The church, the steeple, the doors and all of the people go away, as GIles brings his hands to his sides and straightens up, a different demeanor overcoming him.  “Fine.  Well, I see this is a dead end.  Again.  If you have any other answers for my poor tired elf friend or knowledge to share, thank you.  Otherwise we will be on our way, we meant no harm.”  He sets the point of his shield on the ground and leans on it a moment, resting, before they return the way they went.

The old man looks at Soren with impatience.  He looks away to the north.  "Up that way?  North of the lake?  Nothing but the empty mountains.  When I was a boy, brave souls still ran the mines up that way, but its been a generation since any ore came down this trail.  There is nothing up that way now, but more beasts and dead.  And worse... of late, demonic lights illuminate the mountainside... lightning and fire and unearthly gleaming.  Its safer to travel over the water, if one has reason to travel at all."

He scoffs at the question of vampire spawn.  "Don't you know anything of this land?  You had best be learning quick.  A vampire cannot enter a space unless invited.  Despite their awful powers, they are in a way the least of our concerns.  Just get yourself behind a closed door, and all their rage and hunger avails them nothing... less of course, you're stupid enough to let one in."

He moves toward the gate, not in a threatening way, but as if to herd you back out onto the road.  Before you are back outside, however, a voice calls out from behind him.  

Another man emerges from behind a cottage, chopping axe in hand.  He is older, though not so old as the first man.  He has pronounces scars, which avoid his face but run back through his hair... three long, bumpy bald patches running across his scalp and toward the back of his head.  

"You there," he calls.  "You hunt wolves?  Why?  What business do you have with the devils of Barovia?"

"Demonic lights.  Lightning and fire and unearthly gleaming," Soren repeats the old man's words numbly, feeling more tired by the minute.  He wonders if the old man had seen... a fire elemental?  A will-o'-wisp?  A blue dragon?  An illusion?  Who knows in this strange land.  Probably not a wolf den, though...

He nods in understanding and appreciation at the explanation about vampires (and also about vampire spawn apparently).  He had not known that.  How strange.  Though then, perhaps vampires, being intelligent, would just need to trick their victims into inviting them in...

The druid turns wearily to depart before he hears the scarred man call out.  Not for the first time, the questions do not fully make sense to Soren.  With city-folk, he is beginning to realize how often there are differences in basic assumptions and priorities, though maybe these aren't city-folk.  Lakeshore folk?

"As I explained to your pack-mate who explicitly did not invite us in, we do not hunt wolves.  In the world I come from, wolves are not devils.  Allies often, and a few were my closest friends."  Soren's face is sad, remembering.  "Werewolves are a different story and we did hunt those not long ago.  A skirmish with two of them is how we ended up passing through the mists into this land.  They may well be devils for all I know.  Still, what we hunt is a place and a thing.  A... diviner suggested that something we need lies in or near 'den of wolves in the hills overlooking a mountain lake.'  That is what we seek."

Remembering himself after a moment, he makes a strange bow.  "I thank you for allowing us upon your territory.  I am Soren Thornpaw of Neverwinter Wood, and my companions can introduce themselves as they wish, other than not-Father Giles, who already did.  We tread your soil with respect and will leave when you wish.  Still, I would ask the same question back of you.  Do you have an interest in or knowledge of wolves or wolf dens?"

The scarred man walks closer.  The other, older man, puts up a hand as if to block his way.  "These strangers were just leaving...".  The scarred man brushes past him, eyes fixed on Soren.

"A den of wolves."  The man says it like a curse.  He stares at Soren, then at Burr.  Then he points west.  "Ten years back, the wolves took my boy.  The werewolves.  Dragged him off, alive and screaming.  He was still just a kid... not yet a man grown."  There is malice in his voice, and the axe hefted up on his shoulder is a little unsettling.

"A month later, he returned.  Changed.  They changed him... made him like them.  But he was still my boy.  He wanted to come home."  He chokes up... starts to talk again and then loses he voice.  He turns and walks in a wide circle, dragging the axe now.  The other old man moves closer, but the scarred man pushes him away.  

