Werewolves in the Mist

Damn this fog

Damn this fog. I’ve never felt more cold or alone in my life. It seems like I’ve been wandering…no, stumbling around in this accursed fog for an age. It can’t be though can it? I wish I had never agreed to join those…what did they call themselves? Vish…vish…Vistani that’s right. By Deneirs inkblots they had such wondrous tales and such wondrous wine! They must have cast some curse on me or perhaps trapped me in some strange dimension? I’ve heard tales of such things but perhaps it is nothing more than me lost in the fog? The few travelers I have met don’t seem to perturbed by the fog though, so maybe it’s normal in this part of Faerun…though I hadn’t heard of any land perpetually blanketed like this. What’s odd is the usual songs seem new to these people and when I mention Waterdeep, I get blank stares. Their eyes show they know not what or where the sword coast even is! So I sing to them songs they’ve never heard and spin tales they know nothing of! Seems like a lifetime since I’ve had a good glass of wine or ale.

Damn this fog.

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