As the party waits near the Old Svallich Road, Father Giles removes the curse that afflicts Zefla.  

Tourmaline crosses her arms, watching the windmill with narrowed eyes.  “They know we’re coming.  That mist was no idle trick—it was meant to soften us up, unnerve us.  Perhaps frighten us off completely.  That means we should expect more of the same.  Illusions, curses, charms... Maybe worse.”  She exhales sharply.  “And if they are a coven, we must break their unity.  Hags alone are bad enough, but together?  Their magic is amplified in ways that make them—" She hesitates, glancing toward Victor before finishing, "extraordinarily dangerous.”

Victor watches Tourmaline, looking anywhere but at the windmill. His hands twitch slightly, like he wants to fold them behind his back but doesn't want to look nervous. “I can, um, burn things,” he offers, “and I can cast a spell that lets a person fly."   Victor shifts uncomfortably, running a hand through his disheveled hair.  “I… I have a spell that lets me summon an elemental,” he says hesitantly.  “Might be useful.  Could give us another set of hands in the fight.”

He pauses, then sighs.  “But there’s a problem.  It doesn’t, uh… work right.  When the spell ends, the elemental is supposed to just disappear.  Except it doesn’t.”  He scowls, glancing away.  “It lingers.  And then it—well, last time, the air elemental I summoned tried to kill me before I managed to destroy it.”

Tourmaline blinks. “That seems… like a big problem.”

Victor folds his arms.  “Yeah, well, I know that.”  His frustration is clear, but there’s a flicker of real concern beneath it.  “There's nothing in the spell notes about it... I know the incantations perfectly... it is aggravating.  I can do it if you really think we need it.  But I’d rather not, unless we’ve got no other choice.”

Ireena considers him for a moment before nodding. “Then perhaps keep it as a last resort?  If the battle turns against us, bringing in an air spirit might be worth the risk.”

Ireena then turns and fixes her gaze on the windmill, her expression resolute.  “What else might they have at their disposal?  Traps?  Minions?”  Her hand rests on the hilt of her sword.  “We cannot allow them to flee.  If they escape, they will only keep hurting people.  We must finish this here.”

Tourmaline looks at Victor.  "You can cast Lightning Bolt as well.  Don't hold back with that.  I'd even suggest you open with it... give the old girls a taste of their own medicine."

Victor's look sours.  "I told you back at my home - that was my only scroll.  I never learned how to cast that on my own."

"What?  Why on Faerun wouldn't you learn Lightning Bolt?  Those scrolls cost a fortune and scribes covet that spell like gold."  She looks genuinely shocked.

He scowls.  "Well, I wasn't exactly planning on fighting the Dark Lord while I was studying.  I was focused on spells that might get me out of this place... mobility, translocation, flight.  Forgive me for not expecting you to barge in and waste my only scroll."

Ireena looks back from the windmill and shoots both of them a look that ends the bickering.

Victor nods, though his expression is pinched.  “Right. To the matter at hand, then.” He glances toward the others.  “Do we just—what?  Knock on the door?  Or were you all thinking something more subtle?”

Tourmaline raises an eyebrow. “Subtlety?  They know we're out here... probably watching us right now.” She gestures toward the windmill.  “No, we should strike fast.  Hard.  Give them no more time to prepare.”

Ireena nods, then looks to Soren, Burr, Zefla and Father Giles.  “Then we decide our approach now.  Who leads?  Who follows?” She looks between the gathered faces, then toward the windmill again. 

Giles smiles and says to Ireena, “I can disguise myself to look like a little girl, with a red hood and cloak, skipping along with a basket, gathering dark mushrooms to cook soup for the family, looking nervously to the woods for any monsters or vampires.  Skipping along, not expecting any danger, luring them out?  I don’t know, the more I think of it, the more that sounds like a death wish….”  Giles scratches his stubble, considering other options.  

Despite still looking pale and ill from the curse that lingers on him, Soren smiles wanly.

"I think even I would see through such a ruse, not-Father, as would the big bad wolves I will summon.  They are expecting us and they know that we know they kidnap cubs.  I think my pack-mate Burr wants to just smash down the door to their den and have at them unless we can learn the lay of the land.  I can still try to turn into a rat or spider to scout, though my curse makes it harder for me to see, and they will likely spot and slay my beast form."

He pauses and considers, putting fingers to his temple as if to fight through a headache.

