The adventurers had taken a contract from the Duke of Osauria to deal with an elusive band of brigands in the southern parts of Çiynca. The main roads were safe for the most part, and larger caravans always had their own guards, but some travelers headed to or leaving the hamlet of Phoenixden were suffering unsanctioned tolls and outright robberies. So the small group, that had taken a few jobs in other parts of Riftwood, thought they'd lend a hand. The pay was decent, and it didn't seem to be a high risk job. They had been wrong.
While tracking the brigands down, the adventurers had deduced them to be retired soldiers or mercenaries from one of the kingdoms to the north. It was unclear which, but they clearly had gained experience in the near constant wars of the northern regions and sought to ply their trade in the more peacful south. When the adventurers finally caught up with them, they were on the southern road leading into Orenj. Coming upon the brigands undiscovered as they camped, the adventurers had thought to ambush them. Their archer took aim at the cook who sat with a longbow at hand, while the others readied their weapons to assault those on the periphery of the firelight. An arrow took flight and the cook went down with a gurgled outcry, tipping the pot, and raising a racket. Well organized and well armed, the brigands quickly leaped to defense before the adventurers could make their assault. The fighting was fierce, but the adventurers were outnumbered and out-skilled, and soon retreated from the fight, leaving their fallen comrades behind.
As fast as the adventurers fled, the brigands gave chase, and soon they were all headed south into Orenj. What the adventurers were unaware of, was the cook they killed was the heart of the brigands. The opening blow of the confrontation had taken from these cutthroats and murderers a person they all held very dear. They'd chase the adventurers to the ends of Elyria to exact their revenge if they had to. Down the road they continued to run, barely stopping to take a breath, neither group knowing how long the other could last. With no patrols in sight or other friendly travelers along the roads, the adventurers decided to veer west into the northern woods of Orenj. Much of the wooded areas were frequented by hunters and woodsman, perhaps they might find themselves lucky, and happen upon a band of the the renowned Rangers of Orenj. It quickly seemed to them that they'd have no such luck.
For days the pursuit went on. The adventurers would rest when they could, using stimulants they had purchased to keep themselves awake and moving when they couldn't. Deeper into the woods they fled seeking the safety Orenjdale would give them. As they drew nearer to Orenjdale, one of the adventurers noticed markings on the trees. Symbols of warding were carved into the bark, charms of protection hung from many of the branches overhead. They had unknowingly entered the forbidden forest Myrkviðr, a county preserve in which no animal was to be hunted, and no tree felled. There were legends of ghosts and forest spirits, rumors of killers that hid in the wood, stories shared by travelers and told to children. That was not something the adventurers cared much for at the time. Perhaps on a better day they might have avoided this part of the forest, but with pursuit always close behind, they pressed forward, and the brigands continued their chase.
Ragged and tired many of them thought they saw the fabled spirits of Myrkviðr above in the trees, clad in leaves and bark, but they didn't stop to gawk. Some thought they heard the whisper of ghosts and the flight of spells whistling on the wind. One even thought he saw a giant mole come up from the ground to devour one of the pursuing brigands. The cries of their pursuers gave them hope and when they finally broke through the treeline the adventurers halted at the sight of Orenjdale shining in the morning. Orenjdale sat on the lake, the sweeping spires on its perimeter used as lookout towers, watched the woods as the rising sun sparkled across the water. Exhausted and in sight of sanctuary, the adventurers collapsed. Unbeknownst to them the Rangers of Myrkviðr had saved them, but the rangers didn't expect any thanks, and the legend of the wood would grow.
