St. Andral's Orphanage

5th of Octyavr, 737 BC     Town of Vallaki, Barovia    

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    Earlier in the morning, the four mist wanderers, which included Duncan, Heymadood, Obor, and Drakthar, who arrived with Ezmerelda, had decided to follow Father Lucian's lead regarding the stolen bones of St. Andral.   Drakthar was dressed in a tattered, dark brown hooded robe, and his head and arms were wrapped in thick bandages, leaving his snout and claws partially exposed. Ez said she had him dress like a mongrelfolk from the Abbey of St. Markovia in the town of Krezk. As a mongrelfolk, he would be largely ignored by the people of Barovia, shunned as a deformed creature, to be pitied. It was a suitable disguise to hide his dragonborn appearance, which Barovians would consider a monster.   When asked about the bones again, the priest of the Morninglord suspected the gravedigger, Milivoj, of stealing the bones after seeing the young man near the main altar hours before Father Lucian discovered the theft. Afraid to confront Milivoj, who was known to become angry quickly, the priest kept the theft a secret for days, even from his own congregation.   For the past four days, Milivoj, who lived at St. Andral's orphanage next door to the church, had not shown up for work. When Father Lucian spoke to the headmistress of the orphanage, she spoke of how Milivoj had become gravely ill with fever and had been bedridden for the past few days.         After arriving at the orphanage, introducing themselves, and explaining their business with the orphanage, Headmistress Belasco led the adventurers through the common room. The sounds of children playing echoed throughout the room. The orphanage's main living area featured an old couch, a few mismatched stuffed chairs, chests crammed with worn toys, and two small dining tables surrounded by chairs.   Three young girls crowded around a dollhouse in the south of the room. An older boy paced the room, a toddler on each hip, trying to soothe them. Another boy and girl were playing tag and chasing each other around the furniture. An older girl sat on the couch and read aloud to four more gathered toddlers.   Obor and Drakthar noticed bruises on the arms and legs of some of the children.   "He's been rather ill since... well, since this whole ordeal began," Headmistress Belasco explained softly as she stopped before a closed door at one side of the common room. "I try to look after them all, but Milivoj... well, I've had to ask the older girls to help care for him." She pushed the door open to reveal a small, sparsely furnished room, where a sickly-looking young man lay huddled in a bed. "Milivoj, dear, you have visitors."   Milivoj's bedroom was sparsely furnished. The floor was covered with dirt, and an old shovel leaned near the foot of the bed. A sickly young man slept fitfully. He was covered in sweat from fever and had blood mixed with bile on his lips. His pallor was yellow-tinged and deathly pale.   Duncan let out a low sigh of frustration after he, Obor, and Drakthar examined Milivoj. Duncan also noticed a tinge of fiendish aura emanating from the sickly gravedigger.   "He's genuinely sick," Obor said. "This isn't just a fever."   Duncan turned his gaze to the headmistress. "Where has he traveled to? Who has he been with? Did he meet anyone new before he fell ill?"   Headmistress Belasco’s face, already etched with worry, tightened. "That's just it... Milivoj rarely leaves the orphanage, except to work at the church, or unless I send him on an errand, which I haven't done before he became ill. He's always been my most trusted helper." Her eyes softened. "He's like a caring big brother to all the other children here. He looks out for them, protects them."   She paused, as if trying to recollect something. "The only real change has been Felix. A young boy, only eight. He arrived nearly two months ago, and Milivoj... well, he took the boy under his wing immediately. He's been spending almost all his time with him."   Before the headmistress could finish speaking, she gave a weary sigh. "Please excuse me, I must check on the morning meal." She offered them a strained smile and stepped out of the small room, pulling the door quietly shut behind her, leaving them alone with the feverish Milivoj.   The moment she was gone, Drakthar gave a sharp nod to his companions. "Quickly. Look around," he whispered, his voice a low hiss.   The adventurers sprang into action, their movements swift and practiced. They checked under the thin, lumpy mattress, felt inside the threadbare pillowcase, and peered into the small, rickety nightstand. There was no sign of a heavy sack of bones. The small dresser held only a single pair of ragged tunics and trousers.   However, Drakthar found a small leather coin purse on the stand next to Milivoj's bed. The coin purse was empty, save for several tiny wooden splinters. "This coin purse has value in itself," Drakthar said. "I can't imagine Milivoj being able to afford such a luxury item, much less being able to carry coins in it."   