"I have three concerns.  First, if they are lying in wait for us, there may be some kind of trap as we enter.  If it is a non-magical trap, then any of us may notice it, but since these are hags, presumably it will be magical.  In that case, I hope that you mages can please watch carefully for such arcane wards as we enter and warn us."

"Second, when we battled Morgantha on the road half a tenday ago, she simply vanished.  It was not even that she became invisible.  We saw no tracks.  How do we prevent all of them from escaping thus?"

"And third, it seems likely they will use the captured cubs as hostages and human shields.  I say that we cannot hesitate or negotiate as city-folk sometimes do, no matter the danger to the little ones.  Attack all out.  If we let the hags survive, many more cubs will die."

Burr raised the Bloodspear, " I say I run over there and kick the door in and we take it as it comes."

Zefla nods to the conclusion her friends are coming to.  She kicks a rock in front of her and decides not to comment on how crazy it would be to actually want to fly.  She'll leave that to the others.  "We're wasting time standing around here trying to decide.  We just need to get this over with and save any kids we can.  Soren is right, especially if they are turned, there is no turning them back."

Looking to Tormaline, Ireena and Viktor, "You guys come in after us, though stay close.  I don't want anyone picked off while our back is turned."  She looks at Soren and worries about him for a moment, but she knows there is nothing that can be done about it now.  

Readjusting her large pack with the weapons sticking out at odd angles, she holds her bow in hand, ready to send an arrow as soon as needed.  "Let's go." And she starts off towards the Windmill.

The Old Svalich Road fades into the mists behind them as they press forward, the decrepit windmill rising before them like a blackened sentinel against the brooding grey sky.  Centuries of wind and rain have battered its stone walls, leaving them pitted and scarred, while the warped wooden slats of its upper levels creak ominously in the shifting breeze.  Towering at nearly fifty feet, its sagging blades stretch even higher, their long arms slicing through the sky with slow, groaning sweeps, their downward arcs just missing the front door, as if the mill itself is warning away intruders.

The land around it is barren.  Where once a healthy field might have surrounded such a structure, now only brittle grass clings to life. The ground feels strangely soft underfoot, damp as though the soil itself is rotting.  There are no trees, no shrubs—nothing with deep roots dares grow here.  The only movement comes from the scattering of vermin; bloated, gray toads sluggishly hop away from the party's boots, while fat, black spiders scurry into unseen burrows, their legs barely making a whisper in the dirt.

Victor mutters something under his breath, fingers twitching in a practiced motion.  His fine coat ripples and shifts like ink spilled in water, elongating into a heavy, floor-length leather garment, thick and dark as midnight.  The air hums faintly with magic as the transformation completes.  He tugs at the sleeve, inspecting the weight of the material with quiet approval. “I’ve never had cause to use this before,” he murmurs, and despite the forced casualness in his tone, his back straightens ever so slightly, his confidence bolstered by the protective magic wrapped around him.

They stop just short of the entrance, taking in the signs of life—or something close to it.  Footprints mar the dirt, some large, adult-sized, but others smaller….  A lone rocking horse, its paint faded and peeling, sits on the sand just off the front porch, swaying ever so slightly as if stirred by an unseen hand.  The only sound is the rhythmic creaking of the windmill blades as they turn, their hollow groan stretching across the empty fields like the slow exhale of something ancient.

The door looms before them, the threshold to what could be the most dangerous fight of their lives.  There is a palpable malice here.  Whatever waits inside knows they are coming.

[Like Victor, are there any spells or abilities you wish to cast/trigger now, before you go inside?  You don't know awaits you beyond the threshold...

Also, who is carrying the wand of binding?  It is on Soren's sheet but I thought I recalled a discussion where Father Giles accepted it?  I don't care which one of you has it, other than I need to know which one of you has it...]

Giles will freely take the wand to use it if offered to him.  As they approach, he will pray to Lady Tymora and invoke duplicity, creating an illusion of himself who will be the one to enter and go in front.  He also touches Zefla, giving her the blessing of the trickster, giving her advantage on Stealth checks for one hour.  He focuses on his spells, planning to add additional mirror images of himself as they enter and come into contact with what awaits them.  

Wordlessly, Soren reaches into his pack and produces the Wand of Binding.  Suppressing a shudder, he offers it up to Lady Bauer.

Perhaps she can hold one of them to prevent them from vanishing...

