He stared after Zefla a few moments longer then began moving to follow her.....slowly....but he was nervous for some reason......well......there were many reasons.....
Not seeing anything of note other than things were definitely wrong, the open door calls out to the halfling and she slowly and carefully steps inside.
Tourmalinefrowns. "The type of creature you describe... to possess another and then still endure after the host's destruction... Well, add this to things I don't like about this crap-hole demiplane." She shakes her head. "It could be a demon. Its obsession with fire reminds me more of an elemental, but those don't usually have such... personality."
Victor interrupts her. "What do you mean by demiplane?"
She raises an eyebrow. "I would think it's obvious. A confined area. Limited or controlled access in and out. A hard perimeter - the mists, in this case. This is a pocket dimension all unto itself. A demiplane."
Victor listens intently, his expression shifting from curiosity to deep contemplation as Tourmalinespeaks. His fingers twitch slightly, as if itching for a quill and parchment to scribble notes. "A demiplane…" he murmurs, testing the word on his tongue. His gaze sharpens. "You’re saying Barovia isn’t just some cursed land within a greater world, but an entirely separate plane of existence? That beyond the Mists, there’s not another kingdom, another continent—just… nothing?"
Tourmalinenods, her tail flicking behind her. "That’s what it seems like. A world with no true edges. No sun that rises or sets in the natural order. No connection to other realms unless something—or someone—forces it open." She glances at the others. "Think about it. Victor - have you ever met a traveler from beyond the Mists who came here willingly? From what I gather, everyone here was either born here or stolen and trapped here. Doesn’t that strike you as unnatural?"
Victor exhales sharply, his mind racing. He rubs his temples, muttering half-formed thoughts under his breath before snapping his fingers. "That would mean—if it is a demiplane—then Barovia isn’t just isolated. It’s contained. Like a bottle sealed tight." His eyes flicker with something unreadable—fear, frustration, or perhaps the spark of an idea.
"If I could understand how it was created," he continues, voice growing more animated, "then maybe I could find a way to break through. If the Mists are the walls of a prison, then there must be something that maintains them. A force, a spell, a design!" He turns to the group. "This changes things. If we’re not just in a land cursed by Strahd but inside a constructed plane… then maybe there’s a way out that has nothing to do with killing him." He beams.
His gaze lands on Tourmalineagain, burning with intensity. "How sure are you?"
She shrugs. "Kid, I spent the last two days getting concussed by hillbilly stormtroopers. I'm clutching at straws, here."
Victor gasps as though gut-punched, and turns, beginning to pace in the street while the party waits for Zeflato return. Around this time, they also notice Burrhas followed Zeflainside...
Zefla:
As Zeflaeases the front door open, the hinges betray her with a long, groaning creak that echoes through the stillness. She pauses, listening, but nothing stirs within. The silence presses against her ears, thick and unnatural, as though the house itself is holding its breath.
The entry hall is narrow and bare, the wooden floor warped and creaking underfoot. Faint impressions in the dust suggest recent movement—small footprints, but it’s hard to tell how many or how long ago they were made. The air smells of damp wood, cold ash, and something faintly sour, like spoiled milk.
To the right, an open doorway leads into a sparse sitting room, where a few mismatched chairs and a rickety desk sit abandoned. The desk is cluttered with old ledgers, ink bottles dried at the tips, and scattered parchment covered in careful, faded handwriting. A dusty wooden sun hangs on the far wall, tilted slightly. A single teacup rests on the desk’s surface, overturned, its contents long since dried into a dark stain.
Beside the office door, the narrow staircase winds upward. The steps are steep and worn, the banister smooth with use. Though nothing moves, the darkness above feels heavier somehow, expectant. It seems all the shutters and drapes are shut tight, but Zefla'sdarkvision aids her in finding her way around.
Sticking to the ground floor, at the far end of the hall, past the stairs, the house opens into a joint kitchen and dining space. A long wooden table with benches on either side dominates the room. The iron stove stands cold in the corner, its last embers long dead, a thin layer of ash settled over the hearth. Plates and cups sit abandoned on the table, as though a meal had been interrupted—some half-eaten, others knocked over, their contents smeared into the worn wood. A single child’s shoe lies beneath one of the benches, tipped onto its side.
There is no one here.
As Zeflareturns from the rear of the ground floor, she practically bumps into Burr, who has followed her inside. For Burr, the darkness here is much more difficult to navigate, but it is easy enough to recognize the small, familiar outline of Zefla.
