#cos Doru

[nkukubean]

It’s a shame most people kill Doru in the first five minutes of meeting him. His character has so much potential once you read into the nuances.

[doodlenainers]

Tarot cards exist and I’m supposed to be normal about that????

[bloodfool]

My beloved Curse of Strahd NPCs!

[beetlebabby]

keep forgetting to post this but i'm working on another cos comic! this time about poor little doru

[apricotzel]

wrote something short for my beautiful dnd party in the CoS campaign i run because i wanted to add some depth to doru and father donavich, and also wanted to post it here. if anything contradicts canon its because i forgot or decided to change it my bad. if there are any mistakes please be nice. beware here be spoilers and also a 2nd person pov !!

“Are heroes real?”

There’s a clatter of dishes; a knife slips from your hands and back into the sink, it disappears below the surface.

There’s a pause at the table. Your son sits there, bright-eyed and wondering. He needs a haircut, you think. Maybe spend less time in that watered down sunlight, and he wouldn’t ask silly questions.

You clear your throat, resume the motions. “The Morning Lord is real.”

“And heroes?”

You don’t answer. It could be better like this, better to just ignore and lock away all of foolishness. He’s only young, only a couple handfuls of years, and he’s missing so much in his life. He doesn’t know the sun, and you didn’t either until you had him.

You turn to grab another dish, and he’s there with his eyes that are yours, and he is staring at you.

“Heroes, Father.”

You can’t silence your way out of this one. You put down the knife, dry your hands - pale hands, shaking ones - and grab his face gently.

“There are no heroes, Doru.”

His face doesn’t fall, he grins like he was expecting you to say that. “Is the Morning Lord not a hero?”

“He cannot reach us,” You say gently. You must’ve told this story to him a thousand times, never has his grin wavered. “The curse of the Devil Strahd blocks him. We wait for his return.”

“A hero could bring him back.”

You had trained anger out of yourself years ago under the training of the Morning Lord, under your own father. You open your mouth as if to argue, but your sun continues.

“Have hope, father,” He says. “I could be the hero.”

You know what happens to heroes, you have told him a thousand times, never has he stopped.

“I could protect you,” Your sun insists. “I could banish the Devil.”

You waver, because you love him.

“I could,” He insists.

“Do your reading,” You straighten up, “Stop this nonsense, Doru. You’re too young.”

He opens his mouth as if to argue, but you are a priest, and you know how to control faith in your hands. You reign him in, harsh and gentle like a dog to a post.

He stomps away with perhaps too much attitude than you should allow, but there are dishes to do and prayers to be said.

A service is interrupted by his singing. He does not realize, in the way he never realizes how loud he is. He moves unabashedly through the world, twirling and singing. He would jump on tables if you let him.

You try to carry on with the word. It’s a quiet service today, and those in the pews are familiar with you and Doru. Your voice wavers, caught on a laugh. It’s rusty and scratches out of your throat, you try to hide it, coughing and stammering over the holy text.

Someone in the front row coughs to stop their chuckle. A gentle, sputtering giggle comes from somewhere else.

A waltzing note follows, off-key and hectic. You duck your face, letting the laughter take you. Foreign noises fill the air as the company does the same. Laughing fills the still air and gets lost in the mist. You glance up and catch him standing in the entrance to the chapel, shoulders shaking and a hand barely covering his smile.

Years later, he asks you the same:

“Are heroes real?”

“What?” You ask. You’re doing something, you don’t really have time for this. He sits next to where you lean over his desk, reading his writings on the Morning Lord, gently pointing out flaws and molding it until it makes more sense.

He fidgets with the quill, shoving the feather into your face until you bat it away. It’s his favourite quill, so you do so gently.

“I found a sword,” He starts.

You try not to sigh. He has never wavered.

“And someone to teach you?” You mutter.

He deflates slightly, head lolling back to stare at you. He needs a haircut. He has a faint tan that you don’t. Always running around in the field, through town, through the graveyard, never praying. You worry, as you ought to do.

“I can teach myself,” He says.

You waver, he sees you do it.

