Burr stands uncomfortably between Giles and Victor and Tourmaline, Ireena and the Children not really knowing what to do.

He picked up the Bloodspear and whispered to it, " Well, you got some witch blood at least....so hopefully your happy."

Using her inspiration to give a good look, perception: 17

And once done with the bedroom, she will check out the trapdoor that Morgantha glanced at during their meeting.

As the wind howls quietly through the broken shutters of the old windmill, the dread that had settled over the place seems to lighten—just slightly—as Zefla and the wolves begin their search.  The structure still groans hauntingly, but now that the hags are gone - their magic weakened and one of them destroyed - the place feels vulnerable, exposed.  And lootable.

The wolves, tails raised and noses twitching, pad across the first, second and third floors.  They pause briefly at the cold oven, sniffing the old stains of blood, flour, and children’s tears, but find no living creature.  Or maybe... Fir doubles back over some of the floorboards on the ground floor, scratching and whining.

Nettle flits through the windmill, her owl eyes scanning bookshelves, cupboards, rafters.  Among broken toys and stained sheets she notices scratches on the floor near the stairs between the second and third floor, and a crack in the wall there.  Exploring this further reveals a trap door to a shaft leading down to the first floor.  It looks to have been an old vent for the oven.  At the bottom, bits of gnawed bone, melted dolls, and broken glass can be seen.  Nothing that would make the difficult climb down worthwhile can be seen.

Between her own searchings and the clues from the animals, Zefla is able to find the following:

Ground Floor:

Prying up the floorboards where Fir was scratching, Zefla finds a depression dug into the dark earth below, like a small grave.  Inside are:

• 3 small vials of cherry-red liquid.
• A sealed and heavy, soot blackened jar containing a withered heart in a cloudy soup of thick, sugary syrup.  As Zefla observes the ghastly item, the heart beats.  Then again.  Slowly, every 8 to 10 seconds, it pulses in a rhythmic facsimile of life.

Second Floor:

On the second floor Zefla searches the foul body of the deceased hag, Offalia.  She finds:

• A black, glossy gem the size of a child’s fist, warm to the touch.
• A nasty, fleshy pouch made of stitched human skin, smelling faintly of sulfur and grave earth.  It is stitched shut, but it feels like there is something inside, vaguely humanoid shaped, like a very small doll or figurine.  When poking and prodding at it, the bag shudders.
• A simple stone ring with two closed eyes carved into it.
• A box of tarokka cards, some of them bent and water stained.  Someone has scratched unfamiliar but loathsome-looking symbols into the cover of the box.

Third Floor:

Searching the hags' bed, dressers and the children's closet, Zefla finds:

• A dirty felt bag containing 75 electrum pieces stamped on one side with a raven and on the other side with the profile of a grim-looking man.
• Under the children's cages she finds an old hand-drawn picture of three women and a windmill labeled “Mommas,” with a smiling sun above them, drawn in red wax.
• A small, light wand of bone, carved from something long and thin, like a fibula, tucked into a drawer full of crushed herbs.

The Attic:

Climbing up the ladder to the trapdoor, Zefla is able to open it easily.  Inside, she finds sacks of grain and old bones, along with the following:

• A preserved, mummified raven, its wings spread as if in flight, hung by a red string from a rafter.
• A clean, black cloth bag containing three books.  All three are bound in cracked, dry leather and bear the same ink-stamped message inside the front cover:  Property of the Teodorus Archive - Immol.  Please return within one lunar cycle.  Violators will be fined or cursed.

  • The Broken Moon: Reassembled Fragments of Barovia Before the Fall  By Scholar-Gyrovant Lestelle

  • The Veil Worn Thin: Liminal Crossings and the Border Ethereal  By Ebricc Lammant, Arcanist of the Fourth Pillar

  • Sweet Ash and Cinders: Witches of the Pre-Barovian Hills  By Tamblin Hollowquill, Folklorist of Immol

Zefla gathers most of the items she finds, leaving behind the kids drawing and the mummified raven.  She makes sure she doesn't actually touch the flesh pouch as she takes it down with the rest.  She leaves the windmill, goes about fifteen feet away from it and dumps the things in the grass, letting the others check out what she found.

She looks to Victor, seeing his distress and is glad Giles seems to be accompanying him and she hopes it helps.  "So, anyone know what any of this stuff is?  I mean I know this bag," and she shakes the dirty felt bag, "is coin.  Though I do wonder if anyone in Barovia takes electrum?  It isn't a coin I ever saw often at the Lizard."

