4th day of Nightal 1492DR
Suits of the Mist
Mission 5: Mists
Upon our adventurers return to the crossing in, along with the Gur family, Hricu, Rilynin, Kehkim, and Ozzcar apologize to everyone and give the same reasoning for their crimes. Something terrible is coming to Phlan, and they were hoping to bargain with certain powers in the area to gain assistance when the worst happens. As the patrons consider this apology the ever-present mist gets thicker and thicker closing in on the tavern itself. As the mist touches the tavern windows, the door opens and Sybil enters. The words “We’ve arrived,” slip from her lips as she collapses. Her family tends to her and tell her of their failures when suddenly a scream comes from outside. Our adventurers race out the door into unknown danger and bar it behind them. They quickly spy a woman and child through the thick fog and hear the screams and cries of more. They spread out in search of the children hidden in the mist and their foe, 4 giant bats which dart from one fog patch to another proving difficult to track but in the end they manage to rescue the woman and two of her children. They waste no time after the bats defeat to rush off and rescue the missing third child. With the aid of Sybil the adventurers find the boy Quiver being dragged by a creature with empty eye sockets, feral mouths, and sharp, jagged fingernails. The haunting semblance of a grin plays across its face. The adventurers quickly fly into action hacking at the zombie and removing it’s arm which only turns to attack back. The attack lasts only a few mins but the limb of the creature manages to leave deep scratches down the boys back. The horrifying scene seem to have distressed Sybile. She turns pale sit’s and speaks in a voice that is not her own ‘in a voice not her own: “The mists have come to take us all Into a place of great darkness. Evil lurks within; An evil that only those of conviction Have hope of destroying.
The adventurers quickly collect their belongings and head back towards Phlan but the fog and mists grow so thick that they lose track of each other. Even the sounds of walking and talking are muffled and mangled. The mists seem to take on grotesque shapes and echoes back the sounds you make as moans of spectral pain. The tension finally breaks as the mists thin, letting them see the landscape again. But something is wrong. The air is still cold, but the frost is gone. A few wretched leaves still cling to the trees here, where all branches were bare moments ago. A wooden sign rests on the path before them, having fallen off a tree. Next to it is a dead crow, frozen by the frigid air and partially eaten by vermin. In oddly slanted letters, the sign reads:
“Welcome to Barovia”