Around the sharp turn in the road, towards the unknown.

You decide to take the sharp bend in the road, around the corner, into the unknown.

Walking around the bend, you find that the path leads into the forest. The day is hot, and the shade of the trees sounds more pleasant than taking the path away from the forest, out into the blistering sun, and, as you are lost, you don’t want to go investigating strange fires. You need to find your companions. Where are Alice and Crawford.

You call for them a few times, but your voice reverberates through the forest leaving silence in its wake. No one responds to you.

As you walk, you start to take a closer look at this strange forest. The ferns on the ground create a green ocean, the dirt path cuts through it like a scar. Tree trunks of every width fill your vision The bark of the trees stand out, a kaleidoscope of color in the midmorning sun. The dull ashen grey of familiar birch trees standing out against the rich sepia of the pines. Here and there are trees that you don’t recognize, but isn’t that to be expected? You have no idea how far the portal has taken you.

The neat borders of the path start to become overgrown with grasses and ferns, the dirt of the path occasionally broken up by an adventurous weed. Soon the tall majestic trees that created a pleasant canopy thin, standing dead trees start to intermingle with the living.

Dead trees lie over what remains of the path. Each tree that you have to crawl over, bending your body like some sort of an acrobat, makes you rue your armor. The rigid plates, and still not so flexible sections of mail, are heavy, cumbersome, and unnatural feeling. The ground starts to slope down hill, gently, almost imperceptibly. You do, however, perceive the shift from dry to wet. Soon the ground squishes under your plated boots. Mud splashes everywhere. More and more of the trees that you see are dead, more and more lie fallen. The columnar corpses of the trees with their spider like roots naked in the air give an almost storybook quality to this ominous forest.

Still, you do not turn back. There have to be answers somewhere, You are a trained Knight, and you know how to control your fear. Though you were regretting the burden, you are now thankful to be in your armor, to have your gear. It gives you a feeling of safety. Here in unknown lands, at least you have your sword which you know you can rely on.

Despite the path having become a trail, and that trail having become almost nothing, the edges eroded away and weeds growing everywhere, you come across a sign, decomposing in the humid air. You cannot read the lettering on it, but rubbing your gauntleted hand over the splintering wood, you are able to trace the letters out. The sign tells you that ahead lies the village of Azoth, nothing more. You curse the author for not including more, but you are happy that at least you knew the language. Though nothing of the trail indicates any sort of settlement would be coming, you press on.

You press forward. Within the woods, you come across a house. Through the trees, you can see another. They are new, fresh creations. Their pristine walls shimmer with the freshness of their paint. You imagine the insides smell of pine, the wood on the porches look so fresh. Only when you have made it to the center of this town, its dozen houses surrounding you in the within this untamed forest, do you start to see faces.

Children, their faces small, their eyes wide and eerie, peer out the window, staring at you. You look around. Each house has a pair of children. All are staring at you.