2. Reconnecting paths

As you wish Nindia don't like staying in those weeds longer than necessary, but she don't have much choice - the two have decided the plan already.

Springrise, 8th day.
Day
"Hold up a moment," Faramos said, after Nindia agreed. He looked up at the towering trees around them, his sharp dwarven eyes searching for a suitable one to climb. "I’m going to get a better look from above. See if I can spot anything that might guide us."

Brenda and Nindia exchanged glances but nodded in agreement. "Be careful, Faramos," Brenda said, her voice tinged with concern. "These trees have a mind of their own."

Faramos grunted in response, more focused on the task at hand. He selected a particularly tall and sturdy oak, its trunk thick and covered in rough bark that would provide good handholds. With a deep breath, he began to climb, his stout form surprisingly agile as he ascended the tree with practiced ease. As he climbed higher, the whispering of the forest grew fainter, and the world below became a blur of green and shadow.

After several minutes of steady climbing, Faramos reached a high branch that offered a clear view above the forest canopy. He paused for a moment, catching his breath, then turned his gaze to the northeast. What he saw sent a spark of excitement through him.

In the distance, partially hidden by the dense foliage and covered in creeping vines, was the outline of an ancient keep. The structure was massive, its stone walls crumbling with age, but still standing defiantly against the encroaching forest. The keep’s towers rose above the treetops, though their spires had long since collapsed. The once grand fortress was now overgrown and abandoned, yet it radiated a sense of history—and perhaps the lingering presence of the spirits that haunted this forest.

Faramos’s eyes narrowed as he studied the keep. It was far too close to be a coincidence. If the spirit was tied to anything in these woods, it might well be that ancient structure.

But as he shifted his gaze south, he caught sight of something else—another potential lead. Not far from their current position, hidden among the thick undergrowth, was the dark mouth of a cave. The entrance was obscured by hanging vines and moss, but its yawning darkness was unmistakable. The cave appeared deep, its interior a mystery that beckoned with a sense of foreboding. Faramos frowned, weighing their options.

Springrise, 8th day.
Evening
It was already evening when, satisfied with his reconnaissance, Faramos began his descent, carefully making his way back down the tree. When he reached the forest floor, Brenda and Nindia were waiting for him, their expressions curious.

"What did you see?" Brenda asked, her hand resting on the hilt of her sword.

Faramos took a moment to catch his breath before speaking. "There’s an old keep to the northeast, abandoned and overgrown. It looks like it’s been there for centuries. And to the south, there’s a cave—hidden, but large enough to hold… well, who knows what."

"I think the keep - even that old - should have some good places to hide and catch our breaths. Its towers could provide us with good observation points to keep watch and become sure if we really have lost Rust Brothers. Also good position to defend our selfs if they will chase us so far, what I doubt right now. What you think Nindia? Brenda? I have a feeling it was dwarf made, back in the day..."

Can we stop mentioning Rust Brothers for one sec? Quoting someone
"this forest is the best way to make sure we have lost all the Rust Brothers... they will not dare to follow".
Nindia try to replicate Faramos's voice as close as she can do it with dwarf's voice.
She seems to argue with Faramos for the sake of arguing, not because she has a preference for were to go next

Hey, we found that scary ghost in a quite forest. How much haunted souls will we ding the the keep? Wouldn't it be proper to collect any information about the keep we can - only then move to the keep. There is a chance that cave being so close to the keep preserves some

"I, on the other hand, am more interested in food and camping. It's already late and I don't want to risk going into those places at night..." - Brenda answers, with a shiver.

"Should Nindia and I make camp while Faramos hunt or forage?"

Faramos listened to mocking part of Nindia talk first with a little anger, but then he smiled and said nothing thinking that Nindia must be a strong girl if she is already able to use Rust Brothers as mocking point.
Good... there is not point in focusing on the grief part... she mast feel a little better.

