🎬 SCENE: “The Curious Case of the Missing Saint” — INT. VESTRY, ST. ANDRAL’S CHURCH — NIGHT
Background Music: St. Andral's Church (Somber) | Unofficial Curse of Strahd Soundtrack | 1h Choir & Organ Music | Loop
The vestry is dim, lit by a handful of flickering candles. Shadows stretch long across the stone walls, dancing over vestments and prayer books. The air is thick with candle wax and the crumpled silence of violated sanctity.
FATHER LUCIAN finishes recounting the theft of the bones. His voice fades, and for a beat, no one speaks.
Then—
A dry chuckle breaks the stillness.
GREEGAN shifts his weight, arms crossed, the shadow of a smirk tugging at his mouth.
GREEGAN: “Well, this is a twist. Me, investigating a crime.”
CLARION arches a brow. SILVERLEAF exhales through her nose. FELONIOUS doesn’t look up from his journal.
FLEETWOOD: “Strange days indeed.”
GREEGAN steps forward, rolling his shoulders like a man stretching before a duel of wits rather than blades.
GREEGAN: “Alright, then. Let’s start with the basics.”
He pulls a small, slightly frayed notebook from his coat—surprisingly tidy, suspiciously ready.
GREEGAN (CONT'D): “When was the crypt last seen intact? Who could open it without making a fuss? And—oh yes—who knew about the bones in the first place?”
He glances up.
GREEGAN (CONT'D): “I’m guessing that list ain’t exactly long.”
FATHER LUCIAN looks caught between offense and relief. He hesitates, then answers.
FATHER LUCIAN: “The crypt was sealed properly three nights ago. I performed evensong at the altar. Everything was in place.” (He swallows) “The floorboards were only disturbed last night. I found them this morning. Splintered. The window above the sacristy—shattered.”
He casts a glance toward the sanctuary beyond.
FATHER LUCIAN (CONT'D): “Access? Me. Perhaps Milivoj—he’s the groundskeeper. He helps clean the chapel and tend the graves. But I never spoke openly about the bones.”
GREEGAN raises a brow.
GREEGAN: “Not even during sermons?”
FATHER LUCIAN: “I preach faith. Not folklore. Most folk don’t even know the bones are there.”
FELONIOUS scribbles a note, murmuring as he writes.
FELONIOUS : “Which means someone had inside knowledge. Or loose lips were loosened further.”
GREEGAN nods thoughtfully. The smirk fades.
GREEGAN: “So: someone knew what was down there. Knew when to strike. And either didn’t care about the church’s protection—or wanted it gone.”
He closes his notebook with a soft snap.
GREEGAN (CONT'D): “Alright. Time to talk to the twitchy one outside with the shovel.”
SILVERLEAF mutters, almost to herself:
SILVERLEAF: “He was practically vibrating. If guilt had elbows, he was throwing them.”
The party exchanges glances. The candlelight flickers. The silence shifts—from sacred to suspicious.
🎬 🎬 SCENE: “The Whisper and the Weight” — INT. VESTRY, ST. ANDRAL’S CHURCH — NIGHT
The vestry glows with flickering candlelight. Shadows stretch long across the stone walls, dancing over vestments and prayer books. The air is thick with wax, dust, and the quiet ache of violated sanctity.
FATHER LUCIAN finishes his account of the missing bones. Silence settles like ash.
GREEGAN leans in, arms crossed, voice low but sharp.
GREEGAN: “You ever tell anyone else about the bones, Father?”
FATHER LUCIAN hesitates. His fingers twitch against the edge of his robe.
FATHER LUCIAN: “Only once. To Yeska. The altar boy.”
GREEGAN’s brow lifts.
GREEGAN: “The wide-eyed one with the mop of hair and the nerves of a rabbit?”
FATHER LUCIAN: “Yes. He was frightened. Thought the devils would come in the night. I told him about the bones to comfort him. To help him sleep.”
GREEGAN nods slowly. The smirk fades.
GREEGAN: “And now they’re gone. Convenient.”
