Still the mountains are much closer. That is obvious as you step off the ferry. Therefore you must be much closer to your destination. Given you most certainly crossed a hundred miles of plains in a matter of hours, you're pretty sure it won't be much longer to reach the outskirts of the village. A day, perhaps two. Or whatever passes for a day in this realm of perpetual twilight.
You glance around at the utterly barren and shadow drenched landscape. Knowing just when you've actually reached the village and finding the exit gate, you expect that will be the more challenging task.
Luthael nods at Ingryd and replies, "I've got some rations if you want, and Khors can provide some nourishing gruel and water to sustain us if you prefer."
"Luthael, do you think you can handle this for another day or two? That should see us to the village, then we have to get back to Midgard."
"If Khors wills it, I can bring His radiance to this sunless land for more days. How you count the number of days without the sun is beyond me."
"Besides, Ingryd may have the biggest burden in this land with very little edible and delicious to eat."
Ingryd looks over at Luthael and gives him the fierce mother's admonishing eye and asks in a somber low tone."Is that a joke about my weight?"
She lets the question ruminate as she reaches in and grabs a bit of honey fish jerky pimakin and begins to eat it just staring at Lutheal. After taking a bite of the sausage-like thing, she smiles and softens.
"Did you feel the MOtherly scorn! I thought that a good-natured fellow like you would be able to take it."
"My name is Nicodemus" The troll says with a slight bow of his head and tip of his cap to Arianna and the rest of you. "It seems I have slept for...a very long time." He adds still looking at the broken down building.
It takes a bit of searching, but Gunnar does indeed locate the missing bell. Partially buried in dusty dirt a hundred paces from the post and the illegible, tar splattered sign welcoming visitors.
"The Rift of Sorrows stretches for hundreds of leagues in either direction." He says to Scramsax waving a thick hand back over the expanse of the wide canyon. "This ferry is the quickest and safest way to traverse the expanse. The only other ferry is at Devil's Bend and no one likes to pay his prices. Only other options are to cross on foot. Neither an easy or safe prospect even for folk native to this realm."
"I do not know much of war or other such things. I work the ferry, tend to my dwellings..." His brow furrows looking at the broken down ruin. "Although it seems my efforts have been lacking lately."
The puzzlement and confusion is clear on the trolls face as he tries to work out how long he may have been interred by whatever dark sorcery kept him locked away in slumber for however many years had passed in this bizarre realm.
Gunner busies himself Mending (via spell) while the others talk--first the bell, then any obviously broken structural members of the dwelling that would be difficult to fix with more mundane methods.
He knows that the discussion of price for their passage has not come up, but a little goodwill couldn't hurt...
Luthael passes between shock to sheepish smile at Ingryd’s reaction, ”No. No. No. I’ve just heard that in the sunless land most of the flora or fauna are inedible and the water is undrinkable. So we will miss the simple pleasure of eating and drinking.”
He stops himself before saying that the bearkin has demonstrated how much she enjoys eating and drinking which he was trying compare to his need to see his divine patron’s regular manifestation. Because, it doesn’t sound much better than his first comment to which she reacted.
Ingryd gives the cleric a side hug. Her arm squeezed him close affectionately."Fear not Luthael, I do have rations! But if you can magic food even better!!!"
She laughs and then lets the priest go to tossle his hair. She isn't mad just thought teasing the holy man."You know you remind me of my son.Burli, beautiful bright Burli. He was a joyful and inquisitive boy, who loved the world and wanted to help others. Even as a cub, he would help other children by sharing toys and hugs when needed."
The bearkin reaches up and wipes away some tears even though she was smiling."Sorry, I just.." She then gives Luthael another slight hug before she pats his head and eats more of her rations.
"It is an honor to meet you, Nicodemus," Arianna says with a curtsey of her own. "I am Arianna Moonwood, a collector of lore, legends, and tales. I would love to stay and help with the repairs and to listen to the tales you've hinted at, but I fear we must be off. Our quest needs be completed swiftly. If we cross paths again, is there anything that you would wish to have?"
Luthael leans into the second hug in full compassion of the loss of Ingryd's son. He is engulfed in the the bearkin hug and hopes the geniune empathy soothes her obvious pain. He releases her when she wants and pats her on the shoulder in silent respect.
Scram regarded the troll as he spoke of the situation, drawing a long tendril of the smoking leaf imbued with the whims of a minor nature deity...Illarya the Dryad. Once marketed as Scramsax Selects (TM), the entrepreneur smirked at the old gamble's absurdity, but it was a damn fine leaf to be sure.
