Plants
in Creatures and plantsThe forest and valley around Ravenshollow once thrived with lush, abundant plant life, a harmonious tapestry of herbs, flowers, crops, and towering trees. But as the Gloom slowly spread, unsettling transformations began to take root. Now, patches of earth lie barren and lifeless, stubbornly resisting all attempts at growth, as if scorched by an unseen fire. In other places, plant life flourishes unnaturally—crops like corn grow extraordinarily large, their stalks thick and towering, yet exuding a foul, sickly-sweet odor. Eating from these seemingly fertile fields leaves villagers ill, weak, and bedridden for days.
Deeper into the forest, the corruption intensifies. Trees twist into grotesque forms, their bark pulsing faintly with eerie, unnatural glows. Familiar medicinal herbs become poisonous, while strange, unknown plants thrive in abundance, radiating a quiet menace. Each step further into the gloom reveals flora more distorted and dangerous, a stark warning that the balance of nature has become severely disrupted.
World Codex
Jacob Fenrow woke at dawn as always, stepping outside into the chill air with a wary glance toward his cornfield. Each day lately filled him with greater unease, and yet he had no choice but to tend his crops.
Something was wrong—he’d felt it in his bones from the first day those strange weeds had appeared. At first they seemed ordinary enough, small leafy sprouts he hadn't planted himself, easy to pull out. But day after day, they returned, their growth subtle yet relentless. And something else troubled Jacob deeply: whenever he tore them from the earth, they left a foul, acrid scent lingering on his hands, almost sulfurous.
In the weeks that followed, the weeds changed. They grew thick, winding stalks, their leaves darkly green with crimson veins. They seemed to encircle his corn in a strange embrace, intertwining and wrapping around the stalks. Each morning, Jacob found more corn wilted, drained somehow of life, while the weeds grew steadily thicker and taller.
Jacob grew wary of going out alone to his fields. There were mornings when he swore the twisted plants shifted overnight, creeping further into his rows of crops, as though slowly devouring them. They were not just growing—they seemed to be hunting. No matter how many he tore from the earth, they multiplied, stronger and hungrier than before.
He’d spoken little of it to others in Ravenshollow; everyone had their own troubles since the Gloom began, after all. And yet, as the days passed, the predatory quiet of his fields filled him with growing dread.
One gray morning, as mist drifted silently over the farm, Jacob stood staring out toward his cornfield, its once neat rows now snarled and shadowed. With dread heavy in his chest, he saw the corrupted plants had crept closer again overnight. Their leaves rustled gently, almost mockingly, even without a breeze.
Jacob shuddered and turned away, deciding finally to abandon that part of the field entirely. He knew with grim certainty he could no longer hold back whatever dark hunger drove these corrupted plants. Better to leave them to rot, he thought, before their creeping roots claimed more than just crops.