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[s@squ@tch]

"Curse this abominable weather," mutters Delkat as he wraps the cloak tighter around his shoulders.

"It appears even this land is against my lord."

It has been days since he has basked in the glory of the sun, let alone been dry for longer than an hour or two. It has come down to this -- his wet footwear has begun to take its toll on his feat, and he is running out of his curative cantrips to soothe the blisters that are forming more quickly each time.

The trek has been hard on him, but it has given his mind plenty of time to ponder his options and what he might find in Barovia.

His map shows Dunfield as his logical rest stop for the night, so he is willing his body onward for the last few miles.

He has spotted a group behind him, and although they have shown no outward malice, they are still not to be trusted -- he has already dispatched with two groups of self-styled 'highwaymen' so far in the past two days...

He would not be too opposed to bringing some of the focused rays of the sun into this horrid landscape, if only to make himself feel better.