You imagine this must be what Avery went through when he died. One minute you were punching direwolves in the face, the next Lassalot’s spell went wide and your flesh erupted in blisters. The look on the other elf’s face when she realized what happened will be forever burned into your mind.
You knew you should have run, all of you. You're no match for Strahd yet, your only salvation lay in retreat. But your realization occurred just as the hot breath of death brushed past your ear and the jaws of a direwolf clamped down on your shoulder.
You jolt awake to muttering in the darkness, but when you open your eyes the blackness remains. You blink a few times and squint, trying to make out any possible shapes before you. You turn your head, shake it a few times and try squinting...
Please subscribe to keep reading.