Trystan Navigates the Forest

Trystan’s Scouting Score: 6 + 2 + 6 = 14 – PASSED!

The sudden sound of growling regained the young wayfarer’s attention, forcing him to realize that it was not some great beast on the hunt. It coincided with the grumbling pain in his stomach; a reminder that he had yet to find food or fresh water. Trystan regained his focus and found his way back to the game trail. Navigating the deep forest was difficult, but his honed tracking skills eventually led him to a tall, thick stand of bushes. Green eyes scanned the foliage for some time before the wayfarer carefully reached out to touch the leaves and tug on one of the branches. Thorns. His eyes narrowed when the thorns looked too plentiful for any normal thorn bush. Abnormally tall, as well. What was it hiding? Was it protecting something?

Though still hungry and thirsty, not to mention wary of what the vast bush of thorns might represent, Trystan followed along the leafy wall. The sunlight was growing scarce, warning him of the oncoming night. That usually meant other creatures would come out to hunt. He looked to the trees and considered taking shelter up among their branches. Without a bow and arrows, he wouldn’t be able to hunt from that vantage. His stomach growled angrily, reminding him that even if he could hunt, his prey would likely be frightened by the sounds he could not control. Trystan frowned, barely paying attention to his footing before he found himself stumbling and tumbling to the ground. The quiet man tripped over what appeared to be a sizable tree root. Landing on his hands and knees, he froze and listened with anticipation of having warned or attracted some unwanted attention.

What he was met with was a loud, hollow yawn. “Who wakes me?” A deep, whining voice drawls out from above, causing the young man to scramble to his feet and instinctively place his hand on the hilt of his sword. Looking around desperately, he noticed that an immensely large tree stood within a break of the wall of thorn bushes. Trystan’s brow furrowed as he saw the knotted and gnarled bark of the tree shift and move, creating a face as it opened a large pair of eyes and released another harrowing yawn from the hollow of its mouth. “Cat caught your tongue?” The tree mused more to itself than addressing the disheveled figure before him.

“No!” Trystan responded, his voice harsh and cracked from being parched. His jade-green eyes were wide with disbelief. He had never encountered an enchanted or talking tree before! He heard tales of them, but never imagined ever coming across such an entity! “I’m sorry, I…” He paused in his apology to cough roughly, remembering to cover his mouth with his wrist so as not to offend the ancient-looking oak tree. The live oak visibly cringed and creaked loudly as it leaned away from the human and waved its branches toward him.

“If you are ill,” the tree began with a hint of disgust and prudence in its tone. “I suggest you stay away. No mere human is allowed to pass through. Especially not one who will spread some nasty disease,” the old oak warned Trystan to stay away from it. Did this tree seriously snub him?! He looked at the giant plant in sheer disbelief. “I’m not sick,” he protested as his ruddy face grew so red with anger that it made his dark stubble look grey. “I woke up, stranded on the beach!” He waved his arm out toward the direction of the shore. “My throat is parched from the salt water, and I don’t know how long it’s been since my last meal! If I were some mere peasant, I would not have been able to follow the game trails that led me here to you,” he then pointed out, the wayfarer’s face growing grim as his eyes gleamed in the fading light.

While Trystan was indeed angry and would have had no qualms chopping down such an arrogant tree, the tales he heard often suggested that such enchanted entities responded positively toward diplomacy over violence. He also wasn’t sure if he had the strength to battle with the sentient tree. “I am hungry, I am tired, and I am too far from home to make it back before nightfall,” he said after a few deep breaths to help subdue his temper. The old oak tree blinked slowly at him, its eyes cautiously sizing the tattered man up. “If there is a meal to be had, please let me pass,” he politely requested. “Or, offer me safe directions to the nearest settlement.”

CHARISMA DIFFICULTY – 10