The druid nodded at the question, having known it would come eventually. She responded in her soft gentle way, even as the fog around them began to thicken and deepen, blotting out even the moonlight in that moment.<br/><br/>"I can, though there are none like me in my village. I grew up in a druid commune to the east of here. I washed ashore on the tide one morning, and a village elder found me floating among the waves. It is where my surname, Tideborne comes from. He raised me as his daughter, and taught me the ways of our people. He said that my race are called genasi, though I have never met their kind in my travels.”<br/><br/>The druid looked out wistfully for a moment, even as the fog began to part before them, showing them a break in the trees, beyond which could be seen the remnant of a heavy wrought iron gate.<br/><br/>“That is odd, I do not remember such a structure so near to the inn. We should be in the midst of the woods by now, not approaching civilization.”<br/><br/>The way ahead was blocked by this heavy iron gate, a monolithic structure that seemed to stretch across the path, flanked at either side by old, ruined statues of knights in finely appointed splendor. Their headless figures still stand guard, their figures worn away by time and elements. The weapons they once held, cast in black steel, lay at their feet.<br/><br/>The weapons gleam in the low light of fog, more resistant than the stone limbs that once held them. Their design seems antiquated, but still surprisingly intact for their apparent age. One is a shining shortsword, vicious of mien, and its hilt marked with a screaming face. The other is a scimitar, marked with eldritch patterns of unknown and unknowable origins.<br/><br/><strong>DM: Please feel free to make what checks you feel are appropriate to this circumstance. Welcome to Barovia ;)</strong>