You all exit the tavern together. The fog is if anything even thicker now, but the rain has at least subdued a little bit. You walk to the west towards the unknown, black pools of water stand like dark mirrors in and around the muddy roadway. Giant trees loom on both sides of the road, their branches clawing at the mist. The fog spills out of the forest to swallow up the road behind you as you walk for hours and hours.
Finally ahead, jutting from the impenetrable woods on both sides of the road, are high stone buttresses looming gray in the fog. Huge iron gates hang on the stonework. Dew clings with cold tenacity to the rusted bars. Two headless statues of armed guardians flank the gate, their heads now lying among the weeds at their feet. They greet you only with silence.
As you approach the gates the slowly start to swing open, screeching as the hinges move.