Something as simple as a handful of dust can hold fear . . . and horror. Dust is the poison slipped into the wine of a politician s rival. Dust is the ashes of the woman who immoliates herself when her lover turns to another. Dust is the remains of the vampire scattering on the winds. Dust is that which drifts from the cerements of the dead.
Dust is soil without life promising famine.
The worlds of Ravenloft are our handfuls of dust. Ever since the first handful the Kargat brought, we came and added our own dust. An island of dust, a continent, a world, two worlds built of the dusts that bear fear and horror. As the Demiplane of Dread and the Gothic Earth grow, we add more and more to our wasteland of dust. This is our handful of dust.