Barovia - Session 2
The House that Durst Built
Beginning Credits play over: Transylvania 1887
After beginning credits, the music shifts to: Exploring the Death House | Unofficial Curse of Strahd Music | 1h D&D Dark Exploration Music | Loop
MONTAGE SEQUENCE – INT. DEATH HOUSE – FIRST FLOOR – NIGHT
1. MAIN HALL
The group stands in the center of the hall, eyes scanning the faded portraits and the ornate staircase twisting upward into the unknown. Clarion's fingers rest against her holy symbol, Fleetwood rolls his shoulders, Felonious exhales quietly, Greegan flips his dagger absently between his fingers, and Silverleaf narrows her eyes at the shadows pooled in the corners. None of the windows and doors to the outside will open now, no matter how hard Fleetwood tugs on them.
Greegan notes several doors - all of the same rich mahogany as the hall furnishings. Shrugging, he bends to examine one, and then opens it when it does not appear trapped.
2. DINING ROOM
The door creaks open—revealing a sumptuous feast waiting atop the mahogany table, silverware gleaming under the chandelier’s glow. Fleetwood tentatively takes a bite. Silverleaf nibbles at a pastry, eyes widening at the flavor. Even Greegan grudgingly admits it isn’t a trap. Felonious leans back, eyes flicking toward the chilling precision of the table setting, unease settling into the moment.
Fleetwood notes that while the food is good, the windows in this room will not open either, and he can hear nothing of the world outside. Frustrated, he punches the window - and it seems for a second that the entire house quakes a bit in response.
3. KITCHEN
The house’s kitchen appears typical of its design, well-appointed for a staff of at least two or three. Everything appears in perfect order - until…
Silverleaf steps toward the knife block, eyes narrowing—one slot stands empty, the missing blade nowhere to be found. She turns, searching—nothing disturbs the neatly arranged cookware, the pristine shelves, the eerie perfection of everything else.
Greegan examines the dumbwaiter in the corner - and draws back his hand suddenly as the loud snap of a rat trap breaks the silence of the mansion. The trap, a cruel device that could have broken his fingers had he been caught in it, looks like it hasn’t caught a rat in a long time.
Clarion, meanwhile, finds an old metal pot on top of one of the cabinets with the top of a wine bottle sticking out. Inside the pot is a bottle of fancy champagne (the camera lingers on the bottle - Wizard of Wines Winery, Champagne du le Stomp, 348 BC), some dried-up roses, a vial full of brown powder. She sniffs it. From her healer’s training she recognizes it immediately.
CLARION: "Contraceptive herbs? Odd place to find that." (She unrolls the note around the bottle.) "For the light of my life?” (She examines the flowers - desiccated roses - and shrugs) “A romantic gesture, I guess…" (The doubtful tone of voice and look on her face says that it strikes her, at least, as not a very sweet one.)
Greegan uncorks the bottle, and sniffs it - his nose wrinkles and he corks the bottle again, setting it aside.
GREEGAN: “Guess they were getting up to Valerias’ business, aye?”
Silverleaf elbows him in the ribs and he coughs.
4. CLOAKROOM
Greegan opens the cloakroom to find several identical black capes with hoods, and a top hat on the shelf above them. It doesn’t look like any of them have been worn in a long time.
Greegan runs his fingers over the dark fabric of several of the capes hung in the cloak room, stopping when he finds an envelope peeking out of a pocket. He pulls it free, flips it open—The camera lingers on an invitation from Gustav and Elisabeth Durst.
GREEGAN: “Barovia Village? Never heard of it.”
SILVERLEAF: "There's no settlement called Barovia in the Radlebb woods - or anywhere in Karameikos that I've ever heard of."
FELONIOUS: (Pensive) "Six pm, like the clock rang in the big hall. A grand feast, like the one we found in the dining room. Something happened at the anniversary party? No indication as to what? Or what moved this place from wherever it came from?"
The others are similarly baffled.
5. HUNTER'S DEN
Fleetwood pushes the door open—and jerks back, startled. Taxidermied wolves stare at him, frozen mid-snarl, amber eyes catching the flickering light. He exhales, shaking his head once. Felonious smirks, Greegan laughs, Silverleaf rolls her eyes but keeps her grip tight on her bow. Clarion lingers, gaze flicking toward the mounted stag’s head, the trophies gathered with unsettling reverence.