FATHER LUCIAN: “He’s not strong enough to have done this. He’s barely ten. Couldn’t lift a floorboard, let alone pry one loose.”
GREEGAN shrugs, already turning toward the door.
GREEGAN: “Maybe not. But secrets don’t stay secrets long in a town like this.”
FLEETWOOD: “Where can we find him?”
FATHER LUCIAN: “He’s likely in the bell tower. He hides there when he’s scared. Which is often.”
FELONIOUS closes his notebook with a snap.
FELONIOUS: “Then let’s go see what fear remembers.”
🎬 SCENE: “The Bell and the Boy” — INT. ST. ANDRAL’S CHURCH, BELL TOWER — AFTERNOON
The party ascends the narrow wooden ladder tucked behind Father Lucian’s bedchamber. Each rung creaks like it’s remembering better days. Dust motes swirl in the shaft of light filtering down from above. The air grows colder with every step.
🕍 THE BELL TOWER
The first level is cramped—bare floorboards, a discarded wool blanket, an overturned crate. A thick rope dangles from the ceiling, swaying gently. It leads up through a trapdoor to the belfry, where the great iron bell hangs like a sleeping sentinel.
The scent of pigeon droppings and old wood lingers. Somewhere above, bats rustle faintly, undisturbed.
CLARION climbs first. Her boots soft on the rungs. She pauses at the top, eyes scanning the shadows.
CLARION: “Yeska? It’s Clarion. We’re not here to scold. We just want to talk.”
A faint sniffle answers her.
She turns—and there, curled behind the crate, knees hugged to his chest, is a boy.
👦 YESKA 🎭 Portrayed by Noah Jupe
Wide, anxious eyes. Mop of unkempt brown hair. Cheeks smudged with dust and dried tears. A too-large tunic. A wooden sun symbol on a frayed cord around his neck.
His voice is soft, high, and trembles like a candle in wind.
YESKA: “I didn’t mean to do anything wrong. I just… I thought it would help.”
CLARION kneels beside him. Not too close. Her voice is warm. Steady.
CLARION: “You’re not in trouble, Yeska. But something very important has gone missing. And we think you might know who else knew about it.”
YESKA hesitates. Looks at the others—FLEETWOOD’s broad frame, SILVERLEAF’s sharp eyes, FELONIOUS’s unreadable expression.
Then back to Clarion.
YESKA: “I told someone. I didn’t mean to. He was nice. He said he wanted to help the church.”
CLARION: “Who?”
YESKA: “Milivoj. He gave me a sweetroll. Said I was brave. I thought… I thought he was just being kind.”
He curls tighter.
YESKA (CONT'D): “But then the bones were gone. And I think… I think he took them.”
CLARION places a hand on his shoulder.
CLARION: “You were trying to do good, Yeska. That still matters.”
The bell above them sways slightly in the breeze. But does not ring.
🎬 SCENE: “The Shovel and the Shame” — EXT. CHURCHYARD, ST. ANDRAL’S CHURCH — NIGHT
The party steps out into the churchyard. Mist curls around the gravestones like breath held too long. The moon is a pale coin behind clouds. The silence is brittle.
MILIVOJ is there. Digging. Or pretending to. His shovel bites into the earth, but the hole isn’t deep. It’s a distraction. His eyes flick up as the party approaches—wide, wary, already calculating escape.
GREEGAN leads, notebook tucked away, hands loose at his sides like he’s ready for either a confession or a chase.
GREEGAN: “Evening, Milivoj. Grave digging or guilt burying?”
MILIVOJ stiffens. Doesn’t answer.
CLARION steps forward, voice calm but edged.
CLARION: “We know about the bones.”
MILIVOJ’s grip tightens on the shovel. His knuckles blanch.
MILIVOJ: “I don’t know anything.”
FELONIOUS flips open his journal again, pen poised.
FELONIOUS: “You were seen near the sacristy. You replaced floorboards. You’ve been twitching like a man with a secret and a conscience that won’t shut up.”
SILVERLEAF circles slightly, eyes scanning the shadows.
