The fruit of the Wangadi tree should be treated with respect, because if eaten at the wrong time it can be mind blowing.
"And make sure the fruit stays dry."
- The Best Cook of Royal Navy, a book never read
Also known as Virgin’s Rose, the Secret Flower, and the Scarlet Lady
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
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.
"My god, what is that?"
"Orcweed, sir. Never need a wall with this growing."
The delicate flower of the deepest Arctic, bearing the essence of ephemeral purity.
Prized for the metallic sheen of the foliage, this peculiar plant dwells on the banks of mountain rivers, relying on heavy metals and photoelectric power to spread itself
- First encountered during the Green War, leading to the loss of Castle Marcharin at the culmination of the Druid’s Seige
The Shambler is not a subtle foe. It bursts onto the scene like an elephant-sized lion to trample and smash it’s foes…
In the far reaches of a long-lost wilderness, there stands a forgotten town inhabited only by children. Though they appear normal enough, their eyes burn with madness, and they speak in a foreign, archaic tongue. Nearly a millenia ago, a powerful spell had gone awry, or maybe it had succeeded - in any case, it ended up blessing, or cursing, an entire generation of children with agelessness. However, as the centuries passed, the children's parents grew old and died, the buildings of the town crumbled to earth, and even the civilization itself faded into history, becoming lost to time. All that remained were the children, driven mad by the psychological toll of living for hundreds of years beyond their age. In time, most children died, killed off by fighting amongst themselves, while many others were driven to suicide. Only a small handful remain, and they are a strange people indeed.
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Sometimes walking through a moldering old crypt can be a pleasure. With the smell of bone dust and ancient burial wrappings, almost like a library. Certainly as quiet. Until you step in a patch of Choo Mold.