Trapped in a dale between the mountains and the sea is an eerie forest as old and cunning as Mecca itself, heartless now. Crooked and oily trees fight for light, of which tiny rays pierce their crowns. A thick fog clutches the earth, hiding their ominous roots from sight. This forest has something sleepy... or nightmarish... like time had no reign here, like the trees and roots were guiding you along by their own rule, nudging, urging.
An unsure path runs through the dark woods, for those that dare take it. At the other side is a town.
At the edge of the woods near the town stands a group of wagons.