A notoriously fragile flower than only blooms under the full moon.  It can be made into a powerful, magical narcotic, and is the symbol of a major death cult.

Wisely did Ibn Schacabao say, that happy is the tomb where no wizard hath lain, and happy the town at night whose wizards are all ashes. For it is of old rumour that the soul of the devil-bought hastes not from his charnel clay, but fats and instructs the very worm that gnaws; till out of corruption horrid life springs, and the dull scavengers of earth wax crafty to vex it and swell monstrous to plague it. Great holes secretly are digged where earth's pores ought to suffice, and things have learnt to walk that ought to crawl.  -The Festival, H.P. Lovecraft

We were crossing a ridge when Corgan was lifted off the ground by something.  "Shoot it!  Shoot the tyrannosaur!" he screamed as blood streamed from the puncture wounds that had opened up in belly.  I fired into the empty space above him to no effect.  Then Corgan's ragged corpse dropped to the forest floor, and I was alone.  Utterly alone.  There was no dinosaur.  There was nothing.

A tree that sends roaming fruit on a singular quest.

The Slow Death Cap looks, to those who don't know what they are looking at, like an edible mushroom, but eating it is one of the most unwise things anybody could possibly do.

The nobleman was out on horseback when he came too close to a nest of Changeling wasps. The first sting made him scream and sent him falling from his horse. When he felt the second sting and was close to passing out with the pain, he thought Whatever happens now, my life of freedom is over. Even if I am not stung again,and escape being paralysed or killed I will be a girl. I will no longer have the right to choose who I marry, to carry a weapon, to join the army or to have control over my own finances.My life is ruined now.

There's more to the Dembraava Wilds than just deformed beasts and unicorn husks.  In that place there are also men--or something very similar to men--and no one has ever recovered one of their corpses.

Stay out of the woods.  It's not a place for men.  Not anymore.

Meles, the eyes in midnight bands
the plagues would see him dead
yet Meles, his brood unchained
they ate the plagues instead

Imagine this. You are the honored guest of the Conyamo himself and his chosen peers. You are placed at his right hand so everyone in attendance can look on you with wanting. Your every move, every breath will be watched. You are the highlight of this evening. Unfortunately, removing the talari eggs will cause you great pain. The nostrum I've just given you will not help the pain but it will burn your vocal cords so you do not disturb the dinner with your screams. With more than one talari loose inside you, you will beg for death. If you had a voice, and you will receive what you wish for. It will be a long and painful as they eat down to your hallows. I would almost pity you, but your not worthy of my pity. Do not worry though as my attendants are very skilled and will remove most of the eggs to be eaten, but not all. Enough of this dribble, be happy for tonight you are the honored guest of tonight’s celebration.

Syr Caran - Head Chef to the Conyamo

Out of all lifeforms on this planet, none is more feared than the insidious Moadi-Bird.

Seek Not the Moadi-Bird

The Sylvan Incubus is a common name for the plant Dendrophagia Necrofoenae, a member of the Necrofoenae family. Like all Necrofoenae, it feasts on the dead - but it is one of the few that actually murders it's prey, before it feasts.

-Court Herbologist Gertrard di Vini, from his tome "dyFoenis Terrae Modae" - On the Plants of New Terra

A silent vestige sits among the vine covered ruins in a forest that has overgrown who once lived here. No more towers rise among the skeletal remains of a seeming once vast city. Instead, carved into the face of a leveled statue of a man, peaceful in his dead slumber now are etched the words - Si vis pacem para bellum – If you want peace, prepare for war.

The excited, almost frantic sound of a mallet instrument erupts from the forest to your left.  Within minutes, your party is confronted by a host of short, sprite-like gnomes clad in vivid greens and earthy browns.  Attempts to communicate fall flat.  The gnomes seem to ignore your words entirely, and you cannot understand the humming/whistling/snapping that apparently makes up their language.  Luckily for you and your fellows, however, they don't seem hostile . . .

Only after the unicorn hunts ended did the people realize that the unicorns were not returning. Many were saddened to discover that they had killed the last unicorns.  Some wept.

But when they returned many long years later, many more would weep.

Some people might call them cute, but unlike fireflies that just glow and look pretty, Fire Flies can give you nasty burns if you mess around with them, so look but don't touch.

Tiny, side-scuttling spiders.

Rumored to be lurking in the dark jungles surrounding the exotic city of Zibaba, these elusive beasts have yet to be seen by anyone within living memory.

The Hunter, with his bow nocked, moved quietly through the underbrush. Not quietly enough. The Elgr spotted him; he had no idea what he was looking at: It was an eight foot tall Elk standing upright, and not only was it standing… it was… dancing? Quickly twirling with ribbons streaming from its antlers, it was coming closer…

As the tree sprouted from his chest, and the roots anchored his body to the ground, he wished as he died that he had not eaten the golden apple.