Chapter One - The Village of Barovia

The dense black woods seem to stretch on endlessly, but eventually they clear away. Jutting out of the woods like the fingers of a dead giant's hand are two crooked stone buttresses, gray and shrouded in fog. The stonework looms hundreds of feet above you, trees caressing the bricks of the buttresses like lovers. In the middle of the stonework is a pair of rusty iron gates glinting with dew. Two ancient colossuses flank the gates, their stone armor crumbling and strewn with ivy. They hold swords pointed solemnly to the ground, and their enormous stone heads lie at their feet. If the cold guardians see you, they make no move to attack. They only greet you in silence.

As you approach, the gates scream open. Shaelyn's heart grips with fear; she knows that anyone who enters these gates is trapped in the dreary land of Barovia for all eternity. Can she really doom these newcomers so easily?

"Hrm, I don't believe I've heard of those lands. It seems we are all snatched from very different areas into this strange fog."

As they pause before the gates, Amalthea takes a moment to examine the stone making up the walls and statues

Taniwha has kept his hood high but the curves shaped in the cloth, and the strange pale and red complexion on his skin marks him a different. As the walk he reluctantly speaks sparingly, but at the brother’s comment the Tiefling turns to look at the Human. "You have never met one such as I? We are not that common in my lands, but to have never seen one would mean living in a very isolated village. How populated are the lands you come from?"

As he speaks he looks the towering gate up and down, looking for dangers or clues of other beings passing this way . . .

Amalthea, the stone is positively ancient. The mortar dried centuries upon centuries ago, and everything is now covered in a profusion of dust, cobwebs, and ivy. The stone of the statues is brittle and worn away; somehow the statues have eroded faster than the walls around them. At the same time, everything here seems frozen in time, not at all like it's been exposed to constant rain and cold for centuries. The whole thing creates an eerie dissonance like a splinter of ice in Amalthea's mind, and the blank stone eyes watching her don't help.Taniwha, you can't see any traps that lie on either side of the gate. No murder holes, no pit traps, no swinging scythe blades. There could always be some magical trap you can't detect—after all, what opened those gates?—but another clue leads you to believe that the way is safe. You see well-worn ruts in the mud, as if from carriages passing through frequently. You think back to Drina's cart and realize that the make of these carts must be the same if not similar.

Taniwha listens to the Brother’s tale of his homeworld, while in part giving very little of his own background. He only discloses that both his race and that of Amalthea are common, but his type are treated with distrust. "I do not know why a Tiefling is to be mistrusted more than any other race. From my experience those seeking power, or the love of a god who should be mistrusted." Taniwha adds at the end of his story, before falling silent again and moves to follow the wagon tracks . . .

Amalthea nods at Taniwha's explanation and is distracted from checking the stone more closely as he describes his own experiences as a Tiefling. She frowns in sympathy at the memories that clearly pain him.

The dwarf adds in a bit about how they usually come from the mountains and she is no exception. There has been a lot of conflict between the dwarves so she has left to separate herself from it. The last place she had left was the city Baldur's Gate.

"Hrm, do any of you recognize who these statues represent? Especially seeing as we come from such disparate areas. Maybe our different backgrounds will help us, as you say Brother."

She also shares what she has noticed about the stonework before following Taniwha and the wagon tracks.

Brother Martin does not recognize these statues. They could belong to any of the thousands of warlords he's heard or read about in his time. When the party follows Taniwha beyond the gates, they squeal shut behind you all.

You forge ahead through more ancient trees, but the path is more ordered and well-used. The trees part, but the weary sky is still death-gray. Eventually, the woods pull away from a lush green clearing, with a river flowing in the distance. The sparkling waters are as clear as a winter sky, and they seem almost too joyful for this place.

Soon, tall shapes loom out of the mist. The muddy ground underfoot gives way to slick cobblestones, and the mist clears to reveal village streets. The place is not large but the houses are tightly packed, peeling white plaster framed by dark pine timbers. The windows of each house are pools of blackness that eye you soullessly. No sound cuts the silence except a mournful sobbing that echoes through the streets from a distance. People mill silently, ghostly, under overhanging jetties, but none of them seem to notice you or respond.

Taniwha stays close to his companions as the enter the town, keeping his hood high and his features hidden. Too many experiences of new towns had taught him to keep to himself, "I could use an Inn to rest." He says bluntly.

"Aye, I could do with a rest too, Taniwha. We would appreciate a stop at your home Lady Marcovici, if we could. But I agree, we need to see if we can help first."

She keeps her weapons sheathed and only keeps the shield handy as she leads the way to the sobs.

Out voted Taniwha grumbles something under his breath, but nods in agreement anyway. As we set off towards the sounds of distress the Monk stretches his aching muscles and bones.

You approach from the east and follow the main street past dour houses with weakly smoking chimneys. You pass the only tavern in town, a single shaft of light beaming from the open door into the frozen dark. Further on, you turn south and pass the village's old general store. The weeping is coming from a dark, two-story townhouse next door. The paint is peeling and the windows are shuttered. The moaning sobs are loudest from the second floor.