Prologue

Roland will quickly notice that this is just normal condensation mist.

Your night is uneventful and wake up early next morning, before dawn, a fine mist still lingering on the ground as the warm rays of the sun have yet to disperse it. You gather your stuff, saddle your mounts, and set off for Barovia.

You slowly make your way to Barovia, keeping up with the slow pace of Roland's mule pulling his cart. As you discuss the mists of Barovia, the warm sun takes care of yesterday's condensation mists still clinging on the ground. After about 7 hours of travel, your stomachs starts rumbling as the hungry Mountains loom ominously on either side of you. Looking for a place to stop for lunch, you remember that hardly anyone goes to Barovia, so you decided that any spot on the road is as good as any to stop for lunch...

You rest and eat a bit, the road muddy as if it had rained here last night. Weiryn does manage to find some shade under an evergreen by hiking a bit up a gentle slope, giving him a nice vantage point of your segment of the mountain pass. No one comes to bother you, nor do you see any signs of the dreaded mist while you rest.

Those of you staying at or nearer to the road will notice this is the sort of road which gets uses just enough to not end up becoming overgrown. A few of you notice a set of rather fresh hoof tracks in the mud as if someone had ridden with great haste towards Barovia some time last night. Your messenger perhaps? Who knows...

After a few dozen minutes, you feel rested and fed. As you have no idea exactly how many more hours you will need to ride, you decided to waste as little time as possible and climb back on your mounts and resume your trek towards Barovia.

After about an hour or so of travel after your break, you notice subtle, yet clear signs that your environment is changing. Black pools of water stands like dark mirrors about the muddy roadway. A pall of thick, cold mist spreads over the ground. Giant tree trunks stand guard on both sides of the road, their branches clawing at the mist. In every direction the fog grows thicker and the forest seems more oppressive. Despite being early in the afternoon, the atmosphere seems to have become more cold and dark...

Weiryn sighs as he raises his hood and looks around. "It's always the fog and mist and bog like territory. You would think, just once, that a necromancer would do his best to hide that he is around, and not destroy the scenery in a manner such as this."

Weiryn will have failed to notice anything, but then again, the quickly growing mist obscures vision passed roughly 30 feet. And yet, Weiryn cannot shake the feeling that many pair of eyes are upon him and his companion...