Within the Hullack (RP thread)

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Sitting at the crossroads, a small pile of parchment stacked beside her and quill in hand, Daphne rewrites out the signs that had been torn from the perch upon the entrance to the Hullack. It seemed someone did not agree with the Warden's guidelines and in response, she would reiterate the importance of such rules. One by one, each poster came to life, her quill creating life upon the parchment, the black ink swirling in Elven calligraphy. She had seemed to have memorised the words Entori had initially written out, the words now flowing freely without thought as she stared mindlessly at the page. 

"On pain of death, 

Do Not Destroy, or maim the woods in anyway. 

Use of fire, and magical fire in the wood without great need is not welcome. 

Any creation of undead, will result in death. 

Savagely hunting local game, with out need will not be tolerated. 

It is recommended to all Travellers to stay along the paths of the Hullack.  

You have been advised." 

Slowly each parchment flowed with such words. With the increase in traffic through the forest, Daphne thought it best that these words were heard by the travellers that wished to walk the woods she protects. She'd been alone for a tenday during her rounds, watching, walking and noting the movements through and within the Hullack itself. Though it was only this day she had noticed the poster at the southern entrance had been torn off the tree, its remains scattered upon the forest floor in a hundred tiny pieces. Slowly her quill came to a halt, a heavy sigh leaving her chest as she leant back against the old oak. Her wrist now ached, her forearm tense. Her hand pressed to the ground, pushing herself to her feet with her posters in tow, an arrow being notched between her fingers as pressing it through each parchment. Slowly she murmured a spell under her breath, the engravings upon her bow glowing like they'd been bought to life.


"My arrows be guided straight and true." she whispered, a small echo to her voice through the spell. Daphne pulled her bowstring tightly, the bow quivering with her strong draw as she aimed high to the South, the arrow flying through the air with force and speed, the parchment flapping in the wind. Three arrows had been released at that moment. One to the East, one to the West and one at the Southern Entrance. After each had met their mark, she nodded to herself, picking the remaining posters from the ground and beginning her journey deep into the Hullack...

[vangiggsy]

*Some days ago*

The road and had been long and arduous from Waterdeep, his travel gear torn and dusty, but at last Quinidar had reached the boundary of the Hullack. Slowly he lowered his hood that he might use all of his senses to take in the familiar sights, smells and sounds of the wood he had cared for and called home for so long. His mouth cracked in a small grin, his emotion at returning breaking his usual reserved and calm visage. Taking the reigns of his horse in tow he slowly stepped into the shadowed wood and makes for home.

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A long hike within the Hullack had taken it's toll upon Daphne, her cheeks reddened and a vast amount of forest dust strewn throughout her hair and clothing. The past three days had been spent walking deep around the forest, surveying the land and protecting her home. The Orcs continued to hide to the East, their tribes ever growing and Daphne could not help but wonder if the 'feathered-one' lurked within. She hid in the shadows, lingering for some time, watching and waiting, noting their every movement. The memories of him flashed in her mind, replaying like a broken tape and igniting the hatred within her once again.

Being dragged backwards had been one of the most painful moments of the Orc Raid. Her tears had fallen heavily at the loss of Zeska, her ribs fracturing from being dragged by the ankles to the forest floor by her Orcish captor, her fingers bloodied and body gashed. Daphne had screamed the entire way, the fear evident in her pleas for help.

She could still hear her own screams in her head, their piercing sound echoing and sending shivers flowing up her spine.

She still recalled the fear written upon the faces of her kin that had been taken prisoner deep within the woods, their bodies quivering as they looked on at her. A familiar face had stood within the captives- Anen Silverspear. She had been thrown to him, her knees buckling under her weakly as she was pushed into his arms. She thought of how he had examined her, her wounds severe upon her chest and belly, each one now a permanent reminder of that day. At the time her hands shook violently, the fear, pain and shock settling in all at once. Her speech was non-existent, simple words had been but a stutter upon her tongue. The feathered-one gripped her wrist tightly, having dragged her away from the safe embrace of Anen and into the hands of his horrid companions. She shivered, the memory haunting.

       

It was not the 'feather-one's' deflowering that now pained her the most, it was his glance, his gladdened expression as he had taken the life of Zeska; his blade piercing through her brother's weak body and slaying him before her. The Orc had looked to her, his lips curling with a darkness she'd never seen before, as if he was glad he'd caused her such heart ache.

She gripped her bow tightly at the thought, her fingers wrapping around the neck of her bow. She could not see any that looked like him as the gazed upon the small encampment, the image of his face still fresh in her plagued mind. Though it was there she remained, watching in hope that there was a possibility that maybe, just maybe, the 'feathered-one' would return this night....