Haunted Wood how to rule gods and monsters

for @Anuniaq! weird post is weird~ ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ ♥

Kahlil is struck with the desire to part from Blackfeather Woods to think, to mull on what he has learned and, more specifically, his conversation with Miraak in private. This time he is absent childish, naïve and innocent illusions of adventure and grandeur that draw him from the safety of the Woods’ borders, nor is it childish rebellion. No one has explicitly told him he may not stray from the borders marked with blood and death, littered with corpses and the pungent reek of blood tempered by the sickly sweet scent of decay so he does not foresee his little day adventure as trouble inducing. He goes further than he initially intends, giving way to the vagrant within him, passing through Lion’s Head Mesa. Death clings to him like a musk and he rids it of himself of it by rolling in the bracken that litters the floor of the Haunted Wood until nothing remains but the strong, earthy, spiced musk of the eerie forests’ floor. The forest is thick and heavy laden with fog, each noise amplified causing the guard hairs to bristle along his spine. For a moment, Kahl finds himself briefly disoriented by the fog, sure that he has already passed that gnarled oak tree before. The soturi is not used to navigating such mist, unburnt by the heat of the sun’s golden rays as it is; the kind of mist spoken of in lavish fables and to his frustration (and embarrassment) he finds himself unable to gather his bearings and feels a true thrill of panic — brief though it is — slither down his spine as he wonders if he will be forever lost here. If he will become apart of the fable they will speak of these woods: to change from corporeal to wraith and become one of the specters that are acclaimed to haunt these woods …and hopes feverishly that he is not left to their fate. He takes a deep breath to calm himself and closes his eyes. He is a soturi and fog will not best him. He can no longer rely upon his sense of smell and eyesight …so he must turn to his sense of direction, the internal compass that will find him freed of this cursed place.

After some backtracking he manages to latch onto his own scent and follows it back to the mouth of the woods, the light of day breaking through the fog and abysmal trees and he breaks free of it turning glacial eyes to the mountain range in the distance knowing that it is the direction of Blackfeather Woods though he is not yet ready to return.