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Part 3 - The Path to the Forest
We had to find the blacksmith's daughter. I had to know what was happening with the fish. I had resigned from calling it a fish paddle, and I wondered if Damon was going to develop some sort of post-traumatic stress disorder related to fish, on the basis of Gerald's eagerness to flog him with it.
I had seen its eyes spark for power, and as I felt the rough texture of my staff against the smoothness and frailty of my own flesh, I reminded myself that the power of nature was unstoppable, no matter the forces that governed it.
Damon started to stir from the daze he was engulfed within, on Gerald's shoulder. His eyes opened, wide with horror, most likely at being more than three feet above the ground. "PUT ME DOWN" he bellowed, directly into Gerald's ear who winced with pain at the noise entering his mind.
He obliged. "Ah, you've finally decided to join us."
The hooded figure, Anita, asked a simple question of the dwarf, as he was placed roughly back onto this feet in the town square. "Do you remember the mission?"
"Find daughter. Get coin. Get drunk." Damon was uncharacteristically blunt, rubbing his head and wincing in the light of the setting sun.
"GAMBLE" Gerald spoke enthusiastically.
They all had a direction. I just wanted to know more about the damn fish. What we did not have, however, was a direction in which to head in relation to finding the daughter of the blacksmith. "Are you a skilled tracker?" I asked Anita - hoping her veil of mystery would lift somewhat with an enquiry directed at her skills.
All I saw was a smile. She led us to the blacksmith's workshop, and given the stone, the timber, the formerly organic, natural order of things meant I was not able to make heads or tails of the situation - but she seemed to be much more skilled in urban tracking than I. I'd likely be better at doing it out in the wilderness, but she had her own set of talents.
She asked a stranger.
"See a woman being taken against her will?" She asked a street vendor, roughly in line with the blacksmith's store. A hand pointed in a direction, and it, of course, led away from the city, and into the setting sun. I knew that beyond the city limits was a dense forest, and if she was taken there, there would be little threat (at least from my perspective) than if she were left in the city to be exploited.
We followed the hand toward the forest. I expected resistance from Damon, given the impressive amount of belligerence that was packaged into the small Dwarven body given what I was about to say.
"When we enter the forest, I take the lead", I knew the place well - forests, were, after all, the places I had grown up and my ability to speak to animals might provide useful. I hoped they would recognise my skills to lead us through the dangers that could engulf one not attuned to the forest.
There was no resistance to my statement, which was good. I took the lead as the road thinned to a path, and I saw the unmistakable impressions of hurried footprints leading off into the forest.
The path was uneventful, and I urged everyone to be quiet as they bickered and squabbled about what would be found along the way. I rounded a corner in the path, and froze at the sight of a statue. It had the same intricate level of detail as the fish-thing, beyond the craftsmanship possible by an artificer's tools.
I raised a hand, motioning for everyone to stop, and to approach quiety.
It was a woman. Was she someone's daughter? Was it The Blacksmith's daughter? I wasn't certain, but the vines ensnaring the statue looked hungry. It would need to be approached with caution.
## THE DRUID'S DILEMMA WILL CONTINUE
D R A M A T I S
P E R S O N A E
(so far)
The Druid:
A quiet protagonist-narrator, nameless, female. Lover of wild life. Interested in aquatic welfare.
The Drunken Cleric:
Damon, alcoholic, violent, full of vitriol. Concussed and dazed.
The Fighter:
Gerald, loves fish, gambling, and pumping iron. Fish 2, Damon 0
The Hooded Figure:
Anita, sly, calculating, mysterious. Quick.