<b><span style="font-size: 18px"><span style="color: Teal"><div style="text-align: center">The forgotten world​</div></span></span></b><br/><br/>Verita scoffed as her father explained once more what plants were useful for healing, and what plants were deadly poisonous. As if she didn't knew already. However the lame excuse she came up with for lying about the poisonous berries she had gathered from the woods, the fact she did not know they were poisonous, had given her father the impression she needed to be taught once more about the berries abilities.<br/><br/>Cursing in her mind she tried to look interested and guilty for not knowing this information before, and in her mind she whistled a merry tune to tune out her fathers angry voice. She had lied because if he had found out, she had been using the berries to make her weapons poisonous, her father would have been more disappointed in her for harming creatures of the wild with such debased and awful weapons.<br/><br/>In the corners of her eyes she could see a few strange figures walking out of the woods towards one of the abandoned huts at the outskirts of her village. It was still a long walk for them to reach it, and the path was filled with squishy mud, making your feet almost sink into the swamp-like dirt up to your ankles. Her curiosity was immediately drawn, knowing it was at least midnight by now, and the usual tradesmen that travelled to Arebion weren't coming until spring... which is at least 4 or maybe 5 moons away...<br/><br/>Verita excused her father with yet another lame excuse, saying she had seen an animal in dire need in her minds eye. However unsatisfied her father was with her behaviour, and the fact she was leaving at midnight, he made her promise not to leave the village itself. She did, reluctantly, and threw her bow over her shoulder, together with some arrows. A raise of her fathers eyebrow making her explain that it was to protect her from any dangerous animals that could be preying on her wounded deer. That said, her father handed over a small rucksack, filled with ointments, bandages and salves to cure any wounds with. He seemed to struggle with holding the bag up, still trying to lean with his full weight on the crutch beneath his left armpit. Wobbling on his only remaining feet, he managed a grim smile, and kissed his dear daughter goodbye in the night.<br/><br/>Verita already felt revived and more alive when the ice-cold air of the mountains hit her in her face, and with large precise steps she sneaked her way through the mud, following the travellers she sees coming in from all directions of the village. She tried to hide her figure behind some walls, but after what seemed an hour, more of the villagers where finding out about the strangers. And the longer it lasted, the more villagers seemed displeased with their presence.<br/><br/>A group was gathering at the end of the long path to the small hut that used to be the town's tavern. Only opened in the summer due to the cold and dangerous lands, nobody visited the place these days. But now the occasion asked for a different approach, and when the last traveller seemed to enter the old inn, the old Smith grabbed a torch and marched his way up to the wooden house. Followed by his fateful neighbours, all carrying wooden forks, lanterns and lights.<br/><br/>Verita hurried her way quickly through the trees, finding a way around the swamp as she ran as fast as she could. She needed to be there in time to warn the new people about what was to come. Knowing the Xenofobic Smith he would probably torch the hut down without any questions asked...<br/><br/>With one last big leap over the squishy ground, she held onto the upper frame of the window, her nails painfully scraping over the must wood before she climbed inside and looked around in the place.<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>