The desiccated and desecrated old tree stands withered at the top of the hill. The great branches float in the wind, like black ligneous tendrils extending to seize you. The whole tree creaks and moans, as in ancient agony, as blood drips from its bark, as the corpses attached to its branches swirl in the breeze. This place was a sacred ground in the past. The druids desecrated their own land in search of forbidden curses and long lost primordial powers. Dark clouds have gathered above your heads. Menacing clouds breeding lightnings in their humid innards. Their somber magic is at work here. You can feel it. what will you do about it ?
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