Burr looks at the weird assortment Zefla has collected, " Tourmaline? Viktor? Any idea what that stuff does?"

Soren still looks exhausted, as if already anticipating his promised future nightly torture at Morgantha's hands.

"Yes, none of these things make any sense to me, but perhaps Lady Bauer and Victor can pool their arcane knowledge to study them for clues?  Especially the books.  Though I do not know if we are safe here right now.  We are wounded and the hags may return.  Of course, they are wounded too..."

Wearily, Soren begins to look over the three rescued children to ascertain their mental and physical well being, but finds he cannot focus.  (Medicine:  8)

"Not-father, can you check to ensure the cubs are healthy in body and mind?"

Until it is time to destroy the windmill, Elm and Fir remain within, patrolling the floors to watch and scent for returning hags.  The other three wolves stand guard around the exterior, while Nettle continues to glide in a slow, wide circle overhead, watching and listening for any approaching trouble.

Nettle's Perception (Keen Hearing and Sight):  13

Giles stands up, glancing down at Victor, and looking over at the pile of items that Zefla brought out of the tower.  “Right.  First priority.  Let me have a look.”  Giles bends down, scratching his beard, then looks at the children while taking a knee, eye to eye, taking them in his hand and turning their head back and forth, looking for any signs of cuts, injuries, and examines their mental attitude, to see if they may be under a spell, somehow still sickened or influenced by the hags.  He looks them over for a few minutes, making sure they are alright.  

Medicine check (he asks for his Lady’s help with this, with guidance) : 13

As the party gathers around the items Zefla laid out in the grass, a faint wind rustles through the overgrown field around the decrepit windmill, stirring the grim trinkets and the grass alike.  The sickly-sweet scent of burnt sugar still lingers in the air.  Off to the side, Tourmaline leans against a mossy stone, cradling her ribs, and Victor sits slumped in the grass, idly poking at some of the blisters on his arm with a distant look on his face.  It is still early, yet the daylight feels as if it is thinning somehow, like night comes too early.

Tourmaline  casts a withering glance at the pile.  “Everything here reeks of a curse,” she mutters, her voice raw.  She sniffs.  "Or perhaps that's just burnt Tiefling I smell.  Either way, I'd sooner not touch any of it until we’re somewhere safe.”

Giles finishes looking over the children.  They look healthy enough.  Shaken, surely, but no curse or spellwork on them that he can tell.  If anything was done to them it didn’t leave a mark on the surface.  

Soren's wolves detect no return from either of the surviving hags.  Nettle, however, alerts Soren to something else.  

Glancing briefly through his familiar's sharp eyes, Soren is able to perceive the threat.  500' away, at the edge of the clearing where the treeline thickens into the twisted woods of Barovia, three enormous wolves lie in the shadows cast by some scraggly pine trees.  Each the size of a pony, their fur is mottled with black and gray, their bodies tense, but still.  Their eyes gleam like coals.  They do not approach.  They do not rise from where they lay.  They do not howl.

They simply watch.

Burr follows Sorens line of sight, " Oh, they're back.  You think its the same ones that were watching at the hill?"

" Let's gather this stuff up and get a move on.....Vallaki? Or elsewhere?"

He dropped back next to Soren, " I'll watch them.  Lets get the rest to safety........if such a word means anything here."

Soren's eyes meet Burr's, then pass over the bloodied and beaten collection of adventurers, mages, children and wolves.

Part of him wants to suggest first cautiously resting near the windmill, cursed though it may be, to at least partially allow wounds to mend.  But he nods slowly at the decision to return to Vallaki immediately, helping gather, distribute and carry everything Zefla has brought out of the structure.

The wolves tense and growl low in their throats as they sense the presence of their three larger cousins.  Soren observes them waiting and watching.

"The direwolves do resemble the ones who watched us from the foot of Yester Hill, rushing away before we descended to report to whoever they serve.  Strahd, this other vampire Anastrasia who enthralled Milivoj and other vampire spawn, or some other foul master, I know not.  I do know that while we spent that night in Davian Martikov's winery-den, the undead attacked the Saint Andral's Cathedral and slew Father Lucien, knowing we were not there."

And then, after a pause.  "Victor.  You are not wrong in wanting to destroy this vile windmill.  With all safely out, if we are departing, then now is the time."

