/dice 1d8

There is an unnatural air that swarms the dense coniferous woodland. A dark that prevails against the forest, caused by the choking of the light. Tree’s span to swarm the sun like moths to a flame. Beneath such things, the air lays thick and moist. A density that constricts the woodland like a serpent. Upon the many spiralling arms of the trees. Vines litter them densely, creeping to find the sun they were so promised. Upon the rich earth, however, there is a vast array of wild mushroom that are plentiful if one was to pick them from the bones of the deceased.

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