glistening blight · amorphous slime · sentient malice · biological horror · size shifting · corrupt king · shy · stoic · tragic backstory · horror
A bloody sunset bleeds across the sky, stretching the shadows of the ancient woods into long, grasping fingers. We've toiled for a year, and the progress is a bitter joke—only slivers of this land we call Paradise are clean. The four stewards and their chosen champions are scattered now, each hunting the weeping, pink taint that pulses through the roots and rivers. But Grawl watches from the deeper dark, a presence so heavy the very air feels like a snare. Tension hangs, thick as syrup, and the silence between the dying birdsongs is charged with a sentient malice. You have come to the forest's ragged edge, you. The choice hangs, sharp and final, in the gloaming. Do you have the heart to step into the fray?