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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...

Saxen’s expression was dark as they stepped into the forest. Shoulders stiff, one hand was wrapped around his sword hilt in a white knuckled grip. He was not a nervous man and was certainly not inclined to turn himself around from fear, but he could not help but feel anxious as the branches arced overhead, grasping at each other with black twig fingers. The snow crunched beneath his boots, his deeps breaths coming out in white plumes. Since they had entered he had not looked back at his companions but now, as echoing growl that almost seemed like a laugh drifted from the far reached of the forest, he stopped his forward march. They needed direction.

Readjusting the backpack and bedroll on his map, Saxen retrieved the map and looked over their marked section. They need to start angling to the right. Turning to face his group, Saxen ran a hand through his rough-cut hair and offered a grim smile. “Everyone ready?” He sounded a lot gruffer than he had intended but he did not try to remedy the situation, simply eyed each of them in turn. He was happy with those he had ended up with. They would do this job and do it well. Saxen was sure of it.

Ayle had paused, at the very mouth of the Blackwood, to look around: his gaze caught mostly by the spiderweb of black branches above his head, and the grey sky beyond. It was eerie, the branches skeletal and barren. As soon as he felt the small hairs on the back of his neck begin to stand up, he turned his gaze from the woods to look at the Swords.

He knew Saxen -- could see him tense up, as stiff as a board -- and chose not to remark on that white-knuckle grip. It'd be easy enough to knock his sword out of his hand, if he was that tense. Wiggy caught his attention and he came back to himself. His mind had been wandering -- a dangerous thing in the wood. He set his jaw for a moment before replying. "You can call me Ayle. I'll take right." He shrugged; the cloak around his shoulders shifted slightly, already sparkling with melted snow.

Saxen let out a breath, making a big effort to relax his muscles. He was glad Wiggy was there; she seemed sensible and more than capable of guarding the rear. Of course, that meant he would be out front. This was what he had wanted, right? There was no time to let your mind wander when you were focused on a dangerous task.

He looked over the map again, deciding the best route to take, and then neatly folded it up. “Get in position and let’s get moving. We have a lot of ground to cover.” With that he began walking, moving deeper into the forest.

Keep your boots in Saxen's traile, it took her a moment to process that. Oh. She feel into line, carefully making sure her steps lined up in the rest. As they started to walk, Aoife made sure to look to her left. That wasn't so hard. Just walk and keep looking to the left. Her eyes darted back and forth, she almost felt like they were being watched but there wasn't anything out there.

She took a breath to calm herself. It was pretty straight forward right? Anything out of place, tracks, clothing pieces. "Anything else to look for?" It was obvious they were looking for the lost hunters, but were there other things they had to be careful of?

"Aye, aye, there's that, too." Wiggy agreed, voice subdued. There was always that. In ways, she hoped they would come across some sign of violence. It would be better than not knowing. Never finding anything meant that the Wood might as well have swallowed the Hunters up whole. And anything that could do that to seasoned Hunters wasn't likely to fear a sword or Sword.

Eyes to their tail, Wiggy addressed Aoife, it suddenly occurring to her that knowledge of plants might not be such a useless thing.

"Aoife, you know plants, right? What plants are out here that Hunters would likely know and need?" she asked, glancing forward at the girl.

A shiver ran up her spin at the mention of blood. It made sense yes. She was partially use to seeing blood. Aoife swallowed hard but kept her eyes out to the left. Just one foot infront of the other. That's all she had to do.

Oh plants. That would take her mind off everything for the moment. She nodded. "Plants are my specialty. Yes, moss is quite a useful plant." Aoife wasn't sure what Ayle's trade was but he knew what he was talking about. "There are plenty of plants out here. I know of a few edible ones, but I mostly know the ones to help with illnesses. I can keep an eye out if you'd like." She wouldn't say no to picking up a few plants while she was out here. "I can provide descriptions too."

Something or someone was whispering words just unintelligible, far off in the undergrowth.

Oh yes. It had been there, a subtle undertone, mild enough that each of them likely attributed it to their imagination, or overlooked it entirely. Now, however, as they begin their quiet conversation back and forth, as they discuss plants and plot out their next moves, that undertone grew. Hushed whispers, around them; each of them hears it from their dominant side, behind or in front, each from a different direction.

The sound grows from vague speech to something clearer. All around them, there are the voices, an echo of their own conversation -- but with an edge of anger to it that they don't have.

Not yet, anyway.

Slowly, the voices rise, until they can pick out words. Words, and then sentences.

...East.

No, it was west...

...have to argue...

...what was that?

It will seem that whoever is having the discussion is right around the corner. The problem is that, for each of them, it will seem like it's a different corner.

F-frost and flame, did you see --

And with the words will come a faint sense of panic.