When Nico of the velvet twilights expounded on his grand fissure, the opportunist's instincts kicked into 12th gear. No tavern in Midgard held this kind of dish, real tactical information of the contested shadow routes...there was a prize worth knowing, so the theif thought.
"Well then, Nicodemus...Ferry-Chain Drifter gliding above the Rift of Sorrows? Why is that? What exactly is the threat down there...that lethal force forbidding outsider and native alike?" imagining, as thieves do, that whatever lie in the heart of a dangerous, abhorrent geography is probably pretty valuable.
"Your offer of aide is much appreciated Lady Arianna." Replies the shadow troll. "But I shall manage." He concentrates for several moment on a section of fallen wall. A low rumble emerges from his chest and throat. It takes a moment, but you realize it is the troll actually singing some sort of chant or tune. As the chant continues, the troll makes several surprisingly nimble gestures with his thick hands and fingers. A ripple flows through the surrounding land, as if for just a moment, the solid ground shifts to that of a vast, primordial ocean of dark and light. By the time you each regain recover your sense of balance, the section of collapsed wall has been repaired.
The trollkin's shoulders slump tiredly, but his eyes glitter and he nods in satisfaction at the result of his work.
"I am a bit out of practice, but it shall suffice for now."
He then turns to Scramsax, his face growing grim and dark. A hint of fright can even be seen within his large dark eyes.
"The Rift of Sorrows was created by the a brief alliance of all the fey courts against the growing incursions of the Twilight Empire into their realms. To keep the ghouls and their undead minions at bay, the fey split the land and redirected the River of the Lost Souls into the chasm." The troll glances back toward the vast canyon. "Those dark, corrupted waters can devour life like a fox huffing down a mouse. Shadow spirits, damned souls, specters and ghastly ghosts of all manner haunt those slowly churning black waters. Occasionally, something will stirs the waters of the river even further. Creating deep whirlpools of crying souls that can easily drown man, beast, or boat in a matter of moments. Sucking them into the vast depths of chaos and darkness." He shakes his head. "Adding to the peril, occasionally some twisted abomination crawls out of the depths of the river. These stranger aberrations hunt the shores looking for any living thing to feed on. Over time, some of these beasts have survived and reproduced." A quick shrug of his shoulders says he can't be sure how such thing happen. The look on his face says he doesn't much care to find out. "Corrupted Wild rules the lowest, darkest depths of the canyon. It is no place for the weak of heart or mind."
"All of this to keep the ghouls at bay." He adds with a shrug. "A task which has seemingly failed given your recent experiences." He glances at the ferry hanging just off the edge of the cliff. "You might ask, given the desire to keep something out, why connect east and west as the ferry's do?" Another shrug. "Trade. Trade and keeping lines of negotiation open. But this latest round of intrusions upon the sovereignty of the ferry's will likely set of a new round of chattering and complaining about the Empire. What's the courts will decide, Sarastra only know."
Arianna watches in wonderment as Nicodemus chants a song and raises the stone of the earth like water over a breaching whale's nose, or whatever the equivalent is on this shadowy plane, and repairs the wall. Sadly, her joy is short-lived as he then answers Scram's question and reminds her of why her clan stayed on the Fey Roads.
"Thank you for seeing us across and the information," she says. "May the stars guide you along safe paths," she adds, figuring it best to not mention the name of her goddess while in Sarastra's realm.
The troll nods his head to Arianna. "And my thanks for freeing me from the ghoul's curse and presence." He adds with a bow of his head toward each of you. "Your actions have more than paid for your passage. Should you need to return this way, you may consider your return passage already paid in full." He then returns his attention to the ruined building and with a heavy sigh rolls his shoulders and begins the ongoing process of rebuilding the fallen structure.
With little else to do and time being limited, the party journeys onward.
After another few miles of travel, all can see the outskirts of a tangled and shadow filled wood. Gnarled, twisted trees with boles wide as an elephant grow in dark, loamy soil. Purple, black leaves whisper softly in a chill wind that tumbles down from the black, snow covered forms of the Cloudwalls, or at least the shadow realm version of the Cloudwall Mountains.
Having marched for what seems to be miles on end with little or no rest, when a small spring appears with cool, crisp waters bubbling into a serene pool that reflects the twilight sky and the curled tree limbs hovering over, a rest is called. Numerous fallen limbs and dry grass offer plenty of fuel for a fire, while the pool grants the possibility of refilling dwindling water flasks. Smelling out the fodder and water, the mules happily trundle the wagon forward and bring it to a stop, unwilling to go further after all the days frights and exertions.
