The Year of Our Lord 1521, on the 15th day of Sun's Providence, shortly after noon.
Ten miles south of the official border of the Dark Forest.

The company had come to a halt beneath the cool shade of a group of deciduous trees that stood near a small pond. They were fast approaching the Dark Forest, the home of the wood elves. There were nine of them in total -- four humans, two elves, a half-breed, a bison and a direwolf. It had been seven days since the motley crew had set out north from Woodhaven. That town was named so for the timber trade that made it prosperous; in times long past, Woodhaven had once been settled beneath the canopy of the Dark Forest itself. These days, however, the edge of the Forest was more than a hundred miles away.

Truth be told, the going had been slower than Thaddeus would have liked. The Watchful Man put his hands on his hips and took a deep breath, taking stock of the environment around them. They were finally entering the true woodlands that heralded the edge of the Dark Forest, but the Forest was vast and its borders hazy. Like a large, lazy creature, the Forest's tendrils extended for more than a dozen miles in any direction before fading away. There was no thick, impenetrable canopy above their heads just yet, and Thaddeus turned his head to enjoy the sun's warmth once more. Once they entered the Forest proper, they would likely not see direct sunlight for a while.

A rumbling in his stomach brought his attention back to the here-and-now. Not for the first time since they'd started their journey, Thaddeus looked at Warwick's bison and images of a perfectly-roasted steak flashed through his mind. He put the thought out of his head and looked around for Gryffyth Wolfsblood instead. Thaddeus was trusting the wood elf to help guide their way through the Dark Forest beyond this point, but the group also relied on his prodigious hunting skills to find food. Thaddeus wasn't a shabby archer himself and he knew how to track animals, but it was a poor imitation of the almost frightening abilities of the elf. It also helped that he had a direwolf the size of a pony.

They were all here for their own reasons. Thaddeus, the founder and leader of the expedition, was here simply to fulfill his duties as a Watchful Man. Some of the others, like James Porter, were here out of a desire for adventure, or to sate their curiosity. Warwick, the bison herder, had personal reasons to have a stake in this expedition. What the southern elf, Peren, was doing here, Thaddeus still wasn't sure of, but he wasn't about to turn down a helping hand attached to someone as well-connected as the trader. Tina, the female thief, amused Thaddeus. He had the feeling she had come with him because she was bored. Thaddeus believed Miri, the half-elf, and the clan she belonged to could be a great boon as well, but she was so intensely private it was hard to tell.

Thaddeus found Gryffyth and his direwolf by the edge of the pond, where the two were taking grateful gulps of cool, clear water. The rest of the party was taking the opportunity to sit down and relax, some against the bark of the trees, others on their backs in the grass. Thaddeus could hear them talk amongst themselves. The ranger approached the hunter and cleared his throat to get the elf's attention. Before Gryffyth could speak -- and there was no doubt in Thaddeus' mind that he'd immediately have another one of his endless questions ready -- Thaddeus said: "It's hunting time, Gryff. Should be some good game around here. Before you leave, though, I have a question for you this time. If my estimates are correct, we're less than another day's march from the real edge of the forest. I haven't been this far north in a long time. When can we expect to start running into... well, I don't know what you'd call them? Those big cats." Thaddeus pointed to the fang-dagger at the elf's waist. The direwolf, Lwyci, growled, but Thaddeus ignored him. He knew that Gryff wouldn't let the animal attack him.

Loud, clumsy footfalls approached from behind Gryffyth as he quenched his thirst at the bank of a small spring. The Elf's ears twitched as he recognized Thaddeus from what the sound of his steps spoke of his size and stride. Gryff acted as though he did not hear the human and continued to drink as he approached, waiting for the Man to approach and speak when he felt close enough. Comfortable speaking distance was very different between Men and Elves, despite how loud the former seemed to be. Finally the Watchful Man spoke, and Gryff spun about to face him. He sat on the forest floor with his legs crossed under him, looking up at Thaddeus like an attentive child. His eyes were clear signs of his inhuman nature; pink-brown in color, running to the edges of his eyes so as to leave no whites.

