[center][h1]The Gates of Barovia[/h1][/center]

As the chaperone trotted forward, towering trees, whose innumerable canopies lost forever in heavy smog, continued to block out all but a death-gray light. The trunks lingered unnaturally close to one another, and the eerie timberland still possessed the silence of a forgotten grave. The collective softened hoof beats exuded the pity of an unvoiced scream. The scent of exhumed tombs frequented the air once fog spewed out of the forest to swallow up the road behind the remnant of the treading cabal. 

Ahead, jutting from the impenetrable woods on both sides of the path, stood high mesolithic buttresses looming grim in the hoary haze. Huge iron gates hung like nooses, precariously on the intricate stonework, worthy of dwarven appraisal. Dew clung with cold tenacity to the rusted bars, hoping to hinder another droplet’s inevitable descent to the depths below. Two headless statues of armed guardians flanked the metallic portal, their bald heads tossed now lying among the weeds at their feet. 

Their lack of smiles invited all with disappointment.

[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/au4uWlXh.jpg[/img][/center]

Markus suddenly galloped onward.