Frank and Jenn leave the clearing, finding refuge under the shaded canopy of the forest. They follow Frank's map, cutting along a narrow twisting trail. As they hike, the trees grow closer together, their branches almost appearing to intertwine to block out more and more sunlight till it a flashlight is almost desired.

Their hike is uninterrupted, the only signs of life being the occasional squawk or chirp of birds hiding within the heavy forest ceiling. Frank never loses his confidence as he navigates through the woods, and in only an hour, they reach their destination in The Crone, an ancient grandfather oak tree estimated to almost be a thousand feet tall. The duo know they are reaching their destination first by the growing cacophany of cawing, and the thickening carpet of silky black crow feathers. The tree line widens as they approach The Crone is a towering moss covered explosion of bark and branches, fingers as thick as a man's torso sprouting out in all directions. Every branch is covered in shimmering black crows, and their shrieks and the sound of rustling feathers fills the air as much of the musty stale odor of bird feathers and droppings. The birds do not seem to take the presence of their visitors lightly, and as Frank and Jenn approach The Crone, the chorus of caws grows louder, and many birds take flight into the canopy above.

(OOC: Please give me a perception roll each of you)