He points to the door and looks questioningly at Victor, Lady Bauer and Giles, in case they can perceive any arcane trap on the entrance.

Nettle flies a quick circuit around the windmill, careful to avoid the heavy, slowly-spinning tines, then settles back on Soren's shoulder, staring at the door.

Nettle's Perception at advantage (Keen Hearing and Sight) for lurking enemies or physical traps on the door:  23 (Natural 20) or 18 if no advantage

IF no one notices any traps or lurking enemies (other than the ones we expect inside), just before the party enters, Soren whispers words in a strange language (Sylvan) and gestures wide.  From the tree-line come loping silently eight gaunt, reddish gray-furred canines.  Eight fey spirits in the form of Barovian wolves.  As they arrive, Soren gestures once more and summons his incorporeal spirit bear, Bramble.  (Conjure Animals and Spirit Totem).

ALL allies (3 PCs, 3 NPC allies, Nettle and 8 conjured wolves) gain 10 Temp HP and also have advantage on STR checks and saves while in 30' aura.

Soren's Summoned Pack:

Nettle (Owl Familiar):  AC11, 1/1 HP + 10 Temp HP (AC11, 60' fly speed, Flyby)
Bramble (Spirit Totem Bear):  incorporeal, no stats, but all of Soren's allies have advantage on STR checks and saves in his 30' aura
Acacia (Wolf 1):  11/11 HP + 10 Temp HP (All wolves have AC13, 40' speed and Pack Tactics)
Bracken (Wolf 2):  11/11 HP + 10 Temp HP
Cedar (Wolf 3):  11/11 HP + 10 Temp HP
Dale (Wolf 4):  11/11 HP + 10 Temp HP
Elm (Wolf 5):  11/11 HP + 10 Temp HP
Fir (Wolf 6):  11/11 HP + 10 Temp HP
Gorse (Wolf 7):  11/11 HP + 10 Temp HP
Hawthorn (Wolf 8):  11/11 HP + 10 Temp HP

Zefla feels a welcome shudder go through her body as Giles bolsters her with both stealth advantage and temp hps.  She smiles, good to have friends with tricks like this.  Her jaw about drops though as all the wolves come out of the woods and join them.  "How...never mind." she shakes her head.  Soren will always be a bit of an enigma to her.

Scratching her head she addresses the group, "Some of you know I can telepathically communicate.  So don't freak out if you hear my voice in your head, sometimes I need to stay quiet and it can be the best way.  I try to avoid it if possible as some don't really like it.  But you're forewarned, it may happen.  Also, I have the deed to this windmill?  I don't know if you magic people are interested in it at all?  No idea if that helps or not, just thought I'd offer it up."

With that, she looks around the entrance, checking for traps as well as she can.  She can't keep her eyes off the rocking horse, it totally creeps her out.

Investigation 11

Nodding to check everyone is ready Burr walked up to the door of the windmill, opened himself to the old chieftains wrath and kicked hard at the door.....if it opened he moved in and immediately to the left.

BA- Rage.

Athletics- 26

Tourmaline's lip curls in a smile as she takes possession of the wand.  But then it falters.  "No good," she says looking sown at the item with bitter disappointment.  "This wand requires attunement.  I can feel it.  I'd need to spend more time with it to be able to use it at all.  I'm afraid if we're to use it, it will have to be you," she says, passing it back to Soren.  [Since its apparently been in Soren's possession all night, we can call him attuned to it for now.]

As a pack of wolves surrounds the party, Zefla is able to inform Burr she sees no sign of traps.  Nettle likewise informs Soren that, other than a number of structural weaknesses and several vermin holes, there is nothing it can see that looks like a trap.  "How did you come upon the deed-" Victor starts to ask, before Burr, with a single fierce kick, shatters the front door of the windmill and steps inside.

The stench hits them like a wall.  The overwhelming sickly-sweet scent of fresh pastries curdles in the air, tainted by something far fouler—a cloying, acrid reek that burns their nostrils and sets their stomachs to uneasy churning.  The source of the stench, an open barrel in the center of the room, festers in the dim light, something thick and unidentifiable sloshing within its depths.

