The wind's howling increases as Strahd turns his gaze back to the village. Rumbling thunder pounds the castle spires. His once-handsome face is contorted by a tragedy darker than the night itself. Strahd turns to the sky, revealing the angular muscles of his face and hands. Lightning splits the clouds overhead, casting stark white light across him.
A cold, bitter wind spins dead leaves around him, billowing his cape in the darkness.
Count Strahd von Zarovich stares down a sheer cliff at the village below.
Under raging stormclouds, a lone figure stands silhouetted against the ancient walls of castle Ravenloft.
