The Forest Trail (Private)

[Dimdorv Stoneplate]

The Forest Trail

Dimdorv Stoneplate and Lancelor of Vannivere

Down one of the trails in Das Duul, there came a lone dwarf, slowly coming into view. He was walking at a moderate pace for a dwarf, but it was no faster than a man's unconcerned walk. The dwarf was wearing a travel cloak that had the looks of being once-fine, but now-dirty. His red-brown beard had two braids woven into it. His hood was down on account to the warm weather. At his belt hung a small, one-handed axe. And the all-about look of him was that he had a strong purpose.

The dwarf was Dimdorv Stoneplate. The dwarven warrior sent to retrieve the Fireblade Axe. He had successfully escaped from Akraf Dorf and made it into the Mines of Glovein. From there he had made his way to the southern edge of the mountains, eluding his pursuers in the mines. He managed to make the long trek down the mountainside. Shortly after came the forest of Das Duul. He entered it without hesitation, despite the fact that he had no love for forests. Being a dwarf, he was accustomed to being underground. Yet his duty required him to make an epic journey above land.

Dimdorv had been traveling for about a week now, and his supplies were running low. He was sure he would come across some sort of town or village if he followed the road, which he assumed to be the cross-country road "The Merchant's Highway". Even though it was early spring, he had not seen a single soul on the road. Why? He didn't know. The ways of the world above ground were strange to him. Before the siege, Akraf Dorf would trade with the other dwarven cities all year round, but he understood that men and elves did not trade with each other during the season of winter. And yet it was now spring, and he had assumed there would be traffic along the ancient highway. But no.

Dimdorv was coming around a bend in the road, thinking about stopping for a meal, when something caught his eye. Someone was up ahead, off to the side of a road, sitting against one of the trees. No, not sitting. Sleeping.

Dimdorv approached, not concealing his presence. This was the first man he had seen, and he needed directions.

"Hello there," he said loudly.

[Lancelor of Vannivere]

Any decent traveler might have mistaken Lancelor of Vannivere for a bandit, at one time or another. While rangers didn't have a certain uniform code, his worn attire - unwashed trappings and his well-worn leather vest and jacket - along with his rugged appearance could easily convince anyone he was on the wrong side of the law.

However, bandits didn't sleep sprawled by the wayside, unless they were injured, or just plain drunk. Lancelor was in a complete stupor, near-empty wineskin beside him. He lay among the raised roots of a tremendous oak, which was just beginning to show the signs of spring.

Just then, a dwarf appeared on the road, taking notice of the sleeping stranger.

"Hello there," the dwarf said, just loud enough to stir Lancelor from his dreams of championship. The dream was growing steadily worse, though, as the lady whose hand he sought to win turned into a short, squat figure with the voice of a dwarf. He turned his head, towards the noise, his eyes still closed in the bright morning. When it dawned on his foggy mind that he might need to protect himself, he reached for his longbow. It was propped against a root to keep it from getting damp in the cold, and his fingers knocked it down instead. It fell, in turn knocking his quiver over and spilling the arrows. Too half-awake to be embarrassed that he couldn't even pick up a weapon, he winced in the morning light and struggled to get up, much to the amusement of the dwarf. After a comic attempt to fix up his campsite - which was in part a ploy to clear his head as well - he got up, pulling himself up by a root.

He shaded his eyes at stranger, barely able to keep his balance and leaned on the tree trunk.
"Good mornin' to you, too, sir . . . dwarf?" Lancelor said with a slight slither of tonque, wondering in the back of his mind what in the blazes was a dwarf doing traveling on the Merchant's Highway when the merchants weren't. Maybe that drink last night had turned his dreams to real - No, he ran his hand over his eyes and shook his head, finally feeling somewhat together.

[Dimdorv Stoneplate]

Dimdorv slowed his pace even further as Lancelor awoke and groggily looked up at him. He looked drunk. The man tried to reach for his weapon, a bow, but only succeeded in knocking it over. Dimdorv stopped walking and smiled beneath his beard, thinking how clumsy the human race were. The man began to collect the arrows he knocked over and finally stood up to address Dimdorv. Shielding his eyes, the man leaned against the tree and said, "Good mornin' to you, too, sir." Then he squinted at Dimdorv, who just stood there, and added, "Dwarf?"