As Thaddeus finished, asking about the manner of beast that had borne the blade to Gryff's ancestral dagger, the Elf responded, "Cysgd, they are called." The human tongue Gryff knew was spoken in a lilting Elvish accent, his voice like the call of some robust bird. "Uh, shadows, meaning. Not long before we cross them, no. Best avoided, in my thought. Ways to keep them far, eh..." He scratched his head, thinking of the best defenses against the nocturnal, predatory beasts. "Some herbs, the smell they don't like. Fire will keep away, but, uh, will attract other things. If lucky, we will never see one." Thinking for a moment, he added on, "If unlucky, uh, much the same." To express his meaning, he crossed his finger over his throat in a way he had seen some humans do. "We will keep watches, that is best."

Lwyci growled as Thaddeus approached too close for the wolf's comfort. Gryff put a hand over his companion's muzzle to placate him; were he anyone else, the gesture would have cost him fingers. With a whistle and click of his tongue, the wolf stood up off of his haunches, and Gryff leaped astride his back. A word of departure to Thaddeus, and he rode off into dense woods, clutching the thick fur of the wolf's back in lieu of reigns. The hunt was on. The Elf and wolf both searched the wind for the scent of prey, but they could find nothing other than the smell of their companions until they had been riding for some time. Though he knew it was impossible, Gryff idly wondered if the forest could sense the presence of Men, and had called its children to hide in its depths. He could understand why; they had sent him to hunt for food nearly every day, sometimes twice. They seemed insatiable to the ascetic Elf. Had they ever gone a day without eating? Eventually they were able to find small animal trails, and decided that these were the best option for feeding his ravenous friends. A larger beast -such as an elk or boar- could feed them for days, but it would take hours to track and kill, and he had no way to carry it back. A few smaller creatures of the underbrush would suffice.

Gryff dismounted Lwyci and the two followed trails for some time, in search of a nest or burrow. Eventually a rabbit den was found nestled under the roots of a great oak, and the duo of Elf and wolf set to work. Gryff dug out under the roots roughly where he assumed the burrow ended with the dull end of his spear, but stopped just short of uncovering it. He set himself at the burrow's entrance, and whistled to Lwyci to finish digging. Eventually a fat, brown mother rabbit came running out of the burrow in fear of the great wolf, and ran straight into Gryff's waiting arms. The rabbit kicked and wrestled with Gryff for a few moments, giving the Elf a few good scratches, but he eventually got a grip on the rabbit's head and broke its neck. His prey now secure, Gryff hefted it over his shoulder, and looked to Lwyci, who had the blood and fur of the rabbit's young smeared over his muzzle. Gryff smiled and patted his friend lovingly, and the two continued on to find another nest.

This was the closest Warwick had ever been to the North Forest’s boundaries in some time, and the calm of the day just seemed to be the calm before a storm, which was an expression the man had heard from a traveller once and found it a very apt description for what he felt now. Gryffyth disappeared into the brush to hunt, taking his wolf with him, which gave Warwick an opening to water Starla. Placing two calloused fingers in his mouth, Warwick let loose a shrill whistle to get the bison’s attention.

The bison, which had been contentedly grazing in the sun lifted her lumbering head and regarded her master with curious brown eyes before obeying the summon and walking towards the assembled group, and the stench of the direwolf. She entered the grove hesitantly, noticed the wolf wasn’t waiting, and approached Warwick, who grasped her reins and led her to the pond where she gratefully drank the cool, refreshing water. Her master knelt beside her, cupping water in his own hands and rinsing his face. With a reassuring hand running down Starla’s snout, Warwick rejoined the rest of the group, sitting cross-legged in the grass, letting the sun warm him. From what he understood, it could be quite some time before seeing it again after entering the forest proper.

