Giles looks at the skeletal rider, it seems different than the mindless zombies pursuing them for their flesh and brains before, is there something.. more… to this rider?  “Hold, don’t attack yet… this seems, off.  Something more here…”  Under his breath he says Nothing is as it seems, in this land.

Insight : 18

Whispering a prayer to Silvanus' for guidance, Soren tiredly gazes at the strange apparition.  Undead creatures like the zombies, he has seen before, but not anything like this.  He wonders if it is some kind of incorporeal illusion.  Do the horse's hooves disturb the ground or leave prints?

Unfortunately, Soren's ordinarily sharp senses are still addled by his exhaustion.

Perception at disadvantage plus Guidance:  9 + 1 = 10

Giles' initial instinct seems to pan out... the skeletal horse and rider move slowly toward you but they give no indication they are threatening you.  Indeed, they seem oblivious to their surroundings.

Soren, from what you can tell they seem to be real enough.  The horse's hooves leave shallow imprints in the dead grass and mud of the trail as it moves.  

Their bones are mottled white and grey with age and dried mold.  They pass by, heading back down the trail in the direction from which you just came, the rider's lance pointing ahead and it's lightless lantern held high.

Back at the gate, a figure materializes out of the mist.  A lone man, grey and old, grasping the gate and beginning to pull it closed again.  He spots you at the same time you see him, startling at your unexpected presence and hurrying to pull the gate closed.

Zefla stares after the rider, unsure of what to say to stop them or if she even should.  It all seemed real enough, but then not real at the same time.  

At the final moment she sees the man at the gate and without a moments pause, she runs towards them, "Wait!  Please wait, don't close those gates, we are friends we mean you no harm!  Please.."  She's holding her hands up, hoping she looks harmless.

Burr gazes at the dead knight in astonishment as it passes, " You don't see that every day."

As Zeflas pleaded with the old man he dropped his maul behind him and tried to put on a friendly expression.

The old man hesitates, then continues pulling the gate closed.   He doesn't lock it all the way, however, leaving it open wide enough to peak outside.  "Who are you?  What business have you in Ezüstak?"

" Hello! I'm Burr."

" Just in the neighbourhood really, do you need any help with anything?"

“Please sir, my name is Father Giles, we are but travelers in this land, we heard there were wolves out and about this way?  We saw yon knight and just wondered who he was, who you are, and how this came to pass.  Please, we mean no harm.  Could we talk further, for a bit?”  Giles puts his hands together, opposite fingertips touching, his hands in the shape of a church, but not ready to open the doors, and show all the people.  

Soren remains staring after the skeletal rider.  Everything seems skeletal and death-like (or deathless?) in this land...

He belatedly advances to rejoin his companions who are attempting to start a conversation with the old man at the gate.  Murmuring further prayers to Silvanus, he touches Giles' shoulder, hoping the priest can convince the solitary figure to at least provide some information.

(Guidance for any Persuasion Giles may attempt in the next minute).

(Giles, you crack me up)

Zefla nods to Giles's words, unsure what to say to get the gate open, the skeletal rider all she can think about.  Are there more like him within the walls?  Her curiosity was palpable.  "Please sir, we just got into a skirmish and would love to find something to eat?"  she tries, hoping that will help open the gate.

The old man looks up at the grey, overcast skies, then back at you.

He closes the gate in front of you and disappears.

After a moment, from the other side, you hear his voice.  "You do not have permission to enter.  If you be living, and not the dead, then prove it.  Defy my denial to you and breach the closed entry."

Giles reaches out and pulls the gate open, saying “Let me assure you, we are indeed living….”  He pulls as hard as he can on the gate, looking behind him for any help that might be needed.  

The gate hasn't been locked, and with a few moments of effort Giles is able to swing it open.  The wood of the hastily erected palisade gate is soft and wet in your hands, weathered and worn from constant exposure to the elements. The wooden stakes of the wall jut haphazardly into the sky, their pointed tips a warning from the villagers against the unseen horrors of the Barovian wilderness.

The path continues through the little settlement, meeting another gate at the other side before continuing north, up into the mountains.  Thirteen structures, a meager collection of dwellings, cluster within the confining walls. The pine-thatched roofs sag wearily.  Two of the buildings, at the farthest reaches of the enclave, stand as decaying husks, abandoned and slowly being reclaimed by scrawny plant life.