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PC - Ethel - Human - Lvl 4 Necromancer - Undying Dragons * Serge Marshblade - Human - Lvl 5 Eldritch Knight - Hoard of the Dragon Queen
DM -(Homebrew) Heroes of Bardstown *Red Dead Annihilation: ToA *Where the Cold Winds Blow : DoIP * Covetous, Dragonish Thoughts: HotDQ * Red Wine, Black Rose: CoS * Greyhawk: Tides of War
Soren shifts uneasily as he listens to Lady Bauer speak of the fiend (or elemental) that whatever possessed Izek may have been. His heart sinks as the discussion between the tiefling and Victor shifts to the nature and boundaries of demiplanes. All of which seem utterly alien to the druid.
"Is that why... I have felt a distance here, a removal. Ever since we traversed the mists. Nature... Silvanus' touch is... muted here. As if by a deathly pallor. Much as the ever-present cloud cover obscures any sun that there might be. Yet at least there is still light in the daytime, only lacking vitality. Just as my primal powers and not-Father's divine magic from Tymora still have their effect, though often with more macabre appearance than expected."
(Soren recalls the ghastly appearance of his Spike Growth or the skeletal form of Bramble, his spirit bear companion.)
Shuddering, he attempts to think of something more practical to do in order to take his mind of such morbid musing. Guessing that Zefla has likely already benefited from Silvanus' primal guidance, Soren now re-casts it on himself and begins to inspect the ground (particularly if there are areas of dirt or grass) and surrounding area, looking for footprints or other possible signs of children or traces of their toys or clothing nearby.
Not enjoying the feeling of the oppression of the orphanage, and the kitchen especially, the way it appears that they left in a hurry. She wonders how long ago it could have been, the dust and grime over everything makes it seem quite awhile ago, but that doesn't really make sense. She is about to leave the building when she runs into Burr.
She smiles at his sorry, but doesn't comment. She looks back up the stairs and shrugs at his question. She figures with him here she can stand a little longer and starts heading up to check out the quarters, though she doesn't expect to find anything there. She actually hopes she doesn't as she guesses it wouldn't be anything pleasant or helpful.
Zefla and Burr, please make Stealth and Perception checks.
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PC - Ethel - Human - Lvl 4 Necromancer - Undying Dragons * Serge Marshblade - Human - Lvl 5 Eldritch Knight - Hoard of the Dragon Queen
DM -(Homebrew) Heroes of Bardstown *Red Dead Annihilation: ToA *Where the Cold Winds Blow : DoIP * Covetous, Dragonish Thoughts: HotDQ * Red Wine, Black Rose: CoS * Greyhawk: Tides of War
Giles is standing there tapping his foot, not liking the feeling of crawling under his skin. He says to the others, “I, uh, I think I better go check on them. What do you think? Soren, or do you want to go? Everyone else, wait here..” Giles goes up to the doorway and listens, peeking inside.
Perception : 18
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A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.
Soren, the street out in front of the orphanage and the yard both have no shortage of tracks of young humans, but you're unable to find anything that looks fresher than yesterday.
Zefla and Burr:
Moving cautiously, Zeflaand Burrmake their way up the narrow staircase. The air is heavy with the stale scent of dust, old wood, and something else—something faintly sour. The steps creak ever-so-softly under Burr’sweight, but Zeflamoves like a shadow, her light footfalls making no sound.
For Burr, the darkness is near total, pressing against him like a living thing. He can barely make out the vague outlines of doorways, indistinct shapes of furniture against the walls. Several times, he has to reach out to touch the walls just to orient himself.
Zefla, meanwhile, moves ahead, her keen halfling eyes cutting through the darkness. The second floor stretches out before her—a long, narrow hallway lined with doors on either side. The air here feels colder than the ground floor, still and undisturbed. As she steps forward, she peeks into each room one by one. Most are small bedrooms, the kind meant for children—narrow bunks, simple wooden chairs, thin blankets still tucked neatly into the corners of the beds. Some rooms have scattered toys and books, untouched. Others are bare, with dust gathering in the corners. There is no sign of movement, no sign of struggle. Just emptiness.
The occasional playroom appears, filled with little chairs and tables, but the silence turns them eerie—these are places that should be filled with the sound of laughter, of childish voices raised in excitement or squabble. Now, the only sound is the faintest creak of the floorboards beneath them.
