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[3.5] A Dark and Stormy Night
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<blockquote data-quote="Mark Chance" data-source="post: 4422701" data-attributes="member: 2795"><p>Xenon the soulknife, Dacen the cleric, Norim the fighter, and Gordon the warmage depart Hommlet, as rested as can be, newly provisioned, and resolute in their mission to rescue the abducted infant and destroy the source of this new evil which has afflicted the village. As the adventurers follow the northwest road toward the forest, several villagers wave and call down blessings upon them. Once past the Church of St. Cuthbert, the trees grow taller and closer together. The branches reach across the road, tangling limbs overhead to form a sort of leafy tunnel. Sunlight dapples through the interlaced boughs. After about a half hour, Dacen spots the stone marker that denotes where they are to leave the road and enter the woods proper toward the moathouse.</p><p></p><p>"It's not that far," Dacen says, "but the way can be rough. The ground gets swampier as we go."</p><p></p><p>Even though it is about mid-day, the forest is full of shadows. The canopy overhead admits little sunlight, almost none of it direct, except for intermittent shafts of brilliance like narrow spotlights. The ground declines slowly but steadily. The party crosses one narrow creek, then another. The dark earth gets softer, spongier, and the heavy odor of rotting vegetation hangs in the air. Crickets and frogs can be heard but not seen. Clouds of midges buzz about. Then, up ahead about ten yards, leaning against a cairn, is what appears to be a beggar in a ratty old cloak. He looks toward the party and rattles a tin cup.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Mark Chance, post: 4422701, member: 2795"] Xenon the soulknife, Dacen the cleric, Norim the fighter, and Gordon the warmage depart Hommlet, as rested as can be, newly provisioned, and resolute in their mission to rescue the abducted infant and destroy the source of this new evil which has afflicted the village. As the adventurers follow the northwest road toward the forest, several villagers wave and call down blessings upon them. Once past the Church of St. Cuthbert, the trees grow taller and closer together. The branches reach across the road, tangling limbs overhead to form a sort of leafy tunnel. Sunlight dapples through the interlaced boughs. After about a half hour, Dacen spots the stone marker that denotes where they are to leave the road and enter the woods proper toward the moathouse. "It's not that far," Dacen says, "but the way can be rough. The ground gets swampier as we go." Even though it is about mid-day, the forest is full of shadows. The canopy overhead admits little sunlight, almost none of it direct, except for intermittent shafts of brilliance like narrow spotlights. The ground declines slowly but steadily. The party crosses one narrow creek, then another. The dark earth gets softer, spongier, and the heavy odor of rotting vegetation hangs in the air. Crickets and frogs can be heard but not seen. Clouds of midges buzz about. Then, up ahead about ten yards, leaning against a cairn, is what appears to be a beggar in a ratty old cloak. He looks toward the party and rattles a tin cup. [/QUOTE]
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