I AM THE ANCIENT ... I AM THE LAND ..."

Your screams still echo in your room. Cold sweat soaks the bedsheets and trickles down your back.

It seemed so real! The great towers of a darksome place called Ravenloft ... it's misty vales and the terrible tragedy of a man who had sold his soul to unlife. Now the sunlight streams through the window with the promise of a new day. The dread nightmare at last is over.

In the cold sunlight of a dying autumn, you step from your room at the inn and stroll along the friendly streets of Mordentshire. But, from the back of your mind the dream creeps forward to haunt you. Why do the faces of those who have befriended you now seem those of strangers? Why do those who called you here in terror, now seem to dismiss your task as a folly?

More .. why are you advised so strongly, to forget about the House on Gryphon Hill ... the domain of the fair haired Count Von Zarovich, a name that cries out from your dark nightmare?

You halt, as the swirl of events grow more confusing with every passing minute. Which is the dream ... and which the reality?