of tea and some biscuits.” As Deena takes a seat, Gertruda bustles with a tea kettle and a plate of cookies, happy to have a distraction from the Count and Helga. The troupe can feel the faint beat through the floor in the Count’s chambers. The fire is burning in the fireplace that serves as the passage to the treasure room.
The troupe climbs down to the bedroom and finds Deena is still waiting for them. When you explain the plan to return to the Count, she agrees despite looking frightened. The furniture is still stacked in the doorway, but the blue wall is gone and you’re able to remove it easily. As you pass back by the painting, it congratulates you on your success against the witches. ”Well done! Now just unhang me from this wall and bring me along when you leave. I shall be glad to be free of those crones.” The painting looks at you expectantly.
Following the same path back to the Count’s chamber, you ascend the stairs to the Hall of Heroes. As you enter the hallway strewn with debris from the roof, you can feel the faint beat vibrating through the floor. With each step down the hall, the beating grows heavier. From the arched doorway leading to the large tower, you can see a faint red glow.
”…I would offer you a final performance…” ”Yaaay!” The little ghosts run in a circle around the cauldron. The troupe agrees that returning to the Count is a good next step. Mimi confirms that Deena remains downstairs and she's lucid, does the troupe want to bring her to the Count?
At the end of the adventure it shall be revealed, but there wasn't a better way to deal with it
Flemming shares the insight from the otherworldly presence. Like a true crow, Mimi contemplates the puzzle. With ceremony, but without being ceremonious, she prepares herself for the next journey, one she has anticipated for many years. Slowly, The Crow climbs into the small cauldron, grips the burning orb, and lowers a knee into it.
Tural blurts out the wish even as Mimi accepts her fate. "I Wish for Mimi to be protected from any damage that thing does. Temporarily give her the physical capabilities of a creature that won't be harmed by that orb!” The orb shatters in the firm grip of Mimi’s calloused hands. No one in the troupe has been present for the destruction of a major artifact, or even a minor artifact. Unsure what to expect, you all wait for doom to unfold. A small cloud of blue gas rises up from the shattered orb and swirls around Mimi, but her face doesn’t melt and life doesn’t seep from her body. Tural seeks within his own mind for knowledge of the wish being consumed, but feels nothing. In the quiet of the room, Mimi smells the pleasant, sugary scent of candy. Reaching down, she picks up a shard of the shattered orb that looks suspiciously like rock candy. The rest of the troupe watches in horror, too slow to intervene as she takes a bite of the evil artifact. ”It’s no big deal”, she proclaims, enjoying the confection. Then the knowledge floods into Tural’s mind, the wish was answered. A deep sense of relief runs through every limb, and the cleric exhales in gratitude for the magic of the deck, a power he had been hesitant to embrace. Bursting through the walls, the little ghosts tumble into the room. ”You did it! You defeated the evil witches!” The big ghost, Edward, strides through the wall after them with a grin stretching between his ghostly ears. ”A fine showing! This castle has waited over a century for the likes of you!”
The powers that be, in this world and elsewhere, and that answer the deck, speak to you. Only a willing sacrifice has the power to neutralize the orb, leap into the cauldron with it and let yourself go. Or do nothing, and the orb will destroy itself and all around it.
Tural considers the boiling water, and even as he watches, his estimate of a few hours drops to a few minutes. The cauldron is now erupting steam, and the column of vapor leaps to the ceiling and spreads throughout the room like a sauna. Risking the headache, he again searches for the presence of magic, and recoils instantly from the orb. It is the source of the power, and a major artifact. Borracho, at an amazing confluence of cinnamon and raisins, is a step away from making some superior porridge with the sustaining spoon, but the fountain of steam and the staggering Tural interrupts his creative process. As Mimi and Flemming help the cleric to steady himself, the troupe thinks back to what they’ve learned of the witches and the orb… Jakob was the first to tell them about the witches, and the pulsing crystal heart. And that information was confirmed by the big ghost, Edward. On the return trip to the dungeon, the ghosts spoke more about the orb. They even said it was the size of a pumpkin, and offered to help if you could shatter it. The troupe wonders again about the woman downstairs and the strange fibers that reached up to the ceiling. Whatever system the witches had in place was keeping the orb contained, and that system is now destroyed. The column of steam grows heavier and an orange glow rises from the cauldron as the orb changes color.
Borracho confidently recognizes the orb as a cooking device and relaxes with the understanding. The troupe sets the cauldron upright and places the orb inside, then Borracho fills it with water. Within a minute the water rolls to a gentle boil, amazingly quick for the volume of water being heated, a fact not lost on the skilled culinarians of the troupe.
