A painting of a horned animal in a forest with trees

The cursed forest of Mirkwood stretches on for leagues in every direction, a sea of gnarled oaks and firs choked by shadow. Strange sounds echo among the trees as nameless creatures stalk the woods. The Old Forest Road cuts a winding path through the gloom, leading only to despair for those unwise enough to tread its crumbling stones. A wretched creature stumbles along the road, hunched under the weight of a tattered pack tied to a branch hacked from a malignant tree. Dark stains mar the canvas, signs of unspeakable rituals carried out in the black of night. The thing that was once a man mouths silent words, incantations to demon lords, as he shambles along the accursed path. Madness glitters in eyes that have seen what should not be seen. In the pack, gruesome trophies of the night's unholy work clatter together, jostled by the creature's shambling gait. Foul artifacts meant to open doors between worlds, pages ripped from blasphemous texts, and other unnamable items - all dredged up from depths that should never see the light. The horrors carried in that stained sack would drive any righteous man to madness. As the gloaming deepens, the warped trees seem to lean in closer, reaching with claw-like branches. The scuttling and skittering of unnatural beasts echoes all around. Dark shapes flit through the underbrush, drawn by the miasma of evil surrounding the wretched wayfarer. When night falls fully, the creatures will emerge to take part in the depraved rituals, but for now they watch, and wait. Onward the figure lurches, deeper into darkness. His mad mind no longer knows day from night, lost on the Old Forest Road under the shadow of Mirkwood's malevolent boughs. No good can come to one who carries such corruption through these accursed woods.