With the decision to camp, Luthael suggests, "considering what the ferry troll said, let Khors provide our meal, even for the mules." After some praying, he creates 45 pounds of food and 30 gallons of water on the ground or in containers within range, enough to sustain up to fifteen humanoids or five steeds for 24 hours. The food is bland but nourishing, and spoils if uneaten after 24 hours. The water is clean and doesn’t go bad.
"I suggest we set a guard. Arianna, are we making good time?" The prophet asks. He is obviously uncomfortable in this sunless land.
”Wake me up for the last watch. I’ll make some tea…” says Gunnar as he yawns. Settling in for the night, he curls up and falls asleep quickly.
"I can take first watch." Ingryd says as she seems a bit rested, not a full rest but rest enough.
"I believe we are, but time can be a bit slippery here," Arianna says as she helps keep the mules from munching on the grass until Luthael can conjure them some food.
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"I believe we are, but time can be a bit slippery here."
Time and indeed many other things can be slippery within the realm of shadow. A mere thought or whim of some higher power can raise mountains from the sea or turn a forest into a vast desert. Such power is what Sarastra used when she pulled the first rocky outcrop of dry land from the sea of chaos and created the first foundation stone. Denizens of this occasionally chaotic and fey realm are quite used to such change. Thus the stoic Nicodemus simply setting forth the rebuild his fallen manse.
Visitors to the realm may find themselves...less comfortable around such manifestations. So it is upon this some might reflect as Arianna's speaks. The spoken syllables manifest into brightly colored clouds spelling out each vocalization before drifting away and upward on the cool breeze blowing off the mountains. Startled replies and counter replies soon turn the surrounding air into a swirling miasma of floating words more than a few that would be considered unprintable in civilized society.
Immediate thoughts and suspicions turn to some fey prankster lurking in the nearby woods. But all is silence. Nary a giggle nor snicker of gremlin or other fey laughter can be heard dancing upon the twilight eve. Then the pool of water begins to bubble and churn. Swirling into a sparkling vortex of crystal clear water. Light emerges from the pool. This is no simply eldritch witchery. Nor a light muted and dimmed like Luthael's connections to Khors. This is light, pure and brilliant. The very stuff of creation itself swirling and manifesting. It gleams like molten sunlight forcing all to shade their suddenly sensitive eyes. Leaves that have never experienced such brilliance shiver and quake. Tree limbs rattle and the very landscape shivers in its manifesting presence.
Power flows. A palpable, overwhelming power. A power that has no need to demand respect. There is no option. Priest and paladin are the first to recognize the kind of power that begins to rise from the pool. The watery manifestation of a woman of exquisite, dark skinned beauty. Neither Khors, nor Thor or Odin. But it is a holy power that has stepped into the shadow realm. A goddess.
Her golden gaze fixes upon each of you in turn. As it does you realize there are no secrets from her. She knows each of you. Knows you now. Knows your past. Possibly knows your future. Knows your places in the world and of all who have come before you. Knows the great weave of life, having manifested much of it with her own thoughts.
Finally she lands on one Scramsax of Barsella. The halfling stands as awestruck as everyone else in that tiny clearing beneath a twilight sky. Smoldering pipe dangling loose from his lips, arm resting across his knees as he contemplated the risk reward potential of an adventure into the depths of the Rift of Sorrows just before the surprising arrival of a goddess he'd thought long imprisoned.
Mnemosyne-Yemaja, Mother of Titans, Goddess of all Waters, the Eternal Memory looks upon her roguish follower and...sighs. She turns to look over her shoulder, her lips pursed with doubt and reluctance.
"Are you sure?" Her voice is soft as a summer rain, as powerful and an ocean storm. "This is the best? Really?" It is unclear who she may be addressing. Perhaps none. Perhaps the entire pantheon. Who can guess the minds of the gods. Another sigh. "So be it."
She turns back to the speechless and frozen halfling. "You'll be coming with me then." She says taking him by the ear, like a mother dragging a wayward child home. "And we'll be having no more of you little shenanigans. Bean stalks and hollering statues squashing fallen followers." She pauses. Give the ear an extra tug. "I'm never going to hear the end of it from that old fusspot for your mistreatment of his temple."
