Once more the inviting warmth of the sun envelopes you as you exit the horrific mouth carved into the rock face.  The swamp you had skirted only a day before spreads out before you in the near distance, its landscape almost barren and devoid of life.  Slowly, you work your way back down the rock formation and, after scouting a suitable pathway, turn sharply westward and begin trekking into the deep forest.  In no time you are surrounded by the sights and smells of this ancient and cursed forest.

While initially it appeared inviting, almost comforting in its forgotten beauty, the forest very quickly took a sinister turn.  The canopy overhead grew thick and blotted out the sunlight, casting a grayish haze upon the landscape.  In some areas it grew so thick that patches of fog still swirled effortlessly through the trees.  The ground itself grew hard, almost like rock, with only the most simple and basic of plant life covering it.  Soon, the smaller trees begin to thin out and their skeletons began stretching across the landscape like a cemetery.  Before long, you were in what is affectionately referred to as a 'widow makers' forest, a section of land covered with old, dead and dying trees that frequently collapse under their own weight.  The sound of splintering wood and loud *THUDS* periodically echo through the wind.

In reply to The Powers That Be (msg # 1):

Generally speaking, Boris felt comfortable in the forest. The forests here seemed somehow blighted and unearthly, as if awaiting the chance to trap and kill the unwary.

"I thinks, perhaps, in reaching this island we have crossed over into some upper plane of Hell. Perhaps I should have lived my life better, though it be too late now!"

He shared around his wineskin while they took a break.

OOC: So, basically, there is a canopy of old growth forest above us, over a layer of decaying leaves. Little or no surface vegetation but plenty of fallen timber and rotting stumps  everywhere on the ground. Doing a little Google research "widow-makers" are trees and limbs that are dead but trapped in the upper canopy, waiting for the wind or gravity to bring them crashing down. Although damage from lightning and wind is a cause the most common cause is fungal growth, which seems to perfectly fit the situation!

In reply to Boris Underhill (msg # 2):

Gadly accepting the wine skin from Boris.
"Thank you, this is refreshing."

Looking around at the forest.

"I surely dont know where we are, but this forest seems old, and needs a good cleansing.
 Lets get out of here as soon as we can, please.

Ondrea stayed standing once they had stopped, keeping an eye on their surroundings. She accepted the wineskin and took a mouthful before passing it off to the next person. "It would seem that tracking these raiders was going to be a harder task then I thought." She looked at the old sinister forest around them.


-

Larz took his place in line and took a large mouthful of wine before handing it back to Stoney.  Instinctively, his hand hovers around his sword handle, ready to pull at a moments notice.

"I don't like this place one bit, nor do I fancy being here overnight.  We should quicken our pace if we wish to leave this place behind before nightfall."

In reply to The Powers That Be (msg # 5):

"Yes. As God is my witness, I do not like this forest at all.

"I believe I was wrong! Let us follow our path back south. It may go through the swamp but at least it's ground we have traveled before."

Unless anyone objects, Boris makes his way back to the path they forged coming north, and then began back-tracking.

Io & Galen - Following the path of destruction, you veer NW along the edge of the swamp.  The land itself started to look confused and it would seem that perhaps this was a tidal marsh as thick, lush vegetation overlapped with areas drowned and devoid of plant life.  At times the ground was firm and easy to pass, yet others it was like syrup, slowing your movements as you fight to remain standing.  Finally, in the distance, you spy the darkness of another treeline as the land begins to rise from the swamp.  As you get closer, you can see the land begins to rise sharply...a good sign that firmer ground lay ahead.  Trudging onward the ground does indeed become drier and once more movement is free and unfettered.  Just as you reach the forests edge, you hear voices, human voices, ahead of you...

Frederick & Albion - The passageway ran deeper and deeper into the blackness of the cold rock.  Moving cautiously it was clear that another group had already been through here recently, perhaps more than once.  Which direction they ultimately went was anyone's guess, however.  Finally you spy daggers of sunlight piercing through the endless void of nothing.  With little hesitation you step out from the cave and warm yourselves in the light.  The air was thick with moisture but was a welcome relief to the cold damp of the cave itself.  Looking around you find a horrifying visage carved around the cave entrance; a large, ghoulish stone face in all its horrid glory.  Despite how worn the stone was, you could still see that whoever carved it had little skill or care for its design.  Rough edges and chisel marks were plain as day from top to bottom.  The eyes were nowhere near equal in proportion and the nose was horribly crooked.  The mouth, however, seemed to almost possess a true nature of the sinister.  The teeth, carved both top and bottom, were a tangle of jagged, twisting stone and you could swear you actually heard it breathing. Finding a small, hidden trail off to one side, you waste no time in starting your decent.  Carefully and cautiously, you begin to move down the cliff face.  The formally hidden path weaves in and out from the rock face, where it vanishes you manage to discover indentations with fresh scuff marks, with the path reappearing just as the climbing becomes near impossible.  As you draw nearer and nearer to the ground, you spy two lone figures, human no doubt, moving in your direction...

Boris & Stoney & Ondrea (& Larz) - The air was once more thick and humid and the thought of facing the stinging hordes of the swamp once more was unpleasant at best.  Still, it was a direction you knew and therefore a safer option (maybe).  As you begin to march back through the deadwood, the lone rock formation looms ahead of you; the twisted stone face still fresh in your minds.  Drawing closer, you hear sounds of disturbance originating from somewhere above.  Stopping to listen, it definitely sounds like something descending the cliff face ahead, perhaps following the same trail you had taken...

Frederick pulls out a rag from a pocket and cleans his hands and does his best to dust off his clothes.

