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Stepping into the Blackwood, only the hunters would be truly familiar with the grey-black labyrinth of skeletal branches that clawed upward towards the cold sky. Others would, for the most part, have seen it only from the fields or walls. If not for this excursion, many of this crew would likely have spent their whole lives safe within the city walls -- but a city had needs, and now, it needed the brave. Or, one might argue, the foolish, those who give up their own safety to become hunters’.

That of course brought this ramshackle crew to their present situation, likely with a bubbling of fear in the pits of their stomachs, uncertainty, and more questions than they had answers. But who else would hunt for the hunters? Who else would search for the men and women who helped put the better portion of the meat on the tables and the furs on their backs? What if they couldn’t find them? Would they join the ranks of the outcasts who were, more often than not, brushed by the strange ‘things’ that lived in the deep black wood?

Would they ever return, or would they join the ranks of those lost to the forest’s dangers?

Or worse, would they return – but changed, no longer truly themselves, with a spirit in possession of their bodies?

There were strange sounds to be heard even here, at the outskirts, soft whispers that they could only just make out, too indistinct for speech but strangely human enough to raise the hairs on the backs of their necks. There were growls that issued from deeper in, yet whose echoes seemed to reverberate off the city walls as though they were surrounded before they even set foot into the woods. Only those who entered the woods on a fairly regular basis could find this even close to ‘normal’.

Everyone knew the stories. Almost everyone knew someone who had a family member or a friend lost to the ‘things’ that existed deep in the woods. It was time to brave entrance, and they knew that they’d only be going in as far as would be considered ‘safe’, but accidents happen.

How are you feeling? What will you do?

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OOC:






The event starts with each group taking over a carefully-marked and bounded section of the forest, to thoroughly comb and hunt down. The idea is that this take no more than a week, and those who know anything about maps will be heartened, suspect it to be even less. After all, the areas marked out shouldn’t take more than two or three days to carefully criss-cross, four at most if they feel a need to turn over every stone, to climb some of the trees.

For now, you will RP in this thread -- the Swords organizing the efforts, and the Civilians helping as they can. This is open prompt RP, so you can play whatever you’d like, whether it be arguing or learning more about each other, exercising skills, or quivering in balls of fear, depending on your characters’ personality.

Whatever you play, activity will be rewarded -- for the more you post, the more likely it is that a clue will crop up in the forest, or something strange will wander its way into your path, dropped in by the Speaker of Stone account...

"Wait, wait," Florian said. The other Sword stood at the mouth of the Blackwood and clutched at the throat of his cloak with one hand, the fur underneath his fingers faintly reassuring. He wished he'd had his other cloak, but he was wearing the Sword cloak now, and the clasp glittered faintly in the strange light under the trees. In his other hand was one of the swords that Ayle would recognize, polished to a sheen and ground to a razor's edge. "We need to actually have a plan, here. We can't just stroll into the Blackwood like it's the park."

Maybe a little unnecessarily sharp in the face of that good cheer, but -- this was the Blackwood. And he was nervous.

His eyes darted from the other Sword to the hunter and the nobleman, still not resting too long on Zac. It would be all he needed for Zac's father to get wind of this, and then -- it made him toss his head, sharply, like a fly had buzzed in his ear. "Mechthild, you take point. The hunter," because he didn't refer to Ever by his name, not yet, "and Sir Bantok will take sides. I'll take the rear." He wanted desperately to ask if this was okay, but no -- he was a Sword now. "Otherwise we'll all get killed."

‘The hunter’ got a rude gesture for his dry comment. “Ser Hunter is hopefully not –drunk- yet.” He said through gritted teeth and bristling with irritation. “I’ve been to the wood other times without ‘calling down’ a Bhar.”

“Ser Florian, you are right handed yes? I’ll take the left if you accept that, then I won’t fowl your draw should you need to?” He shifted his feet and then glanced at their other companion. “Would you be comfortable guarding our backs?” He asked softly before glancing back to the sword to see if the small adjustments they’d wound up suggesting were acceptable to the man who was arguably ‘in charge’.

And Florian was only too happy to have found an ally here -- an unexpected one. It took the nervousness right off of his face (or else he learned to hide it), and made him nod at Zach before stepping over a twisted tree root to take the right-hand position.

"Good. We're all in position? Let's move out. The hunter can let us know if we're about to step in something we shouldn't." This was met with a smile, a dimple on his cheek, but it was fairly serious in tone. "Mette can drag us out if we happen to do so anyway."

Mette had let out a good-humoured laugh at Florian's comment - she certainly knew far more about stepping into things that couldn't be mentioned in polite company than any town boy would - but cut it off as Ever took the stage. A crease formed, just slightly, between her eyebrows at his elaborate pantomine and dry remarks - she did not have a mind for sarcasm, she was not even quite sure of all he meant. Perhaps the men were friends, this their way of comradeship; perhaps he was sincerely ambivalent about the orders the Swords had to give. All she was sure of at this point was that she would find it hard to understand him...and though the mention of dinner did stir some childish excitement - hunting! For dinner! In the woods! - she dutifully sought to remind herself it was hardly their priority.

"I've tracked many a wayward brother and sister to a hidden haystack in the farmlands," she started, conversationally, as they moved along - feeling as if she ought, as a Sword, to steer them back to the task at hand, but unable to think of a neater way to accomplish this with professionals far better versed with the motions than she, "but I suppose a hunter would cover his tracks much better! What was it we were supposed to look for again, Florian? Broken branches? Drag marks?" And that was about as stealthy as she could get with words.

Ever had neatly shut Florian up: the wry twist of one side of his mouth (complete with dimple that served to make his expression seem less irritated) and the way he tossed his head showed that in spades. He recognized the elaborate mockery of noble life -- though Ever couldn't have been noble himself. No noble behaved that coarsely. It was mockery of Zach.

It wasn't entirely out of kind, because Ser Bantok -- the elder -- behaved exactly like that. But it made Florian's ears turn pink and made him moodily toss his head. "I don't think we'll find anything alive in here, but who knows." He'd gesture with his chin. "After you, hunter." If he could stop flirting with Zach for a moment.

Blood... That got her looking around in a hurry, every patch of colour suddenly seeming suspicious.

"I hope we'll hear something from them again," but it was an empty statement, devoid of confidence; she shook her head. Stop that, Mette - you're letting the forest get to you already. Or her companions. But the thought that it might be her comrades bringing her down made such a glum prospect of the next few days, she preferred to put it out of mind and blame the ghostly whispers.

Even from a distance, they were able to tell that something was strange about the bird. Ever's hawk had dropped it almost as soon as his claws were in it, had shrieked and retreated, letting the kill plummet to the earth not too far away and circling about it restlessly. When Ever himself picked his way over to look at what he'd taken down, he'd end up frozen in his tracks.

If the rest followed, they would as well.

It had to be the slants of light playing tricks on them, but as they approached, it seemed like the thing wasn't a bird -- instead it was a small man, dressed in leaves and feathers, with wings spread behind them. What had seemed simple game now took on a stranger twist.

Except they'd come a step closer, then, and it was a bird again.

And another, a small man not with wings himself but riding the creature Ever'd shot down, neck and shoulder streaked red with blood.

But no. It was just a bird, if they dared get close enough to really check. The woods were getting to them. All the same, it seemed perhaps less than wise to consume this beast for dinner.