The woods were strangely silent this night, an oddity only some may notice as the air grew chilly. Any fires would sputter as a low mist gathers around around the edges of your camp, growing ever closer as the night wears on. By morning the fog hangs thick in the air, turning the threes around any adventure in this forest into gray ghosts. Oddly enough though, these trees are not the same trees as the trees that surrounded the area before. Light barely penetrated the canopy above, and still the forest was silent. No matter which way one would walk, they would always come to an old lonely looking dirt road just outside of a village. Already waiting on the start of the dirt road was a rather befuddled looking silhouette in the thick mist, along with a much smaller silhouette. If one drew closer it would become clear that the taller one that towered at 12ft was a copper dragonborn, holding a map and regretting not buying a compass when he had the chance. They grumbled in Draconic, muttering something about how the map was wrong, that surely they had been jipped. The language itself sounded harsh on the tongue. On their back they wore a shield and longbow, on their side a longsword. The smaller one was a kenku who was kneeling down, digging at the dirt road with a claw, sometimes repeating the sounds the other made in a voice almost the same, yet somehow slightly off, especially to one who understood the tongue to realize that the bird was simply mimicking the other. This one seemed to hold a viol on their side next to a dagger, on their back, a shortbow.
