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The Foley Knoll Horror is a piece of Story and Lore found in the Tree of Skill.

 

We spotted our first sign of gnarlends not far after leaving the trail, with Cliffendell Crag only beginning to rise, still a half day's journey away. Kazik Terman spied a burnt-looking stump, and closer inspection revealed the unmistakable signs: a tree trunk rent as if by flashfire, shrouded in bits of charred, decayed flesh.

  • The Foley Knoll Horror s. 6.

 

The origin of gnarlends is a thing of horrible mystery. What we do know is this: some forest tribes will place the corpses of stillborn infants inside the trunks of knotted trees, and as the tree grows, perhaps through some horrid magic a gnarlend is born.

  • The Foley Knoll Horror s. 7.

 

Gnarlends are neither living nor dead, neither human nor plant. They are nightmarishly hideous, bearing misshapen, eerily infantile faces and viny, entangled skin.

  • The Foley Knoll Horror s. 8.

 

The torches they bore made them better bait, illuminated our view ahead, and kept us hidden in shadow. We'd also slather them in the fluids of a dead rabbit for good measure.

  • The Foley Knoll Horror s. 15.

 

I was unarmed, unarmored, and bound. I had no hope but for divine intervention. But the old gods favor my sort over cannibals and abominations: would they listen? Still as a stone, I breathed the barest breath, mouthing with the most miniscule efforts the words of faith that may have meant my deliverance.

  • The Foley Knoll Horror s. 41.

 

I remained still. The vile men dining on the remains of my countrymen continued their grim pursuit. I felt at the ropes binding my hands: tied tight. Deliver me, Diadel. Deliver me, Devara.

  • The Foley Knoll Horror s. 42.

 

It was something I'd never felt before, and would never feel again. It was like a thousand bright and chiming bells became voices, each one whispering to me. 'Don't lose hope,' they said.

  • The Foley Knoll Horror s. 43.

 

I felt as if something ethereal was softly brushing against the tips of my fingers, like a sea of feathers. The weave! The old gods had opened my eyes to the weave of Fire and Sky that surrounds us.

  • The Foley Knoll Horror s. 44.

 

I calmly felt the weave, touched it, embraced it, wrapped myself in it. A hooded figure looked up from the table. Then another did. I had their attention now! The man seated nearest me withdrew a rusty knife from a mostly emptied torso and marched toward me.

  • The Foley Knoll Horror s. 45.

 

He was near enough now that I could smell his foul carrion breath, his grinning, yellow teeth bared. He let out a cruel, sickly laugh, raised his rusty knife to my throat, pursed his grinning lips. In my stillness, I felt a living heat welling up in my hands. Diadel! The weave!

  • The Foley Knoll Horror s. 46.

 

There was a flash, then wave after wave of searing, glowing heat emanated from where I stood, leaving brilliant arcs and tendrils of red and orange flame, engulfing dozens of cloaked wretches in flame.

  • The Foley Knoll Horror s. 47.

 

... weave of Fire and Sky in my fingertips. Focusing on my glaive, I gently drew from the weave, somehow collecting tendrils of ethereal forces in a familiar yet alien process, building energy until my glaive glowed with celestial fire. I slashed broadly at my assailants.

  • The Foley Knoll Horror s. 54.



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