"That's interesting point!" - Faramos had to admit - "The more knowledge about the place we want to visit the better! You think such big keep could have a secret escape path in case of helpless siege? And it could lead to this cave? Always worth to check. So let's go to cave first."

Then he fell into deep thought:
"Hmmm... but did anyone in Willowbrook ever told us a story about any keep in the forest, Brenda?"Hearing what Brenda said:
"Yes... you are right we are still not prepared well for long journey and need some more food. Yes, I will go to HUNT again..." - Faramos was more happy about the perspective than anything else. - "Then sleep, and we will go towards this cave tomorrow morning.""A crow? I really have to get some bow for such cases...""Let's see if my trap have yeld any fruits..."

"What! You stinking trickster! How did you manage to escape with the meat from my trap!?" - Faramos tried to rebuke the invisible fox, as if it was still hiding somewhere in the nearby bushes.

Results in my next post

Nindia help Brenda with camp and enjoy the company.

Springrise, 8th day.
Evening
Brenda and Nindia quickly got to work setting up a small camp in the clearing where they had paused. The clearing was surrounded by dense trees, their towering forms providing some cover, but also a reminder of the ever-present watchfulness of the forest. Brenda cleared away a small area, setting up a fire pit with the remaining branches they had gathered earlier. She struck flint to steel, and soon a small fire was crackling, casting flickering shadows against the surrounding trees.

Nindia, ever efficient, began to set up their bedrolls and check their supplies, ensuring that everything was in order. She moved with the quiet grace of someone used to staying unnoticed, her sharp eyes constantly scanning the perimeter for any sign of danger. Though she tried to keep busy, a sense of unease still lingered in the back of her mind, a reminder of the previous days and nights

Meanwhile, Faramos prepared for a different task. While Brenda and Nindia made the camp comfortable, he decided to take advantage of the downtime by hunting for fresh meat. A seasoned hunter, Faramos had the skills and tools necessary to catch something small but filling.

"I’ll be back before too long," Faramos said, slinging a small pouch of snares over his shoulder. "Keep the fire going, and watch each other’s backs."

Faramos
After some time, Faramos found what he was looking for—a set of small paw prints in the soft earth, partially obscured by fallen leaves. He knelt down, examining the tracks closely. The prints were fresh, leading deeper into the woods, and Faramos felt a spark of satisfaction. The fox had come through here recently, and with a bit of luck, it wouldn’t be far.

Moving quietly, Faramos followed the trail, his senses attuned to the forest around him. He selected a few key spots where the fox might return—near a small stream where it might come to drink, and beneath a thick cluster of bushes where it could seek shelter. Carefully, he set his snares, laying them with the precision of someone who had done this many times before. The traps were simple but effective, designed to catch the fox without causing unnecessary harm.

Once the snares were in place, Faramos retreated to a nearby thicket where he could watch without being seen. He crouched low, his breathing steady, and waited. Patience was key in hunting, and Faramos had plenty of it. The minutes stretched on, the forest around him remaining quiet and undisturbed.

As Faramos crouched in the thicket, his eyes fixed on the snare he had set, his mind wandered to the ancient keep he had spotted from the treetop earlier. The forest around him was quiet, the stillness broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves or the distant call of a bird. The wait for the fox was a familiar ritual, one that allowed his thoughts to drift, often to places that were as distant as they were close.

The keep had caught his attention not just because of its age and mystery, but because it was unlikely of dwarven construction. Dwarves, as a rule, distrusted open spaces. The wide sky above the keep, the overgrown battlements exposed to the elements—it all felt unnatural to them. A fortress without a roof was no fortress at all.

Faramos’s people were used to living in the depths of the earth, where the sun’s harsh light could not reach. The few dwarves who ventured into the Upperworld often did so out of necessity—either to gather resources that could not be found underground or to defend their subterranean homes from the dangers that lurked above. For most, the Upperworld, with its vast, exposed landscapes, required careful planning and constant vigilance. It was a place where a dwarf could never truly feel at ease, where the light was too bright, and the spaces too open.