“Have hope,” He presses gently.

You shouldn’t look at him. He will only be looking up at you with those eyes that you can never argue with. 

“Hope is for fools,” You say.

“And the pious.”

You give him a disapproving glare, and fall right into his trap. He’s grinning up at you, mischievous and boyish. How does he find the energy to do that? You don’t know. Even at his age you had given up on this land, and so you turned to the gods to hope for some salvation. He seems to be his own God, your own sun.

“There’s a mage in town,” He continues despite your glare.

You frown. “Many mages come through here.” They all die.

“This one is different,” He insists, because he is young and you had never let him meet the mages that would later die.

Instead, you sigh. Run a pale, shaking hand through his too-long hair and settle it on his shoulder. “Don’t be foolish, Doru. There is a reason no one here has hope.”

He reaches up and clasps your hand, strong as iron at first and then it settles light as dust; you try not to think of a dying breath, how every ghost up on Castle Ravenloft fought until it was over. 

“Please, Father,” He looks at you, imploring. You stare at the mirrors in his skull, and waver. “I could do it. I would make sure that nothing could hurt you ever again. Not a devil, nor vampire, nor zombie, nor hag. You wanted a God and I am your son. Have faith in me.”

He is the brightest thing in this valley, and you vow to never let the curse that suffocates it harm him.

“I forbid it,” Gently, like a prayer.

His face darkens like a cloud passed over it. Without a word he lets go of your hand. You expect him to charge off, to yell, to do anything, but he just turns back to his work. This worries you more than anything.

Later that evening, you pray that the entire world will become weaker because you know you cannot be strong.

He knows more songs than you do, and you’re not sure where he learned them. They echo from his room to yours, out his open window, down the valley like he’s a siren. Even when he is quiet, his voice haunts the house. Always under his breath, songs of love and victory. Of sorrow and a life lived to its fullest. 

You stand outside his door now, hearing him hum and dance, bumping into things and swearing under his breath. Always a pause after every curse where he sends a brief prayer for forgiveness, you can see him without seeing him, the way his body freezes in realization and his eyes flit to the ceiling as his hands fumble to put themselves in the right position.

You knock on the door gently, and a second later it swings open. He smiles seeing you, as if he hasn’t in a while. His hair is wild, brushing his shoulder and sticking to his face, eyes bright. 

It’s not his birthday, it’s not a holiday. There’s no reason for you to unveil a curved dagger from underneath your robes and present it to him. It’s beautiful, even you know, and you are not versed in metals or blood. Wrapped around the hilt and falling down to the pommel is a chain adorned with beads and the symbol of the Morning Lord.

He looks as if you had just given him the world, and takes it with a gentleness usually reserved for children. As if in a trance, he walks over to his window to look at it better. The shine of the metal dances across his face.

He looks over at you, you who are still standing in his doorway like an unwanted fiend that can’t cross, you bathed in shadow, you the priest.

“Why?” He asks with an unsure laugh, like he is waiting for you to snatch it back.

“I don’t want you to use it,” You clarify immediately, “Look at me, Doru. It is not for you to charge to battle with. I just- I want you to know. That the Morning Lord will protect you.” Softer, “I will protect you.”

He turns to stare at you as if lost, light weakly haloing his hair and casting his face in darkness.

“Nothing will hurt you,” You scramble for the words. “I won’t let it happen to you. What happens to those people - the heroes - it won’t happen to you. Not while I’m here. I asked for a God and I got a son. I won’t lose you, too.”

Your sun’s hand reaches up, shaking, as if to grab you. Your own hand twitches at your side, but does not go forth. He grabs his own shoulder and turns back towards the light.

“Thank you,” He says, and his voice is thick and breaking at the edges. You wonder, briefly, how heavy it is to hope. You wouldn’t know.

You nod, and go to retreat. He opens his mouth as if to say something, inhaling sharply and leaving the room breathless.

You waver, because you love him.

His gaze trails down to the dagger in his grasp, shaking hand to meet it like you grab onto the rosary, and you feel like he isn’t yours anymore and hasn’t been in a very long time. He needs a haircut, and you love him.

