A Return to Ravenloft
Ravenloft is not the name of the world, or even necessarily a land. It is the name of an ancient castle in the land of Barovia, deep in a collection of domains known as the Core. It has also been adopted as the name of the city built by outworlders known as the Seven Saints around this castle, and the county that surrounds it. The world itself has no name, being merely “the world”, though it is occasionally spoken of poetically as “our Land of Mists”. Strange travelers claiming to come from distant worlds sometimes call it the “Demiplane of Dread”, but most locals laugh at their hyperbole and many doubt their sanity.
It has been two hundred years since Count Strahd von Zarovich was defeated by the Seven. Only elves and dwarves are long-lived enough to have remembered that time, and nearly none lived in this place, only a handful of dusk elves living in their enclave in the Svalich and some crag dwarves from deep within the mountains.
Strange portals are opening inside the City of Ravenloft, letting strange and dangerous creatures through. Outworlders are changing Barovia, though many still cling to the old ways. The Mists are still restless, however. Even after 200 years, the curse has not subsided. What will you do?
Lost. It is the only way to describe the feeling that builds in your stomach, hitches in your throat and forces your mind into a haze – a haze not unlike the thick mist that blankets the edges of this world; its cold tendrils act as a lure, feathery against your skin until it seeps into your bones and touches your very soul.
They some say can fight this feeling – the dread that looms before us all. These ones, we call them one of two things; Eroii – heroes. The others, we cast them into a meaning so dark it is rarely uttered without proper cause – Monștri.
In the mist that terrorizes our world, Heros and Monsters emerge. The Fahtah may cast her mystic droning towards the spirits of the long-dead, but no matter what it is that comes out of the shrouded gates, they are yawning awake after their eternal slumber… it bodes ill here, for some say that a hero is just a monster of another kind.
To believe you have a choice is to be a fool – there is no hope for this place – turn back! Return to your sleepy villages and your realms of indescribable splendor! Go back to where the sun warms your face and the stars bless your footfalls!
… But you cannot, can you? If you could, you would have left already. If you could, you would not be a Traveller.
What will your Fate bring you?
One thing is for certain; your Fate has not been so kind. Or perhaps it is ours that your presence will cast its light upon?
What are you Traveller? Erou or Monștru?
Know this – it may not be for you to decide.