As you journey forward, the forest gives way to a large clearing where even the undergrowth is diminished. In the center of the clearing stands an ancient twisted tree. It isn’t as tall as the other trees in the forest, but it is squat and broad, its trunk and branches far thicker than the other trees’. Wart-like knobs cover its dark surface, and thick crimson sap oozes from various open wounds across its bark. At ground level on the surface of the tree is a large wooden door.

Stepping into the clearing, you feel an evil foreboding presence seeming to emanate from the tree itself, almost as though it were warning you away. From behind you in the depths of the forest, you hear a hushed melodic whisper as though from dozens if not hundreds of fey voices in unison: “Slopgrowth beckons. Heed her call.”

Glancing over your shoulders, you can see an assemblage of fey creatures – pixies, sprites, razor gnomes, elves, and others – peeking out from behind trunks, branches, bushes, and rock outcroppings. Mischievous smiles paint their faces as they wait in anticipation for what must be a grand showdown about to happen.