Burrmeanwhile, has a hard time just keeping track of where the ghost-like Zeflais in the darkness.
Finally, the last door at the end of the hall. Past it is another staircase, leading to the third floor. This door is different—slightly larger, more solid than the others. A simple wooden plaque, visible only to Zefla in the dim light, is affixed to the door. Headmistress.
Zeflanudges the door open. The hinges do not protest and it opens quietly. Inside, the room is larger than the others, better furnished. A writing desk stands in one corner, a tall wardrobe in another, and near the window, a full-length mirror, its surface shrouded in darkness. And the bed—
- there is something there.
To Burr, it is just a shape. He can see the bed, the vague outline of a figure lying still beneath the blankets, but little else.
Zeflamoves closer. To her eyes, the picture is more clear. The body in the bed is a woman, middle-aged. She is still, impossibly still, her face contorted into a frozen mask of terror. Her teeth are clenched, her hands raised in a defensive position as if warding off some unseen horror. The sheets are pulled up to her chest, undisturbed, as though she had simply laid down to sleep… and never woke up.
As Burrstrains his eyes to see what has given Zeflapause, the halfing hears something else - the faintest of creaks coming from the ceiling. Something has just moved upstairs.
Just Zelfa:
Borrowed art: Artist seems to be named Clara Lieu
Gilessteps inside the dark door of the orphanage. The shades and shutters are drawn, leaving the interior gloomy and still. There is no sound, and no sign of Zeflaor Burron the first floor.
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PC - Ethel - Human - Lvl 4 Necromancer - Undying Dragons * Serge Marshblade - Human - Lvl 5 Eldritch Knight - Hoard of the Dragon Queen
DM -(Homebrew) Heroes of Bardstown *Red Dead Annihilation: ToA *Where the Cold Winds Blow : DoIP * Covetous, Dragonish Thoughts: HotDQ * Red Wine, Black Rose: CoS * Greyhawk: Tides of War
Zefla stares at the woman for a moment, not able to tear her eyes away, but at the sound she grabs Burr's arm and points at the ceiling. With the chills the headmistress just gave her she isn't sure she would be able to check out the third level on her own, but with Burr with her, she finds she can. She starts heading towards the staircase that leads up to the third floor.
"I do not think any of the pups have been here in the last day..." Soren's voice trails off uneasily.
He looks up and down the road, and at any surrounding houses. If he sees no one watching them, he hunches his shoulders, coming to a decision.
"I was wishing to wait for Zefla, then Burr and now Giles to return, but I have seen and heard nothing. The pack that stays separated is in danger. If there is peril, let us face it together rather than waiting and wondering. And I do not think it wise to leave any of you three behind to act as lookout, given what we just experienced with the renegade guards. So I believe we should all follow their scent together."
Soren looks to Ireena, Lady Bauer and Victor for their agreement before leading them towards the orphanage, following his other companions.
[OK. Need to see what Giles(currently on ground floor) does. Soren and the others are coming in behind him and there is no sign of Burror Zefla. We aren't in initiative, but where everyone one is could be important.]
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PC - Ethel - Human - Lvl 4 Necromancer - Undying Dragons * Serge Marshblade - Human - Lvl 5 Eldritch Knight - Hoard of the Dragon Queen
DM -(Homebrew) Heroes of Bardstown *Red Dead Annihilation: ToA *Where the Cold Winds Blow : DoIP * Covetous, Dragonish Thoughts: HotDQ * Red Wine, Black Rose: CoS * Greyhawk: Tides of War
Giles does not like the feeling that he gets as he steps in, he straightens the shield on his left arm and he pulls out his dagger, casting light on the tip of the blade, holding it high and looking around the room, looking for stairs or evidence of where Burr and Zefla are. He remains silent but has an uneasy feeling in his gut. Where are the stairs, are they upstairs?
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A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.
As Gileslights his dagger and looks about the ground floor of the orphanage, Soren, Ireenaand Tourmalineenter the front door behind him, with Victor hanging back on the porch. Ireena practically gasps the question, "What is it? What have they found?"
Burrand Zefla:
The final staircase groans under their careful steps as Zefla and Burrascend into the attic. It is as dark here as the lower floors. It is dustier up here, and cobwebs sway overhead. Unlike the lower floors, which, despite their neglect, retained some sense of order, this space is ruined—ransacked.