The group was an odd assortment, unlike any he had associated with before. It was almost amusing the one he could relate to most was Gryff, one of the elves. Warwick had never thought of himself, or his people, as being on the fringe of human society, but the past week had been a rather eye-opening experience as he had encountered what felt like every kind of human, some elves, and dwarves all in the same places, leading exquisitely busy lives with wants completely alien to what the plainsman could have ever wanted. He had also never known people could get so fat, but there were some waddlers that seemed to only be able to move on their own accord through some unknown magic he was unaware of. Food came by easily in cities, yet there were always beggars. There was some strange social dynamic that made little sense, and even after but a couple of days, Warwick was already yearning for his much more simple life on the homestead. Fending off wolves and other predators was a lot more inviting in comparison to trying to figure out the labyrinthine corridors of things like haggling or trying to have a vendor admit to where his wares came from.

“So, I guess this is it, then. If anyone is having second thoughts about their part in this, this would probably be the last chance any of us get to go home without risking our lives.” Warwick said to the others, looking at each face in turn. “My people always avoided the woods, there was something always uncomfortable about it, like it was waiting to consume all who entered it. I never in all my years expected to be crossing the boundary, let alone with a group of others who are brave enough to face the unknown. I wanted to thank you, even though my cause isn’t yours. I’d hate to try to find my way through these woods without help. Worst thing is, I’m not even sure what to start looking for.” He said to the group at large.

"You travel to search and you come back home to find yourself there" recited Peren to Warwick, quoting the old Elvish proverb. He picked a suitable reed from the grass and placed it in his mouth, chewing on the spongy centre. It was something he had seen the human peasants do, usually when they tried to look intelligent. The Elf mimicked his companions, stretched out on the dewy grasses and squinting at the few rays of sunlight that peeked through the canopy above. He hadn't formed any close relationships with his companions yet, much to his annoyance. He had tried to display an aura of wisdom in the short time they'd spent together but it didn't seem to be impressing anyone. Conversations were his forté yet he struggled with this motley group. Perhaps it was due to the fact he'd grown up speaking to nobles and peasants - not rangers and mercenaries - that he had been unable to find something in common with this motley crew of men and Elves.

He was excited, though. It had been decades since he had gone travelling for non-business purposes and many more since he'd travelled with strangers. Domestic life had been a joy but the call to adventure had been gnawing at his stomach for some time. He absentmindedly peeled the reed with his long, soft fingers, revealing the spongy, white tissue that lay within. The idyllic silence that hung around the group for a week was fast coming to an end and Peren knew it better than anyone. Once the group entered the forest, there would be arguments, fights and, although he prayed otherwise, death. The Southron Elf secretly hadn't much faith in the group - they would probably disperse or die once they were deep within the forest and he planned on jumping ship if the going got too tough. The Dark Forest wasn't called the Dark Forest because of it's population of unicorns and cute animals, after all.

His hand brushed his weapon at the thought of it. He had never used his sword in combat and it had been almost a century since he had sparred with his friends in the streets of Jaga. A sly idea popped into his head. "The rumours of this forest - I don't believe a word of them" announced Peren, sitting up and wrapping his thin arms around legs. "I'd bet money that I will not once draw this sword from this sheathe in the next ten days, I'm so sure of it. There is probably nothing so dangerous in the Dark Forest as a fox".

Imirria leaned against a rough tree trunk, looking towards the thickening trees with a slight grimace. Gathering with Thaddeus and the others in the small human city of Woodhaven had been a pleasant respite from life among the forest elves, and the young half-elf was was disappointed to see herself returning to the Dark Forest so soon. In truth, she admitted, their progress could have been quicker, but it still felt all too quick at the moment. Part of her felt somewhat guilty for leaving her family to go on this quest, one she felt she had no real place in, but the offer had been too tempting to refuse. She had been wanting to go off and travel for some time now, experiencing a need and desire to make her own adventure and challenge herself, though those plans had been delayed by her mother's illness. Now that her mother was finally beginning to heal and they were back among the elves, Miri had eventually talked herself into leaving. Besides, she felt that her mother and brother must be somewhat happy to be back among their people and homeland, even though they adamantly refused such thoughts when speaking to her. It would be easier for all of them if she were away. She frowned. Hopefully they wouldn't be going near the Val'dannis clan on their way through the forest.

