After almost an entire day's ride through Life's Hollow and the subsequent Uaine Grasslands, Arte, atop his steed Tex, arrived at the foot of an unfamiliar forest. Unlike the lush emerald trees and grass that filled Life’s Hollow near Arte’s home, the trees here appeared withered, and dead. Instead of a vibrant hazel colored trunk, the trees here were dyed the shade of soot, with no leaves atop the branches. Arte hopped down from Tex and grabbed his map from his bag and gave it a quick gloss over. He traced his ride all the way up to the current point, stopping on the map where he was now. The name of the forest was written in the tongue of the old world, which was odd because hardly anyone in this day and age still used it, or even knew how to read it. Arte felt lucky in that his grandfather was versed in the languages of many men, including the elves, and elected to teach him the basics of many tongues. The map read Irubiscus Ebonius.
“The Blackened Woods” Arte whispered to himself as he kept looking over the map. After he was finished with the map, Arte put it back in his bag and grabbed a few rolls of bread, one for himself, and one for Tex. As he chewed on the piece of browned bread, Arte looked over into the woods once more. Looking into the inner reaches of the forest made him anxious, it was as if when he stared in, something maliciously stared back at him. He knew to trust his senses and that if something didn't feel right, you shouldn't leave it up to chance. Arte also knew in the back of his mind that if he tried to ride around the forest that he would never make it on time to Lanacosta, and would miss his meeting with Fynbar. Putting his worries aside, Arte climbed back onto Tex and brought him to a slow trot into The Blackened Woods.
Before long, the sun was starting to sink below the horizon in the west, and the forest was becoming daunting and dark. The wood seemed to stretch on for miles and miles on end and as the darkness grew, it became harder and harder for Arte to tell where he was going. As Tex trotted along Arte brought him to a halt for a moment as he examined a tree that lay in front of them.
“Impossible, we've already seen this before” Arte cursed as he inspected the dead tree, he began to fear that he had been going in circles. Drawing Direwolf from its sheath, Arte commanded Tex to trot forward until he was under the tree, whose long branches hung down enough for him to grab with one hand. Cracking the round branch with Direwolfs’s pommel, Arte snapped the wood off from the branch and broke it into two thick pieces. Laying them in an ‘X’ formation on the ground, Arte marked the area so that if they were led back to this point once more, he would be able to recognize that he wasn't progressing through the forest.
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Even after riding back in the direction he had come from, as the sun had finally set and the woods were completely dark, Arte fixed his eyes upon the pieces of tree he had shaped once more. After cursing and getting frustrated, Arte realized that he wasn't simply making wrong turns in the forest, there was foul play at hand. Knowing that at some point he and Tex would need to rest, or they both would exhaust all their stamina and be defenseless against what was attempting to trap them, he had Tex lie on the ground, and he rested against him. Arte decided the best way to draw out their hunters would be to feign sleep, and wait until they show themselves, tossing his sword to his side, Arte closed his eyes.
After a few hours into the night had passed. Small footsteps could be heard approaching, and Arte lied in wait, with his eyes half shut. Appearing from beyond the dark was a party of goblins, three carrying shortswords, one carrying a bow, and one mage. He could hear the mage muttering and cackling to the other goblins as they quietly joined in. It was most likely a magic drawn up by the goblin mage that made the woods feel like an endless circle. As he watched their approach, Arte carefully drew two throwing knives that he had placed in his pockets before he put Tex down to rest. Just as the goblins were close enough for him to act, Arte hopped up from his fake slumber and launched one of the blades right into the mages temple, killing it instantly. The lesser goblins produced their shortswords as they screeched and ran toward him, but Arte’s focus was on the bowman, who was preparing his bow with an arrow from his quiver. With the hurl of his second knife, the goblin bowman lay dead on the ground, which meant that Arte could now focus on the lesser goblins at short range.
Producing Direwolf from its sheath, Arte crossed swords with one of the goblins. Holding the goblin in a bind, he quickly delivered a kick to it, sending it flying backward as he turned and delivered a quick thrust of his sword to another. Piercing the goblins improvised armor, blood squelched out from the hole in his chest as he fell limp to the ground. Sweeping another goblin from his feet, he delivered a quick thrust to its head, killing it instantly.
“One left” Arte said as he drew the bloody sword from the goblins head, when all of a sudden, he felt himself struck in the arm by something sharp. He looked down to see the jagged edge of his own throwing knife lodged in his shoulder, as he looked over to see the last goblin hovering beside the body of the mage. Fear filled the eyes of the goblin as he realized that not only had he failed to critically wound his enemy, but he was charging right toward him. With a quick cut from Direwolf, the goblin's head rolled along the ground, terror forever etched in its face. Placing the sword back in its sheath, Arte fell to his knees and began to pull on the blade that was deeply lodged in his arm.