6. SILVERLEAF’S DISCOVERY
Silverleaf wrenches open a stubborn cabinet, revealing what appears to be child’s needlepoint—a stitched image of a girl, a boy, and a woman, but the woman’s face has been viciously slashed away. Clumsy, uneven stitches spell out FOR MISS KLARA.
She exhales slowly, fingertips brushing the fabric. The others study the needlepoint with quiet intensity, its importance in this strange place eluding them.
7. THE SILVERED BOLTS
Greegan opens another cabinet, eyes locking onto the crossbow bolts within—ordinary ones, and several gleaming, silvered. He lifts one, turning it between his fingers, admiring the craftsmanship. Felonious examines one in his turn.
FELONIOUS: "Not magic, but silvered. For something more than simple prey."
Fleetwood takes one, weighing it in his palm. Silverleaf watches carefully.
FLEETWOOD: "No sign of this beast the writing talked about. No way out down here. I guess we have to go… up."
Clarion looks toward the ceiling—toward the upper floors, toward whatever they have yet to find.
INT. DEATH HOUSE – GRAND STAIRCASE – NIGHT
The wood-paneled hall stretches upward, leading to the second floor, where the shadows deepen, thicken, hold something unseen. Fleetwood stands at the base, fingers flexing against his sword hilt, his breath controlled—but his pulse quickens. Felonious exhales, flicking a hand, the light spell at his fingertips pulsing softly, pushing back against the creeping gloom. Greegan grins, but it’s forced, a mask over instinct—he knows better than to trust silence.
Clarion tightens her grip on her holy symbol, the weight of the house pressing too close, too knowing. Silverleaf narrows her eyes, adjusting her stance, reading the darkness ahead like an enemy waiting for its moment to strike. Then—they ascend.
The stairs creak, the wood groaning beneath their weight, each step a deliberate intrusion into a space that does not belong to them. Fleetwood leads, his grip firm, the tension coiled in his movements. Felonious scans the walls, the faded portraits, the ornate railing, searching for patterns, for meaning, for warnings. Greegan keeps his steps light, his fingers brushing the daggers at his belt, ready for what he can’t yet see. Clarion mutters a quiet prayer, the words soft, deliberate, a shield against the unseen. Silverleaf listens, body tense, catching the subtle shift in air, the breath of the house around them.
Then—
Halfway up—
A floorboard groans louder than the rest, a sound too sharp, too sudden, too unnatural. Fleetwood stops short, eyes flashing toward the upper landing— Felonious lifts a hand, the light pulsing higher— Greegan whispers a curse, —Clarion exhales sharply, grip tightening— Silverleaf draws her bow tighter, pulse hammering—And the shadows at the top of the stairs shift.
MONTAGE SEQUENCE – INT. DEATH HOUSE – SECOND FLOOR – NIGHT
8. UPPER HALL
The grand staircase creaks beneath their steps, leading them into a hall lined with suits of armor, each crafted with intricate detail, their helmets shaped like snarling wolf heads. Fleetwood runs a hand across one, feeling the cold, lifeless metal beneath his palm. Silverleaf pauses, eyes narrowing as she examines the elaborate carvings on the double doors—youths dancing, frozen in joyful motion.
She leans in closer, breath catching. They're not dancing. They're fighting. Bats swarm around them, clawing, diving—defense, not revelry. She exhales sharply, unsettled.
9. LIBRARY
Felonious steps inside first, the rich scent of old paper and leather-bound tomes surrounding him—for the first time, in this place, he feels at home. He scans the shelves, fingers tracing spines, eyes flicking between volumes covering history, folklore, philosophy, magic—knowledge woven into careful rows.
Fleetwood, Greegan, and Clarion barely pause, moving past as soon as they see another set of shuttered windows, sealed tight. Silverleaf almost misses the hidden door—almost. She points it out to Greegan, who did miss it. He winces a little - a matter of professional pride.
Her attention lingers on a parchment left on the desk, dismissed at first glance, its presence ordinary compared to the rest of the room. A letter of resignation, from a servant. Simple business. Yet, something about it tugs at the edges of her thoughts.
10. SECRET DOOR
Greegan flicks a switch, the bookcase sliding open with effortless precision, revealing a blank door—featureless, save for a keyhole pulsing with an amber glow. He spends several minutes testing, prodding, cursing under his breath—
Until finally, he straightens, putting away his toolkit.
GREEGAN: "Well, not getting that open without whatever goes in here. I suggest we find it."
