Treants
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Among the old woods of Schenn, where the ruins have been swallowed by thorny vines and the shaggy silver bark of decrepit trees more fit for horror novels than reality grow, the local wildlife has scattered. More than one Weir has been heard gasping out something about creatures, half man and half tree, shuffling in the dark. And where those creatures pass, only the soulless shells of their victims remain, scuttling about without intelligence, roaming with only hunger.

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