A wagon lays overturned on the forest road, bodies savaged by tooth and claw lay strewn about it, their weapons clean of blood, seemingly unused.

A lone man runs from an unseen threat, deeper into the forest, away from the grisly scene in the road. He stumbles, his foot having caught on a root. He lands hard, his lungs feel like lead. Panting, he comes to his knees. Two eyes of emerald light meet his, a low growl emanates from the beast, and his death is swift.

An ashen grey willow with pale leaved tendils obscuring it's gnarled trunk. Sitting in the mire of great swamps, rare even in it's natural environment. The Banshee Willow's bark is known to have magical properties. Travelers beware, these trees seem to attract ghosts and other unsavory undead.

A hardy deep blue vine with needle-like thorns and bright orange flowers. If pricked by Widowthorn one should quickly seek the antidote or a natural remedy, the poison secreted by the thorns induces drowsiness and saps one's strength.

Clockworks & Psionics combined to create bipedal automatons that run on souls stolen from those close to death. The sick, the wounded, the weak. All gathered to power tireless soldiers with glowing gem-like hearts in their chests.