She steps into the still whirling churning waters of the pool. "So you'll be helping me with a few things...elsewhere...for a bit." The halfling has no choice but to follow the goddess into the pool. But even as he starts to step over the precipice his lips part to ask about how much the job pays and who the mark is. Not a syllable escapes before Mnemosyne glowers at the halfling shaking her head. "You're doing this one on-the-house. Out of the kindness of your heart. A thing which I know actually exists somewhere in that overcrowded mind of yours, thanks to a young woman called Vee."
"Now in you go." The goddess gives a quick pull and then both she and Scramsax swirl down into the waters of the pool. A few moments pass and suddenly hearts beat again. Lungs pull in air. Light fades to its normal twilight dimness.
A mule nudges Arianna even more eager for the grain sack held in her hand.
”Whoa…” says the usually loquacious Gunnar, dumbfounded…
"uh...." Ingryd says her jaw going open and then blinks, before taking a sip of her liquor.
Arianna watches the whole scene play out, dumbstruck by the appearance of a goddess in glory. She watches Scramsax get hauled off by the ear, and for a moment starts to say something, to ask a question of this divine being, but even her curiosity has limits and common sense stilled her tongue. She sees the look on Scramsax's face as he's told that he'll be doing this on the house. Her composure last only long enough for a few expressions of disbelief to be uttered before she starts to snicker, then howl with laughter, dropping the sack of oats and allowing the mule to happily fill its belly.
"Th-that was," she gasps as she starts to calm down, "That was amazing! I can't believe I have seen two goddesses with my own eyes! I wish I could have talked with her and learned her name. Did you see the look on Scram's face when she told him that he was doing this for free?"
She looks to the others, a broad smile on her face.
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Raseri stopped as she pondered the strange ripples she feels in the nothingness that makes up the stuff of this otherreal realm between the proper realms of the cosmos. The spell she had cast flickers and winks out as something powerful plucks her quarry from the Shadow realm. Another setback and more waiting.
She growls. She had been so close. She thought of following the thief to the Shadow Realm, but she had convinced herself that it would be better to follow them and beat them to the doorway back to Midgard once it had become obvious which one they would use. Now it seems that the gods themselves were interested in the thief. Who else could so easily reach across the realms and pluck the halfling from existence?
She could follow the others, but to what end? Scramsax, or Scramsexy, or whatever else the halfling called himself isn't guaranteed to return to them, and whatever god had grabbed him was unlikely to take kindly to her interfering with their machinations for the halfling.
Better to leave him be for now, she decides.
She casts another spell, this one reaching through her connections to the items she had crafted and imbued with power. Hugrekki, her seax, is the closest at her hip. The others are much further away, scattered across the realms, but some are closer than others. Heiður seems the closest, and a smile creeps across her face as she recognizes what kind of creature has managed to lay its hands on it and claim it for its own. Her stomach turns at the thought of a goblin holding her sword, but goblins are a scourge, and she needs to vent some of her frustration.
The path is long and winding, but she does not mind. The Maiden of Storms is nothing if not persistent.
Luthael seems to be the least moved of his companions by the goddess, because if his bedrock of faith in Khors, of course other gods exist. So, he makes a policy of staying out of their way. Although, old fusspot rattles around his mind wondering how he could find out more about that perspective.
"Yes. Well. That's proof that Scramsax's soul is committed." The prophet observes with as much mirth as he can muster at the moment.
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Aterro nods in his mutual amazement and shock. "You know, I had truly believed she did not exist. Ol' Scramsax was always going on about one thing or another and I thought him truly touched in the head, babbling about things only he perceived.
I guess I was wrong."
AS the mule moved on from the grain sack he picked it up and offered it to Phobos, who had watched the whole play spin out with a sense of knowing only a celestial creature could have.
"I guess even scoundrels have their faith," Arianna says to Luthael before turning on Aterro. "Did he mention her name? What did he say about her," she asks, feeling rather virtuous at holding herself to two questions for the moment.
The surprise and power of a goddesses momentary manifestation soon fades like most other great events that occur within the ever changing realm. Arianna does her best to memorize and note in her journal as much of the experience as possible after remembering Luthael's earlier question.
Her answer, perhaps not the most information to the priest, is that they really should be getting close. Another day at the most, although the look of the dense wood further ahead gives the elf a bit of a pause. Forests and dark woods are ever places of danger and doom for unwary travelers.