With a sigh, Miri pushed herself upright and wandered back to where the rest of her new companions seemed to be lounging on the grass. She noticed Gryffyth Wolfsblood race into the forest on his wolf's back, most likely to hunt. They may both have been from the forest, but Miri was sure Gryffyth would know the area in a way she never could; she had been so young when she left for the first time after all. She sat down near the others, legs folding under her, and listened in to see what they were discussing. She was apparently just in time to hear one of Peren's wise comments. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes at his bravado just barely, before replying. "I wouldn't tie your sword to its sheath just yet. The Dark Forest, unfortunately, isn't much like the Southern cities. Though it's not as if the cities were always safe, I suppose," she added on as an afterthought.

She leaned back on her hands, enjoying the warmth of the sun. "Only now we need to worry about ridiculously large cats and temperamental elves." She arched an eyebrow before dryly adding, "I'm not quite sure which one's worse."

She looked curiously over the odd assortment of travelers. Her eyes were immediately drawn to the bison. She had never ridden a bison before. Indeed before now she had never known anyone who had, though Warwick seemed to manage it rather skilfully. The rest of their party was intriguing as well. From the city elf to the human bison herder and everyone in between, it was an interesting collection to say the least. Miri was extremely curious to see why and how Thaddeus had selected this little group, though she was more curious as to what it was the Watchful Man expected from them, and just what they would find once they truly began.

James sat with a grunt on a large root. It seemed that the farther in they went the larger the trees grew. Wordlessly, he unlaced one of his boots and shook it upside down vigorously, watching with a strange mixture of pleasure and annoyance as a small pebble fell out. He was pleased because he finally had the time to get the damned thing out, he was annoyed because he had been walking with the tiny stone his boot for the past hour or so and he could feel the beginning of a blister forming. It was always a mystery how stones managed to find their way into boots, James halfway suspected that they were sentient little tricksters that snuck into your shoes when you least expected it. Of course that would be ridiculous....

James was momentarily snapped out of his contemplations of pebbles and their possible malevolence by Peren's voice, who was mentioning something about not needing to draw his sword, and the worst thing they would face going forward being foxes. Somehow, James managed to turn the roaring laughter that he was about to release into a simple, sharp snort. Numerous biting retorts nearly flew from his mouth, but he managed to hold himself back, if just barely. For some reason he constantly found himself having to hold back when it came to the high elf, probably because he was a merchant, and mercenaries, even ex ones, and merchants had a somewhat...strained relationship. At least where James was from they did. He had dealt with enough merchants to notice a pattern amongst them; cocky little cowards who thought that just because they paid for your protection that they owned you, or were somehow better then you. Maybe it wasn't fair to lump Paran in with every other merchant James had been forced to protect, but right now James couldn't be bothered to be fair.

For a moment James considered lobbing the small pebble at the back of the high elf's head, but he decided against it and dropped it on the ground instead. He replaced his boot but stayed where he was for a moment, his eyes scanning the horizon for how much daylight they had left. He wondered if they would cross into the Dark Forest today, or if they would make camp here. His eyes worked over their current location as he considered how defensible it would be, how many resources they had nearby, what kind of shelter they could throw up and how quickly. It was an old habit, studying each area carefully for its viability as a camp. When you spent as much time on the road as a mercenary tended too you learned what to look for. But the call for whether or not they stayed or moved on wasn't his, and personally, James was ready to get a move on.

It had been surprisingly easy for James to get back in the swing of travel. Though he was more accustomed to roads, traveling through the trees wasn't that bad. Of course, the closer they got to the Dark Forest the more weary James became. He wasn't scared of the Dark Forest, but only an idiot would get close to a place like that without caution. He had heard the stories that superstitious farmers liked to grumble to each other. Most were absurd, tales of 'I know a guy who knew a guy whose cousin knew a guy.' But hidden among the small mindedness and superstition was likely a grain of truth, and if even that much was true then the Forest was a place to stay aware.