Zefla steps lightly over scattered clothing and broken furniture, her sharp eyes sweeping the attic. The overturned bed, the shattered dresser. And then she sees him.
Perched atop the battered dresser, a shape lingers in the darkness. Her vision sharpens, revealing the pale, gaunt features of a teenage boy—one she recognizes.
She remembers him from that first day in Vallaki, raking leaves outside the Cathedral of St. Andral. Back then, he had been a strong, broad-shouldered youth, his face hardened by labor but still full of life. That boy is gone. What crouches atop the dresser now is something else—hollow-cheeked, skin stretched tight over bone, his once-bright eyes now glowing red in the gloom. His fingers, long and clawed, grip the wood as he watches them with a predator’s stillness.
Burrstands beside her, the boy's features lost in the dark but the red eyes clearly visible.
A low, ragged moan fills the attic. “I—I didn’t know how to stop them…” The voice is raw, filled with anguish.
The youth's head dips, his stringy hair falling over his sunken face.
“I didn’t want them to take the kids,” he croaks, as if confessing a sin. “But—I—I was too scared…” His fingers dig into the wood, splintering it under his unnatural strength. “Too scared to move… to stop them…". He makes a wretching, sobbing sound. "The witches said I was too old... dead already... they didn't even want me.”
Then, slowly, he lifts his head, and the misery in his expression twists into something else. His nostrils flare. The moan turns into a low hiss. His lips curl back, revealing sharp, elongated fangs.
“I can smell it…” he rasps. “Your blood…”
His movements change—no longer that of a grieving boy, but of something hungry. His limbs move with unnatural grace as he begins to descend from the dresser, first shifting to a crouch, then slithering down the broken wood.
The attic seems smaller now. The walls press in.
Then he lunges with a bestial snarl.
No sooner has Ireenaasked her question, then there is a loud snarl heard from somewhere high above in the orphanage...
Initiative:
Zefla: 14
Burr: 12
Milivoj: 10
[Burr, unless/until light is introduced, any attacks will have disadvantage.
Soren, Gilesand the others are two rounds of dashing away from the attic. If there is still an active initiative when they get there, we can roll them in and add them to the order.]
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PC - Ethel - Human - Lvl 4 Necromancer - Undying Dragons * Serge Marshblade - Human - Lvl 5 Eldritch Knight - Hoard of the Dragon Queen
DM -(Homebrew) Heroes of Bardstown *Red Dead Annihilation: ToA *Where the Cold Winds Blow : DoIP * Covetous, Dragonish Thoughts: HotDQ * Red Wine, Black Rose: CoS * Greyhawk: Tides of War
Crestfallen that the man they saw outside the church had been reduced to this, Zefla draws her bow and an arrow. She is glad that he confirmed the witches and apparently that is where they need to go next.
Keeping her stance still to use Steady Aim she fires off an arrow as she can feel his hunger grow.
She crit's with her attack: 28, Damage: 15 + 18 sneak attack = 33
Knowing they had been away longer than she had anticipated and knowing Giles... she reaches out to send him a message telepathically.
Giles:
Milivoj, turned into a vampire on third floor. Hurry.
Giles straightens up like a bolt as the message hits him. “Come with me. Quickly. They are facing a vampire upstairs..”. Giles takes off with his glowing dagger, dashing to Zefla’s aid.
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A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.
Burr can't see well but he knows that Zefla needs help and lunges at the dead boy with the Bloodspear. He hears the voice of Kavan urging him on as the spear lights with a crimson glow and his mouth fills with the taste of blood.
BA- Rage
Reckless Attack ( Back to a straight roll)- : Attack: 16 Damage: 10 Magical Piercing+2 Radiant.
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Burr shrugged, he knew nothing of devils.
He stared after Zefla a few moments longer then began moving to follow her.....slowly....but he was nervous for some reason......well......there were many reasons.....
Not seeing anything of note other than things were definitely wrong, the open door calls out to the halfling and she slowly and carefully steps inside.
Tourmaline frowns. "The type of creature you describe... to possess another and then still endure after the host's destruction... Well, add this to things I don't like about this crap-hole demiplane." She shakes her head. "It could be a demon. Its obsession with fire reminds me more of an elemental, but those don't usually have such... personality."
Victor interrupts her. "What do you mean by demiplane?"
She raises an eyebrow. "I would think it's obvious. A confined area. Limited or controlled access in and out. A hard perimeter - the mists, in this case. This is a pocket dimension all unto itself. A demiplane."
