It is easy enough to find the route to the Temple. It appears as if the trail sees some fair amount of traffic. Judging by the boot prints, several of the scoundrels from the Hostel made their way in this direction after the previous night's revelry. An weathered, overgrown sign declares "No tresspassing upon pain of death," further indicating you are on the right path.
The vegetation becomes more and more disconcerting and sickly looking as you travel along the broken, rutted and muddy trail. A foggy mist rises up around you as the trail enters the dense trees of the Gnarley, limiting your vision to a few dozen feet. An oppressive feeling hangs in the air, and the sunlight dims in the sky as you travel.
After travelling about two miles along the track, you begin to notice that there are several large ravens that seem to be shadowing your group. They are flying silently from tree to tree behind you. Every now and then one will fly off through the trees. From the way they keep changing positions and appearing/disappearing in the foliage, you can't get a good count of their numbers. You would guess there are at least four or five of them.