SILVERLEAF: “You’re not a thief, Milivoj. But you’re scared. Which means someone asked you to be one.”
MILIVOJ exhales sharply. The shovel drops. He doesn’t run. He slumps.
MILIVOJ: “Henrik. The coffin maker. He said it was just bones. Said they were relics. Said the Baron wanted them for... something.”
He looks up. Eyes rimmed red.
MILIVOJ (CONT'D): “I didn’t know they kept the devils out. I didn’t know they mattered.”
IREENA steps forward. Her voice is quiet. Fierce.
IREENA: “They mattered to every child who slept without fear. To every widow who lit a candle and believed it would burn through the night.”
MILIVOJ nods. Shame thick in his throat.
MILIVOJ: “He has them. Henrik. In his shop. I don’t know what he’s doing, but it’s wrong. I can feel it.”
GREEGAN sighs. Pulls out his notebook again.
GREEGAN: Well. Time to pay the coffin maker a visit. Let’s hope he’s not building something worse than a box.”
FADE OUT.
🎬 SCENE: “Dust to Dust” — EXT. VALLAKI STREETS, AFTERNOON HAZE
Background Music shifts: Encounter in Barovia | Unofficial Curse of Strahd Soundtrack | 1h TTRPG Combat Music | Loop
The party moves like shadows through the gray alleys of Vallaki. Mist clings low to the cobbles, curling around boots and hesitation. The buildings lean inward, their shutters closed like secrets.
Behind them, the church bell looms silent. IREENA watches from the doorway of St. Andral’s, one hand on the frame—as if touching the stone might keep them tethered to something holy.
FELONIOUS and GREEGAN fall into step a few paces behind the others as they cross into the southern lanes, where paint peels and rumors breed.
GREEGAN glances sidelong, hands tucked into his coat.
GREEGAN: “That coffin maker. Henrik. You noticed?”
FELONIOUS doesn’t look up.
FELONIOUS: “The twitching, the babbling, the way he nearly dropped his eyeballs with his nails? Hard to miss.”
GREEGAN smirks. A dry, crooked thing.
GREEGAN: “He knew something. Or hid something. Maybe both. No one like a gravedigger to get rid of some bones, aye?
He quirks a brow. Thoughtful.
FELONIOUS: “Poetic. Morbid. Suspiciously on brand.”
He pauses. Voice lowers.
FELONIOUS (CONT'D): “You know what I think? Henrik’s not the planner. He’s the tool. Milivoj got him involved—but he didn’t want to be.”
GREEGAN: “Felt more like someone who agreed to carry the coffin… And realized halfway through it still twitched.”
They round a corner. The mist thickens. The cobbles grow uneven. The buildings here are older, more forgotten.
Up ahead, the black outline of HENRIK’S COFFIN SHOP rises like a sunken tooth—tucked against the splintered fences of the stockyard. The windows are dark. The sign out front creaks, faint and uncertain.
FLEETWOOD stops. Sniffs the air. Grunts.
FLEETWOOD: “Something stinks.”
SILVERLEAF steps beside him. Eyes narrowed.
SILVERLEAF: “Not just wood.”
The party gathers. The door looms. The mist curls tighter. Somewhere inside, something waits—quiet, buried, and not quite still.
FADE OUT.
🎬 SCENE: “The Coffin and the Whisper” — EXT. HENRIK’S COFFIN SHOP, LATE AFTERNOON
The sun slouches low behind the rooftops of Vallaki, casting long, crooked shadows across the stockyard. The wind has gone still—as if the town itself is holding its breath.
🪦 HENRIK’S COFFIN SHOP
Two stories of weary timber. The roof sags like a shrug of guilt. A coffin-shaped sign swings above the door, creaking faintly on rusted chains.
Every window is shuttered. The glass behind them frosted, barred with iron latticework. The seams of the building are sealed tight—like a man trying to keep secrets from leaking out.
The air smells of sawdust, varnish… and something older. Something wrong.
