You step off the path, starting on your way into the gloom of the Wilderdeep. You notice that hardly any daylight outside pierces through the trees; it’s as if the woods are in a state of constant dawn. The trees themselves are peculiar as well: rather than the healthy deep brown bark of the trees outside, these have a sickly, greying color. As you step, you hear the ground squelch and it takes effort to wade through the mire, colored like dried blood. As you inhale, your nose is not met with the pleasant scent of pine or wildflowers, but that of noxious oxone. The air is thick and damp. 

[hider=Serah]
As the druid, you are attuned to the ways of the natural world. You count the animals as companions and the wild as your ally. Any other time, you might venture into an unfamiliar wood, commune with its spirits and gain insight to its history. However, you feel no connection to this place. It does not feel like any environment you have stepped foot in before. The trees do not welcome your presence. No wildlife chitters pleasantries at your entry. If you attempt to tap into the heart of the Wilderdeep, you might see a trace: a hint of what was, or what might have been, although it is well-hidden the void of shadow that haunts it. 

But there! A glimmer comes to your mind through the murk. It reaches out to you, faint and feeble. There is life in these woods after all. You can hear the mighty heartbeat of the land and smell its bounty. You can hear the song of the birds and the rush of brooks. It doesn’t last for long. In the next instant, the visions collapse on themselves and the hope vanishes. The link to whatever earthly spirit still endures in the Wilderdeep is gone, save for a lingering feeling of loss.
[/hider]

As you wade past the initial shrubs that mark the woods' boundary, you notice your body pulling with each step, like the Wilderdeep is a vacuum, drawing you in. It's a faint sensation, but it's there, and if you turn around to test it going the other way, you'll notice that you cannot see the point which you entered from. In fact, none of your surroundings are familiar at all! The shrubs are gone, and you stand among rows and rows of sickly, black trees with gnarled limbs. 

In the next second, it appears as if everything is oozing, melting into the mire at your feet. The trees sag and buckle, exuding viscous, foul-smelling sap. You feel the ground give way, your vision swims in a blur of colors and your head throbs with a riot of dread.

Then, you blink and everything is as it was before; the trees stand tall again, and the ground lays still. Whatever grim aura you felt stepping in still persists, but your sanity is intact. 

A moment passes as you recoup, and then a shrill cry echoes through the canopy overhead. It is unnatural-sounding, alien, but to a trained ear, it sounds something like a braying elephant crossed with a vulture. The sound permeates the space all around you, seemingly neither near, nor far, but its echo resounds from a precise direction that you can identity.