Follow the road to Isenvlad

Still smarting - and feeling a bit drained - from your unfortunate encounter with the chaun, you decide civilization is what you need. You stagger onto the road and begin following the intermittent signposts towards Isenvlad. You are so weary you have to sit down and rest multiple times. The sky begins to darken and you grow worried that you will be stuck in the forest still. Feeling sorry for yourself, you sit down beside the road and hang your head. When you lift your head again you realize you have been sleeping. The sky above is completely dark. Not even stars shine overhead. You can scarcely see the roadway ahead of you.

Before panic has a chance to completely overwhelm your rational mind you hear a clop and creak of an approaching animal cart. A lantern becomes visible in a moment and you see an ox-drawn cart with a man slouching in the seat. You feel relieved to encounter another human being and you push yourself up onto your feet and stagger into the road.

"You there," you cry, "help."

The ox cart draws to a halt and the man in the seat leaps down. He is wearing filthy peasant clothing and he stinks of manure. He pulls back the hood of his clock and reveals a pallid, warty face.

"Who are you?" he asks, revealing the rotten stumps of his teeth. He rasies his lantern towards your face, casting you in overly bright illumination.

"I am Winnifred Van Helsing and you would do well to get that out of my face."

He moves the light lower, illuminating your voluptuous body crammed into your skin-tight vinyl suit and corset. He shifts the lantern closer to your neck.

"You've been bitten by a leprechaun," he says. "Nasty buggers. Let me give you a salve for that or you'll catch a disease."

The peasant explains that his name is Ingo and he is from the village of Isenvlad, carting manure off to his farm to fertilize his crops. He scoops white, creamy paste from a pouch and smears it on the chaun bite on your neck. The paste burns for a moment and then begins to numb the area.

"Come with me," beckons Ingo, "I'll give you a ride to Isenvlad."

You reluctantly climb onto the bench beside him. The cart is heaped with stinking manure. Ingo turns the cart around and you head in the direction of the distant mountains. In a few minutes you pass a signpost pointing the way to Isenvlad. Good. Your nipples straining against your vinyl suit can attest to just how cold it is.

"It won't be long now," says Ingo. "Why don't you warm yourself with a nip of this."

He passes you a clay pot filled with strong-smelling ****.