No Retreat

The trek from Ryventhal to Myth Drannor normally took a tenday, but for the fellowship, it took them twelve days to reach the damned city. Right outside of Ryventhal, they met elven travelers from the capital city of Myth Aelos. A minor official was traveling with a herald and several soldiers and were on their way to Ryventhal on governmental business. The two groups traded news from the respective homes and shared lunch together. Arthon was disapointed that none of them had a magical short sword, though he was not even sure what he would have offered in payment and trade for it. He only knew that there had been none in Ryventhal and he was feeling quite under equipped with the normal short blade he currently had.

Several days later, the party came across their second encounter. As they came across a cool, clear creek, they noticed a dwarf wading up to his chest and panning for gold. Siam almost immediately recognized his old friend, NAME, and the two were quickly lost in conversation. They traded news and tales. It seemed that times were good for the dwarves recently and they were enjoying a period of significant prosperity. So much so, that it was not uncommon these days for the usually work obsessed dwarves to take vacations and holidays, and NAME was very found of leaisurely panning for gold in the creek that was commonly referred to as “Flaxen Creek”. He was here only as a matter of relaxation and was overjoyed to see his old friend. He even traveled with the group the rest of the day and camped with them, leaving only reluctanly in the morning. Not before, however, sharing some very valuable common dwarven knowledge on some of the creature the party was likely to encounter in Myth Drannor…but without a magical short sword much to Arthon’s irritation.

It was two days later the reason for the delay occured. A very late, but rather heavy snow began to fall and continued for the next two days. It was more than thick enough to impede their travel, as well as cause them to begin searching earlier in the day for the best possible campsite. Since their destination was what it was, however, none of them were overly saddened by the slow pace.

On the eleventh day, they were finally close enough to where all the fellowship members noticed the lack of wildlife. It seemed the entire forest was aware that Myth Drannor was no place for the living, and all of her creatures seemed to avoid even coming within several miles of its outer limits. The mood was very serious and quiet that evening as the group made their last camp before venturing into the cursed place. Still not within sight of the city, they could already feel an oppresive sense of doom, hightened by the eery silence of the empty forest around them.