Whispers in the Mist


“And with that, the heroes bravely set out into the fog, towards the unknown.”

The chamber was deathly quiet as usual, but there was a chilly rage floating in the air after that sentence. Six robbed figures stood around the center speaker, bathed in sickly corpse light from black iron braziers.

“What have you done?” the tall figure demanded.

The Rhapsodist smirked, “Whatever do you mean, brother?”

“Curse you. Strahd was the lynchpin of our plans. In one foolish stroke you have undone centuries of work,” the weeping one hissed.

“Strahd was boring and pathetic. As was any plan built upon his brooding shoulders,” the Rhapsodist said. A mummer rose from the other figures.

“You’ve been planning this since you started your song!” the stunted figure said.

“Indeed, brother. The time has come to end this stagnant piece.”

“So we are to return to the Mists? Forgotten once more?” she claimed.

“No, my dear sister. Never forgotten. Can you not already feel it—-or are you too consumed by petty rage over your broken toy?” jeered the Rhapsodist.

“I can feel it,” the silent one said. The others looked at the darkened figure as it spoke for the first time in a thousand years. “Yes,” it continued, “we are free.”

“How?” asked the monstrous figure.

“I wouldn’t expect you to understand the nuances of the drama, but simply put: they broke the pact. Our prison has grown.” the bard said.

“You tricked them. They had no knowledge,” the monster said.

“They didn’t need knowledge,” said the witch. Nodding towards the quiet one she added, “Unlike death, life is quite unfair.”

“The Mists have grown tremendously,” the tall specter said.

“Indeed. The Shadowfell is ours. Reclaimed from the usurper,” the weeping one mocked.

“The walls of our prison have grown, but we are still imprisoned” said the stunted speaker.

“True, but we control a third of the world now. Once we pull the rest into the Mists, we will control everything. And the gods will watch as their creation is plunged into darkness.” The Rhapsodist sang.

“What of your players? You’ve certainly sent them on a path towards us,” challenged the monster said.

The bard laughed. The sound was alien in the darkness of the chamber. “No great victory was ever won without conflict, brother,” he said, “We will face them soon enough. And their defeat will be our greatest triumph,”

Whispers in the Mist

Lost in the Mists ignatiusvienna