[@Rogue Colm]
[hr]
The tall dark trees loom over head, as if scolding the party for disturbing their slumber. Betwix their high branches, small figures move, the size of birds. Wings flutter as boots and heavy bodies snap twigs beneath.

The smell of filth and rot fills the air, a strange still smell, near acidic, smooth like white flowers but sinister, mingles with the death.

The air is chilling now, the sun all but gone, put to rest behind the distant mountain ranges to the south.