Borracho wraps the orb in two layers of cloaks. The weight isn’t significant, not more than 10 lbs, and the size is manageable at about a foot across, but his concern quickly becomes the temperature. The orb was hot when he began wrapping it in the cloaks, and by the time Borracho picks it up, the orb is burning his hands through the fabric. Tiny wisps of smoke begin seeping through the folds and the smell of burnt wool fills the room.
After seeing the flicker of crimson, Borracho drapes a torn witch’s cloak over the orb. Unsure what to do, the troupe discusses their options, and refrains from touching it, yet. But their knowledge of such things is scant, and Borracho can only determine that it holds great power of an unknown source. A quick peek under the cloak shows that several flicks of crimson are now swirling in the blue gas of the orb.
The troupe arranges the witches and uses the broom as a lever, and slowly the cauldron is tipped. It lands with a thud against the bodies as the contents spill out across them, and the glass orb, roughly a foot in diameter, rolls out and bounces softly over the corpses before it clinks against the floor. As it rolls slowly toward the corner of the room, the mucky witch's brew slides from it, revealing a blue gas swirling inside the globe. While the rest of the troupe deals with the cauldron and orb, Mimi climbs back downstairs and finds Deena still huddled in the bedroom. The Crow begins explaining about the witches and Ravenloft, and the woman listens in a shocked silence. DC 27 Perception: You notice an occasional flicker of crimson inside the glass orb.
As Flemming and Tural ponder the dilemma of the cauldron, the question arises of how to brace it for a slow dump, and the troupe collectively stares at the corpses of the witches in an uncomfortable silence. Thankfully, Sir Duncan is not so hesitant. ”Use those hags, they’ll do nicely. Take the treasures off them first, that lot was always bickering about their fine things.” Following the guidance of the dagger, the troupe searches the three witches, and then searches the room, and finds an array of magics. Ring of Feather Falling
On the table is a collection of alchemy equipment, with vials, pastes, inks, pigments, and dyes all spaced around a thick tome the sits in the middle of the clutter. The tome smells of earth and magic, and a few minutes of inspection reveals it to be the Clay Golem Manual. Beside it is a round jar made of silver and filled with a reddish pigment that you identify as Marvelous Pigments. Next to the silver jar is set of masterwork paintbrushes. "Did someone shove Duncan into the blade? Or did the metal become sentient with enough beating against the anvil?” ”Oh, shoved into the blade, and a dagger at that. Should have been a halberd, or a greatsword, something grand!” Tural continues looking for a lever, for tipping the cauldron, and finds a stout, crooked branch in the corner of the room. On closer look, it’s not any crooked branch, but a Broom of Flying, the witch preferred mode of travel. Flemming continues deliberating about the cauldron, or more importantly, the object inside the cauldron. As he contemplates the kettle, he notices that the liquid is now boiling quicker than just a few minutes ago.
The troupe begins searching the room for valuables, aided by Borracho and Tural’s ability to detect magic. But the sharp pain that struck Tural before returns with greater force, and both he and Borracho stumble, weak with pain. The moment passes, but the experience was different this time, quicker and somehow closer than even the blue wall before. Tural and Borracho point toward the source of the overwhelming aura, two lines that intersect above the still bubbling cauldron, and Flemming turns his investigation to the black kettle. After a careful minute, the monk grabs a flask from the table and dips it in the cauldron, then slowly pours the contents back in the center. The soupy, green liquid deflects just above the bubbling surface, like it was being poured over a glass ball, revealing the top of a large, clear orb submerged in the witchy cauldron. Whatever the object may be, its magic is stronger than that of the Deck of Many Things. "You, dagger? You are now a friend of Borracho and his many friends who love him with all their hearts. Do you have a name? And what do you know of these witches? Did you wish to taste their life's blood before it goes cold? I, Borracho, will repay your aid with kindness, for the strong have time for kindness.” ”Well met, Borracho and many friends! I am Sir Duncan, Blade of the Northern Kings! Until those kings moved south, and sold me for a villa in Oppara, those retches! Such is the price of loyalty. The witch snatched me from the corpse of my former wielder over a century ago, but I never gave her the secret of my magic, ha! The old crone was always trying to pry the secret free, but it was I that snuck secrets away from them! Like their special clay golem manual, and their plans for a magic glaze that would make a creature capable of breaking the very bones of the mountain. No, no, no witch’s blood for me, a clean blade is a happy blade. Kind, noble, and clean, yes, that is how we will face the world, Borracho!”