Yeah, this man was drunk. Or at least had been drunk. He probably had a hangover. Dimdorv chuckled to himself; dwarves didn't have hangovers, even though they drank mead more powerful.

"Aye," Dimdorv replied. "I be a dwarf. And I hope you can point me in the direction of the nearest inn." He sounded gruff, perhaps hostile. Dimdorv didn't much like the look of Lancelor, and though he found the man somewhat amusing, he didn't wish to give him a reason to be overly friendly.

[Lancelor of Vannivere]

"Nearest inn?" Lancelor shaded his eyes and leaned against the tree, trying to remember which way pointed north. "If you keep going down that way - no, the other way" - it was hard to tell which direction the dwarf was heading -"Then you'll find an old sign at the fork. If you take a left, it will branch off to the village of Jhaddon, but that's mostly a collection of farmers, and Lord Ferhra is not the most hospitable landlord."
He propped one boot up. "But if you keep straight on the Merchant's Road, you pass through the living forest, and there are quite a number of goblins about these days. Eventually you'll reach the Stump-Root Tavern, and near it the White-Leaf Inn. It's a rough area," he added.
"And even then, stranger, it's an odd sight to see a dwarf," he held up a hand in an unoffending gesture , "above ground in these parts." He left the statement with the question unsaid.

Lancelor was not a prying man, but he seemed to figure that if he was to give out free advice, then the dwarf ought to at least name his purpose.

[Dimdorv Stoneplate]

Dimdorv propped a foot on a rock protruding from the ground and tried to make sense of the man's directions. He turned his head first left, rather confused at being told to go back down the same road he had come from, especially since he hadn't passed anything of interest back there, then turned his head to the right, realizing the man made a mistake. He slowly nodded, still looking to the right, indicating he understand what the man was telling him. He returned his gaze to the ranger as he began to name the tavern and inn he spoke of.

He scowled at Lancelor. "Rare it may be, but not unheard of." Despite the fact he meant no offense, Lancelor had somehow stepped on Dimdorv's pride. "I thank you for your directions, man, and shall now leave you to your slumber." He bowed haughtily and turned away from Lance. He now knew what he needed to know, and he would not waste any more time conversing with a man that had just come to his senses after a drunken stupor.

And so Dimdorv slowly made his way out of sight, eventually disappearing around a bend in the road. We must now skip forwards, passing the period of an hour in which little happened, arriving at the point in time in which the hardy dwarf arrived at the fork in which Lancelor had spoken of. Dimdorv chose the right path, keeping to the Merchant's Highway, and passing by the village of Jhaddon.

Shortly afterwards, he came to another fork in the road, in which the path split in to two well-traveled trails. He stood there for a good minute, trying to decide which way to go. Which road led to the tavern and inn? Perhaps one road led to the inn, and one to the tavern? No, that wasn't likely.

Dimdorv Stoneplate took a step forwards, looking down the each path in turn. The road to the right remained fairly straight, trailing off into the distance. The morning sunlight pierced through the canopy of newly grown leaves, casting bits of light through the shade to the ground. The left was a little bit wider, and curved leftward after about 400 feet. The road was lined with thick foliage and lined with large trees.

Slowly, Dimdorv began to step towards the left branch. He would go as far as the turn, and judge from there. If it seemed that the right lane would be a better choice, he would backtrack and take it. However, it went on for quite a distance, and it looked like there was nothing down there. So Dimdorv chose the left trail, and resumed his swift walking pace.

It was not long before he reached the curve and rounded the bend. The trail went on for a little ways before rounding another corner. He followed it a little further, and found that it was joined by a smaller path. He decided that it must lead to the farming village. This, according to Dimdorv, confirmed the left path was the correct one. He figured that the tavern and inn would be close enough to Jhaddon to walk from one to the other with relative ease.

And so Dimdorv pressed on... little did he know that the road he was on was no longer the merchant's highway. The right road was the one which led to the inn and tavern. Where he is headed now? Into the unknown... and danger.