The others agreed.   As they continued their search, it was Heymadood, peering closely at the simple wooden bed frame, who spotted it. "Hey, look at this."   On the bedpost nearest Milivoj's head, almost hidden in the grain of the dark wood, were a series of small, crudely scratched symbols. They were not Common letters, nor any recognizable magical script. The party members leaned in, one by one, examining the runes. They were angular, strange, and utterly baffling. Whatever language or code it was, none of them could decipher its meaning.   The door opened.   The adventurers quickly stopped their searching, just as Headmistress Belasco re-entered the room.   "Felix? You started to speak about Felix," Duncan said to the headmistress. "Where did he come from?"   A shadow passed over Headmistress Belasco's face. "It's a tragic story," she said, her voice dropping to a near-whisper. "Felix's parents were murdered. Brutally, in their own home, right here in Vallaki. The poor boy... I can't imagine what he saw."   She shook her head, a flicker of anger in her eyes. "No suspect was ever arrested. The town guard... well. Baron Vargas Vallakovich declared the home forfeit and had the house seized. He had Felix turned over to my care the very next day. Milivoj has been protective of him ever since. I thought the friendship was good for them both, a way for them to heal."   "Has anything else... strange... happened since Felix arrived?" Heymadood asked.   The Headmistress visibly flinched, as if the question struck a nerve she'd been desperately trying to ignore. "I... I don't want to speak ill of a child, especially not one who has suffered so much, but..." She took a shaky breath, leaning against the closed door for support.   "It's not just Milivoj's sickness. Things have been... wrong. Since Felix came."   She closed her eyes for a moment, as if recalling a terrible memory. "Nearly two weeks ago, we... we lost another boy. Cedrik." Her voice cracked. "He was older than Felix, a strong, happy boy. He... he fell. From an open window on the second floor, down onto the front steps."   "An accident?" Obor asked, his tone gentle.   "That's what I told the Baron," she murmured, her gaze distant. "The children were supposed to be in the backyard. The only other person upstairs in the hallway was Felix. He... he said he saw Cedrik leaning out too far and simply... slipped."   The Headmistress began to tremble. "But when I ran to the front, to... to Cedrik... he was gone. I arrived just moments after it happened. His body... he was clutching something in his hand. Tightly."   Her eyes were wide with a dawning horror. "It was a locket. A small, tin locket. It belonged to Felix. It was the only possession he had with him when he came to the orphanage."   "Where is this locket now?" Duncan asked, his voice low.   "In my office," she replied, her voice barely audible. "I... I took it from Cedrik before the guards arrived. I didn't know why he had it. It felt... wrong. It's locked in my desk drawer. I told myself it was just a tragic accident, but now... with Milivoj... Oh, spirits, what is happening in my house?"   "Take us to see the locket," Duncan said.   When they arrived in the headmistress's office, she took out the locket from her locked desk and showed it to the adventurers.   The tin locket was dark and heavily tarnished, possibly with rust or verdigris. The inside of the lid had a simple 'X' shape etched into it, while the base contained an intricate, golden sigil or arcane symbol composed of runes and flourishes. The locket hung by an old tin chain.             Heymadood, the bard, took a closer look at the locket, his eyes squinting in concentration. His memory was a constant source of frustration —a tapestry of broken threads —granting him only tiny, fleeting glimpses of a life he barely recalled.   "Wait," he breathed, his voice unsteady. The image of a massive, ancient pillar flashed in his mind—white stone, impossibly tall, etched with these very same markings. "I... I've seen these before."   He looked up at his companions, his eyes wide with a flicker of pained recollection. "This writing... it's Celestial. It's the language of the celestials."   Duncan, noticing Obor and Drakthar's confused expressions, rushed to explain. "Celestials. They are good beings from the Upper Planes. They are the complete antithesis of fiends."   Heymadood nodded, agreeing, though he was still not certain how he knew anything about celestials.   When asked how Felix acquired the locket, Headmistress Belasco said she was told it was a birthday gift from Felix's father. The day after the boy's birthday, Felix's parents were found murdered.   "I think it's time we spoke with Felix," Duncan said, turning to Headmistress Belasco. "Where is Felix?"   "Except for Milivoj, he doesn't like to be with the other children," she said. "Although I don't completely approve of it, he likes to play alone in the attic."   "Can we go see him?" Obor asked.   "I'll have Zoya take you."         Drakthar and Heymadood offered to stay in the common room to keep an eye on the headmistress.   Obor and Duncan agreed, then followed Zoya, who led them both upstairs.   As Obor and Duncan reached the second floor, a door down the hall creaked open, revealing a lanky teenage boy with sharp, curious eyes. The boy, whom Zoya greeted as Alexi, froze, his gaze traveling up... and up... to take in Obor's towering frame and large weapons. He looked like a giant from one of the boy's well-worn storybooks. Alexi's eyes then darted to Duncan, noting his armor and equipment. He looked exactly like the paladins Alexi idolized in tales of heroism.   "Are you... adventurers?" Alexi asked, his voice cracking with a mixture of fear and excitement.   Before they could answer, Alexi added, his voice a nervous whisper. "Or are you here about the... the bad things?" He rubbed his own arm unconsciously. "We've been waking up with bruises. Dark, ugly marks on our arms and legs. No one knows where they came from."   "Who do you think is causing the bruises?" Duncan asked, although he already began to suspect the headmistress.   Alexi scoffed, though his eyes remained wide. "I think it's the Headmistress, or maybe it's Felix. Maybe it's both of them. Felix is weird. Evil. I'm sure he's behind what happened to Cedrik." He leaned in, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "Don't believe the 'accident' story. Felix pushed him. Lazlo, Hans, and Franz... they probably saw it. Or they knew about it, anyway."   Obor and Duncan looked to Zoya, who nodded, shivering. "That's why they ran away, right after Cedrik died. They were terrified of Felix and everything else happening here. They just ran away... and vanished into the mist." She looked up at the large adventurers, her eyes pleading. "Headmistress Belasco was beside herself. She went right to the Blue Water Inn and begged those wolf hunters, Szoldar and Yevgeni, to find them. But the boys are still missing."   "Why do you suspect the Headmistress?" Obor asked.   "The Headmistress..." Alexi gave the adventurers a knowing look, as if sharing a great secret. "She's a witch, you know. I read about them in my books. She's probably the one who took the boys. She's probably got them fattening up in some cage somewhere in her cave." He grinned, a morbid fascination on his face. "Or maybe she already ate them. Worse, maybe she served them to us in last night's meat pies."   "That's disgusting!" Zoya cried, shoving his shoulder. "Stop saying that! It's not true!"   "How do you know?" Alexi retorted.   Obor and Duncan both exchanged curious looks, both remembering the meat pies they bought from Mama Morgantha. Could she be the Headmistress? Or perhaps more than one witch was working together in Barovia?   The two adventurers, having heard enough, asked Zoya to show them to the attic. She pointed to a nearby ladder leading up to a trapdoor in the ceiling. A window, still boarded up, was visible on the other side of the ladder.   "Is that where Cedrik fell out?" Duncan asked.   Zoya nodded.   "Stay down here," Obor said to Zoya as he followed Duncan up through the trapdoor and onto the attic.           In the center, a young boy sat in silhouette on a simple wooden chair, facing a bright, multi-paned window that served as the room's primary source of light.   The attic was filled with forgotten objects, including a spinning wheel, a tarnished candelabra, stacked round boxes, and broken picture frames, all draped in thick, ghostly cobwebs that hung from the rafters and clung to every surface. The light from the window illuminated the dusty air, creating a desolate and haunting atmosphere.         A high, thin, childlike voice drifted down from the attic, scraping against the oppressive silence of the orphanage. It sounded like a nursery rhyme, sung in a slow, wandering monotone.         Obor had to duck his massive head under the low-hanging rafters, the ancient wood groaning as he and Duncan slowly advanced into the room. Dust motes danced in the single shaft of light from the window, where the small silhouette of Felix sat. He held a large kitchen knife in his right hand, whittling away on a piece of wood he had in the other hand.   "Felix?" Duncan called out, his voice steady but cautious.   The singing continued, unbroken, as if they weren't there.   They took a few more steps, floorboards creaking under Obor's heavy tread. The air was thick with the smell of dust and decay.   "Felix, we just want to talk," Obor said, his deep voice softened, trying to cut through the boy's eerie daze.   The boy ignored them, his small shoulders perfectly still, his gaze fixed on what he held in his hands.   They were a dozen feet away when the singing abruptly stopped. The sudden silence was heavy and absolute.   