The troupe doesn’t play the witch’s game, and her desperate attempt to deceive has no sway. Borracho sends twin balls of flame to burn the witch, and Flemming chases the fire with a hammerblow that cracks her skull, ending their reign of terror. The black tentacles vanish from the other room, and a silence hushes over the area strewn with witch bodies. Only the bubbling of the cauldron breaks the silence. The troupe has defeated the witches of Castle Ravenloft! With the major challenge overcome, and a step closer to lifting the curse, the troupe feels more experienced.
Only Tural is able to strike the witch as she casts her invisibility magic.
The spiritual blade cuts the witch disrupting the spell and preventing the witchy magic. She gasps in frustration and pain. "Please, dearies, let me mask myself, lest that warlock finds my thread!"
The fate card works its magic and the Crow is saved from a slimy existence and a severe fear of salt. Free from the witchy magic, Mimi uses the ghost touch dagger to cut the silver tether between the remaining pair. With the tether cut, the ghostly witch spins away, eyes popping like the other ghostly witches. The last witch sighs in relief, ”Aren’t you a dearie, saved us all you did. Nasty thing, witch bombs. Let me keep him from finding my thread again.” The witch begin casting some witchy magic. Spellcraft DC 17:
Hey, that’s just a basic invisibility spell, what’s this witch trying to pull!
As if sensing his intent, the card floats from the pocket of Flemming and twirls through the air emitting its own motes of purple light. Flemming calls on the pure blaze, that burns off all divergence from our true selves, and Slug-Mimi feels an intense burning as the eyestalks retract and her body rapidly stretches back to it’s normal form. A second later, the Crow stands at the ready, only slightly googly-eyed as she adjusts to the quick changes in vision.
Unable to resist the witch magic, Mimi’s cry of anguish diminishes as does her body. The Crow shrinks as her limbs fuse to her torso and growths stretch from her head. As she continues shrinking, her body takes on a slimy coating and the growths extend into eyestalks. Even worse, she retains her awareness, and the eyestalks of
Borracho stands defiantly against the witchy magic, then returns the magic with balls of flame, one of which strikes the offensive witch. Undaunted by the lightning, or the bubbling cauldron between him and the closest witch, Tural sends the spiritual blade on the attack and follows it with a spell of purity. Both witches recoil in pain and clutch at their eyes. But the real performance of the evening is Flemming. After a sodden journey through a cursed land, the monk has no patience for further witchery. All his years of training flow like water in a sequence of movements. A quick step and shift of his hips sends a wave of energy through the punch he lands, stunning the witch. The hammerblow that follows is a perfect strike to the throat, crushing the windpipe. Two more devastating punches breaks ribs on either side of the body, and the witch collapses in a heap, unable to draw breath and grasping feebly at the air as she passes away. The ghostly image attached to her is pulled into oblivion like the troupe observed with the first witch downstairs.
The last witch screeches in desperation and pleads with the Crow to cut the silver thread. ”Cut it, dearie, cut it quick! The ghastly thing attached to me will hurt us all if you don’t!”
Last Witch: last witch: 33 blinded: 0 rounds
Tural and Flemming combine their attacks against the tall witch, the cleric’s blade driving between its ribs and setting up the fatal strikes from the monk. The hammerblow to the tall witch’s temple cracks the skull and the lanky creature instantly slumps to the floor, dropping the dagger in hand. Free from the tentacles, and with a new vantage, Mimi plies the ghost touch weapon against the ghostly witches. The slice is rewarded with a howl of pain that far exceeds the little cut. DC 20 Perception:
The ghost touch dagger appears to have damaged the thin silver strand between the ghostly witch and the material one Borracho’s faith in the talking dagger is rewarded, and the knowledge of its magic is clear in his mind. A fresh burst of flame springs from Borracho’s hand as he prepares to burn witches. Shocked at the onslaught, and visibly shaken by the quick killing of the tall witch, the other two fall back and cackle their spells of evil at the troupe. From the witch on the right, the sickly purple motes of light stream from her hand, this time at Mimi, and the ghostly image sends the same at Borracho.
The witch on the left shifts away from the slayer and points at Flemming, while her ghostly pair points at Tural. Twin bolts of lighting spring from their fingers!
Both Flemming and Tural resist the potent magic and the tall witch snarls in frustration. A glass jar falls from his hands to the floor and shatters as he holds a blade coated with a black, tar like substance. Borracho slides the dagger in the air between he and Mimi, and the fabric of spaces is cut open. The void beckons, and the duo slide into it and away from the tentacles. In a flash they reappear in the room behind the witches. The gleeful dagger laughs, "Ha! We have tricked them, now shove that crone into her own kettle!"
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