"He said he had run away.  That he had come back from a place in the hills above Lake Baratok.  Their lair.  He wanted me to help him.  I tried... I tried to take him in."  He points to the scars along his head, a helpless expression on his face.  "But what they did to him... it was too deep.  There was no coming back."

He glowers again to the west, and then back at Soren.  "If its their den you seek, that's where you'll find it.  And if you do... kill every last one of those bastards.  Tell them György sends his regards."

“György.  Ah yes.  Will do,  We will definitely remember that and give them your “regards.”  He looks at him with a knowing look and putting his hand on his dagger, making his meaning clear.  “Right.  Well, we will leave you to … it.  Right?  Come now, Soren, Burr, Zefla.  We have things to do.”  Giles backs up, bowing his head down, indicating that he is finished with the conversation, and starts to turn to go.  

Burr stared at the father who was not a father and nodded slightly then turned to leave....

Zefla listens to the man, her heart feeling a bit of a tug by his story and she asks, "What has happened to your son now?" she can't help herself.  She thinks she knows the answer, but wants to make sure.

"And yes," she looks to her friends as they start to depart, "We will for sure give them your regards." and the halfling gives a little bow as they leave their company, but just as they do, she turns back, "Do you want us to let you know what we find?"

Soren stands still, watching György and listening to his story, told in anger.  He resists Giles' urging to leave, hears Zefla's questions, and adds his own.

"I too have lost family.  Stolen from me by fiery cataclysm rather than by werewolves, and yet I feel an echo of your pain.  You have aided us in our hunt far more than we had any right to expect.  The den overlooks the smaller lake in the Forest of Wolves, then, not Lake Zarovich, and werewolves live in it, not wolves.  As you can see, our weapons are silvered."  He watches the axe-wielder's face to see whether the significance of silver is apparent to him.

"It is hunting werewolves that took us unwilling from our land and brought us here.  We may defeat a werewolf or two.  A whole den, I doubt.  Perhaps we will find other tools or allies before then.  In the meantime, I have only one question to add.  What is your son's name, should we come upon him?"

Burr hesitated at the gate......they had all lost.....he had lost too.....but Burrs most recent loss was hope. For he had none that they would ever escape this place.

The scarred man hears Soren's and Zefla's last questions for him.  He hesitates, and then turns away, looking out over the low wooden wall toward the gate.  

"You won't find my boy with the wolves.  True, we have no silver for weapons here... but a wolf can drown, same as a man."  All at once the nervous energy seems to drain from the man.  He drops the axe and wanders off deeper into the village without another word.

The other old man, however, has renewed interest in you.  "Did you say you wield silvered weapons?  Can you spare some?  Those would come in most handy..." he trails off, looking at the tip of his spear like it has bitterly disappointed him somehow.

It takes a long moment for Soren to understand what György is conveying about his son's fate.  When comprehension comes, the druid draws in a breath.  Being a werewolf is so awful a fate that he drowned his own young for that reason alone!  He swallows, nods, and says no more, turning to depart.

To the old man, he shakes his head apologetically:  "I am sorry that we cannot spare such.  We will be facing werewolves soon enough as likely as not.  We have no silvered arsenal, only the weapons that we use to defend ourselves.  There must be some... blacksmiths?  Silversmiths?  Someone with the craft to create or apply silver to such weapons.  If we find such a person, we will make sure they know they have customers here.  In... Ezüstak?"

Soren is not certain he got the name of the city..., well, maybe town?  Medium-sized town, perhaps.  Anyway, he is not sure he got the name correct, and he is not certain he will ever be back.  He sees Burr's downcast face at the gate as he makes his way out.  The druid's voice is weary with exhaustion.

"When the darkness closes in, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives.  We are our own pack now.  We may have less chance to survive than beasts at bay in a burning forest.  Yet if we give in to despair, then that is the easiest way for the darklord and his allies to win and for us to never be free."

Listening to Soren's departing words, Zefla decides none are needed from her.  She follows Burr to the gate and then nods at it.  "C'mon, let's get moving.  We're wasting daylight."