That sense of foreboding is further strengthened when Gunnar signals the hours of his final watch have passed. Upon rising and dealing with the various ablutions and morning routines all take a moment to notice how much more dense the forest has become. Where there were once maybe a half dozen trees in a particular patch of land, there now appear to be a dozen or more upon that very same patch.
Mishaps abound at the start of the new day. The branch holding Aterro's towel as he washes and shaves, snaps just as the paladin reaches to dry his eyes. The towel falls into the wash basin, soaked and soapy. Luthael's repast, never as palatable as a good cooked meal, tastes even more of dust and grit and burnt toast. One of the mules steps on Gunnar's foot as he hooks them to the wagon. Although nothing is broken, the dwarf walks with a limp the rest of the morning. Ingryd finds a swarm of moths nibbling upon her only remaining set of clothes. The brightly colored flower dress sporting a set of new holes. And all the while the leaves rattle and whisper. It is Arianna who notices that the rattling continues even though the wind no longer blows.
Grumbling a bit with the mishaps of the day, Gunnar at least uses Mending on Ingryd's clothes to combat the moth's depredations...
Luthael walks along with the sun in his heart as if the night was extended or clouds obscured the sun. The prophet had sustained himself of Khors' gruel escorting the cursed prisoners, so at least he was getting some sleep. Aggravation was relative.
Arianna does her best to keep everyone in good spirits, but she worries that their bad luck is related to more than just simple bad luck. She thinks about what her mother had told her about the various fey they encountered on their travels.
Ingryd chuckles as she looks at the holes and then shrugs. She could fight naked, she had before.
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Aterro risks a side-long glance at the continuously less-clothed bearkin. 'Would it really make a difference if she fought naked?' he wonders.
"Here, brother, let Thor take some of that," Aterro says, sparing some Laying of Hands on Gunnar's boo-boo.
Aterro risks leavening the Khors miracle-food with some of his rations. The tastelessness of the spell food and the too-salty of the rations make a palatable combination, and he eats heartily of the mixture.
”Arianna, you seem deep in thought. What is on your mind?” he asks.
Stepping a few feet deeper into the wood the noise of the camp drifts away. Twilight gives ways to near darkness. The air grows damp and heavy. The very trees rustle and shudder in agitation. A first you believe they are frightened or perhaps laughing in their own stoic way. But then you sense, feel the grim sense that permeates surrounding wood. It is not fright or humor that fills this place. It is anger. Fury. Fury of mortal intrusion. And pain. Somewhere there is pain. Suffering. Agony.
It is this that you feel. This that permeates and stirs the very forest against the presence of you and your companions. You turn to hurry back to the others. Warn them that something turns the very forest against your passage. Warn them that whatever stirs, it is not some minor fey prank or trickster.
You catch your foot on a root that you would swear wasn't there moments ago. Nevertheless it is there now and you find yourself tumbling to the ground. Landing in a deep bed of moss and years thick leaf debris. Molds and mildews immediately clog your sinuses and make your eyes burn and water. Somehow moss manages to fill your throat. You struggle to regain your feet. Find yourself flailing about as if you were drowning in a lake. But despite the utter lack of water, drowning is exactly what seems to be happening as you find it increasingly difficult to suck in air against the moss and leaves and loamy soil that constantly fills your mouth as vines and roots and branches tangle themselves in your kicking limbs.
Gunnar glances away to check on the increasingly skittish mules. When he turns back Arianna has moved off a bit into the woods. The elf clearly lost in thought. She disappears behind a pair of massive trees, their trunks as wide as the wagon. A growing sense of unease trickles up Gunnar's spine. Goosebumps break out on his skin, despite the surrounding air being fairly warm. He waits to Arianna to appear on the other side of the trees. Waits....waits....
While waiting, the arcane senses of the dwarf sense a darkness in the woods. Nay filling the woods. Danger and menace lurk nearby. His gleaming eyes glance to the spot where he last saw Arianna. It isn't far away. Maybe a few dozen paces. The air is heavy. The rattle and creak of the shifting mules is muted. Quiet. All four animals have their ears back and eyes wide open.
*Thump*
The noise is soft, muted. Like a brick landing on a pillow. None of the others hear it. But Gunnar's keen ears pick up the sound. It is unnatural. Warning bells clatter. And still no sign of the elf.
