Evening in Barovia met you with its customary, cheerless portrait: dirt roads rutted by time and despair, and the skeletal forms of leafless trees that whispered only fear and dismay to any soul wandering these lands. You trudged down the road toward the nearest settlement, hoping to reach it before nightfall and praying to any god that might listen to spare you from the dire wolves or other, fouler things that stalk the darkness.

But to your dismay, your path was blocked. A recently felled log lay across the road, and before it stood a man in garish clothes, his skin tanned by other suns. He stood with arms crossed, clearly waiting for some fool to stumble into his trap. The air itself was thick with the scent of rotting leaves, the coming cold, smoke, and something faintly sour.

Your fate is in your hands. It is for you to decide what happens next.