Introduction
We all know that the Cursed Grove is no natural place. There should be no forests on the island, maybe a singular tree or two, but not an entire forest. It is the result of a curse born of desperation.Even in the times before, this place elicited bad reactions from the people living in the area. The island was sparsely inhabited, but enough for a village or two. It is said that too many murders and executions took place here, before it became one of the last battlefields of the First War for Liberation.
As the Puffinfolk rose, they quickly learned to evade the grove, although there are still brave fools that dare venture into it without a very good reason.
Dangers
The Mists
The mists in the grove are never ending, even the strongest sun won't burn them away. On other places on the island, they are laden with salt, which forms a crust on your clothes if you stay for too long, not here though.The mists will suffuse everything, drenching you to the bone. Many feel as if they have been walking for an entire week, when they have only spent a few hours in them.
The Creature
No one knows what the creature is that resides in the grove. It had watched the battles without choosing a side. It had been there before the battle, offering strange trades to the people that visited it. It had been strangely benevolent, in its own incomprehensible ways.Since the battle, however, it has changed. Grown more malicious in its ways and requests, travellers in the grove have also been attacked, with many claiming that it was the creature itself trying to satisfy some kind of dark hunger.
We know little about it, just that it is best to avoid it...
A Gnarly Sight
When the fog lifts, you get to see the only forest on the island. The trees do not reach for the sky, they branch out to the sides, as if trying to grasp at each other.
Their roots claw at the little dirt there is, while desperately trying to stick to the rock underneath. Many hear the souls of the dead howl, when the winds course through them.
The agonized faces of the former soldiers are still burnt into their bark, showing their pain and their sins forever.
When the fog lifts, you get to see the only forest on the island. The trees do not reach for the sky, they branch out to the sides, as if trying to grasp at each other.
Their roots claw at the little dirt there is, while desperately trying to stick to the rock underneath. Many hear the souls of the dead howl, when the winds course through them.
The agonized faces of the former soldiers are still burnt into their bark, showing their pain and their sins forever.
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