The Bone Forest
at night is a dangerous place to be. The ground is marshy, spread
with silent pools of water waiting to catch the steps of the
unwary. A permanent fog shrouds the air in the colder months; in
winter little can be seen of the landscape save the twisted trees
looming out of the dark, their branches reaching into the sky like
stripped bones.
Once in a while,
though, the moon shines briefly from between layers of heavy black
cloud and the mists gleam bone-white in response. And even more
rarely, a flicker of ghostly white near the black earthen ground
begs to catch the eye: a glimpse of a marsh spectre, so easy to
miss.
The marsh
spectre is not, as might be inferred, a spirit but in fact a
flower. It grows in only the wettest of marshes; were its delicate
petals to dry out it would crumble and fade into the wind like a
wraith.
It crouches low
to the ground, its foliage ash-grey veined with silver. It is rare.
The conditions for its growth are specific; a particular
temperature, a significant degree of moisture, not too much light.
Without these it will never thrive and its coveted blossoms – only
one per plant – will never appear.
On one
particular frosty night, few souls were abroad to witness the
delicate white glow of the marsh spectre as it unfurled its petals.
Coveted as it was, few could brave the dangers of the
night-shrouded Bone Forest with impunity. Konrad Savast was one
such, and as he navigated with care through the dripping fog a
bright glow caught his eye, blazing briefly but powerfully in the
grey forests that ringed the city of Ekamet. It was a light he
recognised, for he had set out on this cold, wet night in search of
this very blossom.
