The fog came thick and fast as you crossed the bridge, faster than you've ever seen. You dropped into a trance and the light of the world faded from in front of you.

You are awake now. The fog remains, thick behind and clearing only slightly in front. The horse that had drawn your carriage of trade goods is nowhere to be seen, though a trail of blood drags off toward... you can't say. An alley, a street, a doorway. You can only vaguely make out the shapes of buildings lining the road you are on and none of them clearly. The fog seems to deaden the sound of the world though uncertain noises float to your ears. Crows or screams? Scraping or hammering? You cannot say for sure.