Bloodthorne Dryad

Bloodthorn Dryads

Alignment: Isolde

Overview

Bloodthorn Dryads were once vibrant young forest spirits, guardians of the wood's gentle vitality, their souls deeply intertwined with the trees and plants they inhabited. Drawn irresistibly by Isolde's powerful presence and the creeping influence of the forest’s underlying corruption, these once-pure spirits have been transformed into cunning predators known as Bloodthorn Dryads—dark reflections of their former beauty, reshaped by Isolde's twisted vision to serve her needs.

Physical Description

Graceful and haunting, Bloodthorn Dryads are humanoid in form, but unmistakably marked by corruption. Their skin, once like polished bark, is now pale and bone-white, traced with crimson veins like delicate patterns of blood. Their hair is a tangle of vines and thorny branches that writhe subtly as though alive, bearing deep red blossoms that drip a scarlet, nectar-like sap. Eyes, once green and full of life, now gleam an unsettling, luminous red, piercing and intelligent.

They move silently and fluidly through their corrupted glades, at one with the shadows and undergrowth, their presence only betrayed by the subtle scent of copper and blossoms that lingers in the air.

Behavior & Purpose

Bloodthorn Dryads serve Isolde directly, carefully crafted by her subtle manipulation of primal energies. They are conduits of the forest’s magic and lifeforce, channeling stolen energy from prey and weaker spirits back into Isolde's domain. Intelligent and articulate, they delight in their role, understanding clearly their mistress's wishes and actively embracing the corruption that empowers them.

Their glades and groves are subtly cursed, places of eerie beauty where visitors feel uneasy yet drawn inward. The more magic and life energy they siphon, the stronger Isolde’s power grows, and the deeper her corrupting influence penetrates the Gloomwood.

Behavior: Loyal to Isolde, these dryads use their control over plant life to defend her territory, especially the darker parts of the forest. They are fiercely protective of the twisted groves Isolde has corrupted, and they often attack intruders by manipulating the forest itself, trapping them in thorny brambles or ensnaring them with living vines.

Purpose: Created by Isolde to serve as guardians of her growing power, these dryads are savage and relentless. They often lure wanderers deeper into the forest, wrapping them in vines and draining their life force to feed the dark energy spreading throughout the land.

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example statblock

Bloodthorn Dryad

Medium Fey, Chaotic Neutral

Armor Class: 15 (natural armor)

Hit Points: 67 (9d8 + 27)

Speed: 30 ft.

STR 12 (+1) | DEX 16 (+3) | CON 16 (+3) | INT 12 (+1) | WIS 14 (+2) | CHA 18 (+4)

Skills: Stealth +5, Perception +4, Nature +4

Senses: Darkvision 60 ft., Passive Perception 14

Languages: Sylvan, Common

Challenge: 4 (1,100 XP)

Innate Spellcasting (Dryad Form). The dryad’s spellcasting ability is Charisma (spell save DC 14). The dryad can innately cast the following spells, requiring no material components:

At will: Druidcraft, Entangle

3/day each: Barkskin, Charm Person

1/day each: Plant Growth, Call Lightning

Thorny Grasp (Recharge 5–6). The dryad can cause vines with thorns to sprout from the ground in a 20-foot radius centered on her. Each creature in the area must make a DC 14 Dexterity saving throw, taking 18 (4d8) piercing damage on a failed save, or half as much on a success. The area becomes difficult terrain for 1 minute.

Magic Resistance. The dryad has advantage on saving throws against spells and other magical effects.

Speak with Beasts and Plants. The dryad can communicate with plants and animals as if they shared a language.

Actions

Multiattack. The Bloodthorn Dryad makes two Thorn Whip attacks.

Thorn Whip. Melee Weapon Attack: +5 to hit, reach 10 ft., one target. Hit: 8 (1d10 + 3) piercing damage, and the target must succeed on a DC 13 Strength saving throw or be pulled 10 feet closer to the dryad.

Corrupting Touch. Melee Weapon Attack: +6 to hit, reach 5 ft., one creature. Hit: 10 (2d6 + 3) necrotic damage.

Fergus moved cautiously through the strange glade, each step rustling dry leaves underfoot. Something felt wrong here; the air tasted heavy, sweet yet metallic, like blossoms crushed beneath bloodied fingers. He stopped abruptly, the hairs at the nape of his neck rising sharply.

From the shadows, something watched him, silent and patient.

She stood perfectly still among twisted branches, body slender, pale as moonlight through mist. Crimson flowers curled around limbs that seemed part flesh, part tree, their petals trembling softly as though breathing. Eyes bright as fresh blood regarded him with calm curiosity, a faint smile playing on delicate lips.

Slowly, she raised one graceful hand. Her fingertips elongated subtly, becoming thorn-like, dripping with glistening nectar as scarlet as a fresh wound. Fergus felt his pulse quicken. A voice like a rustling breeze echoed softly through his mind:

"Come closer, mortal. Wander deeper, offer yourself freely."

He blinked, dazed, shaking his head. He wanted desperately to step forward, to kneel and offer all he had—his energy, his life—at her feet. But beneath the dream-like urge, some primal instinct screamed in warning, breaking the trance.

The dryad tilted her head slightly, observing his sudden hesitation with mild amusement. Her eyes glittered, reading his thoughts, assessing carefully. A predator’s smile stretched slowly across her face.

"It is no matter. Your struggle only sweetens the gift."

Vines shifted subtly around him, tightening their grip on his limbs before he even realized they were there. He twisted frantically, the thorns biting into flesh as she stepped silently closer, each movement elegant and unhurried.

"Thank you," she whispered softly, placing one thorny fingertip lightly against his chest. Warmth, then pain, bloomed at her touch as energy—his life essence—flowed steadily from him to her, and through her, back to a hidden heart of darkness deep within Isolde’s domain.

In his final moments of consciousness, Fergus understood clearly: he was not the first, nor would he be the last, caught in the trap of the beautiful, bloodthorn-twined guardians of corruption.