There was but one road through the Dark Forest, and it was this road that brought the vast majority of customers to the doors of the Rough Stone Inn. Despite its perilous surroundings, the road was well built and well established; few travelers fell victim to the mysteries of the Forest any longer. Nonetheless, there were always tales of strange events and stranger creatures to be found among the visitors.

“I swear,” said a traveler one day, “it was the strangest beast I’d ever seen. Skin like a snake, but it had legs!”
“So a lizard, you mean?” said another traveler, a man with a patch over his eye. “I’ve seen ‘em before. Common as dirt, they are.”
“Ah, but was your lizard as twice as tall as a man and three times again as long?”
The one-eyed man grunted in concession that the lizards of his homeland had not quite attained that stature.
“It snuck up behind me. Quiet as a mouse, I swear. I turned around and there it was, staring me dead in the eyes! I thought I was tree food for certain, but it just sat there and looked! After a few minutes- or maybe it was an hour? - it spat some kind of green smoke and then left. The moment it vanished, I ran and never looked back! It was only when I ran out of breath that I realized what it did to me stick.”
With exaggerated theatricality, the man thrust his walking stick forward. It seemed just like any other walking stick, except that it had a number of vibrant green leaves sprouting from its surface.
The one-eyed man snorted. “So you tore a branch from a tree?”
“It was me walking stick, I swear it! And it was dead. The creature put some life into it, somehow. Put some life into me feet, too- I ain’t ever run that fast!”
“You ain’t ever run at all, Simon,” said one of the would-be storyteller’s companions, and the table erupted in raucous laughter.
Each member of the group proceeded to tell of their own encounters with the Dark Forest, each tale growing bigger and grander long into the night. The tables were particularly clean that evening.