A gigantic tree suffused with life magic rises from the centre of this dense jungle, with a runic pattern for yards around it, a clear mystic seal to those who understand it. An inscription in an ancient tongue of the sylvaneth, in waystones surrounding the glade, reads: “He poured his life’s blood like that from a cup, so that evil is contained.” It is meant to keep something beneath it locked away, perhaps some daemon or evil spirit. No ruins are present for miles around. Once in a while, terrible shrieks can be heard for miles around, otherworldly laments that cause living creatures to cover their ears in despair.
Ancient slumbering sylvaneth spirits, more tree than humanoid, will rise to attack unwary travellers that trespass into this place… Some of these are tall as a tower, their bodies twisted into winding branches, slowly crawling across the ground with their roots… and their screams will freeze the lifeblood of any who dare come near the mighty tree. Travellers must be swift and quick of mind, not only to evade these guardians, but also so they don’t become lost in the many shadow paths that dot the grove.
The Briarbrood Branchwych and her sisters stumble upon the ancient tree in its circle of waystones, and the matriarch is just about to enter the ring when she is halted by one of those who watch over this place…
Briars & Their Betters: The Great Weave