The ground floor is a chaotic den of filth and disarray.  Piles of old, cracked dishware are haphazardly stacked atop one another, teetering like precarious monuments to neglect.  Baskets of unknown ingredients—dried herbs, twisted roots, and things that look distressingly like bones—are strewn about with no sense of order.  A rickety peddler’s cart stands near the entrance, its wheels warped and splintering, and a battered chicken coop along one wall erupts with frantic clucking at the intrusion.  Toads croak lazily from somewhere in the gloom.  A curved set of stone steps leads higher into the windmill.  It is a small space, cramped more than cozy, and only 20' across from wall to wall.

A pretty wooden cabinet stands oddly out of place amid the squalor, its doors painted with delicate flowers, their colors faded with time.  The soft, curling designs contrast grotesquely with the rest of the room’s macabre décor.  Leaning against the wall beside it is a gnarled broomstick.

By the brick oven, where warm light spills and casts long, twitching shadows, a tattered book lies open on a wooden slab—its pages filled with spidery script in an unfamiliar language.  A long, rusted knife rests beside it.

Above them, from somewhere higher in the windmill, a chorus of high-pitched cackling erupts, the sound grating and manic.  The wooden beams groan under unseen movement, and the shadows dance.

But here, on the ground floor, they are alone.

[What is the marching order?  You implied the NPCs (Tourmaline, Ireena and Victor) would stay to the rear.  What about the wolves?  Are they in the middle?  The vanguard?  Mixed in and around?  Space is at a premium here.]

Sensing Burr's rising Rage, Soren knows his friend is ready to charge up the stairs after the source of the mad cackling.  Were he not suffering from a curse, Soren would find it difficult to stop himself from doing the same.  As it is, his hackles rise and his half-elven ears seem to lie flat on his scalp.

"We must clear this level of the den."  The druid's voice is urgent.  "Ensure there are no cubs here.  Morgantha kept Saskia inside that cart while kidnapping her.  Then set f-f-fire to that foul barrel, the cart and that tattered demon book we see inside."  Soren only stammers a little at the word fire.

He suits his action to his words, stepping in and walking to the peddler's cart and attempting to throw it open to expose anyone hiding or trapped inside (Free Action).  If it does not open, he knocks at it to check whether any children are trapped inside.  As an action, he attempts to take preemptive evasive maneuvers, zigging and zagging in case anything attacks (dodge action).

He can only hope that the others in the rear guard follow suit with the barrel and book.  (The latter can just be burned, he thinks...)

Restricting herself to the ground floor for now, Nettle flies in for a quick circuit before exiting the windmill again.  Sensing for any concealed creatures (other than chickens and toads), or to discern whether anything seems too out of place, such as the cabinet.  An illusion perhaps?

Nettle's Perception to discern the above (advantage) due to Keen Hearing and Sight:  17 (with or without advantage)

Four of Soren's wolfpack, Acacia, Bracken, Cedar and Dale, will follow the vanguard's (Burr and Zefla's?) lead if they rush up the stairs to attack, as will the incorporeal Bramble the spirit bear (bonus action).  The rest will hold in reserve at the threshold, not wanting to cause a bottleneck until battle is joined.

( Sounds good. Burr will lead the way up while the more magically inclined check the ground floor room for prisoners and other things....)

Soren throws open the lid on the traveling cart... discovering the source of the loud croaking.  The cart is filled with dozens, perhaps hundreds, of toads.  Some of them clamber up over the sides and leap out, making for the open door or for cover under the filth and litter in the windmill.

[I'll wait for Giles and Zefla before going any further.]

Seeing the lid being thrown open and the toads jumping out, Zefla stands there for a moment, frozen.  "Are those... are those... the orphans??"  She pales a bit at the thought, then seeing Burr start heading up the stairs, she follows closely behind him, glad to have the company of the wolves and praying not to become a toad herself.

Giles peeks around the corner, looking in the door to the interior, gazing up to see if he can see the source of the cackling.  He takes in the scene of what fills the room and his eyes go wide, the barrel of toads opened and spilling out.  His Invoked Duplicity Fake Giles walks to the center of the room, looking upwards, starting to make hand motions as if starting a spell, he has it peer around the room, searching, like it is watching for movement.  

Giles sends his telekinetic mage hand forth to grab the propped up broom, taking it in hand and pulling it towards him at the door.  He remains crouched down, partially hidden by the open door, trying to look as well for movement above.  

Groundfloor:

Giles draws the broomstick over to him.  For a moment, it seems as if it resists the pull of his mage hand but then it relents.  In his hands, it is just a cold, dead weight of gnarled wood and bristles.

