The food of the Gods: specifically a bitter sappy God.
Mind the nettles son, it's wet out.
"And make sure the fruit stays dry."
- The Best Cook of Royal Navy, a book never read
The Zenahin Flower, Zenahin Bloom, Star Eye, Mood Flower, Little Judge, it has many names.
Fluffy headed plant things with an equally fluffy headed personality
The grapes of sorrow
The susurrating death-bringer of the Northern Moors.
Also known as the Ankarran Thistle, Magewort, and a general nuisance.
To the vulture, the body of the lion down below seemed to be a tasty morsel. It appeared to be slightly swolen with the beginnings of decay, but that was to be expected. He dived down, landed beside it, and bit deeply inside it.And the body exploded, showering him with entrails, blood, and a strange dust.
He preened himself to get as clean as possible, ate his fill and flew off. And an hour later he fell dead to the ground, and his body began to swell with the spores and fibres of the Corpse’s Revenge.
The basis for many a bardic tale of courting and love, these beautiful small flowers symbolize new love to many.
A small weed that rarely grows big enough. Farmers like to remove it from their soil, finding little use for it. A secluded sect of monks living in the same region thinks differently, and bases an important ritual on this plant.
The PCs have travelled long and far. As nightfall approaches a mighty storm is unleashed. Luckily there is a lush wood nearby the path.
A good shelter for the rage of the unnamed weather gods it seams at first. As the PCs enter under the roof of this dense wood, they are welcomed by only a few drops wich is allowed trough the thick forest crown. A fire is offcourse required to warm the weary bones of the travellers. As one of the party is set to the task of collecting firewood the others settle down at a suitable location. But alas, they did not know the perils of this forest. But it seems clear to the rest of the party that something ill is at work as the woodcutters scream echo from afar.