Slowly, terrifyingly, the boy's head began to turn. He didn't look at them fully, but his gaze was clearly fixed on a point just between them.   When he spoke, the voice that emerged was not his. It was a layered, resonant sound, like steel scraping over stone, impossibly deep and filled with ancient malice.   "Mortal ants," the voice said in their minds. "I have seen the shadows of the Great Powers moving through the Dark Seas around this sphere. Your paltry magics and weapons are nothing."   The horrifying voice ceased.   The small boy, Felix, went rigid in the chair before slumping over. A dark, putrid smoke began to exude from his skin, wafting from his body as an impenetrable shadow. The shadow began to take form, arms stretching out from the central mass in solid, black claws. A demonic face grinned, baring rows of razor-sharp teeth.           Duncan and Obor, warned moments before by Sandwhisper, already had weapons in hand.   Obor roared, charging forward.   He brought his massive greataxe down in a devastating arc meant to cleave the creature in two. The blade passed through the shadow as if it were smoke, burying itself in the wooden floorboards with a heavy thud. The demon let out a high, cackling laugh that scraped at their minds.   "Are you attempting to... hurt me?" the demon hissed into the barbarian's mind. "How adorable."   The shadow demon lunged at Obor, its insubstantial claws passing through his armor as if it weren't there. A horrific, unnatural cold radiated from the wounds, and the goliath felt a wave of weakness, a portion of his very essence draining away. As Obor staggered, the wispy, dark edges of the demon's form seemed to knit together, its shadowy mass looking healthier and more substantial from the life it had just siphoned.   "It's not solid!" Obor yelled to Duncan, wrenching his axe free. "Magic!"   "Then magic it shall be!" Duncan's voice rang out, clear and steady. He raised his blade, Sandwhisper, which shone with a brilliant light. "Be gone, fiend!" He lunged, driving the glowing sword deep into the demon's chest.   A deafening, inhuman shriek filled the attic as Sandwhisper struck the demon. Duncan called upon his paladin ability to add holy radiance to his attack. The radiant energy was anathema to the creature; its shadowy form sizzled, burned, and recoiled violently, as patches of its darkness evaporated like mist in a high noon sun. It was clearly vulnerable, writhing in agony from the holy assault.   Seeing his chance, Obor dropped his useless greataxe and ripped his magical mace from his belt. The weapon crackled to life, arcing with contained lightning. He swung the mace in a powerful, horizontal strike. Where the greataxe had failed, the enchanted mace connected with a sound like thunder-clapping in a confined space. Electricity exploded through the demon's form, and its red-toothed grin twisted into a mask of rage and pain.   Pinned between the searing radiance of Duncan's smite and the crackling lightning of Obor's mace, the demon's form began to destabilize. It shrieked one last time —a sound of pure hatred, and imploded. The solid-looking shadow collapsed in on itself, becoming a rushing black stream that shot across the floor and funneled itself back into the small, unconscious body of Felix.   The boy let out a single, shuddering gasp and fell from the chair to the dusty floor. The attic was suddenly, terrifyingly silent once more, the only sound the heavy, heart-pounding breaths of the two warriors.   Suddenly, the boy stood up. He held a knife to his throat. A small, thin line of blood appeared on the boy's neck.   "Step closer, and this boy dies," the demon hissed through the boy.   Duncan and Obor exchanged glances, unsure of what to do next. However, Duncan began to suspect the demon's bluff.   "Kill the boy, and you won't have a host to inhabit," Duncan said matter-of-factly.   Knowing the ruse wasn't working, the boy tried to run towards the open trap door.   Obor blocked his path. Duncan reacted. He roared, charging the last few feet. He didn't use his sword; instead, he slammed his heavy, flat shield into the boy's small form, driving him flat against the dusty floorboards with a loud thud.   Duncan threw his full weight onto the shield, pinning the preternaturally strong, writhing child. Felix's head snapped up. His eyes flew open, but they weren't the eyes of a frightened eight-year-old. They were two points of baleful, glowing red light. The demon stared up at the paladin from its childish prison, its malice a palpable, freezing coldness.   Duncan held the boy down, his gaze locked with the creature's.   "You are not going to hurt this boy anymore," Duncan snarled, his voice a low, determined command, his face inches from the possessed boy's.   A horrible, wet chuckle gurgled from Felix's throat, the sound layered with the demon's own ancient, grating voice. "What do you care about children?" it hissed, its glowing eyes narrowing with spite. "I know what you did."   Duncan’s brow furrowed in confusion. "What...?"   