The door creaks when you shut it.

The door to your room is locked and there is a man in your church. You do not know what is happening and you are afraid of it. They are taking away your son.

That’s not right.

The door to your room is blocked and there is a man in your home. You do not know what is happening and you are afraid of it. Your son is letting himself be taken away.

You wish, briefly, you had spent less time praying and more time swinging swords like he did. As it is now, all you can do is claw at the wood and at the door handle. You kick, feel the jarring follow up your knee and it aches like everything. You were not built to handle such tragedy as the one you were born into, you are just a priest.

“Doru,” You screech again and again and again, and you can imagine blood from the inside of your throat trickling down and choking you with how much it hurts. “Don’t do this. Don’t do this.”

You are just a priest, and all you know is how to beg for someone to listen to you.

Your window lays broken, but people wait outside of it with threatening stances and weapons they grab tighter every time you walk closer.

You hear his voice from the other side of the door.

“I’m sorry,” He says again and again and again, and you can imagine him with his hand laid flat against the door, wincing everytime you ram your body into it. Head laid sorrowfully on the wood like this hurts him more than it hurts you. “I have to. I must fight.”

You scream, guttural and wordless, and slam into the door again. You have never felt fear so potent. All hero stories end the same in Barovia.

Suddenly the fear leaves you, and you quiet down, hands laid flat against the wood.

“Listen to me, Doru,” You whisper, because all secrets must be whispered, “I love you. You can’t do this. Do you hear me? Please, they have enough people. They don’t need you. Stay here. Let me out.”

He pauses, as if his resolve flutters.

“I have to do this,” He says. You scream once again, but he pays no mind. “I have to have hope. We must have hope. If only you could see that is what the valley needs.”

You know what the valley needs. It is not another dead child.

“I’m sorry, Father,” He says, and his voice wavers, because he loves you. It breaks right down the middle. “I’m so sorry.”

You beg, plead, and scream. To him, to the Morning Lord, to Mother Night. To the other gods, those you do not believe in but are desperate enough to try.

“I’ll be home soon,” He whispers, and it is almost drowned out.

His footsteps retreat from the door, and you slide down it, on the floor. Your breath comes quickly, gasping, choking. You think you might vomit, or your heart might stop, or you might just stop existing then and there.

You can see him running down the hill to the army, led by the mage. Your fingers wrap around shattered glass. You cannot cry out, but you do not look away until the mists that surround Castle Ravenloft swallow him whole.

He is sent home by the Devil himself. Your son, your beautiful son who has never hurt anyone. You put the key where no one else will find it, and begin to pray. Your mind unravels, and in the darkness, the frayed edges of his reach out to it, and meet.

[dndsaga]

Bells of Notre Dame by Alan Menken // Kara Xu (2017-2018) // Maurice Sendak // selkielore on tumblr // The First Mourning, William-Adolphe Bouguereau // Antigone, Jean Anouilh // Santa Lilio Sangre by Ayumi Kojima // My Heart for Yours, Jolene Perry // butchfangss on tumblr

✘ brothers donavich. ( for @niroben101 )

as you die, watch the leaves that go crazy over you: everything loves you, my god-headed brother. say hey, my beautiful brother, your face lifted, holding back the holiness of light?

[arugulafriend]

Vampire but he’s pathetic 😳

[crowholtz]

I want to hear more about the other NPCs in your CoS campaign! I stumbled across your Doru bio and I was baffled by how wildly different he is in your campaign vs the one I'm in. It's always so cool to learn about different adaptations of characters!

