Tangle

The Tangle is a land of thorns and thickets, of predators and perfume. A floral kingdom, where madness is in the air you breath, and death in the scrape of a knee. It is the home of sentient fungi and carnivorous plants. Here you are being watched with the eyes of green. This is literal as almost every plant has eyes in some manner, and most possessed of limited mobility.

Since time immemorial there has been this land, where few animals survive, and insects wage war. It is a land of mystery only vine and toadstool know, which even the fey shun with dread.

Here everything is a parasite. Spores and pollen, shoot and root that infect and violate and prey upon the unprepared visitor. The few non-plants that live here are symbiotic with a chosen plant, immune to its affects and protected from others. Here are mushrooms the size of mountains, organic masses, that ooze unimaginable growths, all lit by the riotous colors of blazing foxfires.

With each year the tangle grows a little larger while most of the planet slowly dies. Few live close-by the tangle, and fewer yet think to measure, but those rare individuals fear it as great as the approach of the chill, for there is something uncanny within that cares nothing of man and his ilk. The Queen of A Thousand Roots.

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