Victor listens intently, his expression shifting from curiosity to deep contemplation as Tourmaline speaks. His fingers twitch slightly, as if itching for a quill and parchment to scribble notes. "A demiplane…" he murmurs, testing the word on his tongue. His gaze sharpens. "You’re saying Barovia isn’t just some cursed land within a greater world, but an entirely separate plane of existence? That beyond the Mists, there’s not another kingdom, another continent—just… nothing?"
Tourmaline nods, her tail flicking behind her. "That’s what it seems like. A world with no true edges. No sun that rises or sets in the natural order. No connection to other realms unless something—or someone—forces it open." She glances at the others. "Think about it. Victor - have you ever met a traveler from beyond the Mists who came here willingly? From what I gather, everyone here was either born here or stolen and trapped here. Doesn’t that strike you as unnatural?"
Victor exhales sharply, his mind racing. He rubs his temples, muttering half-formed thoughts under his breath before snapping his fingers. "That would mean—if it is a demiplane—then Barovia isn’t just isolated. It’s contained. Like a bottle sealed tight." His eyes flicker with something unreadable—fear, frustration, or perhaps the spark of an idea.
"If I could understand how it was created," he continues, voice growing more animated, "then maybe I could find a way to break through. If the Mists are the walls of a prison, then there must be something that maintains them. A force, a spell, a design!" He turns to the group. "This changes things. If we’re not just in a land cursed by Strahd but inside a constructed plane… then maybe there’s a way out that has nothing to do with killing him." He beams.
His gaze lands on Tourmaline again, burning with intensity. "How sure are you?"
She shrugs. "Kid, I spent the last two days getting concussed by hillbilly stormtroopers. I'm clutching at straws, here."
Victor gasps as though gut-punched, and turns, beginning to pace in the street while the party waits for Zefla to return. Around this time, they also notice Burr has followed Zefla inside...
Zefla:
As Zefla eases the front door open, the hinges betray her with a long, groaning creak that echoes through the stillness. She pauses, listening, but nothing stirs within. The silence presses against her ears, thick and unnatural, as though the house itself is holding its breath.
The entry hall is narrow and bare, the wooden floor warped and creaking underfoot. Faint impressions in the dust suggest recent movement—small footprints, but it’s hard to tell how many or how long ago they were made. The air smells of damp wood, cold ash, and something faintly sour, like spoiled milk.
To the right, an open doorway leads into a sparse sitting room, where a few mismatched chairs and a rickety desk sit abandoned. The desk is cluttered with old ledgers, ink bottles dried at the tips, and scattered parchment covered in careful, faded handwriting. A dusty wooden sun hangs on the far wall, tilted slightly. A single teacup rests on the desk’s surface, overturned, its contents long since dried into a dark stain.
Beside the office door, the narrow staircase winds upward. The steps are steep and worn, the banister smooth with use. Though nothing moves, the darkness above feels heavier somehow, expectant. It seems all the shutters and drapes are shut tight, but Zefla's darkvision aids her in finding her way around.
Sticking to the ground floor, at the far end of the hall, past the stairs, the house opens into a joint kitchen and dining space. A long wooden table with benches on either side dominates the room. The iron stove stands cold in the corner, its last embers long dead, a thin layer of ash settled over the hearth. Plates and cups sit abandoned on the table, as though a meal had been interrupted—some half-eaten, others knocked over, their contents smeared into the worn wood. A single child’s shoe lies beneath one of the benches, tipped onto its side.
There is no one here.
As Zefla returns from the rear of the ground floor, she practically bumps into Burr, who has followed her inside. For Burr, the darkness here is much more difficult to navigate, but it is easy enough to recognize the small, familiar outline of Zefla.
PC - Ethel - Human - Lvl 4 Necromancer - Undying Dragons * Serge Marshblade - Human - Lvl 5 Eldritch Knight - Hoard of the Dragon Queen
DM - (Homebrew) Heroes of Bardstown * Red Dead Annihilation: ToA * Where the Cold Winds Blow : DoIP * Covetous, Dragonish Thoughts: HotDQ * Red Wine, Black Rose: CoS * Greyhawk: Tides of War
Burr mumbles, " Sorry"
Then quietly follows with, " No one here? Worth checking the kids quarters?"
