smell of sap engulfed the heroes.
Dulgin scoffed, “Well, it won’t take us long to figure out there is no lake in there. Stubby remembered a lake covered in mist. Why are we even here?”
Bridazak smirked, “We are following—”
“Yeah, I know, following the mystical-prayer-finger on the map thing.”
Spilf sighed, “He’s right, Bridazak, there can’t be a lake here. The trees are thick from here to the mountain. Maybe we should look elsewhere.”
Dulgin relented, “We are here now, Stubby, so let’s get a move on. We can salvage this yet by having some cooked meat. There is no lake, but I am damn sure there must be an elkhorn or two in there.”
When the four of them stepped foot into the edge of the tree line there was a discernible shift in the atmosphere around them. Now under the pine canopies, the environment had changed from what they saw before entering. The birds sounded different, the smell of sap changed to wet wood after a rainy day, and a lingering fog weaved through as far as the eye could see in the dense foliage.
“Whoa, what just happened?” Spilf asked while raising his hands.
“I’m not sure, but I feel different,” Bridazak responded.
Without a word, Abawken stepped back to the open tundra. At that moment, the air around them wobbled as though an invisible force field of magic had been activated.
Bridazak called, “What did you sense, Abawken?”
“I’m uncertain of your meaning, Master Bridazak.”
“You stepped back to other side, so you must have felt something.”
“I do not remember what you say I did.”
The three of them on the inside of the field looked at one another, contemplating the phenomena.
Spilf burst out in realization, “This is why I lost my memory. This field of energy somehow blocks memories and that is why I could never find my way back.”
Everyone nodded. Abawken stepped back through to join them.
“Welcome back,” Bridazak said.
“Strange, it feels like my first time entering.”
“What is this place?” Dulgin asked, scrutinizing the shadowy realm while pulling out his battle-axe.
Before anyone could answer, the adventurers heard the terrified scream of a small child. Abawken darted in the direction of the cry with his swordin hand, and the others followed hastily. Abawken emerged from the forest onto a misty lake shore and skidded on the pebbled shoreline. Another scream alerted him and he instantly veered in its direction.
Spilf and Bridazak burst through the brush next and halted suddenly when they came into the clearing. The sound of lapping water hitting the pebbles triggered recessed memories inside Spilf’s mind.
He whispered, “I remember.”
The fog hovered upon the loch, giving its rightful name—Misty Lake. Bridazak stood in awe beside his friend.
“This is it Bridazak. I’m home.”
Dulgin charged through the tree line and stopped in his tracks at the sight of the body of water.
“Well, I’ll be a bearded-babbit, there is a lake here after all.” The dwarf smiled and smacked Spilf’s shoulder. “Which way did Huey go? I don’t want him to have all the fun if some critter is about.”
Bridazak pointed the direction and Dulgin stomped off; the loud crunch of the small worn stones with each of the dwarfs steps resounded.
“C’mon, Spilf,” Bridazak tugged him.
Another scream, more intense than the previous, rang in their ears. The daks were now chasing after Dulgin, who was following Abawken’s footsteps along the shoreline.
The human moved swiftly, out-distancing his friends with his long strides. Again, he heard the cry; it seemed to come from within the trees. He charged back into the forest and shortly came upon a clearing. He was shocked to see, in the center, a young child tied down on a wooden altar. The small boy, who looked about two, was stripped of all clothing but caked in dirt and mud, with well defined tracks of tears on his face. He whimpered and sniffled when Abawken appeared. A snap
Dulgin scoffed, “Well, it won’t take us long to figure out there is no lake in there. Stubby remembered a lake covered in mist. Why are we even here?”
Bridazak smirked, “We are following—”
“Yeah, I know, following the mystical-prayer-finger on the map thing.”
Spilf sighed, “He’s right, Bridazak, there can’t be a lake here. The trees are thick from here to the mountain. Maybe we should look elsewhere.”
Dulgin relented, “We are here now, Stubby, so let’s get a move on. We can salvage this yet by having some cooked meat. There is no lake, but I am damn sure there must be an elkhorn or two in there.”
When the four of them stepped foot into the edge of the tree line there was a discernible shift in the atmosphere around them. Now under the pine canopies, the environment had changed from what they saw before entering. The birds sounded different, the smell of sap changed to wet wood after a rainy day, and a lingering fog weaved through as far as the eye could see in the dense foliage.
“Whoa, what just happened?” Spilf asked while raising his hands.
“I’m not sure, but I feel different,” Bridazak responded.
Without a word, Abawken stepped back to the open tundra. At that moment, the air around them wobbled as though an invisible force field of magic had been activated.
Bridazak called, “What did you sense, Abawken?”
“I’m uncertain of your meaning, Master Bridazak.”
“You stepped back to other side, so you must have felt something.”
“I do not remember what you say I did.”
The three of them on the inside of the field looked at one another, contemplating the phenomena.
Spilf burst out in realization, “This is why I lost my memory. This field of energy somehow blocks memories and that is why I could never find my way back.”
Everyone nodded. Abawken stepped back through to join them.
“Welcome back,” Bridazak said.
“Strange, it feels like my first time entering.”
“What is this place?” Dulgin asked, scrutinizing the shadowy realm while pulling out his battle-axe.
Before anyone could answer, the adventurers heard the terrified scream of a small child. Abawken darted in the direction of the cry with his swordin hand, and the others followed hastily. Abawken emerged from the forest onto a misty lake shore and skidded on the pebbled shoreline. Another scream alerted him and he instantly veered in its direction.
Spilf and Bridazak burst through the brush next and halted suddenly when they came into the clearing. The sound of lapping water hitting the pebbles triggered recessed memories inside Spilf’s mind.
He whispered, “I remember.”
The fog hovered upon the loch, giving its rightful name—Misty Lake. Bridazak stood in awe beside his friend.
“This is it Bridazak. I’m home.”
Dulgin charged through the tree line and stopped in his tracks at the sight of the body of water.
“Well, I’ll be a bearded-babbit, there is a lake here after all.” The dwarf smiled and smacked Spilf’s shoulder. “Which way did Huey go? I don’t want him to have all the fun if some critter is about.”
Bridazak pointed the direction and Dulgin stomped off; the loud crunch of the small worn stones with each of the dwarfs steps resounded.
“C’mon, Spilf,” Bridazak tugged him.
Another scream, more intense than the previous, rang in their ears. The daks were now chasing after Dulgin, who was following Abawken’s footsteps along the shoreline.
The human moved swiftly, out-distancing his friends with his long strides. Again, he heard the cry; it seemed to come from within the trees. He charged back into the forest and shortly came upon a clearing. He was shocked to see, in the center, a young child tied down on a wooden altar. The small boy, who looked about two, was stripped of all clothing but caked in dirt and mud, with well defined tracks of tears on his face. He whimpered and sniffled when Abawken appeared. A snap
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