‘You are freed from all cares brothers and sisters! All worries! All need to toil and labour for the baron’s taxes, in the guild’s fields and for the peddler’s wares! All the drink you could ever need!’
Final words of an extremely drunk hedge conjurer by name of Oates Greenlock.
A goddess with a holy object of veneration in every pocket, wallet and bank; as well as down the sides of the big comfy chair in the inn.
"A demonic plant? Don't be daft, go research something useful to society."
"But-but the p-plant! It's evil! It must be destroyed!"
"Now the flowers bloom all year round thanks to the most holy Spirit of Urban flora. It just takes a little blood."
One morning, the sun does not rise. It seems that a great darkness has settled across the kingdom - at first, it is merely an inconvenience, but as time passes and plants begin to sicken and die, some action must be taken. As the deluded King plans the sacrifice of fifty tender virgins in the name of the Sun God, rumours spread of an ancient barrow uncovered in the hills...