I’ve always been told to stay out of the Mournewood forest. Been told hundreds of stories around the campfire. Tales of cults who sacrifice children to their pagan gods, and monsters who feed on the bones of those same children. But those never scared me, it only set my mind ablaze with the dangerous wonder of what lurks in the shadows of Mournewood. I’ve always felt a strange twisted curiosity for this place, always yearned to explore its depths and unearth its secrets. And tomorrow, finally, that curiosity will be satisfied.
“maðr skal vita mæli síns eigin styrks.” a low booming voice sounds from next to me. I turn my head to see Ivar, a great behemoth of a man softly beating his chest with his fist. My eyes drift from his heart to his eyes, there’s fear there. Something I never thought I would see in this man. How many times has he charged into battle without a second thought? Fought off goblins, ghouls, witches and all manner of wicked beasts with a grin on his face? Countless… Is this really worth it? I shake away the thought and nod, trying to steel my eyes against the doubt beginning to creep towards them.
I look away out into the black of the Mournewood, watching… waiting for those mystical tales to reveal themselves as truth. But all I see is darkness, all I hear is the wind wailing like a banshee through the branches.
“I’ve been preparing for this expedition my entire life. Of course I’m ready.” I say to Ivar as I turn and make my way back towards the camp. With Ivar following close behind we make our way towards the expedition members gathered around the fire. Singing songs, telling tales and filling their bellies with drink. Their merriment is so out of place here, a stark contrast to the dark of the woods. It feels as though the Mournewood itself glares out at us, trying to snuff out the light with its sinister eyes. To envelope us in its curses and write yet another tragic fairy tale of the fool’s expedition.
That’s what they call us, fools. Word of our expedition has reached almost every corner of Noxland. And in reply, each and every city within it has condemned us and made a mockery of our mission. But I pay the cowards no mind, their words of doubt only increase our chances of success.
I take a seat on a makeshift log bench next to a 20 something sword for hire, with bright blue eyes, golden hair and a quick smile. Who is already ten mugs deep into the night’s festivities, waving his mug around spouting nonsense. He is either the reckless youth I perceive him to be, or he’s not as naive as I thought. Does he know what awaits us in the wood? And is savoring his final night of celebration?
“The greatest day of our lives will soon be upon us. No more will they mock us, and throw stones as we walk by. No more will we be denied the glory we deserve. Tomorrow we dive into the darkest depths of hell. To meet the devil himself, face to face.” He pauses for a moment, allowing their imaginations to burn. “And shove our blades, right up his ass!” The expedition erupts in cheers. Any visible doubt vanishes from their faces. I look around at all 12 members, laughing and smiling in their drunken state. They look ready, but I know they’re all terrified of what the morning brings. This isn’t the first stop in our search for the Black Rose Coven. But it may very well be our last. I’m startled out of my doubtful thoughts by a hand clapping me on the shoulder.
“And thanks to good ol’ hardass here, we’ll be out of that wood and bathed in riches and women before weeks end.” The expedition erupts again in cheers at the mention of wealth and glory. I allow a faint smile to cross my lips. “Any words of wisdom for our crew before our descent?” I look up to meet his gaze. His eyes ablaze with the brash naivety of youth. My smile fades as the dull ache of guilt begins to well within me. Wise words will not save them now. I can only hope they are ready for what lies within the Mournewood.
“Get some sleep” I say, standing. “We leave at first light”.
