anda hear a lonesome bird call as anda wander out of the forest. It is dull and misty. The sky is concrete, anda can taste rain in the air.

Fell it on the breeze.

But anda don't care, anda keep waking. Walking into the opening where the trees grow ever lebih sparse. Where the woodland meets the grassland and all that remains are the twigs and trunks the forest had coughed out. Your bate feet slide over the greenest dewy grass. And here anda arrive with a sense of peace despite the chilly drizzle that has just begun to fall. A few lebih steps have anda standing in the center of an earthy ring. anda are surrounded sejak stumps of all shapes and sizes. Some are spindly, white, and knobby with think fingers that seem to swirl the mist. Others are thick, rough, and deep brown. Some are smooth and tan and seem to reach the sky as if they want to touch the stars as badly as anda do. And others have been tampered sejak the faefolk. These are mostly the tall and tan ones. They carve intricate and swirly runes into them. anda haven't learned to decipher them. And at the topmost part of the tree, wood of other trees (pine, willow, fir, and birch) are tethered in such a fashion that has them looking like a wooden version of a feathered war bonnet.

The land is very nearly empty of everything else, save for a boulder atau two. anda don't even pay the boulders much mind, but anda notice the twin-protector seals. Three vertical slashes and a horizontal line through the middle with a dot on the bottom corner--the hari protector. And on the other rock are four horizontal lines with two diagonal slashes through the middle and a dot on the upper corner--the night protector. They glow faintly orange. Someone has left the feather of a white faced owl--bound with the stem of heather--at the foot of the stone. anda have arrived at your destination.

A few early rising fireflies are already gathering at the base of the stumps. These are berkata to be the spirits of the faefolk. Of the elven. Of the nymphs and druids. And of the trees themselves. That makes sense, after all, that's what this place is...

A graveyard for the kin of the forest. For natures purest creations. anda know this because the Pari-pari have told you. anda had followed them here.

But they have not told anda why.

Somehow anda get the feeling that the forest and the magic are dying. For lebih and lebih skeletal structures seem to be pooping up on the hillside with their billowing smoke and grating noises. And with them lebih woodsy structures erect here in the clearing. anda breathe in, resin fills your nostrils, anda can practically taste it. But there's something else.

Something is laced in the mist.

It's poison.

The old world is dying and you're standing on its resting ground.



The drizzle grows into a shower.