Soren shifts uneasily as he listens to Lady Bauer speak of the fiend (or elemental) that whatever possessed Izek may have been. His heart sinks as the discussion between the tiefling and Victor shifts to the nature and boundaries of demiplanes. All of which seem utterly alien to the druid.
"Is that why... I have felt a distance here, a removal. Ever since we traversed the mists. Nature... Silvanus' touch is... muted here. As if by a deathly pallor. Much as the ever-present cloud cover obscures any sun that there might be. Yet at least there is still light in the daytime, only lacking vitality. Just as my primal powers and not-Father's divine magic from Tymora still have their effect, though often with more macabre appearance than expected."
(Soren recalls the ghastly appearance of his Spike Growth or the skeletal form of Bramble, his spirit bear companion.)
Shuddering, he attempts to think of something more practical to do in order to take his mind of such morbid musing. Guessing that Zefla has likely already benefited from Silvanus' primal guidance, Soren now re-casts it on himself and begins to inspect the ground (particularly if there are areas of dirt or grass) and surrounding area, looking for footprints or other possible signs of children or traces of their toys or clothing nearby.
Soren's Survival (or Perception, same +7 bonus) plus Guidance: 8 (Nat. 1) + 4 = 12
Tanis(Ranger1): Shiverquill's Tempest City | Xarian(Fighter2): NioNSwiper's Tyranny of Dragons
Dyson/Eleo(TwilightCleric4): Vos' Beyond the Veil | Soren(ShepherdDruid5): Bartjeebus' Ravenloft | Ophelia(WildMagicSorcerer4): Ashen_Age's Risen from the Sands
Joren(EchoKnightFighter6): NotDrizzt's Simple Request | Sabetha(MercyMonk3): Bedlymn's Murder Court | Seri(NatureCleric3/DivineSoulSorcerer1): Bartjeebus' Greyhawk
Not enjoying the feeling of the oppression of the orphanage, and the kitchen especially, the way it appears that they left in a hurry. She wonders how long ago it could have been, the dust and grime over everything makes it seem quite awhile ago, but that doesn't really make sense. She is about to leave the building when she runs into Burr.
She smiles at his sorry, but doesn't comment. She looks back up the stairs and shrugs at his question. She figures with him here she can stand a little longer and starts heading up to check out the quarters, though she doesn't expect to find anything there. She actually hopes she doesn't as she guesses it wouldn't be anything pleasant or helpful.
Zefla and Burr, please make Stealth and Perception checks.
PC - Ethel - Human - Lvl 4 Necromancer - Undying Dragons * Serge Marshblade - Human - Lvl 5 Eldritch Knight - Hoard of the Dragon Queen
DM - (Homebrew) Heroes of Bardstown * Red Dead Annihilation: ToA * Where the Cold Winds Blow : DoIP * Covetous, Dragonish Thoughts: HotDQ * Red Wine, Black Rose: CoS * Greyhawk: Tides of War
Perception- 8
Stealth-4
Perception 17
Stealth 31
Giles is standing there tapping his foot, not liking the feeling of crawling under his skin. He says to the others, “I, uh, I think I better go check on them. What do you think? Soren, or do you want to go? Everyone else, wait here..” Giles goes up to the doorway and listens, peeking inside.
Perception : 18
A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.
Soren, the street out in front of the orphanage and the yard both have no shortage of tracks of young humans, but you're unable to find anything that looks fresher than yesterday.
Zefla and Burr:
Moving cautiously, Zefla and Burr make their way up the narrow staircase. The air is heavy with the stale scent of dust, old wood, and something else—something faintly sour. The steps creak ever-so-softly under Burr’s weight, but Zefla moves like a shadow, her light footfalls making no sound.
For Burr, the darkness is near total, pressing against him like a living thing. He can barely make out the vague outlines of doorways, indistinct shapes of furniture against the walls. Several times, he has to reach out to touch the walls just to orient himself.
Zefla, meanwhile, moves ahead, her keen halfling eyes cutting through the darkness. The second floor stretches out before her—a long, narrow hallway lined with doors on either side. The air here feels colder than the ground floor, still and undisturbed. As she steps forward, she peeks into each room one by one. Most are small bedrooms, the kind meant for children—narrow bunks, simple wooden chairs, thin blankets still tucked neatly into the corners of the beds. Some rooms have scattered toys and books, untouched. Others are bare, with dust gathering in the corners. There is no sign of movement, no sign of struggle. Just emptiness.