OMG I am so glad you asked

Okay I'm gonna touch my faves! Obviously spoilers for the campaign~

First up we have Escher. I love what my DM did with Escher! He's a genderfluid shapeshifter (though his main 'true' form is elven) from Waterdeep that Strahd brought to Barovia through the mists. His personality often gives me like... Double Trouble vibes from She-Ra. He's very fruity eheheh. He's an empath - literally, he has the ability to sense people's emotions when he touches them (all the True Vampires in our campaign have a Special Ability). He's a bit of a whore. he's actually a ripper (my dm sorta borrowed this term from the vampire diaries in which some vampires are just more violent and hungry than others) and was pretty bad when he first became a vampire, but he redirected his bloodlust more into sex and drugs. very Dionysian. He's very decadent and selfish, but he also does have a good capacity to care thanks to not being able to turn his empathy off, and he uses his ability to please others and be what they want him to be. He also in his mortal life had a degree in psychology from the University of Waterdeep, and is quite smart and good at reading people and their issues, though he likes to pretend he's a useless bimbo. He's currently traveling with the party because he's worried about Strahd....

Another favorite of mine is Vasili von Holtz. He's actually the reincarnation of Strahd's mortal soul in my campaign instead of just being his alter ego. Strahd thought Vasili was the reincarnation of Sergei for a while, and put Vasili through a lot of tests and trauma when he was a teenager 30 years ago to see if he'd react to situations in the way Sergei would. When he didn't, Strahd was always disappointed with Vasili. The irony being, Vasili made the decisions Strahd would have made since he has his soul, and that's what Strahd hated. Strahd essentially tortured himself and he doesn't even know. Vasili is 45 years old now, a lovable rogue, kinda scrungly. He's charming and cunning, but good. My party put him in charge of Vallaki in the form of running a council with father Lucian, Lady Wachter, and Anastrasya. He's got a bit of a drinking problem, but he wants to do good by the people. Much like Strahd, he has the mentality of "no one can do it but me. It has to be me." My character Helene is romancing him. And Strahd. It's very messy.

I have more, but I don't want this to get too long, so if you are interested in hearing about more pls send another ask ^^ my DM has made all the characters in this campaign so multifaceted and complex and interesting. Strahd is honestly my favorite -- he took his character and crafted him into such a fascinating villain and plays him really well. But god, going into Strahd's psyche and story would take a whole ass post.

I'm also gonna put more info about Doru too under a read more just to give more context to his personality!

My DM didn't honestly plan on Doru being in the campaign -- he figured he would die or remain trapped, as he often is in CoS.

In my DM's canon, Doru was a soft spoken young man romanced by Strahd and Doru agreed to become one of his brides. Doru insisted however, that during the turning process he remain close by the church in the village and his father so he could prove that even after turning into a vampire he was still himself. Doru requested Strahd not be there bc he knew Strahd's presence would spook his father. Strahd acquiesced to his request. Unfortunately in the transition, Doru's father and many of the villagers became distressed, outraged, tried holding him down to try to basically "exorcise" him. Doru's ripper instinct activated (yeah unfortunately Doru got the ripper trait) and he slaughtered and drained some of the villagers present. Donovich managed to get Doru into the basement of the church where he stayed for 10 years, though Donovich announced that Doru was dead. Strahd mourned him.

So when we managed to save Doru with a wand of polymorph (which we can thank @gothoctopus for thinking of using), it changed his creature type and therefore he could leave the consecration of the church! Then I had my character Helene "pray to her god" so she could contact Strahd when he intercepted the prayer, and she let him know that Doru was actually alive and that we rescued him. Strahd was shocked Doru was alive, and Helene had to talk him down from doing something drastic to the people of Barovia village. He was grateful, and sent down a carriage to put bunny Doru in so it could take him back to Castle Ravenloft. Strahd said that he now owed the party one favor (which Helene used in the bones of st. andral incident to make him leave us and Ireena alone for the time being).

Anyway, Doru took some time to heal at the castle. Mentally he was not doing great, and he's still trying to heal, but he is much better now. He bonded with Rahadin, who took care of him. Doru is still a faithful follower of the morninglord, which has manifested in an ability to still use radiant/healing magic despite being undead. (My DM gave all the True Vampires special abilities. Escher, for example, is an empath and can sense others emotions when he touches them!)