GREEGAN raises a hand, signaling the others to hang back. He slips into the shadows along the side of the building. His boots make no sound on the packed earth. He moves like a rumor—quick, quiet, and unwelcome.
He tests a shutter. Locked. Another. Still locked.
Then—a crack in the wood near the back window. Just wide enough.
He leans in.
🪚 INTERIOR GLIMPSE
A dim workshop. Cluttered with saws, chisels, and half-finished coffins.
Thirteen coffins lie scattered across the floor—too many for a town this size.
A lantern burns low in the corner, casting long shadows across warped walls.
And upstairs—movement. A flicker of motion. A shape shifting behind the slats of the upper floor.
GREEGAN narrows his eyes.
GREEGAN: “Well, that’s not ominous at all.”
He leans closer—
💥 CRACK!
His elbow brushes a loose plank. It snaps with a sharp pop.
Inside: the lantern light jerks. A chair scrapes. A footstep thuds.
Someone—or something—knows they’re not alone.
GREEGAN ducks back, teeth clenched. He rounds the corner fast, eyes sharp.
GREEGAN (CONT'D): “We’ve got company.”
He glances at the shuttered windows. The sagging roof. The silence.
GREEGAN (CONT'D) “And they’re not napping anymore.”
FLEETWOOD steps forward, hand on his weapon. SILVERLEAF’s eyes scan the upper windows. CLARION draws a breath, steadying herself.
The door creaks. Just slightly. As if something inside is listening.
FADE OUT.
🎬 SCENE: “The Blood Bellows” — INT./EXT. HENRIK’S COFFIN SHOP, FRONT ENTRANCE — DUSK
Background Music shifts: Vampire Spawn | Unofficial Curse of Strahd Soundtrack | 1h D&D Battle Music
The sun bleeds out behind the rooftops. Shadows stretch long across the stockyard. The air is still—too still. The kind of silence that waits for a scream.
FLEETWOOD steps forward. His shoulder slams into the door—
💥 CRACK!
The wood splinters inward, frame groaning as it gives way. But the darkness inside doesn’t flinch.
It swells.
For a breath, everything holds.
Then—
🗯️ RAAAASSSSKKKK!!
A cougar-roar tears out of the black.
A shape explodes from the shadows—
Pale. Gaunt. Limbs too long. Fingers hooked like butcher’s tools. Its mouth opens too wide, fangs dripping spit and rage. A vampire spawn, feral and starved, launches at FLEETWOOD like it’s been waiting for blood.
FLEETWOOD tries to brace—
🚪 THWACK!
Claws rake across his jaw. Blood beads instantly.
He snarls, rips himself backward through the ruined doorway—dragging half the frame with him—and lands in a crouch outside. He’s out… but not unmarked.
CLARION gasps. Her hand goes to her mace.
FELONIOUS’s hand flares with arcane light, casting eerie blue across the cobbles.
GREEGAN swears, already drawing steel.
GREEGAN: “Door was the least of our problems…”
🗯️ ROAAAAHHH!
Another roar erupts from inside.
Then another.
And another.
From behind the stacked coffins. Beneath the floorboards. Inside the walls.
They’ve smelled blood.
The shop groans. Coffin lids tremble. Nails creak.
And then—
In the deep gloom of the stairwell—
👁️ Two eyes ignite. Crimson. Cold.
Not feral. Not starving. Watching. Waiting.
A shape hunched beneath the rafters. Too still. Too calm.
And those eyes—
Those eyes remember the coffin lids being nailed shut.
FLEETWOOD spits blood. Straightens. His voice is iron.
FLEETWOOD: “We’re not backing off.”
FELONIOUS doesn’t look away. His voice is dry. Focused.
FELONIOUS : “Wasn’t planning a retreat. Just figuring out what to name the poem.”
The wind picks up. The sign above the shop creaks once. Then stills.
FADE OUT.
🎬 SCENE: “No Sun in Barovia” — EXT./INT. HENRIK’S COFFIN SHOP, LATE AFTERNOON
The doorframe groans as FLEETWOOD stumbles back into the street, blood trailing from the rake across his cheek. The wound glistens in the dying light. Behind him, the vampire spawn hiss and claw at the threshold—but hesitate.
