"Ominous." Orilo muttered upon seeing the sign on the way in. When the man pipes in with his offer, the giant eyes him for a moment or two, and then makes his way over with a quiet, "Sure. Why not." muttered under his breathe. Seeing the shady folk in the corner, he makes sure to take a seat in such a place as to keep at least a loose eye on them once drinks come his way. 

"So what are you on about?" He asks briskly. 

"My name is Ismark. Ismark Kol­yanovich." He says, sitting you all down. "I am the son of the Burgomaster of Barovia. I would like to request your aid in protecting my adopted sister, Ireena Kolyana. If you agree to help me, I can take you to the burgomaster’s residence to meet her. I specifically need help escorting Ireena to Vallaki, a settlement in the heart of the valley, beyond the view of Castle Ravenloft and, I hope, beyond the reach of the Vampire Strahd. I've heard that Vallaki is well-defended. If you accept, I can explain more at my Father's home."

Innkeeper: Neutral
Ismark: Very Friendly
Shady humans: Neutral

While the bartender has a glossy trance over his face, the shady humans turn to your group occasionally, listening, but making no hostile moves. They look like gypsies, native to this land.

"Before my companions and I go any further, we're going to need two things. First, we're going to need you to explain what this fog is and why it's ferrying us from place to place and keeping us from leaving these lands. Second, we'll need a place to rest and something to drink." Anborn stops for a second. "Technically that's three things, but it's been a long day and I really couldn't give less of a shit."

(Ismark pays for all the drink and food you want.)

Updating soon.

Ismark nods, accepting the questions. "By the will of the Dark Powers of Strahd, the sun never fully shines in the lands of Barovia, here. Even during the day, the sky is dimmed by fog or storm clouds, or the light is strangely muted. The fog is a horrible manifestation of these Dark Powers, controlled by The Vampire Lord. It's how he lures the unexpected, guides them to his spawn and his traps. Many come. No one leaves."

He pauses for a moment. "You may eat and drink your fill here, and there are rooms upstairs. I hope you will consider my offer. Ireena is in terrible danger."

"Well Ismark, it looks like today might be your lucky day, because you've just stumbled upon a group of people who aren't too fond of the Vampire Lord and I for one would gladly help your sister if it means that Strahd doesn't get what he wants. But we'll have to do it tomorrow. We just got through a pretty intense battle with a giant pile of shit. It's not as ridiculous as it sounds, you really would've had to been there. Just take my word for it. We're exhausted."

"... I believe we came here for that reason, correct? Before we got side tracked. That letter we had received previously states her name." Winter speaks finally, sliding whatever alcoholic drink was put in front of her to the middle of the table for anyone to help themselves to. She looks at Ismark. "What is she in danger from, exactly? That letter was very vague."

To Winter: "Strahd himself has..taken an interest in her, for some unknown reason. Everything will be explained in the Burgomaster's home come morning, and you will see. For now, rest."

To Anborn: "Excellent!" Ismark beams, "Allow me to pay for your rooms. In the morning, meet me at my father's mansion."

(He tells you where it is.)

As the evening progresses, you guys can do what you will, but before you pack in for the night, the three humans in the corner who look like gypsies observe you, and one of them, a woman, says from the table something along the lines of "Make sure you have your fortunes read by Madam Eva." (She tells you the location of her caravan and troupe)

Innkeeper: Neutral
Ismark: Very Friendly
Shady humans: Friendly

A. Bildrath’s Mercantile: The sparse light from this building spills out from behind drawn heavy curtains. A sign over the door, creaking on its hinges, reads “Bildrath’s Mercantile.”

B. Blood of the Vine Tavern: **COMPLETE**A single shaft of light thrusts illumination into the main square, its brightness looking like a solid pillar in the heavy fog. Above the gaping doorway, a sign hangs precariously askew, proclaiming this to be the Blood on the Vine tavern.

C. Mad Mary’s Townhouse: A moaning sob floats through the still, gray streets, coloring your thoughts with sadness. The sounds flow from a dark, two-story townhouse.

D. Burgomaster’s Mansion: A weary-looking mansion squats behind a rusting iron fence. The iron gates are twisted and torn. The right gate lies cast aside, while the left swings lazily in the wind. The stuttering squeal and clang of the gate repeats with mindless precision. Weeds choke the grounds and press with menace upon the house itself. Yet, against the walls, the growth has been tramped down to create a path all about the domain. Heavy claw markings have stripped the once-beautiful finish of the walls. Great black marks tell of the fires that have assailed the mansion. Not a pane nor a shard of glass stands in any window. All the windows are barred with planks, each one marked with stains of evil omen.

E. Church: Atop a slight rise, against the roots of the pillar stone that supports Castle Ravenloft, stands a gray, sagging edifice of stone and wood. This church has obviously weathered the assaults of evil for centuries on end and is worn and weary. A bell tower rises toward the back, and flickering light shines through holes in the shingled roof. The rafters strain feebly against their load.

F. Madam Eva. Down the road out of Barovia is the caravan and troupe of Madam Ave, a Vistani fourtune teller. The Vistani are a wandering ***** people of unknown origin to you all. So far.

Orilo throws out a non-committal "Mn" of agreement to Ismark as the man takes his leave, having by then take a greater interest in the gypsies and Elya. He never works up the willpower to go over and converse, but perked up considerably at the word fortunes being read. After a moment's pause, old bones are forced into picking the giant back up after down the remainder of his tankard. "Know not that this Eva. But fortunes respected where I from." He looks to the others. "Before rest, I intend to go." He states. And though he doesn't outright say it, there's a question felt both by the look and words of 'Will you come' or 'What of the rest of you?' underneath it all.

"Fortunes in stories can be... vague at best. But they can be important. Or they can be ruses. I would think there's a chance we'll learn something. Although, Orilo, I think we should wait for the morning. It's outside the town, yes? It's already dark. Wouldn't want to get attacked by something deep in the night." Song sips his water - alcohol is for occasions where his faculties are not needed.

"And I wish to help this Ireena and her brother. That's part of why we're here to begin with."

Anborn drinks one last mug of ale before getting up from the table. "I think that a visit with Madam Eva might do some good. It would let us know what fresh horror awaits instead of it coming as a total surprise." Before he leaves, he turns to Winter. "By the way, I don't think that I caught your name earlier and I don't think that I can continue to call you Ice Queen all the time. Would you mind telling it to me?"

"I don't usually have any belief in fortunes, but the past few days have made me a bit superstitious."

Letting out a nervous laugh, Elya quickly composes herself.

"I agree with Song, let's rest now and then go to the fortune teller's after we meet with the Burgomaster."

Orilo looks to the growing dark outside, and is silent for a time. Then with a sigh, he looks back to Song and says, "Not one to chance things.... But, morning meeting will be an involved thing, it feels. Rather not risk putting off portent, and folk move on before next day is out." He cracks his neck one last time, dons his shield again, and starts walking using the directions given so long as the fog doesn't impede his journey.

Unfortunately, the fog has other plans for you. It surrounds the town and does not let you leave. If you do spend the night at the tavern, it is a quiet evening.

D. The Burgomaster’s Mansion

MORNING

A weary-looking mansion squats behind a rusting iron fence. The iron gates are twisted and torn. The right gate lies cast aside, while the left swings lazily in the wind. The stuttering squeal and clang of the gate repeats with mindless precision. Weeds choke the grounds and press with menace upon the house itself. Yet, against the walls, the growth has been tramped down to create a path all about the domain. Heavy claw markings have stripped the once-beautiful finish of the walls. Great black marks tell of the fires that have assailed the mansion. Not a pane nor a shard of glass stands in any window. All the windows are barred with planks, each one marked with stains of evil omen.

You knock.

Ismark opens the door and lets you all in.

The interior of the mansion is well furnished, yet the fixtures show signs of great wear. Noticeable oddities are the boarded-up windows and the presence of holy symbols in every room. The burgomaster is in a side drawing room on the floor — lying in a simple wooden coffin surrounded by wilting flowers and a faint odor of decay.

Ismark: Very friendly
Ireena: Wary

(I'll allow a bit of RPing before continuing)

Corrin looks about uneasily at the claw marks then boarded windows and, at last, the open casket. "Nice, um, home you have here, sir," he attempts politely, while casting a look at his allies and muttering under his breath. "It will be nicer when we've left it behind." The halfling nonchalantly walks about looking for anything (if possible) even more unusual about the home and, of course, if there are any wayward trinkets that catch his attention, while keeping an eye on their hosts as well.

Perception: 12

Anborn walks in and just spends a minute to look about the entire place. "Congratulations on owning the nicest house in Barovia." Anborn doesn't say anything more, but from the tone of his voice, it's clear that he's damning this house with faint praise.

Earlier (because working suks):

Winter looks up to Anborn and takes a second to respond. "Ice queen shall suffice for now," She also gets up from the table, a barely noticeable smirk playing on her lips, contrast to her usual deadpan visage. "It's Winter." Without anything else to say, she excuses herself and heads up to her rented room to rest.

Now:

The rogue is back to her usual stoic demeanor, her arms crossed in front of her chest as her eyes glances about the mansion before finally settling on the coffin in the room. "... Is that normal?" She inquires to no one in particular.

Before Times:

Orilo returned to the tavern before long radiating annoyance, and head straights for his room. Alone and in the quiet, rest is put off for a few minutes more for the half-breed. Anyone sleeping in an adjacent room or passing by his door could swear an unnatural cold emanating from it. And listening close, one could swear they heard his voice again, talking in the strange tongue from last. When folk see him in the morning, he walks not only with more purpose, but something new had been etched along the outer rim face of his shield, joining the strange menagerie of symbols.

Now: 

The moment Orilo laid eyes upon the burgomaster, divine senses were opened and a look more closely given to the house. Once assured the corpse was just a corpse, the tension eases in his shoulder. "No choice." He pipes, answering in part for Ismark. "This place... These lands are cursed. But not all. Not wholly." He folds his arms, and just look towards Ireena next if visible. And if not, he just waits for Ismark to clear things up. 

Earlier:

She sleep.

Now:

"We were called by the Burgomaster to help someone on his behalf, but is there anything we can do for him?"

Looking around, she takes in the holy symbols and the general ravaging of the outside and frowns,

"Surely you have someone who takes care of this place, or who can help you repair things?"