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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...

At least Devlin could be reassured that his group wouldn't be entirely lost in the woods -- well. Perhaps. Admittedly, Rosalie's area of expertise was more in basic training, in peace keeping, in her sword. Devlin'd seen some of this when she was running the new recruits through their paces, making sure they at least knew which end to stick into the enemy, if it came to that. And how to subdue, which was much more likely within the city.

Now, bright eyes flicked over her team, taking in Lytka's scattered appearance, Ulrich's clothing, and Devlin's rattling uncertainty. Maybe it'd be easier to call her Sir taking into consideration how solid she looked in comparison...

"We'll comb it in a methodical manner." They weren't far into the woods, just yet -- still could see smoke from city houses blooming up into the sky, their own footprints leading back. She paused against a tree to open the map, and sketch out lines with her fingertips. "Other groups may split. I'd prefer not. We will stay together. And we'll camp before sunset."

Lytka leaned in to look at the map, curiosity getting the best of her. She had never seen the forest lain out flat like that before, and she had to admit it was a little boggling. She knew this area of the woods well -- or as well as one could, really -- but the map made little sense to her. The familiar landmarks that she used to find her way -- a strangely twisted tree, a boulder, a ravine -- were nowhere to be seen on the flat piece of paper.

Still, Rosalie seemed competent enough for what she was. Adjusting the knives at her belt, Lytka nodded her approval. "Stayin' together is a better idea than not," she agreed, chewing her lip thoughtfully. "These woods aren't too kind to strangers tryin' to find their way -- sometimes seems like they twist, change...distances aren't always what they were a moment before. We'd do best to keep in each other's sight at all times if we don't want to go losin' more folks than we're findin' on this rescue mission."

The hunter honestly didn't think they were going to find her lost comrades in the small rectangle of wood they were searching -- it just didn't make sense that her fellow hunters, familiar with the forest, would just be wandering around this close to the edge of the woods lost. A cold breeze made its way through the trees and Lytka frowned and pulled her hood up over the golden-brown puff of her hair. No, the lost hunters would probably be further in, where the growth got thicker and the creatures stranger. Still, she appreciated this effort, and who knows? Maybe they'd find something of use after all...though Lytka, for her part, thought it most likely that they would be stumbling upon a corpse rather than saving anyone.

"Hunter -- ah -- Lytka." Rosalie was good with names; it only took her a moment to drag up this one, to form it carefully in her mind, even to pronounce it right. She fixed Lytka with a focused look as she folded her map back up and tucked it into her belt, easily at hand. Beside it hung her own sword -- a notch up from the standard issue in quality and form both, with a large green gem set into the pommel. The scant half inch of blade that showed, loosed from its scabbard, was notched. Well-used.

"It would be useful if you could give us a brief idea as to signs of trouble we should be aware of." Her eyebrows raised. This was as careful as she got, phrased between an order and a question, shoulders settling. "Then we'll move out in a group, with myself and young Ulrich on one side, and you and Sir Tavor on the other, looking for signs of passing."

Ulrich's gaze moved back to Lytka as his previous thoughts were brought to attention. She was probably right that one way or another the group probably would have at least one negative experience on their expedition whether they could forsee it or not. But they'd come out here looking for more than just the potential of encountering danger. He felt it best to bring that up, as well.

Looking pointedly at Lytka and Rosalie, he brought up the next subject. "And what about signs of the missing hunters? Won't we be looking for almost the same sort of things?" He made sure not to mention the rumored monsters of the blackwood. They were rubbish as far as the young man was concerned and no matter how creepy those whisper-like sounds were, it had to just be the wind in the trees... "If we find a trail of blood, I doubt we're any worse off if we followed it than leave it be. We'd have to consider ourselves lucky if we could find any lost gear, or a frozen body the animals haven't gotten to." His pessimism was clear, not expecting that they'd find any live or uninjured people if anyone at all.

The mist rolled in first, a low and curling cloud that crept over the top of the snow almost as though it had a mind of its own, the closer it got the higher it reached, creeping at first only over the toes of your boots, but after a few moments it was crawling, cold and thick around your ankles. It had an odd sensation of ‘weight’ to it, as though you now walked, or stood in the heavy ‘half-melt’ during a relatively warm summer day; the thick sodden kind of snow that refused to melt down into a fine crust, slushy, slippery and hard to deal with.

If that weren’t strange enough, the animals came after, they sprang forth from the fog where it was likely knee height and higher. Small herbivores and omnivores scattering around you like a wave running down the river with the spring thaw. They leapt like Skhel, their eyes wide as they ran as though their lives depended on escaping whatever traveled within that heavy fog.

The silence after the scattering creatures as almost as oppressive as the slowly churning fog, not even the branches seemed to want to stir as though they, and the whole forest held its breath. The growl shook the branches; it seemed to vibrate through the very earth itself, through yours shoes and up your legs to curl in your belly like the taste of fear, but whatever lingered there in the heavy mist remained, as yet, unseen.

Rosalie, as the ranking Sword, was in charge -- and this was the only thing that kept her knees from rattling too hard together, which made her hand steady as it lowered to the pommel of her sword, thumb passing only briefly over that green gem for luck. Then it was out and clutched in a steady, strong grasp, her eyes flashing around them to search for signs of what had caused it.

"...I take it..." Her voice, too was steady. Mostly. It lacked the strength it usually had, dimmed not quite to a murmur as she looked aside to Lytka, "You can't tell us what's causing this, then?"

The mist was not noticed by Devlin at first. His attention was not on his feet or the ground, but on the foliage around him. His first sign of something going wrong was Lytka's muttering, which made him turn to look at her. Her gaze was downward, which his followed and- Oh, not good.

The young Sword drew his weapon, his hands shaking slightly as he held it before him. The animals fleeing made him start, almost attacking, but they passed on by. What were they running from? And- Oh s**t, what made that noise?!

He must not wet himself, he must not wet himself. Devlin's thoughts continued in this pattern as he tried to show courage and not that he was shaking in his boots.