**Chaya’s Journal Entry**
*Date Unknown, Barovia*
As I sit in the strange and unsettling Steinman’s workshop?(I do not know the correct word for this strange place) I cannot tell the day nor the time—it is as if the sun itself fears to shine here. The land is cloaked in a perpetual gloom, and the mists never seem to part, always curling around me like claws eager to snatch me away. This place… I did not intend to come here. I only wished to find my brother, to meet him at the place we agreed upon, but he never came. I waited as long as I dared before following the trail he left. That path led me to this, and now I fear it has led me into a nightmare.
The air here feels heavy, oppressive, as though the very land mourns its own existence. It chills me in ways I cannot explain, and yet, it is not the cold that unnerves me—it is the silence. No birdsong, no rustling leaves. Only the occasional mournful howl of wolves that seem too close for comfort. And then there are my dreams…
Wolves haunt my sleep. I dream of the large black wolf’s eyes, glowing crimson in the darkness, watching me from the shadows. They do not lunge, nor do they howl; they simply watch, as though waiting for something. Last night, the dream was worse. I was on the road, the same one I traveled earlier that day, and the wolves attacked. Their fangs tore through me as I screamed, but I could not wake. I felt every bite, every claw, until finally, I opened my eyes. I was drenched in sweat, my breath ragged, and for a moment, I could swear I saw pawprints in the dirt near my bedroll.
When I finally reached the village, I thought I might find some semblance of safety. Instead, I was greeted by horror. At the edge of the square, a man hung from a building, his body swaying in the faint breeze. His face was pale and contorted, his eyes wide with the terror of his final moments.
I could not look away. I should have prayed for him, offered words of peace to guide his soul, but my voice caught in my throat. It was then I realized the villagers were watching me, their eyes filled with fear, suspicion, and resignation. They said nothing, only turned away, retreating into their homes and bolting their doors.
Who is this Lord that inspires such terror? What kind of place have I stumbled into, and why does it feel like something—or someone—is watching me at every turn? I clutch my holy symbol and whisper Selûne’s name, but even her light feels dim here. I am afraid. Afraid for my brother, afraid for myself, and afraid of what this land will demand of me before I can leave.
But I will not give up hope. Selûne will guide me through this darkness. Give me the strength to find my brother and the courage to face whatever evil holds this land in its grip. Let your light be a beacon in this unending darkness.
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