Doru is soft-spoken, sassy, smart, and generally wants to be a good person. His vampiric tendencies get in the way of that though, especially with his underlying bloodlust that he has to keep in check. He's always itching for a fight, but suppresses it. He's also autistic and is very cute when he infodumps :D

[styxlupus]

forever devestated that Candlefoot doesn't get the babygirl treatment on here like Doru does

[pigeon-princess]

I saw your story on Instagram about the current party and by god seeing, Elvir made me laugh because the Elvir in my CoS campaign is a Ben Shapiro lite who gets endlessly bullied by our artificer 😭😭😭

THIS IS SO FUNNY HJGSJKsghjk Ben Shaprio LITE OH NOOOO!!! Good job to your artificer, keep up the good work in bullying him hahahaha. I love hearing about other players experiences with NPCs because at its core it's the same characters but every DM runs them so differently!

We love our Elvir, he's great! He's very charismatic and talkative but meaning he has the tendency to overshare information. He's got the best outfit in the party right now and cannot fight so he is a walking liability but we'll cross that bridge when we get to it HAHAHa. My DM drew an amazing reference for him so now I'm very keen to have a go at drawing him myself!

[demynom]

Still always thinking about Doru btw

[nkukubean]

🌻 Doru Donavich \\ Vampire Spawn of Strahd & (very confused) Cleric of the Morning Lord 🌻

a concept doodle from a few months back

❗️ Curse of Strahd Spoilers❗️

So, my party adopted Doru after freeing him from the basement. They chased him into the roof of the church while his father was… helping give a sermon for another party members funeral. Half the party was trying to get Doru down while the other half distracted Donavich (and crying due to their dead friend). Eventually, he was offered blood, which got him down.

After several harrowing experiences later, a near TPK proved his worth in the eyes of the Morning Lord. He’s been given a last chance, and he knows he can’t waste it. He’s afraid he’ll be taken back by Strahd, but he trusts the Morning Lord’s new given power will help him evade being controlled again.

Also, he’s Ismark’s boyfriend. Sunshine child.

To whoever pointed out that the spirits that raise in the graveyard at night are the friends and community he lost while fighting Strahd, how dare you. I can’t stop thinking about that now. I’m going to cry, and I can’t tell my party why yet, because they haven’t gone out there at night. The last time they did that, one of them died to Strahd. That’s a story for another time though.

Oh, also…. Old old baby boy art from like 2 years ago when I first started DMing Strahd. I need to give him back his grey eyes.

[tea-with-eleni]

What's next for Strahd?

Traveling for the holidays, so we're a bit unable to do DnD at the moment... which gives me time to Plan.

My players should have learned by now: bad things happen when the DM starts Planning.

To my players, keep the fuck out or I'm gonna make one of the brides replace or turn your character and you have to turn traitor to your party.

The current situation as it stands:

The players and Tatyana are about to head into the Amber Temple. They're currently navigating Tsolenka Pass.

Ludmilla is trying very, very hard to get on their good side; she thinks she stands a better chance with Tatyana than Strahd himself. She's probably right. Strahd doesn't like it, but also knows that Ludmilla is utterly and completely loyal to him.

Strahd, Ludmilla, and therefore all of Ravenloft knows what the party is up to. The other relevant players are Rahadin (utterly DESPISED by the party, they will kill on sight) and Volenta (the wildcard) and Doru (the pathetic trapped vampire spawn).

The current problem for Party Ravenloft is that Party Players will do something stupid in the Amber Temple and get Tatyana killed.

The secondary goal is that Vampyr is still in the amber temple... and there isn't anything explicitly preventing Tatyana from making a deal with it except, obviously, Tatyana herself. After all: assuming the deal went a bit like Strahd's, it would accomplish the overall goal of turning Tatyana. Strahd is convinced that given enough time he could win her over, he's just never had enough time.

The best person to convince Ireena to do anything is Doru Donovich. He knows her from this life; he loved her in a past life. The party pities him. He already was within a single roll of convincing Tatyana to stay at Ravenloft.

