Not even two days in this country and already I feel so naked and vulnerable. This name of the land -- "Barovia" -- it saps the very heat from my breath as it shudders out my lungs. The ground sloshes uneasily beneath my feet, moistened to the consistency of putrid flesh by the nigh-daily rain and blood spilt (more on that later). The natives bustle insularly until I pass, at which point their vibrance is snuffed out, and smoldering paranoia left in its place; rarely do feet not shuffle and heads not duck as I make my way down the cobblestone.
In this short time our family has stumbled into all trouble except that which we seek. Each morning the streets are lined with viscera, the only remains of those unfortunate enough to be caught out in the evening by the roving packs. From Vebrek, I hear tell, a pack of wolf men come, and they take no leisure when searching for those to offer as tribute to their dreadful "Wolf God" (see notes for further detailing).
We find sanctuary in the nearby temple, though from the looks of its interior you might think otherwise. A sun-worshipping cult guards a tomb here, full of restless spirits. Many soldiers descend to combat them, but few ever return.
However, despite these troubling events, not all is bad. We have made friends here, some who may prove sympathetic to our cause. Among them two able fighters, a Sister and a Brother -- even a priest of the Lawgiver -- have joined us in comradery. Most peculiar of these allies: Mister Gideon. I was offput at first at his misguided superstition, and wary of his allegiance, but...
He is a kind man. A good man. He is growing closer to us, more dear to me and my kin, closer at a worrying rate. I pray that he will understand should he ever find out...
