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.
OOC:
Faramos, add 1 Pelt to your character sheet. Brenda will have 3 meat to cook in the morning.
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.
OOC:
Who will
keep watch during the night while everyone else
sleeps?