Bones sits alone on a log, strumming his lute softly. We can barely hear the chords as we wait in shadow close to our exit path. If things go south, we will use the large trees to keep us out of the line of sight while we travel toward the mountain.

Trees rustle next to us. Gene's perception manipulation is pushed to its limits; the wolf looks on the verge of collapsing under the strain of focus, and I can feel a heavy mask over us. The clever wolf is going for raw power to keep our exact location hidden. The bugbears will know we are here because of the intensity of the cover, but that 'here' can be anywhere in a fifty-yard radius.

There is the faintest crack of a twig breaking, a pause of silence, and more trees moving in the opposite direction. One downside to Gene's blunt use of perception masking is that I can not see through her manipulations with my perception either. All I get is a void when I reach out with my spirit. I have to rely on my physical senses, watching for trees and listening to branches.

"Lo there, friend." Bones stops his chord progression, allowing his greeting to fill the emptiness. His voice is airy and friendly. Our lonesome bard lowers his head, greeting the red-furred bugbear.

"We have you surrounded," says the red bugbear. The lightly armored ranger holds a heavy metal crossbow in one hand. The bolt looks as thick as a spear. The only thing keeping the tight cord from launching the bolt is a small lever held by a trigger. A finger rests heavily on the trigger, pressing it to its near-release point. "Have your companions come out, and we can talk."

"Or…" Bones ignores the loaded bolt aimed at his head. We can talk first, and if we like what you say, you and your friends can meet my friends. You all are in time for supper, too, so we can eat and make merry."

"I do not have business with a minion."

"And I don't like bears."

"For one so confident, you are ignorant.

"Chalk it up to arrogance."

"If you do not let me talk to your master, I will stop wasting my time with you."

"If you keep hunting us, there will be consequences."

"You dare threaten the Jarl of Oaken Blade?"

"No, that came out wrong. It was more of an invitation to be friends."

"We are done, minion." The spear soars through the forest as the taught cord snaps to rest. A second crack is followed by the screams of a pained skeleton.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

"You bastard," Bones says with a fiery passion. "You shot my lute." He holds up his lute by the neck. The strings are snapped and frayed, the body is shattered, and splinters of the remains are strewn across the ground.

"That is your final warning." The ranger looks for us in the forest, guessing on a few locations to rest his eyes. "You all are wanted for trespassing. Come with us, and there will be no violence. More movement in the trees. Steps are no longer concealed, and the ground crunches with heavy steps. From the surrounding tree emerges six more red-furred bugbears. Each one of them is massive, standing at least nine feet tall. Their towering body is thickened with muscle and armor. It's impressive the forest ground only crunches beneath their steps.

Unlike their counterparts in Helm, these giant cultivators are reserved in their thirst for violence. Not a single one has licked their lips or brandished a blade. It could just be that Bones isn't appealing. Given the bears' professional impressions, I doubt that is the case. Bones is surrounded. Half of the bears focus on the skeleton, while the other half try to pierce through the perception fog.

Wearing a gray battle robe, spiked pauldrons, and a 'Y' slit helmet with horns that curve in and down is their shaman. The light sage emits a strong power. His gaze seems to pierce the vale. His hand reaches into his side bag. From the pocket, he pulls out a boulder. In his hands, it looks no bigger than a river rock. With a squeeze of his hand, the rock crumbles. Mist infused with light rains down, and our cloak of shadow begins to wither. The shaman points his staff in our direction and begins chanting a ritual.

Gene, with Remny on top of her, bolts into the forest away from the party of bears. Lana tails behind her. I give Bones a nod of respect and follow. The last I see of my companion, he's grinning. He also crumbles a stone in his hand, though it isn't nearly as large. The explosion and war song that follows attempt to compensate. Bones takes to the air, battle ax in hand, as a new darkness blooms from his shattered stones. I'm pretty sure, the darkness fog is a skill Bones stole from Fury. The show of rocks was an attempt to not be outstaged.

Jim, I need you to start masking us. Lana, send out some of your illusions. I'm going to keep my mask thick and heavy. They might know we have left. They will still think we hide in my perception fog if we are lucky. Gene manages to get her direction through as she runs at wild speeds. Lana keeps herself infused with light, quickening her steps. Life and mind-boosting mana turn my fast sprint to dangerous speeds. I'm not as nimble as Gene, who weaves through the trees effortlessly, but I'm just as quick. I cover our presence with my perception mask between running and dodging trees.

The distance grows between us. We hear less and less of Bones' nonsense with each step. Most of his lyrics are about the painful loss of an instrument and the agony of performing without it. It's catchy garbage. I'll give the bard that, but I can't help but think I'm running away from his music more than I am the bears. There's no denying my steps come easier. Ever since the tempo picked up, navigating the forest has been an ease. We have gained six miles when I sense Bones returning to my core.

The woods are our friends, providing us ample cover. As we maze our way through we set false trails, cover our tracks, and send Bones out on kiting runs in the opposite direction. Our efforts pay off; for now, we can't sense any trackers.

We continue our sporadic and fast flight through the lowlands of Mithland. The sun is now in the resting half of the sky, yet it seems like we have been running for an entire day or two. We keep to the woods, avoiding towns and cities, going miles out of the way to avoid contact. Every method of concealment is used, from perception cloaking to light bending and shadow walking.

At the end of our journey through the forest, we swim across class seven rapids and begin our hike into the higher planes of Mithland. Strong trees no longer hide us. Instead, we have to cut through bamboo blades. The oversized grass conceals our path as much as it impedes us.