As our adventurers climb upward out of the Tarot Grove valley towards the top of the ridge: The thick, angry, young, deciduous haunting trees with the large, obnoxious, tangled roots grow sparse and surrender to stands of tall, friendly, white, elderly pines. The pyramidal pines roll forth a blanket of soft bluish-green needles that cushion each footstep. The wind gently whistles through the pines in harmony with the warbles and trills of tiny tree sparrows. The party continues walking along the ridge-line for about a mile or so, at which point a white billowy cloud begins to drift in front of the sun. A large, dark shadow slowly stretches across the land until the sun is completely blotted out from the sky—suddenly a goshawk swoops down in a frightening descent to snatch a helpless tree sparrow in his talons.
Galdor: “<soberly> An ill omen.”
The party becomes deafly quiet as the cloud slowly passes and the rays of sunlight slowly emerge again. After several hundred more yards, the party begins to descend over the backside of the ridge, where yet a new landscape springs forth: Twisted, tangled, woodbine covered braes. Yogi grits his over-sized ogre teeth as he limps along on a swollen, bruised leg. The leg is frequently snagged in the twisted woodbine, and with each painful step the head of the arrow carves itself deeper into the gaping wound. Bloods saturates the bandages and trickles down his leg.
Many more hours pass as they make their way through these woodbine hills. They finally descend into a land of muddy wallows left by nocturnal trolls. The wallows soon pass and the terrain transforms into a shallow mire littered with large stumps. Their feet sink into mud, the caked-wet muck makes their feet feel heavy… heavy… very heavy. The miniature horses carrying the captive gnomes are mired down in the wet mud. Then there is a sound. What is it? That sound? Oh no! Giant alligator lizards emerge from the stumps.”
Galdor: ” Alligator lizards usually only come out after sunset! But wow, they really like horses.”