Which brings us to another problem: Strahd blames one of Doru's past lives for killing Tatyana. The blame isn't entirely fair, but it's only Ludmilla keeping Strahd from going full Leo Dilisnya on him. He was only turned into a vampire spawn by accident; he was part of the assault Mordenkainen lead on the castle last year and Ludmilla was feeling a bit peckish at the time. Escher and one of the players freed him from the church basement. Ludmilla has since argued he's too useful a tool to keep around.

So. What does Strahd do? Does he send the real Doru Donovich to try to persuade Tatyana to make a deal with Vampyr? Does he go himself? Does he send Ludmilla?

Strahd has shown that he's very good at making rational decisions except insofar as they concern Tatyana, especially referencing the 2e books for more insight into the man's personality. There's no reason to think this is inaccurate; perfectly sane people like Fiona Wachter are loyal to him for entirely rational reasons.

This is a decision heavily concerning Tatyana. I don't think Strahd is capable of making the rational decision here and I don't think anyone in Party Ravenloft could or would point out that he's making a mistake. I do think he's clever enough (and potentially kinky enough) to convincingly play the part of one of his wives' spawn.

I suppose he would (at this point) Leo Dilisnya Doru. Sorry kid.

[costhursdays]

Chiaroscuro and Alexir both checked in with one another to make sure that they weren't the only one who heard the sound of the man screaming, and as they confirmed this with one another, they checked in to make sure if Cash or Nick had responded to the sound. Seeing that neither of them did, and Kenshi was too far away to have heard it as well, they snuck away as Father Donovich had been tending to further rites. Chiaroscuro looked over the wall to peek into the Church, seeing the insides slightly, but no movement. Turning to Alexir behind him, they both decided the only way to figure out where the noise was coming from was to go inside.

The front of the Church was not locked, and upon opening the double doors, both their eyes shot open wide. The sight of the chapel was horrifying, shreds of paper, straw, cloth, wood all about the room. Nothing was intact, not a single pew, not a single book, nothing. The sight of the destroyed Holy Place sent both Alexir and Chiaroscuro into fits, Alexir babbling incoherently and Chiaro bent over weeping uncontrollably, all while more screaming came from the depths of the Church building in front of them.

The rest of the party, Ireena, Ismark, and Father Donovich in tow, as the sermon had finished and Ireena was starting to prepare herself to head out, came forward after this breach within the church. Nick slowly tried to calm Alexir, Chiaro, and now Cash who had also gone into a state of Paralysis after hearing the screaming, while Kenshi interrogated Father Donovich about the incessant screaming. Finally, he broke, and the truth was revealed.

The Father's son, Doru, had went missing roughly a little over a year ago, when a magician from the mountains came down to rally the townsfolk to fight Strahd. He had left to head into Ravenloft, never to be seen again... Except he was, a month ago. Laying on the front of the Church one night was Doru's half living body. The Father could tell he had been turned and to keep him, and everyone around him safe, he had kept Doru locked in the basement of the Church. It was after this that people tore the place apart, mortified that the Father would Desecrate the land with a still living Vampire in their home. Many townsfolk avoided the Church after that.

Father Donovich had no willpower to kill his own son. He was but a simple man, not a fighter, and was not able to do much on his own. He mentally, nor physically, could have finished his son off. Kenshi looked down upon Donovich, who had fallen over and was wailing on the ground, nigh on as loud as his own son was below them, and forced him up and talked him into coming down to the basement with them to face Doru and "ask him some questions".

As they were prepping to go down into the basement, Kenshi told Donavich that allowing this creature to stay alive was desecrating the sanctity of the Church, and thusly, the Hallowed Ground outside where they had just buried Kolyan's body. He then began to intimidate him, by trying to get him to do the proper thing and allow them to finish Doru off. Donovich, however, caught a breath and dug deep within himself to stand at his full height and inform Kenshi that no man, woman, child, or other was going to come into his home and demand that he kill his own flesh and blood.

A brief moment of struggle to get the trap door downstairs to the basement open, and Donovich led the group to the basement; its cold, damp, and darkened display showing the gaunt, starving form of Donovich's beloved son, Doru. Doru hissed and hid as much as he could whispering soft words of hate and how he could smell the party and their blood flowing. Donavich approached him to try and get him to calm down and discuss things but as soon as Donavich got within range of him, Doru pounced and bit down deep into his father. The rest of the party had little time to prepare for such a vicious display, watching in horror as the pale face of Father Donavich was drained of his life force by the man he had been fasting and praying to save.