The demon didn't wait to elaborate. The momentary distraction was all it needed.   The red glow in Felix's eyes winked out, and the boy's body went utterly limp beneath the paladin's shield. A torrent of oily, black smoke erupted from the child's open mouth and nostrils, pouring onto the floor. It coalesced for a split second into a low, writhing, spider-like mass of shadow and then scrambled with unnatural speed across the floorboards, making a desperate dash for the open trapdoor.   "It's fleeing!" Obor roared, taking a massive step forward.   The creature was fast, but the warriors were faster.   Just as the formless shadow reached the edge of the opening, Obor and Duncan struck as one. The Goliath brought his lightning-charged mace down in a crushing blow, while Duncan lunged, thrusting the radiant blade of Sandwhisper deep into the creature's fleeing mass.   There was a soundless, pressurized shriek that vibrated in their chests. The combined power of raw lightning and holy light was too much for the disembodied fiend.   Its shadowy form sizzled, tore apart, and evaporated into wisps of nothing, destroyed before it could escape into the orphanage below.             With the fiend destroyed, the oppressive, cold atmosphere in the attic lifted instantly.   Obor gently lifted the small, unconscious form of Felix from the floor. The boy was pale but breathing steadily, the demonic taint gone from his features. They carried him down downstairs, where Headmistress Belasco was waiting in the common room, her face a mask of anxiety.   She gasped when she saw them, rushing forward. "Is he... is he hurt?"   Duncan placed a steadying hand on her shoulder. "The boy is safe, Headmistress. He was not himself. A... a dark spirit, a demon, had taken root in him. It may have been the cause of Milivoj's sickness and the other... incidents. It's gone now. Destroyed."   Headmistress Belasco looked from the paladin's grim face to the sleeping child, her expression a mixture of disbelief, horror, and profound relief. Before she could find her words, one of the older orphan girls ran up, skidding to a halt.   "Headmistress! It's Milivoj!" the girl panted. "He's awake! His fever, it... it just broke. He's asking for water!"   A collective sigh of relief passed through the adventurers. They followed the Headmistress back to Milivoj's room, where the young man was now sitting up, looking pale and confused, but his eyes were clear for the first time.   "Milivoj," Duncan said, his voice firm but not unkind. "We know what happened. We need you to tell us the truth about the bones."   The gravedigger’s bravado was gone, replaced by a deep, shuddering fear. He broke down, confessing immediately. "I... I did it," he whispered, tears welling in his eyes. "I stole them. But I only did it for the money! For them!" He gestured weakly to the open door, indicating the other children. "They needed food. They needed clothing."   "Who paid you?" Obor's deep voice rumbled.   "Henrik van der Voort," Milivoj said, shame visible on his face. "The coffin maker. He... he offered me a full bag of coins. More money than I'd ever seen. I just had to... get the bones and give them to him."   "Where is his shop?" Heymadood asked.   "Near the town square," Headmistress Belasco supplied, her voice trembling with anger at the coffin maker's sacrilege. "Henrik... to think he would use this boy, this house... for such a terrible crime."   The group's path was clear.   Before leaving, Duncan and Heymadood gave the Headmistress's forty gold coins. "For the children," they both said. She looked at the glint of the gold coins, her eyes widening in stunned gratitude.   "I... I have little to offer, but perhaps this may suffice," she stammered, overwhelmed. She quickly bustled to a small lockbox in her office and returned, pressing two small vials of swirling red liquid into Heymadood's hands. "Please. Potions of healing. It's all I have. May they protect you."   "Oh, and this..." She offered. It was the tin locket they had spoken about. "This belongs to Felix, but... after what you said, I don't think he should have it. Maybe you can keep it safe?"   She handed the tarnished locket to Duncan. He took it, its metal cold to the touch, and studied it for a brief, unsettling moment. Feeling its strange weight, he turned and passed it to Heymadood. "You recognized the writing on it. You hold onto this. See if you can make sense of it someday." The bard nodded grimly, slipping the locket into his Bag of Holding.   After accepting her thanks once again, the adventurers strode out of the orphanage, their expressions grim.   As if on cue, the perpetually gray Barovian sky, which had been threatening all morning, finally broke. A cold, miserable downpour began, soaking them within seconds.   The heavy, damp air of Vallaki seemed to press in on them as they hunched their shoulders against the deluge and made their way toward the town square, their next stop: the coffin maker's shop.