The occasional playroom appears, filled with little chairs and tables, but the silence turns them eerie—these are places that should be filled with the sound of laughter, of childish voices raised in excitement or squabble. Now, the only sound is the faintest creak of the floorboards beneath them.
Burr meanwhile, has a hard time just keeping track of where the ghost-like Zefla is in the darkness.
Finally, the last door at the end of the hall. Past it is another staircase, leading to the third floor. This door is different—slightly larger, more solid than the others. A simple wooden plaque, visible only to Zefla in the dim light, is affixed to the door. Headmistress.
Zefla nudges the door open. The hinges do not protest and it opens quietly. Inside, the room is larger than the others, better furnished. A writing desk stands in one corner, a tall wardrobe in another, and near the window, a full-length mirror, its surface shrouded in darkness. And the bed—
- there is something there.
To Burr, it is just a shape. He can see the bed, the vague outline of a figure lying still beneath the blankets, but little else.
Zefla moves closer. To her eyes, the picture is more clear. The body in the bed is a woman, middle-aged. She is still, impossibly still, her face contorted into a frozen mask of terror. Her teeth are clenched, her hands raised in a defensive position as if warding off some unseen horror. The sheets are pulled up to her chest, undisturbed, as though she had simply laid down to sleep… and never woke up.
As Burr strains his eyes to see what has given Zefla pause, the halfing hears something else - the faintest of creaks coming from the ceiling. Something has just moved upstairs.
Just Zelfa:
Borrowed art: Artist seems to be named Clara Lieu
Giles steps inside the dark door of the orphanage. The shades and shutters are drawn, leaving the interior gloomy and still. There is no sound, and no sign of Zefla or Burr on the first floor.
PC - Ethel - Human - Lvl 4 Necromancer - Undying Dragons * Serge Marshblade - Human - Lvl 5 Eldritch Knight - Hoard of the Dragon Queen
DM - (Homebrew) Heroes of Bardstown * Red Dead Annihilation: ToA * Where the Cold Winds Blow : DoIP * Covetous, Dragonish Thoughts: HotDQ * Red Wine, Black Rose: CoS * Greyhawk: Tides of War
Zefla stares at the woman for a moment, not able to tear her eyes away, but at the sound she grabs Burr's arm and points at the ceiling. With the chills the headmistress just gave her she isn't sure she would be able to check out the third level on her own, but with Burr with her, she finds she can. She starts heading towards the staircase that leads up to the third floor.
"I do not think any of the pups have been here in the last day..." Soren's voice trails off uneasily.
He looks up and down the road, and at any surrounding houses. If he sees no one watching them, he hunches his shoulders, coming to a decision.
"I was wishing to wait for Zefla, then Burr and now Giles to return, but I have seen and heard nothing. The pack that stays separated is in danger. If there is peril, let us face it together rather than waiting and wondering. And I do not think it wise to leave any of you three behind to act as lookout, given what we just experienced with the renegade guards. So I believe we should all follow their scent together."
Soren looks to Ireena, Lady Bauer and Victor for their agreement before leading them towards the orphanage, following his other companions.
Tanis(Ranger1): Shiverquill's Tempest City | Xarian(Fighter2): NioNSwiper's Tyranny of Dragons
Dyson/Eleo(TwilightCleric4): Vos' Beyond the Veil | Soren(ShepherdDruid5): Bartjeebus' Ravenloft | Ophelia(WildMagicSorcerer4): Ashen_Age's Risen from the Sands
Joren(EchoKnightFighter6): NotDrizzt's Simple Request | Sabetha(MercyMonk3): Bedlymn's Murder Court | Seri(NatureCleric3/DivineSoulSorcerer1): Bartjeebus' Greyhawk
Burr nodded to Zefla trusting her senses over his and followed.
[OK. Need to see what Giles (currently on ground floor) does. Soren and the others are coming in behind him and there is no sign of Burr or Zefla. We aren't in initiative, but where everyone one is could be important.]
PC - Ethel - Human - Lvl 4 Necromancer - Undying Dragons * Serge Marshblade - Human - Lvl 5 Eldritch Knight - Hoard of the Dragon Queen
DM - (Homebrew) Heroes of Bardstown * Red Dead Annihilation: ToA * Where the Cold Winds Blow : DoIP * Covetous, Dragonish Thoughts: HotDQ * Red Wine, Black Rose: CoS * Greyhawk: Tides of War
Giles does not like the feeling that he gets as he steps in, he straightens the shield on his left arm and he pulls out his dagger, casting light on the tip of the blade, holding it high and looking around the room, looking for stairs or evidence of where Burr and Zefla are. He remains silent but has an uneasy feeling in his gut. Where are the stairs, are they upstairs?
