Whispers in the Woods

The journey out of the forest is much faster. You head directly east, bypassing the winding tails you took before when you searched for the burrow. A couple of days later the trees thin as you push through the underbrush, and soon you find yourself at the edge of the forest, where the land spreads out before you. The Duke's road lies ahead, stretching north all the way to Threshold.

As you approach nearer to the town, you notice groups of armed men moving up and down the path. Most of them are farmers, but a few are clearly from the Threshold town guard; wearing mail and brandishing swords. Search parties. Just like the ones that were gathered when Serghei's daughter went missing. The ones formed when something bad happened...

The guards exchange wary glances before one of them, an older man with a gray beard, steps forward to answer your question:

"It's Stefan. He's gone missing. The lad left early this morning to gather some plants for Humphrey's potions, but he hasn't returned yet. He should have been back a long time ago, especially with the sun starting to set. Humphrey is worried sick about him" he pauses and sighs "After Mia's murder, and the goblin raids, we fear the worse"

He gestures down the road, where the path continues northward "Humphrey down there, if you want to talk with him"

The farmland slowly give way to patches of untamed brush and clusters of wind-worn trees the farther west you travel. With the sun beginning to set, the air grows cooler, and the shadows stretch over the land. Before long, the trees begin the thicken, and the silhouette of the Black Woods rises ahead, the dense canopy already cloaked in shadow.

When Will scans the ground, he notices some of the undergrowth has been trampled, stems bent and wildflowers crushed beneath someone's boot. The tracks lead deeper into the woods, but there is no certainty they belong to Stefan's.

What do you do?

The hours slip by as you push deeper and deeper into the Black Woods. The moon overhead casts a silvery light through the dense trees, illuminating the path you are following. The tracks continue on a slow, deliberate pace. No sign of distress, only steady steps. it is also quite obvious that the person you are tracking had company. A second set of prints, with a shorter gait. The two must have walked together for hours, moving at a leisurely pace as if they weren't worried about being followed. The only problem is that you are always a few steps behind, and there is no way to know how far you would need to walk before you catch up with them.

You press through the night, following the tracks deeper into the heart of the forest. When morning finally comes, you understand why it is called the Black Woods; the canopy is so thick and tangled that the sun barely touches the forest floor, leaving everything below in a murky, perpetual twilight.

Along the way, you find subtle signs that your quarry paused to rest: apple cores tossed into underbrush, patches of trampled grass where someone once sat down. As the hours pass, the tracks merge with an old, nearly forgotten trail, barely more than a trace in the undergrowth.

The path leads into an even darker part of the forest, where dense stands of ancient fir trees cast everything into near-night despite the rising sun. The ground here is soft and spongy with thick carpets of pine needles, killing most plant life save for clusters of pale fungi that thrive in the damp.

Then, through the mist and branches, you see it, a ring of thorny brambles, twisted into a crude palisade fence. Inside, nestled in the clearing's center, stands a massive gnarled tree with windows like hollowed eyes and a heavy wooden door carved straight into its trunk.

The second floor curves with the shape of the hollow tree. The walls are smooth, lit by flickering lanterns filled with fireflies that cast a soft blue glow. The staircase continues upward, twisting higher into the trunk, but there are two other doors on this level.

The first is little more than a seamless panel of wood. No hinges. No handle. No keyhole. Just a slightly darker grain marking its outline. It doesn’t budge when Will presses on it, but judging by the curvature of the floor, there must be another room behind it.

The second door is half open, behind which lies a well-kept room. There is a neatly made bed beneath a small window, with a fluffed pillow and a thick woolen blanket. A simple vanity table stands against the wall, with a bottle of perfume, and a comb on top of it. On a low stool next to the window stands a wicker basket holding several folded garments.

But it’s the paintings that draw the eye.

They’re pinned with care along one wall, each rendered in vivid color and lifelike detail. A waterfall flowing over mossy stones. A baby deer peering from behind the trees. A bright and colorful songbird on a tree branch. Whomever painted these pictures clearly had a great love for nature - and patience, to capture all these details.

There are no seams or hinges or gaps between the 'door' and the wall. Surely there is a way to open it, but not with Will's bare hands.

The wood creaks and parts as soon as Anton finishes his incantation. The door swings inward on hidden hinges, revealing the dim room beyond.

It is also a living room, like the one Magda has set for you, but it also serves as a storeroom. There are bundles of dried herbs hanging on a string crisscrossing the walls with a thick scent of sage, poppy, and something else you can't quite identify. On the wooden shelves are cloudy glass jars with floating animal parts inside the murky fluid. The table below the shelves is cluttered with more jars, a wooden mortar and pestle, and cloth bundles tied in a string.

And near the window is a low bed, on top of which is the young boy not much older than twelve, tucked beneath a wool blanket. He is sleeping, though he breathes very slowly and deeply. Around his bed is a carefully arranged ring of salt - not a grain out of place.

Anton would have to investigate the room more carefully with an appropriate spell to confirm if there are any traces of magical wards or traps, but he is fairly certain that the circle of salt around the bed has to do with some sort of a magical ritual. What precisely is its nature, however, was impossible to say.

A sudden gust of wind rushes through the room as soon as Will shifts some of the salt. A faint bell begins to ring soon after, from somewhere distant inside the hollow tree. Stefan stirs slightly in his sleep, but does not wake.