[Where to?  Back to Vallaki?  Continue exploring?  By what you can tell of the sky it is probably early-mid afternoon.  Maybe 4-5 hours of what passes for daylight here.  If you head straight back to Vallaki you can get there with a few hours to spare before nightfall.]

“I don’t fancy tackling this significant group of werewolves at night, I think we ought to head to Vallaki, rest overnight, and tackle this early morning, what do the rest of you feel?  I wish we had 4 or 5 others to join us, all with silvered weapons.  But I need to have all of my lady’s gifts with me when we try to crack this nut..”. Giles says as he walks, looking to the others for their thoughts.  “And you still look tired as hell, Soren.”  

Just as Giles observes it, his own exhaustion hits Soren like a pouncing jaguar.

"Yes," he mumbles.  "So many tasks ahead of us..."

"Werewolf den north of this Lake Baratok.  Morgantha, who has cursed me, and her witches at the windmill.  Both of those seem daunting quests on the surface of it.  We could even hunt down this reading club of Lady Wachter's in Vallaki.  Yet no matter - I think we should return to the city before they close the gates on us.  And I must try to spend the dark hours at Saint Andral's cathedral in case it can protect me from Morgantha's haunting."

He pauses a moment.  "And the task I forgot to add is that we were going to leave early tomorrow morning to try to reach this Wizard of Wines!"

" Vallaki.", said Burr, without much enthusiasm.

The walk back to Vallaki is uneventful.  The remains of the undead you dispatched still line the trail behind you, mercifully showing no signs of rising again.

Keeping to the established paths, you soon reach the Old Svalich Road again and turn east toward Vallaki.  The guards there check your papers and allow you into the town with a few half-heated 'All will be well's.  It is late afternoon, and the clouds in the sky have taken on a dusky, orange hue in the west, hinting at the presence of a sun but fiendishly denying any glimpse of it.  A few of the meager shops and stores in town are still open, but many folk have returned to their homes for the evening.  The air is filled with the scent of fish and turnips roasting in dozens of kitchens.

Returning to the Blue Water Inn, you walk into the middle of an argument.  More than a dozen patrons stand in front of the bar, shouting at the barkeep, Urwin Martikov.  He is standing behind the bar with his arms raised but speaking calmly, trying to control the crowd.  The two wolf hunters are standing along side of him, as is another dark-haired man you think you may have seen around the tavern last night.

"I understand," Urwin says.  "I am sorry but there is nothing I can do about the wine for right now.  While I am sure we will receive more soon, there is simply no more for tonight.  Please, we have plenty of food... our friends Szoldar and Yevgeni have brought back plenty of fresh wolf steaks.  Allow me to offer those, on the house, as an apology for our supply issues.  Just please, everyone, calm yourselves."

A few members of the crowd seem placated by the offer of a comped meal, but other still shout about the inadequacy of the solution, or cry out that the Martikovs and the wolf hunters must be keeping the rest of the wine for themselves.

Seeing you walk in, Urwin looks at each of you and slowly raises and then lowers his hands a few times as if to say Let us calm things down.

“Please, please, everyone, calm down and take your seats.  Good Mr. Martikov is telling the truth.  In the morning, we are going to investigate the cause of the decreased production from the winery.  All will be well, we just need some time to look into this.  Hmmm?”  Giles walks up front toward Urwin, holding his hands together in contemplation and exudes calm in an unctuous manner, trying to soothe the grumpy patrons in the Inn.  

Soren's senses are on edge with the palpable anger in the air.  The feeling of a pack turning against itself, a rebellion of bees inside a hive lacking honey...

As Giles begins to move, Soren reaches out to Silvanus and gently taps the not-Father's back, granting him Guidance before he speaks.

The druid himself remains in the background, trying, despite his unfamiliarity with "city ways", to get a feel for whether the situation is likely to turn violent.

Soren Insight at disadvantage due to exhaustion:  12

Burr simply hefted his maul up and across his shoulders giving a non-verbal hint as to what may happen if Giles advice is not taken....

Intimidation- 3