Felonious raises a brow, Fleetwood grunts in agreement, Silverleaf glances back toward the parchment she nearly ignored, and Clarion steps forward, pressing her fingertips lightly against the glowing keyhole—feeling something waiting.
11. SERVANTS' ROOM
The door creaks open—revealing a plain space, straw beds neatly placed, walls bare of excess decoration or comfort.
Fleetwood notices the dumbwaiter, tracing his fingers over the frame, remembering the trap set for Greegan in the kitchen. Greegan smirks, but doesn’t touch it this time. Silverleaf lingers, noting the utter stillness of the room, as though it hasn’t been disturbed in far too long. Clarion exhales, gripping her holy symbol just a little tighter.
12. CONSERVATORY
The sound of harpsichord music drifts from beyond the door, soft, lilting—then stops as they approach. Fleetwood pushes the door open, revealing a stylish conservatory, its furnishings pristine, untouched. The large harpsichord dominates one corner, its polished surface reflecting the dim glow of the chandelier.
Greegan crosses the room, absently pressing a key—expecting sound, receiving none. His brow furrows, his curiosity shifting from mild amusement to quiet suspicion. He leans in, examining the keys, his fingers brushing over a rolled-up parchment tucked behind one. He pulls it free, unfolding it carefully—
The camera lingers on what he has found : A piece of music, carefully hidden. "Waltz for Klara."
Greegan turns toward Felonious.
GREEGAN: "Hey, Fel. You’re one of these hoity-toity types. You play the harpsichord?"
Felonious glances over, smirking slightly.
FELONIOUS: "A little. Why? Do you want a serenade?"
Greegan snorts, shaking his head.
GREEGAN : "Gods no. But it looks like somebody was writing one."
Felonious shrugs, returning to his own search.
FELONIOUS: "Good for them."
Silverleaf turns the parchment over, scanning for more, Fleetwood moves toward a shelf, eyes sharp, Clarion steps toward the covered windows, fingers brushing the fabric, and Greegan leaves the parchment on the harpsichord, flipping his dagger absently. Nothing else waits for them here. The party gathers once more, heading for the staircase—climbing higher.
Cut to:
MONTAGE SEQUENCE – INT. DEATH HOUSE – THIRD FLOOR – NIGHT
BALCONY
The stairway ascends, ending at the balcony seen from outside, its space vast yet suffocating, wrapping around the grand staircase below. Cobwebs cling to the railing, dust coats the edges, and in the far corner—
A suit of black plate armor stands, draped in layers of thin, tangled webbing, silent, unmoving.
Fleetwood narrows his eyes, resting a hand on his sword hilt. Felonious exhales, muttering something under his breath, sensing the weight of presence even in the stillness. Silverleaf pulls her bow tighter, scanning the edges of the space. Clarion lingers near the stairwell, holy symbol pressed lightly against her palm.
Greegan moves forward, his keen instinct for hidden passages guiding him, fingers tracing the wall’s surface until he finds the concealed door. Then—a mistake. He steps too close. The moment his boot grazes the edge of the armor’s shadow— It lurches forward, metal screeching, ancient joints snapping into place. A viscous force swings toward him, a heavy gauntlet striking out, trying to send him backward—off the stairs, into the abyss below.
BATTLE ERUPTS.
Death House Fight | Unofficial Curse of Strahd Soundtrack | 1h D&D Combat Music (Loop)
Fleetwood charges, blade flashing, striking against the unnatural resistance of the creature’s form. Felonious raises a hand, magic crackling at his fingertips, hurling a wave of force against the animated suit. Silverleaf fires an arrow, piercing through a gap in the plated joints, sending it staggering but still standing. Clarion calls upon divine energy, her holy magic flaring, light washing over the cursed metal. Greegan rolls to the side, dagger flashing, forcing his way from the armor’s grip, twisting to strike at the exposed seams in its defense.
The battle rages, each movement sharp, desperate, unwavering. Then—the final blow lands. The armor collapses, metal crashing to the floor, cobwebs fluttering in the disruption, its unnatural force crumbling, defeated. The silence returns, heavy, watchful.
Greegan exhales sharply, flipping his dagger absently, gaze shifting back to the concealed door.
GREEGAN: "Well. That was unpleasant."
Background music changes back to : Exploring the Death House | Unofficial Curse of Strahd Music | 1h D&D Dark Exploration Music | Loop
Greegan pushes the concealed door open—revealing a narrow stairway spiraling upward, vanishing into the web-choked shadows of the attic beyond. The party explores the rest of the floor before ascending these stairs.
