The dense forest to the north was a welcome sight to the wayfarer after traveling so many days through the open terrain. The priestess was in awe of the trees' splendor and humility, whose branches wove a thick canopy overhead. “Never before witness such lushness,” she gasped, barely raising her voice out of fear that somehow it would break the natural serenity created by the Forest of Larun. “It feels like I’m back on the Isle of Druids,” he murmured, his hand instinctively gripping the hilt of his curved sword as he navigated along the game trails. “You child there?” Ysolt asked, carefully stepping in his footsteps so as not to disturb too much of the foliage and underbrush around them. “No,” he answered curtly. “Shipwrecked there,” he clarified with a low grumble in his throat. “How terrible,” she sympathized, though she had been lucky enough not to have been put in a similar situation. However, the fact that he lived to say as much only confirmed how blessed Trystan must truly be.
The further they ventured, the darker the forest seemed to become. Ysolt had never experienced the phenomenon of the canopy obscuring the sun more thoroughly than idle cloud cover. Between that and the humidity, she worried they would be caught in a storm without shelter. Trystan could hear the apprehension in each step she took after his. The bestial growls and bird calls that pierced the air did not help dissuade her fears. The young man looked back at the woman, who seemed completely out of her element, but could not offer her any words of comfort. She was a woman of faith, and so he could attempt to lie and claim that the oak staff would guide them to safety. More importantly, though, his faith was in his skills.
He recalled how the Oak Druid had expressed that Trystan would find the way to the Willow Druid. That his experiences were enough to guide them safely through the thick woods. No words of comfort or certainty could be given, yet he smiled sincerely when they briefly locked eyes. Ysolt gave him a small smile and a brief nod in return.
That was enough.
SCOUTING DIFFICULTY – 12
Or so he thought.
After the third night spent wandering the Forest of Larun without finding any signs of the grove of the Willow Druid, Trystan was starting to believe that the Priestess of Maka was the source of his poor luck. They emerged from the northern edge of the woods and faced the numerous mines known as the Bronze Hills. Ysolt’s gaze scanned over the landscape of excavated rocks, finding no signs of any other color than dusty brown that only took on the tone of bronze during the early hours of dawn and the late hours of dusk. It was obvious that any valuable minerals had been leeched from the land.
“Caran Baru is not far from here,” Trystan suggested dejectedly, feeling like he had failed at what should have been a simple task. Perhaps the Oak Druid was wrong about him, though he could not figure out where or how things went wrong. “Let’s see if there’s an inn, spend a day or two recuperating, and I’ll see if anyone has any tips about navigating the forest.” Ysolt could hear the frustration in her companion’s voice. The quest he had been sent on turned out to be far more difficult than he had anticipated. She didn’t offer any blame. The forest was a trial, but not a complete failure. “Good bed, hearty meal. Cure fatigue,” the traveling priestess said with a reassuring grin as they headed east. If anything, it meant she could take a nice long soak in a hot bath. That alone would be refreshing enough.
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