Werewolves in the Mist

Ven's Journal Entry 39

These roads are so familiar. Each bend and curve in the path reminds me of… something. Sometime. Somewhere.

A strange thing happened yesterday. On this path, this path that I may have traveled before, stood a gallows. It was a disused construction but as we passed it there was… a figure. It seemed to have appeared out of nothing. Maylynn seemed especially distressed but her ramblings made no sense. Then, as subtly as it had appeared, it was gone. It seemed to melt into a pile of desiccated remains. I thought I saw the shimmering of a magic hand touch the hanged man before it crumbled away. I had considered touching the thing with my own mage’s hand but didn’t. How peculiar.

Off the road a way, behind the gallows, stood a graveyard. All of the headstones were blank but one. The marked headstone stood above an open grave. I didn’t see anything inside the grave and the pile of dirt next to it didn’t seem especially fresh. The marker read “Valko Frostbelly”. Old Wolf had been somewhat distant during that days travels but I understand. People have said the same about me. Although, seeing such an omen may have taken me out of my reverie.

Needless to say, we moved on from that portentous place very quickly. We were delayed by some creatures that we later learned were hell hounds and their ilk. Possibly minions of Strahd?

The vistani are a strange folk. We came upon their camp and this… Eva seemed to know our names and to have been waiting for our arrival. I do not trust these people. But this tarokka… this is poetry. The poetry of seers.



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