Under raging stormcloud, a lone figure stands silhouetted against the ancient walls of Castle Ravenloft. The vampire Count Strahd von Zarovich stares down a sheer cliff at the village below. A cold, bitter wind spins dead leaves about him, billowing his cape in the darkness. Lightning splits the clouds overhead, casting stark
white light across him. Strahd turns to the sky, revealing the angular muscles of his face and hands. He
has a look of power-and of madness. His once handsome face is contorted by a tragedy darker than the
night itself.
Rumbling thunder pounds the castle spires. The
wind's howling increases as Strahd turns his gaze back
to the village. Far below, yet not beyond his ken, a party
of adventurers has just entered his domain. Strahd's
face forms a twisted smile as his dark plan unfolds.
He knew they were coming, and he knows why they
have come-all according to his plan. He, the master of
Ravenloft, will attend to them.
Another lightning flash rips through the darkness, its
thunder echoing through the castle's towers. But Strahd
is gone. Only the howling of the wind-or perhaps a lone
wolf-fills the midnight air. The master of Raven loft is