The True and Impossible Adventures of Tenebrux Morrow, Vol. 3
Much is made of Barovia's gloomy climate. It is said the mists there confuse the mind and torment the soul, binding travellers in a grip of such despair that escape is impossible to contemplate. As the New Bride parted that heavy fog, I confess that I felt no such malaise beyond the onset of a rather stuffy nose. The same, I fear, could not be said of my crew. Among those who had not already cast themselves overboard, the gibbering and weeping became such that I was forced to bind them to the mast entire, and navigate my fair Bride alone. I went in search of that plane's dark master, having been informed that even my ship could not hope to breach the planar boundaries without permission. And so I probed the mists, defiant at the helm and belting out a lively shanty of my own composition The invitation did not long go unanswered. He appeared like the passing of a shadow overhead, sudden and terrifying. Or certainly, that was his intention - but once the mutual assurances of destruction were dispensed with, we found in one another kindred spirits, and fell to conversing in earnest. At length, a price for my passage was agreed. Of that price, and that man, I will say only this: he is surprisingly excellent company, given the stories - and the teeth do not get in the way nearly so much as one would think.