MASTER SUITE
The double doors loom ahead, their stained glass windmills catching the dim light, colors fractured against the gloom. A silhouette flickers, standing near the entrance— Holding something lit with an amber glow.
The party halts, tense, watching—Then—it vanishes. Fleetwood steps forward, hand on his blade, pushing the doors open—revealing the suite beyond. The space is lavish, its remnants rich yet decayed, elegance rotting at the edges. A four-poster bed, once grand, now worn, its frame splintering under time’s weight. An elegant mirror rests on the vanity, its surface catching fleeting reflections, distorting slightly in the low light.
A jewelry box sits beside it, delicate yet ominous in its silence.
Greegan moves first, instincts sharp, eyes scanning—then pausing. A large kitchen knife is driven deep into one of the pillows, its placement not accidental, not forgotten—Deliberate.
Clarion steps toward the jewelry box, lifting its lid—A sudden burst of amber light spills outward, illuminating the dark.The camera zooms in, revealing the contents within—Nestled in grains, cushioned carefully, lies a shard of glowing amber. Beside it—a note. Clarion retrieves it, unfolding the parchment, her breath measured as she reads aloud:
CLARION: (reading)
"Drasha,
I have selected you as the Beast’s custodian in my absence. Should the Beast grow unruly or show signs of agitation while I am away, I have left this amber shard to weaken it and soothe its fury.
Should the need arise, present the shard and speak the Beast's name; if you speak with conviction, it shall obey you in my stead, if only for a time. But be sure to begone from the house before it awakens fully at midnight.
So long as the Beast draws breath, it—not you—is the heart of this house, and no meal shall ever sate its appetite. Should you linger in its domain, it will mean doom for you all.
Elisabeth."
GREEGAN: "Midnight. Right. Well, I officially hate this place."
The clock ticks, deliberate, slow—closer to midnight than before.
INT. DEATH HOUSE – MASTER SUITE BALCONY – NIGHT
Greegan pushes open the double doors, stepping onto the balcony exterior to the house, his breath steady, his mind already calculating the best path to climb down. But then— He stops short.
The balcony is covered in massive, pinkish fleshy tendrils, writhing yet unmoving, their presence unnatural, suffocating, stretching outward from somewhere beneath the house. Pulsating slightly, they block the balcony from the outside.
Felonious steps out behind him, flicking a hand, sending a bolt of energy toward the mass— But the tendrils do not react. Fleetwood draws his blade, slicing deep into the surface—The cut bleeds but does not recoil. Silverleaf fires an arrow, the tip embedding, swallowed into the mass—No effect. Clarion presses her holy symbol against the air, whispering a quiet prayer—Nothing changes.
Greegan grits his teeth, eyes darting between the barrier, the distant ground, the mist swirling beyond the edges of the house.
GREEGAN: "This place is messed up. But now I have another idea."
INT. DEATH HOUSE – LIBRARY – NIGHT
The party moves swiftly, retracing their steps down the grand staircase, returning to the dimly lit library, where the air lingers thick with dust and hushed anticipation.
GREEGAN: "Alright. Clarion—If I'm right, magic rock does the thing. Let’s make it happen."
Clarion holds the amber shard in her palm, its glow warm, pulsing, as she presses it against the strange keyhole on the door. For a moment—nothing. Then—a pulse of energy, the keyhole accepting the shard, unlocking with a quiet click. The hidden passage reveals itself, the door swinging open, unveiling the darkness beyond. Clarion steps forward, crossing the threshold first.
CUT TO:
INT. DEATH HOUSE – SECRET ROOM – NIGHT
Felonious swoops down eagerly, eyes gleaming as he scans the bookshelves crammed with ancient tomes, his fingers twitching in anticipation.
FELONIOUS: (excited, hopeful, reveling in discovery) "Oh, now we’re talking—knowledge, power, secrets untold!"
Then—he pauses, flipping open a book. His expression falters. Then another. His brows furrow. Another—still worthless.
FELONIOUS: (flat, disappointed, exasperated) "Garbage. Every last one. Even Bargle couldn't unload this. Someone had no taste in forbidden literature."
Meanwhile, Greegan kneels by the skeleton, fingers tracing the edges of the ruined leather armor, eyes narrowing at the placement of the body, the angle of the bones.