Victor listens to Soren’s words in silence, glancing at Giles for confirmation.  The mage stands slowly, drawing a shaky breath as he wipes blood from his temple.  He casts one last glance toward the looming husk of the windmill.  “Fine,” he mutters.  “Let’s burn it down.”

He raises one hand, muttering the arcane syllables under his breath, the weave of his magic warping the air around his outstretched fingers.  A sudden surge of heat pulses outward as the spell takes hold— a summoning.  Inside the windmill, flames flicker in the air like distant candlelight, then twist and rise, becoming.

With a roar like a forge flaring to life, a fire elemental bursts into being in the heart of the windmill.  Its body is a writhing inferno, with only the suggestion of limbs and a flickering face.  It howls—a sound of crackling, alien fury—and immediately begins to lash out, setting the cursed structure ablaze from the inside.

The rotted floorboards ignite with a dry crackling gasp.  The old mill groans, as if in protest, and then the flames spread faster, feeding on the ancient wood, the hag’s belongings, and the lingering malice soaked into the walls.  Smoke pours from the windows in heavy, black clouds.

Victor watches for only a moment before stepping back, his face drawn.  “We should go.  Now.  As I mentioned, my elementals don't depart when they should.  That thing is going to learn it’s trapped here in about an hour, and when it does...”  He doesn’t finish the sentence. 

Soren's wolves growl low again, their hackles rising in wariness at the roaring inferno and the summoned entity within.  Even the wind seems to retreat from the windmill, its smoldering shape now a glowing beacon against the gray skies of Barovia.

As the group begins to move, gathering children, gear, and each other, the elemental continues to thrash against the inside of the crumbling structure—setting the second floor alight as the windmill begins to collapse inward with a shuddering crack, fiery limbs battering the walls.

Behind them, the three direwolves at the edge of the trees remain motionless.  Watching. 

And then one of them rises slowly, shakes pine needles from its coat, and turns to lope back into the forest, vanishing into the cloying mists.

[Back to Vallaki?]

Burr gathered everyone back away from the conflagration, paying special attention to Soren, knowing some of his past with fire, " Is that thing going to take the whole forest down?"

" Vallaki.  Lets go."

He held an arm out to any of the kids that wanted a shoulder ride......though after being thrown through a window he wouldn't blame them for refusing....

Soren turns even paler than normal when he realizes that rather than just hurling a fireball as the druid had imagined Victor would, the young mage has instead summoned an elemental being of pure fire who will persist (and become hostile) after the windmill is destroyed.  The wolves flicker.

DC10 CON Save for an aghast Soren to maintain concentration on Conjure Animals:  11

He swallows and tastes bile at the back of his throat as he tries to force himself to walk, not run away from the inferno.

"I... I admit, I did not really understand what you meant about your elementals, Victor.  I did not think that... that this was how mages burned things down.  With living fire."  He looks helplessly at Lady Bauer.  "At least the volcano that set fire to Neverwinter Wood was not... alive.  I don't think."

Hunching his shoulders, Soren keeps pace at the front back towards Vallaki with the remaining wolves.  Trying not to think of what the fiery being would do once it was done with its task and keeping a wary eye on the watching direwolves.

If the party passes within hailing distance of the large lupines, Soren tries to work moisture back into his throat and growls out (Speech of the Woods).

The journey away from the windmill begins under a sky choked with smoke.  Behind them, the windmill is a pillar of fire now, flames twisting into the air as wooden beams groan and collapse inward.  Within the inferno, the shape of the fire elemental still moves—flailing, restless, a living flame dancing in triumph or madness.  Its presence lingers even as the structure dies around it.

Burr crouches a little and holds out an arm to the children, offering his broad shoulder to any who might want a ride.  The young boy they rescued hesitates only a second before climbing up, leaning against Burr’s thick neck, exhausted but soothed.  The other two girls hang back.  Saskia stays pressed against Ireena, while the younger girl continues to cast wary looks at Burr, clearly not having forgotten about the window.

Soren stumbles for a step.  A knot tightens in his stomach, nausea creeping up.  He nearly loses the spell—nearly—but manages to steel himself just in time.  The wolves, summoned by his magic, continue padding through the mist and grass, silent sentinels watching the flanks of the group.

The direwolves are never close enough for Soren to do anything other than howl at them [if he chooses to do so, they merely eye him dispassionately and do not respond.]