A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.
As Giles lights his dagger and looks about the ground floor of the orphanage, Soren, Ireena and Tourmaline enter the front door behind him, with Victor hanging back on the porch. Ireena practically gasps the question, "What is it? What have they found?"
Burr and Zefla:
The final staircase groans under their careful steps as Zefla and Burr ascend into the attic. It is as dark here as the lower floors. It is dustier up here, and cobwebs sway overhead. Unlike the lower floors, which, despite their neglect, retained some sense of order, this space is ruined—ransacked.
Zefla steps lightly over scattered clothing and broken furniture, her sharp eyes sweeping the attic. The overturned bed, the shattered dresser. And then she sees him.
Perched atop the battered dresser, a shape lingers in the darkness. Her vision sharpens, revealing the pale, gaunt features of a teenage boy—one she recognizes.
She remembers him from that first day in Vallaki, raking leaves outside the Cathedral of St. Andral. Back then, he had been a strong, broad-shouldered youth, his face hardened by labor but still full of life. That boy is gone. What crouches atop the dresser now is something else—hollow-cheeked, skin stretched tight over bone, his once-bright eyes now glowing red in the gloom. His fingers, long and clawed, grip the wood as he watches them with a predator’s stillness.
Burr stands beside her, the boy's features lost in the dark but the red eyes clearly visible.
A low, ragged moan fills the attic. “I—I didn’t know how to stop them…” The voice is raw, filled with anguish.
The youth's head dips, his stringy hair falling over his sunken face.
“I didn’t want them to take the kids,” he croaks, as if confessing a sin. “But—I—I was too scared…” His fingers dig into the wood, splintering it under his unnatural strength. “Too scared to move… to stop them…". He makes a wretching, sobbing sound. "The witches said I was too old... dead already... they didn't even want me.”
Then, slowly, he lifts his head, and the misery in his expression twists into something else. His nostrils flare. The moan turns into a low hiss. His lips curl back, revealing sharp, elongated fangs.
“I can smell it…” he rasps. “Your blood…”
His movements change—no longer that of a grieving boy, but of something hungry. His limbs move with unnatural grace as he begins to descend from the dresser, first shifting to a crouch, then slithering down the broken wood.
The attic seems smaller now. The walls press in.
Then he lunges with a bestial snarl.
No sooner has Ireena asked her question, then there is a loud snarl heard from somewhere high above in the orphanage...
Initiative:
[Burr, unless/until light is introduced, any attacks will have disadvantage.
Soren, Giles and the others are two rounds of dashing away from the attic. If there is still an active initiative when they get there, we can roll them in and add them to the order.]
PC - Ethel - Human - Lvl 4 Necromancer - Undying Dragons * Serge Marshblade - Human - Lvl 5 Eldritch Knight - Hoard of the Dragon Queen
DM - (Homebrew) Heroes of Bardstown * Red Dead Annihilation: ToA * Where the Cold Winds Blow : DoIP * Covetous, Dragonish Thoughts: HotDQ * Red Wine, Black Rose: CoS * Greyhawk: Tides of War
Crestfallen that the man they saw outside the church had been reduced to this, Zefla draws her bow and an arrow. She is glad that he confirmed the witches and apparently that is where they need to go next.
Keeping her stance still to use Steady Aim she fires off an arrow as she can feel his hunger grow.
She crit's with her attack: 28, Damage: 15 + 18 sneak attack = 33
Knowing they had been away longer than she had anticipated and knowing Giles... she reaches out to send him a message telepathically.
Giles:
Milivoj, turned into a vampire on third floor. Hurry.
Giles straightens up like a bolt as the message hits him. “Come with me. Quickly. They are facing a vampire upstairs..”. Giles takes off with his glowing dagger, dashing to Zefla’s aid.
A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.
Burr can't see well but he knows that Zefla needs help and lunges at the dead boy with the Bloodspear. He hears the voice of Kavan urging him on as the spear lights with a crimson glow and his mouth fills with the taste of blood.
BA- Rage
Reckless Attack ( Back to a straight roll)- : Attack: 16 Damage: 10 Magical Piercing+2 Radiant.