No, the keep was likely of elven origin. The elves had once ruled these lands, their influence stretching across the forests and the plains. They were creatures of the woods and the sky, at home in the light and the open spaces that dwarves found so unsettling. But the elves that lived here had long since retreated to the north, leaving behind only their ancient ruins and the whisper of their magic in the trees.

Faramos had heard the stories of their departure—how they had withdrawn from the fight with the humans, leaving their great cities and fortresses to be reclaimed by orcs, half-elves or even nature itself. Perhaps this keep was one such place, abandoned as the elves retreated, now standing as a monument to a lost era. The thought made him uneasy, not just because of the keep’s ghostly silence, but because it reminded him of how transient even the mightiest of civilizations could be.

Either way, after what felt like an eternity, he heard a faint rustle in the underbrush. Faramos tensed, his eyes narrowing as he spotted movement near one of the snares. A flash of red fur caught his eye, and he saw the fox—a sleek, agile creature with bright eyes and a bushy tail. The fox moved cautiously, its nose twitching as it sniffed the air.

For a moment, it seemed the fox might avoid the trap, but then it darted forward, drawn by some unseen scent. The snare snapped shut, catching the fox by the leg. The animal yelped in surprise, struggling briefly before going still, its instincts telling it not to fight the trap. Faramos quickly moved forward, his heart steady as he approached the captured creature. He spoke softly to the fox, a quiet murmur of respect, as he ended its life quickly and humanely.

With the fox in hand, Faramos began the journey back to camp.Nindia
Meanwhile, Nindia remained back at the camp, tending the fire and organizing their supplies. Though her hands were busy, her thoughts drifted to the ancient forest that surrounded them. The Whispering Woods were thick with mystery and history, and as the group moved deeper into its heart, she couldn’t shake the feeling that they were treading on ancient ground.

"The elves ruled these lands long before men or dwarves set foot here," the Ailanders would say, their voices hushed as if speaking too loudly might awaken the spirits of the forest. "This was their domain, a place where the trees themselves listened to their songs and responded to their will. But when the wars came, when the world grew dark and the shadows deepened, the elves left. They retreated to the Stillmist in the north, leaving behind only their ruins and the whispers of their magic."

Nindia had always found these stories fascinating, though she wasn’t sure how much of them she believed. The Ailanders were known for their superstitions, but there was often a kernel of truth in their tales. As she looked around at the towering trees, their ancient trunks gnarled and twisted, she could almost feel the lingering presence of the elves who had once walked these paths. The forest was alive with their memory, and that memory seemed to seep into the very soil.

She remembered one story in particular, told by an old Ailander woman on a cold winter’s night. The woman had spoken of an elven queen who once ruled these woods with grace and power, her connection to the land so strong that the trees themselves would move at her command. But the queen’s heart had been broken by war and loss, and she led her people away, leaving the forest to the wilds and the spirits that would later come to haunt it.

"It’s said that the queen’s sorrow lingers here," the old woman had whispered, her voice trembling with age. "That’s why the woods whisper, you know. They’re speaking of her sadness, her regret. And sometimes, if you listen closely, you can hear the echoes of the songs the elves used to sing—songs of beauty and power, but also of grief."

Nindia hadn’t heard any songs in the forest, but she had certainly heard the whispers. They were ever-present, a soft murmur that seemed to come from the trees themselves. She wondered if the girl's ghost was somehow connected to this ancient past, if the spirit’s unrest was tied to the sorrow of the elves who had once called this place home.

Springrise, 8th day.
Night
Soon the familiar scent of smoke from Brenda’s fire reached Faramo’s nose, guiding him back to where his companions waited. When he emerged from the trees, Brenda and Nindia looked up, relief and satisfaction evident in their eyes.

Faramos held up the fox with a small, triumphant smile. "Dinner’s on me tonight."

Brenda chuckled, her tension easing slightly as she began to prepare to sleep. "Good work, Faramos. Fresh meat will do us good."