When Soren asks about Victor's spell, Tourmaline’s response comes dryly, one brow lifting as she adjusts her grip on the bandaged side of her torso.  "It's overkill, yes," she says. "But so’s everything about this place.  Victor’s young, wounded, and upset.  That fire’s not just for the hags or the windmill.  It’s for everything else."

She actually gives a crooked smirk, weary and amused. "If it roams off and starts burning Strahd’s trees?  Good.  Let HIM deal with it."

Victor walks near the middle of the group, unnervingly close to Giles.  His expression is flat, his eyes slightly unfocused, as though following a memory instead of a path.  Occasionally he asks Giles to look at a particular burn, wondering if it will scar.

The wolves continue their steady pace, keeping an eye out for the direwolves who had once lurked nearby but now seem to have melted away into the forest.

They walk for some time before the trees thin, and a familiar stretch of land comes into view.  An old, fallow farmfield.  One they’ve seen before—more than once, in fact.  The party has been down this road several times already in their short stay in Barovia.  But something is different now.

Six scarecrows stand in the field just beyond the broken fence.  Crude effigies of men and women, hung from thick posts, their limbs stuffed with straw and their clothes faded and torn.  Grain sacks serve as heads, sagging and blank, stitched with the barest suggestion of faces.  Their clothing is oddly specific: a bonnet, a smith’s apron, a child’s tunic.  All can agree with some certainty that these were not here when they passed this field hours ago.

At their feet lie dead ravens.  Several of them.  Feathers scattered across the grass like dark petals.  The silence in the field is heavy and wrong.  The wolves steer clear of it, but do not sense any danger.  As the party passes, almost expecting the scarecrows to lurch to attack... they just hang there, limp and lifeless, harmless creations of straw and debris.

Less than an hour later, the road winds closer to Vallaki.  The mist starts to creep again—coiling at ankle height, drifting into the woods.  One by one, Soren’s wolves begin to vanish, their forms dissolving into smoke as if the mist itself is reclaiming them.  Soren feels the summoning spell collapse—not with violence, but with inevitability.  It is an odd feeling, though.  This is the first time he has cast this spell, drawing forth these animal spirits.  Rather than feeling as if he is releasing them, he has the sensation that they are being taken from him instead.

Not long after, another shift ripples through the group.  Giles’ spell on Victor finally fades.

Victor blinks.  He slows, frowns, and blinks again, this time with more focus.  His eyes settle on Giles and linger there for a long moment.  Then his face twists into something like a scowl—confused, betrayed, embarrassed.

He doesn’t say anything.  He just steps away, moving to the opposite side of the group.  His eyes stay low, but his body language is tight and simmering.

Ahead, the dark shapes of Vallaki’s walls emerge from the mist.  The gate is just visible now, lantern light flickering even in the daytime.  As they draw closer, they see that someone is manning the gate now, although these 'guards' appear to retreat at the sight of the party's approach.

Taking a bag from the windmill, she scoops everything she had laid out into it.  (Not sure what to distribute, so I added everything to her inventory, we can figure it out once we get to Vallaki)

Zefla is also taken aback by the elemental that is summoned, realizing that Viktor actually wanted to summon it before checking that the building was clear... when she was still in it.  The thought made her shudder.

The dead ravens were a bad sight, a bad sight indeed.  She wonders if these scarecrows were made to depict a certain family?  This place was creepy enough to make that happen.  She's glad when they move on from it.

As the 'guards' at the wall retreat at their sight, she asks, "Do you think they are lookouts for us?  The fact they aren't greeting us, feels ominous... I hope things haven't made a turn for the worse while we were gone."  She thinks about that mob they ran into as they were leaving town...

Burr is struck with an urge to smash the scarecrows to pieces, those allied with ravens have been some of the few brave souls to be found here-........but for now he keeps walking.

When they draw near the walls he notes the same as Zefla, " Then they can try and arrest us I suppose....or they can try.   I'm done doing all these peoples work for them.", his voice was gruff but not resolute.....if something needed doing then he would be there.......but he had no problems kicking some upstarts arse into a new shape either.

" I hope these two kids families are happy to see them......I am unsure how the witches took them in the first place.....if they were given and not taken then I will be having words with them."

