Journal - Old Forest

We went in to the forest. Apparently, some hobbit girl was bit by a poisonous animal and some old bark was part of the cure. Of course, the wood had to be haunted, trees blocking paths, attacking and what have you. Typical fairfolk tales, but I've seen more than enough to be wary.

And I was, all the time. After shutting down some overly snarky broad doc twigman talked with (she seemed amused when I jabbed at him though, might be fun to talk to later), we set off. Two other women, both seemed to be hunters or something similar, and a fancy-clad git with an armour shinier than a rohirric horse's sack. Turned out alright, despite looking a fop.

We went on. After a while of pointless wandering, we set a scout (one of the gals) and continued on. For the longest of times, nothing happened, but there was a palpable aura of dread over the damn place. Whispering leaves a little more literal than we'd like, roots scrapping at our boots, then we met a woman. In the damned woods. About that time, we camped, because the trek was exhausting and felt like it was hours since we started.
Turns out we were there for a couple hours in total. The place warps sense of time fiercely.

All the time, Dimheim was whining. Like an entitled prat (which, on second thought, he actually is), complaining about the forest and everything. My own mood had dropped massively as well, especially when the new person (promoted to our guide, since she apparently knew the place? Yeah, sure) started to nag at us to go. Overly eager to leave mister fancyman behind, which we eventually did, albeit not without leaving marks. Drawing heart arrows in mud, of all things. Thought woodsmen had better ways to mark passage than what a bored kid might do, but I guess I expect too much from something I have a faint idea of at best.

We moved on, more whining, more unease. Trees moved to point at us, and every single time, twigman had his own fully rational explaination as to what happened, more and more far fetched. It would be rather amusing to see his cold logic shatter later, if it wasn't mid-danger.

Because after plenty of detours and the guide losing her way (we had to cross a cold river. Everybody was rather livid about that, understandably), we found that oak. And as on cue, the damned roots started attacking us. I was too busy to check out Dimheim's face (though I did glimpse his flailing about for some amusement later), because I was too damn busy fighting for my life and helping whoever was in reach with their own roots. Damn things entangled us and the fight was so damn overdrawn I started hearing singing in my head. My armour needs patching now and my sides ache ferociously, but we made it out, with the bark to boot.
Left behind our "guide" too, who was in this clearly damn dangerous place for a rare flower, to cure her friend's ailment, a condition so serious it warranted a trek into reputably dangerous woods.
A godsdamned hungover.

People never cease to amaze me in their lunacy.