After the party pays the guard opens the gate for them to pass. As you leave, you notice the other guards scrambling around trying to pick up the gold pieces that Sir ExSixTen scattered about.
Exiting the tunnel you are greeted by the city of Harmonia. Large stone buildings tower above you, much grander in design to that of the last venture into Ravenloft. As you walk down the streets, nearby vendors sing the praises of their wares in their melodious voices:
Meekulbrau! Imported from Skald! Only five gold for a wineskin! A drink a day keeps your teeth from becoming gray!
Could I interest you in fine wolf-skin rugs? The wolves don't need them anymore. They cannot afford them because they are now too poor!
As the party walks on the they notice that singing can be heard coming from most of the surrounding areas. Laborers doing their daily routine, the proprietor of the nearby inn, a grand opera coming from the local amphitheater; coming from all can be heard voices loud with song. It seems like music is party of the inhabitants daily lives.
As the group meanders down a narrow road however, the singing grows quieter and quieter. Suddenly a short, leathery skinned old man comes bounding out of a building just down the street. He is carrying an old short sword in one hand while a ring of skeleton keys flails about in his other. He spots the party and dashes towards the group with panic in his eyes. Although your command of the local language is still weak, you are able to make out his words.
"Help! Help!" he cries. When he reaches the group he stumbles to a halt. "Help, I say! One of me inmates has escaped his cell! And I'll be cursed if 'e ain't a mean one!" As he draws his hand across his dark forehead, you see that it comes away soaked in blood. A nasty gash runs along his hairline, above his left eye. Help! 'e can't be let escape into the city!
Exiting the tunnel you are greeted by the city of Harmonia. Large stone buildings tower above you, much grander in design to that of the last venture into Ravenloft. As you walk down the streets, nearby vendors sing the praises of their wares in their melodious voices:
Meekulbrau! Imported from Skald! Only five gold for a wineskin! A drink a day keeps your teeth from becoming gray!
Could I interest you in fine wolf-skin rugs? The wolves don't need them anymore. They cannot afford them because they are now too poor!
As the party walks on the they notice that singing can be heard coming from most of the surrounding areas. Laborers doing their daily routine, the proprietor of the nearby inn, a grand opera coming from the local amphitheater; coming from all can be heard voices loud with song. It seems like music is party of the inhabitants daily lives.
As the group meanders down a narrow road however, the singing grows quieter and quieter. Suddenly a short, leathery skinned old man comes bounding out of a building just down the street. He is carrying an old short sword in one hand while a ring of skeleton keys flails about in his other. He spots the party and dashes towards the group with panic in his eyes. Although your command of the local language is still weak, you are able to make out his words.
"Help! Help!" he cries. When he reaches the group he stumbles to a halt. "Help, I say! One of me inmates has escaped his cell! And I'll be cursed if 'e ain't a mean one!" As he draws his hand across his dark forehead, you see that it comes away soaked in blood. A nasty gash runs along his hairline, above his left eye. Help! 'e can't be let escape into the city!
