Ave

Mists float through the trunks of dark and dripping trees. Something oily and sinuous slides through the underbrush thick with vines and deep shadows. Just beyond the edge of your hearing, it seems as though you hear the fluting notes of a pipe, singing something mournful and forgotten. <<<>>> It seems as though the forest is bereft of life and thought, a corner of the world untouched by human hands. But you can't shake the feeling that there are myriad eyes on you every step. And while they aren't hostile, they don't feel friendly. Whatever is here in the forest... it has laid you on a scale and is weighing out your worth.