The group are seated confortably, except for Zinnarath who receives a bumpy ride. Ireena is the last to enter the carriage, and the door swings shut behind her.
After passing through the craggy peaks of the Balinoks, the road takes a sudden turn to the east and the startling awesome presence of Ravenloft itself towers before you. The carriage comes to a stop just in front of twin guardhouses of turreted stone, broken from years of use and exposure. Beyond these, a 50-foot-wide precipice gapes between the Balinok cliffs and the walls of Ravenloft, a chasm of dizzying depth that disappears into the fog-shrouded distance far below. The lowered drawbridge of old shorn-up wood beams hangs precariously between you and the arched entrance to the courtyard. The chains of the drawbridge creek in the wind, their rust-eaten iron straining with the weight. From atop the high strong walls, stone gargoyles seem to stare at you from their hollow sockets and grin hideously. A rotting wooden portcullis, green with growth, hangs in the entry tunnel. Beyond this, the main doors of Ravenloft stand open. A rich warm light spills from them into the courtyard. Torches flutter sadly in sconces on both sides of the open doors.