A Long Haul

A long walk becomes even longer when travelling with a halfling.

Bishop Mon-Durgoth trekked through the southernmost outer skirting of the Amavan Forest, for he did not dare enter its depths unless it was ultimately forced upon him. 

Some said that the forest contained ghosts, whilst others claimed the elves resided within the treetops protecting their borders with bow and arrow. There were many tales of the Amavan Forest, and in every case there was the same outcome; all of who dared to enter the forest were never to be seen again. And so to that day the forest had remained out of bounds to any wise traveler who might have happened to stumble across it in their journeys. 

What had brought Bishop to entering the outskirts of the forest was the fact that he traveled from the eastern shores of Dreagon, his destination was the great southern city of Boran, his birthplace. Bishop would have normally avoided the Amavan Forest, but on this occasion the warrior had a deadline to meet. Traveling south would have taken too long to reach Boran, due to the Guardian Mountains blocking the way. Taking the northern route would have been less timely but would have also trekked Bishop through the dreaded Departh Desert, few survived such a journey unless well equipped. And so the warrior made had his mind, promising himself to stick only to the southern most outskirts, traveling along the foothills where the Guardian Mountains blended with the Amavan Forest.

At first the warrior couldn’t understand why people feared the forest, the sun was out, but the paths were pleasantly shaded by the overhanging treetops. The birds sang, and the winter leaves blew about his feet. Bishop waltzed through the eastern most part of the outskirts in absolute harmony. 

The day grew late as Bishop reached the foothills. He found a small clearance and began to scavenge dead wood and twigs for his campfire. The clearance was only about ten feet in radius, perfect for the warrior, who was not fond of being out in the open, for all eyes to see. As night began to fall Bishop returned with a hefty bundle of logs and twigs under one arm and a dead rabbit flung over his opposite shoulder. He then made camp for the night setting his bedding close to the fire and slipping his ever-trusty broadsword under the bedroll. The night grew cold with the winter breeze, as he knew the snowfall would not be too far away this winter. The warrior ate his rabbit stew and settled down for sleep.

This first night in the Amavan Forest was the first night the nightmares had started. Bishop woke up in the early morning in a chill sweat, not quite knowing what to make of the hellish dream. He then found it strange that he had dreamt at all, for Bishop Mon-Durgoth could not remember dreaming since his mother had passed into the world beyond, or if he had, his subconscious mind had forced himself to forget before morning. As he looked about the dim clearing in the dying light of the campfire, he had the eerie feeling that this dream was some kind of a sign or warning to ward him away from the forest. Then shaking his head, he dismissed the theory and rested his head for slumber once more.

This dream had re-occurred the following night, the night that Bishop had slain the ogre. That night was also the night that he had taken the halfling into his care. 

It had now been two days and a night then, and Bishop had carried the still unconscious halfling over his shoulder the whole time. Although halflings were little people, the warrior began to grow tired of the extra baggage. Earlier that morning Bishop could have sworn that he had seen the halfling open his eyes and look about, only to have them closed and be unconscious again when the warrior snapped his head back to investigate. 

Bishop was considering dropping the little freeloader off at the first roadside inn on the great southern road, as he trudged on cursing the halfling. 

It hadn’t been long until they had exited the forest and come upon the great southern road. This road was miles long, leading from the North Kaloth River, all the way down through the Departh Desert, along the western rim of the Amavan Forest and then on further south to the Great City of Boran. The road was first laid for the purpose of transporting ancient armies through the rough terrain, but was, nowadays, being utilized for the import and export of traded goods between the towns and the farmers. Groups of travelers and adventurers would often be seen making way north and south of the ancient road, usually those with horse and cart. 
Bishop stopped here for a brief moment, resting his legs and having a skull from his water skin, before setting the halfling down upon the hardpan surface and dribbling some of the cool liquid between his dried and split lips. Then standing up and stretching his legs, he once again lifted the halfling over his shoulder with a grunt, and carried on trudging southward. His ambition was clear, he must make his deadline in Boran, and he hoped that there would be an inn soon along the way. Once there, he could offload the halfling for better care.

And the warrior trudged on.