Dirty business this always is. Well, can't be helped.

He looks up and thru in the distance sees movement. He nods to Hawkmoon and the archer.

I believe I see others down there? Does anyone else see them?

"Looks like two humans to me... I will hail them, and if trouble ensues we can retreat as our archer friend lays down covering fire."

The shiny mailed man raises an arm and hails them.

"Hello down there, I greet you with the peace of Pelor, bringer of light!"

"... so then the farmer said... Oh, look Io, people! I bet they are those adventurers that we heard about. OOOOIIII! HEELLLLLOOOOOO!!! MAY BIBI BLESS YOU WITH HER KINDNESS!!!"

Speeding up the pace, Galen goes to meet the trio of strangers that were descending from the cliff side.

And so Io appears before the others.
A rather huge man, missing both of his arms, wearing nothing but muddied sandals and equally muddied pants.
The swamp having made a mark upon him.
He walks forward, not sharing the enthusiasm of Galen.
Indeed, if Galen is a nice, charming and friendly figure, Io is the complete opposite: a huge man with scars all over, a sour look, untamed hair and absolutely bestial.
He doesn't say anything, letting Galen took the diplomacy role... but from his stance he looks more similar to a lion seizing up a prey than a man.

Ondrea raises her hand in greeting, but does not shout out a welcome. "Well this is uncanny, perhaps they know more about this place then us..."

Once the groups coverage on each other she introduces herself as Ondrea and adds a little back story from when they left the village.


-
This message was last edited by the player at 23:33, Wed 14 Nov 2018.

Frederick will bow deeply and introduce himself and the rest of his companions.

I am Frederick, Thaumaturgist and Traveller. This fine gentleman with me is Hawkmoon and the archer here is Trevor Ashenblood. And the fat little rodent on my shoulder is Dinen.  We recently awoke in the cursed village and have been trying to locate where we are.

The ferret on his should chatter at him a bit until he reached into a pocket and pulls out a bit of jerky and hand it to the ferret. The ferret sits on the shoulder and contentedly munches on the jerky.
This message was last edited by the player at 22:33, Wed 14 Nov 2018.

Hawkmoon smiles and bows when introduced.

"I am blessed as a Crusader of Mayaheine and follow in her path."

In reply to Albion Hawkmoon (msg # 14):

Stoney is always open to meet new people, especially if they have a drink with them.
"Cheers to our new friends."
Stoney holds up his wineskin, then drinks.

Whispering to Andrea.
"You can always tell someones intentions by how they raise they drink.  How do we know these aren't the people we are looking for?"

In reply to Stoney Applesmith (msg # 15):

"Greetings, I am Boris!" said a halfling in well-worn traveller's gear and clothing. He wore a gold crucifix around his neck. On his pack was a buckler and from his belt hung a sling and a short sword in a scabbard.

"Good day to you. We were following the trail of some Saracens that attacked Port Strange. Their trail led here to this God-accursed temple, as best we could tell, although it may have gone further. If you art a crusader, fellow Hawkmoon, I assume it is not of the Temple, yet you may be of great aid to us."

Hawkmoon looks puzzled at Boris's speech for a moment.

"Sire, I am sworn to the ascended lady Mayaheine whose sword serves Pelor yet unwaveringly.  Where I tread, it might be said, a shrine to her stands."

He pats the hilt of his rather large sword.  "And how I worship... "  he shakes his head softly.  "..has to do with being her champion."

Good hail to thee Boris and friends. Have you any knowledge of the village where time seems to have forgotten to move forward? For that is where we found ourselves, after being in our own land. We were each in his own place, shrouded in fog only to awaken in the village. And we know not where we are.

In reply to Albion Hawkmoon (msg # 17):

Seeming to understand a little what the other were talking about, Boris clarified, "ah, I see. To my understanding, Pelor is a Good and Holy aspect or servant of the One True God, who is worshiped by many in His stead although He rules over all. And by "Temple" I mean Solomon's temple, of course. If you a Crusader, like the Holy Knights of Soloman's Temple, or "Templars", then you are indeed a servant of the Lord and a strong ally in the fight against the evil of this foul land.

"We have indeed seen the cursed village in the forest, where trees and bushes have grown through the walls, yet all seems undisturbed. My companions took some food and drink, but I am not so trusting.

"As I've said, we hail from Port Strange on the coast, to the south past the foul swamp. From there we were charged to follow and root out a warband of Saracen raiders. We followed them here to this temple, and have searched it to no avail, although there were traps and demonic spirits that bedeviled us within. From a rear entrance on the far side of this mount we spied a strange village in the forest yesterday, and visited it, and returned. Now we make our way back to Port Strange.

"As for where you are... I believe this might be a plane of Hell, or at least a part of Purgatory. I believe I am no longer near my homeland of Outremer or the kingdom of Prester John. Nor is this the long-lost Europa from whence the Knights of Soloman's Temple journeyed, many generations ago, to free the Holy Land from the Saracen. I also do not think this is the same land my companions hail from, either. But I am not fully knowledgeable or all lands under the eye of God, and so we may be somewhere in the southern reaches of Alkebulan, far-off Siam or India, or perhaps lost Atlantis or far-away Lemuria.

"Wherever we are from, we are here on some kind of island. We all met in Port Strange, and there we hope to return.

"On a practical note, the swamp ahead of us as we return to Port Strange is full of demonic creatures of nightmare. Two nights ago we fought nightmare creatures in the shape of a man's skull on top of a snake skeleton, and they used dark magic to freeze my companions, although God protected me from harm. With His help we slew them."
This message was last edited by the player at 05:27, Fri 16 Nov 2018.