Nindia, though still wary of their surroundings, offered a small grin as she stoked the fire. "Maybe this forest isn’t all bad," she said, though her tone was more hopeful than convincing.

I would be starved to death without you guys. Can't express how thankful I am to meet you.
I feel like I don't want to sleep just yet. I think I could take the watch tonight. Maybe will be able to take a nap tomorrow.

Springrise, 9th day.
Morning
The night passed without incident, a rare blessing in the heart of the Whispering Woods. The eerie whispers in the trees had faded into the background, and the group had managed to get some rest despite the looming presence of the forest around them. There were no ghostly apparitions, no sudden terrors—just the deep, natural stillness of the ancient woods. The ground beneath their bedrolls was uneven and damp, but exhaustion from their travels allowed them to sleep through it all.

As dawn broke, the soft light of morning filtered through the dense canopy, casting pale beams of light that dappled the forest floor. Brenda rose quietly, careful not to disturb Nindia, who went to slept soundly in her bedroll.

With practiced ease, Brenda took the fox that Faramos had hunted the day before and began to prepare it for cooking. The fire had died down to embers during the night, so she set to work rekindling it, gently coaxing the flames back to life with a few dry twigs and some kindling. Soon, the fire crackled once more, its warmth pushing back the morning chill.

As the fox cooked, Brenda took a moment to sit back and enjoy the quiet of the morning. The forest was still, save for the occasional rustle of leaves or the distant call of a bird. The Whispering Woods seemed almost peaceful in this early light, a stark contrast to the oppressive atmosphere they had experienced the day before. A light rain was falling, its droplets barely piercing the dense canopy overhead. The leaves above acted as a natural umbrella, softening the rain to a gentle patter that mingled with the morning's quiet.

Seeing that Nindia fall in well deserved sleep after night of keeping watch and Brenda started to cook the fruits of his last hunt, Faramos had to find something productive to do. First he thought about the fact that they are going to enter a big cave. Some more touches would certainly come in handy... but he didn't take even a timber axe with him when they left their former home.

"Now! Go chop some wood with your staff! You maron!" - he scolded himself in his thoughts.

Then he remember that they had quite some of pelts due his recent success at hunting...

"Hmm... I used to observe some humans how they work with pelts I have brought them... it didn't look so hard... the leather is always more useful then pure pelts... let's try to replicate this. We could make some useful things with leather... and I would be able to make a spare snares... in case the one I got would break." - he planned and contemplated in his head.

"Brenda... do you mind I sit next to you, while you cook and try to turn pelts into leather... maybe you remember how Old Joe was doing that? And sell me some advices?"

---

When they ended their tasks having a merry conversations - recalling some funny situations from Willowbrook - during the hard, but fulfilling work. They packed what they managed to achieve and Faramos gently tried to wake up Nindia... so they could continue their way towards the caves.

You pack your things and move south. After a few hours hiking, you finally see the entrance.

Springrise, 9th day.
Day
The entrance to the Fungal Cave is surrounded by a dense thicket of oversized mushrooms and strange plants that pulse with an eerie light. The air is thick with spores, and a faint, sweet smell hangs in the air.The ground beneath your feet is soft and spongy, a carpet of moss and decaying plant matter that muffles your steps.

My mother loved to pick mushrooms. This smell reminds of a mushroom sauce she would make. But look at the size of these...
Nindia can't stop wondering, but with a wave of a hand suggest everyone to go further together. Rogue don't see reason to scout such a place.

As you near the Fungal Cave, the oppressive silence of the Whispering Woods is broken only by the soft rustling of leaves and the distant, eerie whispers that seem to come from nowhere and everywhere. The faint glow of bioluminescent fungi begins to light your path, casting strange, shifting shadows among the ancient trees. The entrance looms ahead, shrouded in a dense thicket of oversized mushrooms that pulse with a life of their own. The air thickens, almost suffocating, heavy with the sickly-sweet scent of decay and the omnipresent spores that drift lazily through the dense atmosphere.

End of chapter