((Sorry for the delay in posting, this is what I wanted to get out…)

Giles nods to Victor when he begins to cast his spell, but his jaw drops open like Soren’s when he sees the intent of the young wizard.  He stands and watches with fascination as the flames start to rise from the windmill, then he gathers himself and helps to gather up the things that Zefla found and herd the children away from the burning structure.  

Giles walks beside Victor, talking to him as they go.  “When we get back to Vallaki, I can examine those wounds better, help with healing them, don’t you worry.  Some of them may scar.  But this place seems to leave scars deeper than most, what you have on the skin, on the surface is nothing.  It is what is deeper below that I worry about… speaking of which… in a little more than a half hour you’re going to think that I played some trickery on you.  Well, I did Victor.  So that you wouldn’t roast my friend Zefla alive in that windmill as she was searching it.  Had to be done.  Don’t be mad at me for it, you ah… weren’t quite thinking right for a minute back there, I had to help you a little bit.  But I (and Soren over there..) saved you from that acidic black blobby beast, so don’t be mad at me, okay?  I’m just glad that we made it out of there… “. Giles falls silent and stares at the road in front of him, lost in his thoughts as he seems to be replaying how it all went down in his mind.  

Giles has a frown on his face when he sees the dead ravens and the scarecrows as they are walking back to Vallaki.  “Is this meant to be a message?  A warning?  Who are these meant to represent…” he says to himself, then he continues walking, saying to whoever is near him, “More dark tidings.”  

As they approach the gates he says to Soren, “Do you think that Nettle can look ahead and see what lies in store for us?  Something feels.. different.”  

Soren shudders uncontrollably for a long moment at Lady Bauer's matter-of-fact accounting of the fire elemental which Victor had summoned.  The druid's heart sinks further when the fallow field with the ritualistic scarecrows and raven corpses come into view.

"This morbid display may have been arranged for our benefit.  By Strahd, the hags, or this other Anastrasia vampire."  Soren swallows before confessing:

"I have a suspicion that our allies, the Martikovs, Urwin and Dannika at the Blue Water Inn and Urwin's estranged father Davian at the Wizard of Wines have a relationship with ravens.  The birds flock on the Inn's roof, and we have seen that when we asked Davian for help, it came in the form of a strange, silent raven-woman who fought by our side at Yester Hill.  I fear if the ravens represent the Martikovs, that they may have been attacked in our absence."

Soren's Insight to guess whether the effigies represent any particular adults and/or children of the Martikov family:  13

His mood grows even more gloomy and his face paler as his Conjure Animals ends and the wolves vanish without their usual subtle lupine goodbye, as if they have been taken from him.  He puts a steadying hand on Burr's shoulder when the big man speaks of the children's parents.

"We know the hags originally took Saskia from her parents in Barovia Village, but more recently, I think all three were taken from the orphanage at Saint Penelope's in Vallaki?  Is that what happened, cubs?"  The druid looks to the three children for confirmation and wonders where to take them now...

Once he sees the guards apparently retreat from the town walls, he shares Zefla and Giles' unease.  Soren nods at the cleric and Nettle wings up above the walls for a quick scouting sortie, looking for a possible ambush or other obvious changed situation just beyond the walls of Vallaki.

"As wounded as some of us are, I would have preferred to rest before facing whatever lies ahead.  Yet if the Martikov's are at risk as I suspect, our time may be short.  Perhaps Burr, Zefla, not-Father and I take the lead, being less injured.  Victor and Lady Bauer, stay behind us with Ireena and the cubs."

Nettle's Perception with Keen Hearing and Sight:  20 (dirty)
Nettle:  1/1 HP + 10 Temp HP, Wild Companion lasts 2 hours now, so perhaps 30 more minutes?

Giles:  Charmed-Victor takes the news in stride.  Once the spell fades, Victor's reaction is slightly less hostile for the warning, but he still distances himself from Giles, a look of embarrassment on his face.

There is nothing about the scarecrows that immediately suggests a reference to the Martikovs... they are clearly dressed in a way to more closely simulate the garb of real people than any scarecrow would need, but the particular outfits are not evocative of your friends the Martikovs.  

Nearer the gate, the three children all confirm they were residents of the orphanage.  They seem to assume you are returning them to the care of the headmistress at St. Penelope's.

As Nettle glides silently above the moss-draped trees and into the mist-choked air above Vallaki’s eastern gate, its keen eyes scan the shadows just inside the palisade.

Soren is able to see through his friend's eyes: