"I don't know," Otis says peering up at the bird. "A little more target practice sounds fun." He swings his crossbow around and tracks the raven across the sky. "I say trust your gut there, Rav." The gnome shoots a grin to the others. "What do you say...? A gold for the one to bring it down?"

As Otis begins to track the bird, he notices that closely behind the raven, is an unkindness of ravens, totaling about 15 of them. The flock is about 10 ft behind the one Kraerd spotted. They remain quiet and what can only be seen as a respectable distance away from the group. 

“I don’t think this is a good idea... whoever has sent the raven already knows who we are and we’re we are headed. If it’s a foe, there’s nothing we can do about it now. If it’s a potential ally, wich I doubt but things are strange in your lands, he could think twice to help those who swing their axes first and ask questions later... and I met once a Druid that was really attached to one deer... and she was not happy that we were hunting it...”

"I agree with Kraerd." Zeuves stays close to Shariel and walks reason to him but also keeps his eyes sharp on the raven and the conspiracy spread out across the branches of the tree behind it. He tries to confirm any of his suspicions but fails to, and it only makes him more frustrated and wary. "We should not attack or cause unnecessary damage. I can't shake this feeling that we are being tested, by man or the Gods, hate to be true this time around. Let's move on, but stay sharp." He tries to see through the damned fog almost uncertain where to go anymore.

When Otis calls out the large flock of ravens, Rav frowns. "That is odd... ravens do not normally fly in flocks like that. They are solitary creatures. I do not like this beast spying on us, but given this new knowledge... I cannot help but feel you two are right about this. Let us continue quickly, I tire of this fog and being followed by mysterious birds."

You continue down the path for a while. Tall shapes loom out of the dense fog that surrounds everything. The muddy ground underfoot gives way to slick, wet cobblestones. The tall shapes become recognizable as village dwellings. The windows of each house stare out from pools of blackness. No sound cuts the silence except for mournful sobbing that echoes through the streets from a distance. Walking down the streets you can see claw marks covering some of the doors and exteriors of some buildings. Continuing down the streets, you can see a single shaft of light thrusting 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. Further down the the sobbing and moaning grows louder.

"Fog, ravens, and incessant mourning. This Barovia isn't going to get many recommendations from the Sword Coast Tourism Council," Marius hisses as the group approaches the tavern. He peers into the common room, looking for signs of life.

Marius peers into the main room of the inn. The inn is fairly empty except for five people. A tall lanky bartender dressed in dreary, almost dusty looking clothes. The clothing seems outdated compared to what you’re used to in Neverwinter. He has a long pale face, with vapid eyes focused on polishing wine glasses. Among many empty tables, one is filled with three women. The three women have a darker skin tone than the bartender, almost as if they have seen more sun. Their clothes are also brighter and more vibrant. The last patron of the bar, sits alone in the corner. He has long gray hair and is dressed in a more regal set of clothes.

Marius hustles back towards the rest of the ground and describes what he saw in the tavern.

"They do not seem terribly distressed or interested in whatever the wailing is down the way. Which one should we check out first?"

"I don't care, but I guess that those people haven't breathe good air in years..." 

Zeuves is among the last to step inside, inhaling the stale and humid smell of the interior of the tavern. He studies the faces of the patrons and the bartender searching for any sign of tensed attention or surprise as strangers arrive. He cannot tell at first, and the darker-skinned women clad in clothing that might have faired well in Luskan. He sighs in a reserved manner and looks at the rest. "We should rest and inquire of our location, and where we head next. Does anyone still have the request letter?"

Shariel surveys the town with visible distrust. The wailing was unsettling to say the least and brought back memories of smoke and ruin, "Eight keep me, what did we walk into?" Zeuves' question shook her just enough to respond, "I'd like to know why people are mourning more than why people are drinking. Let's just get what we need and get going."

Upon entering the inn, the three women see you first. They perk up, straightening their hair and putting on a nice smile for their new companions, you can hear small gossip and giggles that weren't present before. It seems the new travelers have brought some interest and life into this dreary town. The gentleman in the corner also seems to take a little notice. The bartender could not be bothered.

     "Right? This town is seem ripe for some gentrification. Inject some new blood in here to liven things up a bit " Otis follows behind the rest into the inn. "Or why more people aren't drinking around here. Doesn't seem like much else to do. Hmm. Anyways..." He pulls out the letter from a shirt in response to Zeuves questions. Unfolding it, he quickly reads through it it again. "Yes, let's see here... Could any you fine folks point us in the direction of a...," the gnome squints trying to work through the salutation," Kool... Coal-yawn... In-deer... my this is a mouthful... In-deer-O-vich... vick. How about just the Burgermaster?"

When Otis reads the letter, the man in the coughs on his wine. "And what business would you have with the Burgomaster? Come sit. Let us talk and drink a little, on me." Ismark calls to the bartender, "Arik! Let us have a couple pitchers of wine. You can put it on my tab." With that last remark the three woman scoff.

The big goliath pulls a chair and sits, the wood creaking under the weight of the immense barbarian. 

He smiles to the man and let the others do the talking.

Shariel stays as close as she can to the window. Part of it was paranoia of this strange place, but feeling a draft re-centered her nerves. "This Burgomaster person sent for us, apparently. We're here for a job, then to get out as quick as possible." The elf's visible discomfort with the place takes a toll on her tact.

Zeuves joins Kraerd at the table, turning his chair so he can hold his eyes on the room full of patrons most of whom had already been studying them with curiosity and interest. "How good are you at identifying location by night sky?" He asks the goliath while Otis seems preoccupied with the locals. "I fear we are not where we must be if we trust maps alone. I hear those are magicks of the zulkirs of the East, pray we don't have encountered a nest of their evil."

“You won’t have to worry about that too much.” Ismark says to Zeuves as he refills his wine glass, “The sky rarely is clear enough to see more than the moon at night. My name is Ismark, But what is this about a message from the Burgomaster. I’d love to know more about it.” Ismark turns his attention to the gnome.

      "I won't be turning a free drink down." Otis saunters over to the table and pours himself a cup of wine. "The way here has been exciting to say the least." He downs half of his drink before the taste hits him. Pulling back with a sour face, he looks a his cup. "Whew! You can certainly taste the terroir in that, can't ya? Eh, I've had worse I suppose." He shrugs, takes another sip and crawls up into a chair. "Much appreciative for the drink, Ismark. But I believe that is between us and the Burgomaster."