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.
One day a a wind begins to blow out of the West. The next day it gets stronger. And stronger still the next few days. Eventually (and fortunately), the speed of the wind tops out at a steady fifty miles an hour, but continues to blow. Soon an entire kingdom is wondering why it's not abating. The weather mages deem it unnatural but can't seem to banish or control it. The priests of various faiths claim it's divine. The End-Of-Days crowd is having a field day with their predictions of doom. No one knows why the gale persists. When inquiring with neighboring kingdoms, it seems they too suffer from a persistent western mistral. Eventually the populace begins to adapt to living with a twenty four hour a day wind. Always from the West, and perpetual. What could be causing this? A raging Elemental king? a curse from the gods? an unearthed artifact? Or has Nature itself gone haywire?