The Thorn is a forest where the air clings damp to the lungs and cold settles to the bone. Its trees stand blackened and warped, limbs twisting in unnatural angles, their bark bristling with thorns. Unlike the welcoming groves of Hedge Wizard Wood, the Thorn feels adversarial, as though the land itself resents trespass.
Sound is scarce here. The silence feels oppressive, broken occasionally by a distant groan, the cry of some hidden wolf, or the ragged screams of unknown creatures. Birds do not cross its canopy; their songs have not touched this place in generations.
Still, the Thorn is not entirely shunned. Goblins from the south move through it with ease, gathering what they need. The wood they harvest is prized across the Runiverse for its strength and endurance, shaped into hardy tools and gnarled weapons.
Its true nature remains unsettled among scholars and Wizards. Some argue that the Thorn was twisted by the proximity of the Quantum Shadow to the southeast; others claim the blame lies with the drifting Vampyre Mist from the northeast. The Fey speak of a deeper truth: that the Thorn was once their forest, green and gentle, before something unseen bent it into its current form. Whispers of a figure moving within the woods—antlered, indistinct, a shadow of Black Magic that has taken root in the forest’s heart.
Featured in
The Thorn
Elf J Trul
The Thorn is a forest where the air clings damp to the lungs and cold settles to the bone. Its trees stand blackened and warped, limbs twisting in unnatural angles, their bark bristling with thorns. Unlike the welcoming groves of Hedge Wizard Wood, the Thorn feels adversarial, as though the land itself resents trespass.
Sound is scarce here. The silence feels oppressive, broken occasionally by a distant groan, the cry of some hidden wolf, or the ragged screams of unknown creatures. Birds do not cross its canopy; their songs have not touched this place in generations.
Still, the Thorn is not entirely shunned. Goblins from the south move through it with ease, gathering what they need. The wood they harvest is prized across the Runiverse for its strength and endurance, shaped into hardy tools and gnarled weapons.
Its true nature remains unsettled among scholars and Wizards. Some argue that the Thorn was twisted by the proximity of the Quantum Shadow to the southeast; others claim the blame lies with the drifting Vampyre Mist from the northeast. The Fey speak of a deeper truth: that the Thorn was once their forest, green and gentle, before something unseen bent it into its current form. Whispers of a figure moving within the woods—antlered, indistinct, a shadow of Black Magic that has taken root in the forest’s heart.