Just for a moment.
FLEETWOOD plants his feet. Raises his shield toward the sky.
FLEETWOOD: “Back home… we used the light. Sunlight. Burned them clean.”
But above him, the Barovian sky is a lid of ash and sorrow. The mist thickens. The light dies in his hands like a match in a storm.
FLEETWOOD (CONT'D: “Damn this place.”
🧛 The vampire spawn surge forward.
Eyes gleam. Claws twitch. They’ve smelled blood. And now they know: there is no sun here.
Background Music Shifts: K.Flay - Blood In The Cut (Warning: NSFW lyrics)
And then—
🎭 She arrives.
From the shadows of the stairwell, a figure descends with the grace of a dancer and the menace of a blade.
👠 VOLENTA POPOFSKY Portrayed by Margot Robbie
Tattered crimson wedding dress. Corset laced too tight. Skirts torn like they’ve been through a war—and won.
Porcelain-pale skin. Lips smeared with something that might be lipstick… or might not.
A cracked mask dangles from one hand like a toy she’s grown bored of.
Eyes wild and glittering—always halfway between a joke and a murder.
She twirls a rusted sickle in one hand. The blade catches the last light.
VOLENTA: “Awwww. Did the big boy think the sun was gonna save him?”
She steps over a coffin lid like it’s a puddle. Her voice is sing-song, sharp.
VOLENTA (CONT'D): “Honey… this is Barovia. We don’t do daylight.”
She curtsies low. Mocking. The sickle spins in her hand.
VOLENTA (CONT'D): “Volenta Popofsky. Bridesmaid of blood. Favorite of the Count. And your entertainment for the evening.”
Behind her, the spawn hiss in chorus.
FELONIOUS blinks, startled.
FELONIOUS: “That’s… not someone I’ve read about.”
CLARION’s grip tightens on her holy symbol.
GREEGAN: (mutters) “I hate it when they introduce themselves like that.”
VOLENTA: “So. Who wants to dance?”
🎬 SCENE: “The Flame Rekindled” — EXT. HENRIK’S COFFIN SHOP, DUSK’S LAST LIGHT
The vampire spawn crowd the doorway. Claws flex. Teeth gleam beneath blood-flecked lips.
VOLENTA leans lazily against the wall just inside, licking crimson from one fingertip. Her laughter clatters like broken glass.
FLEETWOOD stands amid the ruin of the door. Blood drips slowly down his jawline. Behind him, the party braces for the fight they knew was coming.
But FLEETWOOD?
He closes his eyes.
And breathes.
He isn’t thinking of coffins. Or spawn. Or even Volenta’s voice, cruel and honey-slick.
He’s thinking of a house filled with rot and sorrow.
Of Walter—what he had to do. What he couldn’t forget.
He’s carried that weight like chainmail under his skin. But he also remembers what came before:
Drills in the mud at sunrise.
The old commander shouting form until it became instinct.
The moment a blade stopped being metal and became memory—of comrades saved, of lines held, of monsters slain not for glory but because someone had to.
He opens his eyes.
🔥 The fire is there again.
Not rage. Not madness.
Discipline. Purpose. Resolve.
FLEETWOOD: “You asked for it.”
He rolls his shoulder. Twists his blade once in his grip.
The steel hums like it remembers, too.
FLEETWOOD (CONT'D): “No more running. No more shadows. Right here. Right now.” (He spits blood from where the vampire spawn’s claws cut him.)
VOLENTA arches an eyebrow. Mockingly impressed.
VOLENTA: “Oh bravo, tin man. Look at you—so upright. So shiny.” (She twirls her sickle.) “Let’s see if you still talk pretty when I repaint you.”
The spawn hiss. Circle wider.
FLEETWOOD lowers into his stance. Eyes narrow. Voice calm.
FLEETWOOD: “Then come.”
The last light dies.
And the fight begins.
FADE TO BLACK:
🎶 End credits play as K.Flay - Blood In The Cut continues