Nettle circles the ground floor and then flitters back outside.  Soren doesn't receive any reports of hidden dangers or lurking threats.  

Victor and Tourmaline cautiously step past Giles to join Soren and the Not-Giles-Illusion inside.  Victor sneers at a handful of escaping toads, while Tourmaline looks at the barrel.  "Burn it?  Are you sure you want me to start a fire already?"  Then she shrugs and snaps her fingers, casting a fire cantrip at the barrel.  Magical flames erupt and spread around the barrel - and then wink out of existence without so much as singeing the surface. 

Everything is silent for a moment, then Victor whispers, "What just happened?"

Tourmaline looks a cross between confused, alarmed and irritated.  "I'm not sure.  I think that barrel just resisted my spell somehow...".

Second Floor:

Burr, Zefla, Ireena and four of the wolves race up the stairs, ignoring the ground floor for now.  As they crest the stairs onto the second floor, they step into a dim space with old flour and meal underfoot.  The dirt-caked windows barely allow any grey Barovian daylight to filter in, casting the chamber in dim, murky gloom.  

The dominating feature of the room is the massive millstone, resting at the heart of the space.  A wooden gear shaft rises through the ceiling, a massive crack down the center suggesting it is no longer functional.  Yet there is something about the stone’s worn surface, the faint smudges of red and brown discoloring its edges, that suggests it is far from idle.  The scent of aged flour lingers heavily in the air, but another scent—a coppery, organic undercurrent—is here as well.

The floor is uneven with dust and old meal, but here and there, small fragments, are scattered among the debris.  Tiny splinters of something harder than grain crunch underfoot.  

The walls creak, the entire structure swaying slightly in the wind, but the unnatural movement of the shadows along the edges of the room give the impression of unseen movement. The warped, twisted beams overhead groan under weight.  A hushed giggle slithers down from above, teasing them, taunting them.

Another stone staircase continues its winding ascent, disappearing into the ceiling, where the laughter is louder now.  There is nothing here on this level... it sounds like their quarry is higher above, yet.

Zefla does spot one thing... on the edge of the millpit, rests a single pastry.  Steam still rises as though it is fresh out of the oven and from across the room she can just smell its warm tartness.

The pastry.  It does have a strange pull to Zefla as it reminds her of the delicious ones she had when they first arrived.  In fact, she finds herself actually salivating as the scent of it reaches her.  She shakes her head trying to clear it.

Then looking at Burr and Ireena, she puts her finger to her lips in a shush manner and attempting to be as quiet as she can, slips up the next flight of stairs to see what might be waiting for them up there.

Stealth: 27

Burr nods, ready to spring up the stairs if he hears anything indicating she is discovered.

( Rage fades....went a little early with that.....oh, well.)

The quartet of wolves already on the second floor (Acacia, Bracken, Cedar and Dale) all ready themselves to follow silently up to the third floor at the heels of Burr and Ireena when those two move to follow Zefla.

Meanwhile their snouts are drawn naturally the reddish brown stains on the millstone and the splintered fragments on the floor.  All four wolves bare their teeth in silent snarls and growl low and deep in their throats, almost subsonic, below human hearing range.

Wolves' Perception (scent) at advantage thanks to Keen Hearing and Smell:  23 (Natural 20).

They share a low growled message to Soren below about what they sense.  Blood and bone?  Humanoid?  What are these fiends doing to the poor cubs?

Once the group above moves up, Soren backfills their spots, ascending to to the second floor with the remaining four wolves (Elm, Fir, Gorse, Hawthorn).  Nettle wings up as well, searching the second floor for any hidden creatures, the perching on Soren's shoulder.  Bramble's ghostly, skeletal form glides with them, positioning itself so it is within a 30' radius of all allies, upstairs and down, if possible.

Nettle's (and the remaining wolves') Perception to Keenly see, hear or smell hidden creatures on the second floor:  21

"Lady Bauer.  I know your magic is limited, having no spell book or magic item.  Perhaps you can take the cart and infernal book outside to burn them?  Then if you wish, you could investigate the vile barrel?  If magically resistant to flame, it may be a threat we would be unwise to turn our backs on."

(Soren does not think the toads in the cart, who are escaping anyway, are the captive children, whose fate he now suspects is far worse...).

"Not-father, Victor, the remaining wolves and I will follow the others upstairs as soon as there is space above.  I think our friends may need us soon."