The meeting with the village chief had taken longer than Dover had hoped, but it was also more fruitful than he’d expected. He thanked the chief and then immediately headed towards the woods. He could cover a lot of ground in a half day, and the forest’s trickery didn’t typically begin until nightfall. He quickly reached the stone wall and metal gate which marked the edge of the village. From there he was within sight of the Forest of Whispers.

There was about 50 meters of clear grassland between the wall and the first of the trees. This was well maintained and served as a buffer from both bandits and monsters. It was also regularly used as a campground for people who preferred not to rent space in the village’s inn.

Leading from the gate to a break in the treeline was a hard packed dirt road. Large trees branched over the opening on either side, making it seem as if the opening was the forest's mouth. The canopy was dense enough that it blocked most of the sun’s light so anyone entering the woods would immediately find themselves in a shadowy twilight.

As he approached the woods, Dover took out a strange looking stone from a hidden pouch. Whispering a quick spell he scratched a series of runes into the handle of his axe. When he finished, the axe itself began to glow and he proceeded into the darkness using it to light the way.

Within a matter of minutes the forest seemed to close around him. He could clearly make out the road, but everything else was nothing but shadows. He followed the trail while keeping a careful eye out for anything strange, be it something as subtle as a broken branch or more obvious like something traveling off the path.

To his woodsman’s eye, it quickly became apparent that the brush along the road was maintained. It was as if the path were part of a giant hedge maze. That meant that there would likely be an actual path somewhere for the master of the forest. Expecting illusions, he knew he shouldn’t rely on his eyes. He walked along tracing his fingers along the brush. Eventually he found a spot in which nothing was there. Carving a simple vertical arrow into a nearby tree to mark the path he confidently walked into the brush. He found himself on a game trail of some sort. There were no signs of it being used recently, but at least it provided a clear direction to search.

He slowed his pace and began carefully inspecting the trail as he walked. It was very slightly ascending and likely formed from snow melt runoff in the spring. A person could simply let gravity lead them to the main trail. He followed it for hours until the glow of his axe was no longer bright enough to travel by. He used the last of its light to rope off, and mark, an area to camp. He expected some sort of attack once the moon rose and didn’t want to chance losing his way.

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He cleared the brush and branches from his campsite and built a small fire. He knew he was essentially painting a target on himself, so he carefully prepared his weapons. As if from nowhere he drew a hunting knife and stabbed it into the ground where he could easily grab it. He checked that his crossbow was properly loaded and ready. He readied a traditional bow and arrows as well. Once his gear was set, he huddled under his cloak and waited.

The singing of birds was soon replaced with the hoot of owls. Various small animals could be heard scurrying through the brush. Then the voices began. It started as a whisper carried by the wind and then grew to a mournful song. The song spoke of death and abandonment, of being lost and alone. The words tugged at the heart, or at least they would if Dover were a normal man. Dover was a man of solitude, happiest when alone. He had the heart of an animal, death was only natural when you lived a life where it was kill or be killed. The woods themselves were his home, you couldn’t be lost if you had nowhere to be. While most would be shaken, Dover was almost lulled to sleep.

Instead he half closed his eyes and physically relaxed, hoping to further tempt whatever was out there to approach. He needed to drive off whatever threat there might be at least once if he hoped to get any real rest. As he waited, the fire burned down and his eyes adjusted to the dark. While he couldn’t see any details, the slightest bit of motion would catch his attention. Eventually there was a snap of wood and the shape of something approaching.

It was small, around the size of a cat, and crept along on two legs. Its eyes reflected what little light there was and shone green. It seemed to be avoiding the dying embers of the fire, either afraid of the heat or of the light. Needing to know the enemy, Dover shifted ever so slightly and waited to see if the creature reacted. He shielded his eyes with his cloak, and reached into his pocket for a vial of powder he had prepared earlier. Then, when the creature was facing towards the fire he covered his eyes and tossed the vial into the last of the embers. The powder immediately flared, with a light as bright as day and the creature screamed in surprise.

As soon as the initial flare died down Dover was moving. He grabbed his axe and knife and struck at the creature. It was an easy target as it was still stunned by the burst of light and a single strike from the axe killed it.

Dover quickly fed more wood into the fire to brighten the clearing and allow him to inspect the corpse. The creature was vaguely humanoid, having two arms, legs, and a weirdly shaped head. Its leathery green skin made it appear reptilian. It was a gremlin, a common form of demon used for simple tasks. They were too stupid to do anything without orders and largely survived by being scavengers. They also tasted fairly good.

If this was all he had to worry about, he would have a great night's sleep and a satisfying dinner.