Known fully as 'Nind Vel'uss Tahcaluss whol nind ehmtu siltrin' or 'They Who Hunger for Their Own Flesh'
An elfin warrior from a fallen house.
Banished from their foolish tree-hugger kin, the Plains Elves were forced into a semi-nomadic lifestyle.
Once one of their number, the eternal outcast wishes to take from the Elves what they hold dearest - their dreams, their past, their future.
The forgotten realm
Named Timberwings; for the girth and strength of their wings were as elder oaks, thick and tireless
Out of simple roots, a deep faith.
motto of the Brotherhood of Orildus
Standing at the prow of the ship, Ashala rejoiced at the strong winds catching her midnight-black hair - flapping it like a pennant. The dark clouds ahead would have filled other seafarers with dread. Not Ashala. The dark clouds and wicked winds were an invitation, a challenge.
"Steady as she goes!" she shouted over her shoulder to the shipmaster, "To the Eye!"
Gauranteed to protect you from nightmares, hexes, and the diseases of the loins
The party has found the source of the strange creatures roaming the countryside. The rift in this reality glows with a silver hue, rippling with the wind but never moving. They step through and are immediately assaulted with the scent of rotting meat, some have to muster all their strength not to vomit. Strange cries similar to the beasts the party had faced before can be heard in the distance. Looking around, they see they are in a forest of grey and red rather than the normal brown and green. The trees are sticky to the touch and writhe, perhaps to get away or perhaps as a warning.
The deeper the party goes, the more the forest seems to slither and move underfoot. The cries get closer and more numerous. Creatures lurk in the shadows, all the same color of their surroundings. Whatever the party came in here for, they had better do it fast.
The forest of flesh is waking up, and it is so very hungry.