GREEGAN: (casual but precise) "Trap killed him. Triggered it when he tried to open the chest. Poor bastard."
Fleetwood crosses his arms, exhaling sharply, standing over the remains. Silverleaf tilts her head, watching Greegan’s analysis with quiet interest. Clarion moves toward the chest, lifting the half-closed lid, careful, deliberate—
Inside— Three scrolls, their parchment aged but intact, resting atop the deed to the house and the will of Gustav and Elisabeth Durst. She unfolds the will, reading the words aloud.
CLARION: "Leaving their property to their children. Nothing looks out of place."
INT. DEATH HOUSE – THIRD FLOOR – NIGHT
The party ascends once more, their movements steady, purposeful, the weight of their discoveries pressing against every step.
As they reach the landing, the air thickens, the shadows press closer, the silence too watchful, too aware.
Fleetwood exhales sharply, glancing at the remaining doors.
FLEETWOOD: "Whatever’s in this house—we’re running out of time to find it."
FELONIOUS: "Oh, I assure you—it knows where to find us."
GREEGAN: "Well, let’s not wait for an invitation."
As they walk, Greegan reads a paper that he took from the skeleton in the secret room, flipping it over once before reading aloud, his voice steady but edged with curiosity. The others listen, the script flowing in elegant but ominous strokes— his voice mixing with, and finally overshadowed by, the cold, hungry voice heard in the beginning scene as the camera follows the letters across the page.
Background music shifts: Strahd von Zarovich | Unofficial Curse of Strahd Soundtrack | 1h TTRPG Dark Cello Theme | Loop
"My most pathetic servant,"
"I am not a messiah sent to you by the Dark Powers of this land. I have not come to lead you on a path to immortality. However many souls you have bled on your hidden altar, however many visitors you have tortured in your dungeon, know that you are not the one who brought me to this beautiful land. You are but a worm writhing in my earth."
"You say that you are cursed, your fortune spent. Your husband took solace in the bosom of another woman, sired a bastard son, and drove you to abandon love for madness. Cursed by darkness? Of that I have no doubt. Save you from your wretchedness? I think not. I much prefer you as you are."
"Your dread lord and master,"
"Strahd von Zarovich."
GREEGAN: "New rule. If somebody signs off 'Your dread lord and master', we don't want to meet them, aye?"
MONTAGE SEQUENCE – INT. DEATH HOUSE – UPPER STORY – NIGHT
Background music shifts: Exploring the Death House | Unofficial Curse of Strahd Music | 1h D&D Dark Exploration Music | Loop
15. BATHROOM
Fleetwood pushes open the door, revealing a once-luxurious bathroom, its porcelain tub dulled by grime, its fixtures tarnished but still standing. Felonious glances at the claw-foot tub, unimpressed. Silverleaf runs her fingers over the dust-coated sink, eyes narrowed. Nothing here. Just echoes. They move on.
16. STORAGE CLOSET – BATTLE WITH THE BROOM
The door creaks open—revealing a narrow space, shelves packed with forgotten linens, tarnished silverware, dust-coated relics of everyday life. Greegan steps inside first, eyes sharp, searching—
Then—movement. A broom, long abandoned, jerks upright, animating with unnatural force.
It lunges. Greegan twists aside, barely dodging as it strikes toward him with surprising speed.
Fleetwood steps forward. The broom rains ineffectual blows down upon his shield. Whap! Whap! Whap!
He rolls his eyes, more annoyed than anything. He looks at the others, shrugs. The broom continues its assault. Whap! Whap! Whap!
Finally, bored with this, he strikes it once with his sword. The broom splinters apart, its remains scattered across the floor, a mess of shattered wood and unraveling bristles.
GREEGAN: "That was not worth the effort."
Fleetwood kicks aside the broken remains, unimpressed They press on.
17. NURSEMAID'S SUITE
The room is once well-appointed, now smothered in cobwebs, its silken curtains dulled with dust, its elegant furniture frozen in time. A large, empty wardrobe stands open in the corner, its only feature—a full-length mirror inside.
Fleetwood steps inside cautiously, eyes scanning the walls. Felonious tilts his head, examining the details of the once-rich decor. Silverleaf lingers near the mirror, her reflection catching in its surface. Close up of Clarion’s eyes, darting about, her fingers clasping her holy symbol, sensing something unnatural lurking just out of sight.
An image begins to form in the mirror’s surface, prompting a look of horror from the party.
Fade to black
End credits play over: House of Doom