Cash quickly sprung into action, casting Hideous Laughter on Doru, the man falling to the ground laughing as Cash uttered a terrible pun at the situation. He quickly informed the party to tie Doru up, but both Nick and Chiaroscuro had attacked him in retaliation of Father Donovich. Not that most of the damage did much, because as soon as Alexir brought Nick's rope towards Doru and tied him down to the pole, he had regained what little health he had lost.

As Doru relaxed from the incessant laughter that plagued his body, he attempted to get free of his binds. Cash offered the compromise that if he answered some questions about Strahd and the Castle, they'd let him free, and they'd even give Doru the choice of whom he fed on next. Doru, at the sound of a blood offering, broke down, frantically babbling about anything he could remember about Strahd's Castle, the man himself, and why Strahd was obsessed with Ireena. He informed them of the Heart of Darkness deep within a Tower in Strahd's Castle, he informed them of the maze like structure of the building, and that Strahd had been calling Ireena 'Tatyana' for the entirety he had been there, and that he didn't know much else after this due to being trapped in a prison like structure with another person in the cell near his own.

After he expounded the severity of him receiving blood, Kenshi smiled, offered his hand, and then began to pull back, striking out at Doru with his claws. Alexir had given Doru a few good whacks with his Whip as it was bathed in holy Divine Smites. This helped bridge the gaps as Doru was unable to regenerate his body's health, as the Radiant Damage from Alexir's Divine Smite had negated all regeneration to Doru's Spawn Body.

Doru's body was resilient, and he was strong as he broke out of the bindings that the party had left him in; however there was little that could be done as Alexir's whip crushed his rib cages and broke his spine. Killing him was like taking Pot Shots in a Barrel of Fish, but it was still frustrating to have not one, but now two bodies to deal with, after having handled Kolyan's funeral just that morning.

Everyone brought Father Donovich's and Doru's bodies up to their respective rooms, leaving them there for a brief moment while Alexir and Kenshi went to go get assistance from the local grave diggers, the imposing twins Barrik and Derrik, who lived down the road. Chiaro, Cash, and Nick went to grab supplies from Bildrath's Mercantile on the way to Ismark and Ireena's Mansion.

Kenshi knocked on one of the doors, not expecting to see Barrik answering the door as he held in his arms a small child drinking from the bottle. It was almost comical how miniscule the child was in relation to his large, imposing form. Kenshi explained the situation to Barrik, who sighed, nodded, and handed off his infant to his equally large and imposing husband behind him. They all went to Derrik's house next door to inform the man of the situation as well, and Barrik made the comment that this was the third and fourth graves they had to dig today, what with Kolyan's and another beggar man's grave from last night.

At Bildrath's Mercantile, the group did a bit of shopping, selling two of the rings that Cash had filched from the Death House, but unfortunately the price gouging in the town of Barovia was exorbitant, making just that barely enough to purchase a rope, a water skein, and a bed roll with rations for Chiaroscuro. Nick eyed the products carefully, if things were this expensive, but Bildrath simply shooed them away after they had finished their shopping trip.

The group reconvened at the Burgomaster's Mansion, as Ireena prepped for her travels. The group informed the two of the sad occurrence at the Church, but nothing could be done about it now. Kenshi specifically did not go into details to spare the two the grisly realization that it was the party's fault for bringing the Father down into the basement. The group, with Ismark's blessing and 250 gold between the 5 of them, left the Mansion and started on the road out of Barovia, the town, and into Barovia, the country proper. It was a long day ahead of them.

[beetlebabby]

a comic about that one fateful day for doru

[vodoriga-art]

Very tiny (7,5 x 9cm) CoS zine I started and then dropped after four and a half pages when we were three or four sessions in 🦇 (top right are Donavich and Doru, bottom right is the party in the death house)