The remaining structures, though fortified with makeshift barricades at the windows and reinforced doors, bear the scars of countless battles against malevolent forces.  Deep claw marks gouge the sides of the structures, a macabre graffiti etched by creatures of the night. 

Somewhere nearby is the sound of chopping wood, but otherwise the only sign of life is the old man standing before you.  He holds a spear now, as he holds the middle of the road against further advance.  His white beard hangs down uncombed to the middle of his chest, and his exposed arms are thin but wiry, the arms of a malnourished but determined survivor.

"Aye, you're not vampire spawn, that much is clear.  But only the foolish and the desperate wander these roads.  I'm afraid Ezüstak has little to offer desperate fools.  Unless you have something to trade and expect naught but fish in return, then you had best keep to your wanderings."

"That knight?" he says in response to Giles' question.  "No one knows its story.  It has wandered these trails since long before my time.  It does no harm to anyone, left unprovoked.  But it will walk endlessly into our gates like a blind fool, and the noise can attract less harmless things.  So when it approaches, we open the gates to let it proceed on its way."

Burr looked the village over and grimaced, " Gods.....I want to go home....", he whispered.

Soren looks at Burr sadly.  His tired voice is soft.

"I feel your longing, Burr.  I wanted to go home even when I was in Daggerford.  But I could not even back then, just as none of us can now.  Not yet."

He turns to the old man.  "We too have fought undead.  Just now back there around the bend in the lakeshore.  We hunt for information.  Do you know what surrounds this area?  We are outlanders, but have been told to seek a den of wolves near a mountain lake.  I am beginning to suspect that this is not the mountain lake we seek, but any information you can give us on what you have seen or know, other than the hordes of undead, would be welcome."

"If you do have information for us, or even if you do not, perhaps our little pack can help you with something you need assistance with?"

As Soren finishes talking, he murmurs a prayer for Silvanus' Guidance and attempts to judge the sincerity of the man's answers.

Insight at disadvantage due to exhaustion plus Guidance:  9 + 2 = 11

Realizing you aren't just going to move along, the old man sighs and leans on his spear. 

"You're looking for wolves?  Then you lean more to foolishness than desperation, I suppose.  The land is full of the fanged mongrels.  Our wall protects us from the little ones, but the big brutes, the dire wolves... all we can do is bar our doors and hold on when they come calling.  As for the vukodlaks..." he pauses.  "...The werewolves... there is little we can do to stop them."

"Luckily, they seldom plague us here."

He shakes his head.  "If you are looking for wolves, we are the wrong people to ask.  We avoid them, travelers.  We do not seek them out."

" Let us leave this place....we need to start heading back I think."

Soren looks up at the sky to gauge the time at Burr's remark and finds himself stymied once more by the lack of sun and ever-present overcast and gloom.

"Yes, likely we should return, given what we have heard from everyone about the dangers of this land and how they are worse after dark.  Bad enough during the 'day' as we saw with the undead.  If we arrive at the gates of Vallaki too late, in their fear and suspicion, they may not even let us in."

The druid turns back to the old man at the gate.  "I understand.  It is not that we seek wolves themselves, but rather something from a wolves' den.  Which might end the same way with our deaths, but then everything seems to die in this cursed land."  His eyes turn inward for a moment before he continues.

"Before we go, can you tell us anything else you know of the lands north of Lake Zarovich then, or its denizens?"

He looks to the others to determine if they have any questions before the group makes their way back to Vallaki.

Zefla looks a bit crestfallen as they once again seem to be hitting a dead end.  She isn't sure that trying to find this den is a fools errand and they should maybe just head to the windmill instead, there must have been a reason that first house they ran into was full of them.  But it is strange that everyone that talks about it tries to keep them away from it.  She lets Soren finish talking to the man as it sounds like there isn't much else they can figure out.

Soren remembers another question he had.  His mind is starting to flag as the day wears on and his exhaustion weighs him down.

"Also, you said it is clear we are not vampire spawn.  It is true, we are not, but what is it that keeps vampire spawn out of your gates?"

He is mostly successful in suppressing an inadvertent yawn (of tiredness, not boredom).