Arianna squirms and wiggles as she feels the forest floor trying to drag her under. Her lungs burn and her eyes water. Her thoughts turn to her family, to her mother and father and the promise she'd made them. Bit by agonizingly slow bit, she loosens the grasp the vines have on her. She fears she will drown, that her strength will give out. Her lungs burn and she needs to breath. She has to breath. She opens her mouth and takes in a gulp of air just as her legs slip free and she can get her feet under her. She wastes no time in running, stumbling really, away from the dangerous patch of ground. She rounds the trees and runs for the others, only stopping when she is safely back on the road.
She collapses to her knees, breathing hard and fast as her heart pounds in her chest. She tries to explain what happened, how dangerous this place is, but the words are choked by fear, no, by terror. She has never experienced a forest hostile to her, that hated her very existence. Her previous trips along the Shadow Roads had been short and along paths known to her clan. She'd been warned to never leave the roads, and now she understands while.
The others see her on her knees on the road, shivering and holding her arms as tears roll down her now dirty face.
Pulling the mules to a stop, Gunnar says, ”Something is wrong. There is a dark presence in the woods and Arianna may have been taken in by it.”
Hopping out of the wagon, he heads towards where he last saw her, casting a spell to reveal that which is hidden as he goes (See Invisibility).
Seeing her return as he moves to leave the road, Gunnar breathes a sigh of relief when he sees Arianna approaching—just a moment before his foot would have left the road. Welcoming her back, he says, ”You look like you’ve been through the wringer, lass. What happened?”
Arianna swallows a sob as she tries to speak.
"I-I-I was wrong. D-d-don't leave the road," she stammers out. "The-- The forest-- full of hate. Never-- I never--"
Reaching up and putting a soothing hand on her shoulder, Gunnar says, "We've got you. I noticed you moving off and sensed the darkness nearby. Next time let me know before you investigate something, though, so I can get you out of there if things get rough."
Gunnar looks around for threats, be they visible or invisible, as he helps Arianna regain her composure.
Arianna nods as she sniffs and tries to regain her composure.
"The forest tried to drown me," she says after a few minutes. "It's so full of hate and malice. There is no joy, no mischief. Just hate and anger and a desire to hurt."
She starts cleaning herself up after explaining what happened. She pulls her cloak close around her and shivers.
"I'm sorry. I should have found a different road," she tells the others.
Luthael comforts Arianna and says, "let's stay together on the road. Our gods will see us through this sunless land. Our work is not yet done."
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Aterro was angry.
That a forest, a forest could be itself a thing of willful malice and could strike at men-folk with impunity was just...inconceivable!
"Let us go out together then!" he declares, holding aloft Deathmetal and gazing out in the direction the bard had come. "It is full of hate and a desire to hurt? Let us sally out in strength and show it the meaning of such!"
He gazes balefully into the looming wood as if his stare alone could bring it to heel.
"When we have wrought a fallow in it for a hectare then it will know that it stalks the wrong foe!"
Ingryd will wrap her big furry arms around Arianna and just holds her softly."We are here for you, do not fear" Ingryd soothes as she looks at the woodland and sighs.
"I understand your fear and anger. I have been there. I know how this type of fear and hate works. Best we punch through and continue on. Return to land less, actively adversarial!"Ingryd says as she continues to let Arianna feel the shifting fur and warmth of Ingryds body. The former mom, being a mom.
"I would not say such things here, not even in jest," Arianna tells Aterro after his blustering rant against the forest. "Things are not like they are in Midgard here."
As if to punctuate Arianna's words a high pitched keening cry echoes through the entire wood. The surrounding trees rattle like doom calling maracas as shadows fill the thickening forest. Speculation about the source of the eerie tree trembling cry range from banshee to harpy to demon spirit or shadow dragon. It is all just speculation. Whistling to fend of worries of the unknown.
The wagon slowly creaks and crawls its way forward. The mules glumly pulling the iron-boned transport along the smooth black cobbles of the shadow road. Shared glances and the occasional mocking hee-haw pass among the four legged pullers as they ponder various assorted methods of revenge upon the one who sold them into this current unwelcome predicament.
Unaware of the potential future rebellion among the family's equestrian holdings, Luthael casually glances back down the road recently traveled. The prophets frown quickly turns into startled surprise. Other eyes turn to see what could elicit such a response from the calm holy man.
Those eyes soon discover how the forest has closed in to completely obscure and close off the road back to the east. Not more than a quarter of a mile back the shadow black cobbles disappear beneath tangles of roots, vines, and forest debris.
Only the way forward lies open. Another piercing cry echoes into the twilight.
"I think we're being herded," Arianna says as she notices the road being closed off. "I think whatever is making that cry wants us lead right to it."