...the Glade wants a drink....

......the chanting reached its peak.....well, if you could call it real chanting....dozens of dryads in a myriad of forms and shapes stood in the clearing, the only spot in the small glade that was not completely covered in flora... they made noises however, but to call them words did not seem right... words spoken by the young races were different, they did not belong here, the " sound of their words was wrong"... to speak them here would be blasphemy, the Glade would not act gently...

It was because of this that the captives were gagged, and those that did try to remove the moss and vines that were stuffed into their mouths had their tongues pulled out....blood spilled, yes..... but blood would flow anyway....only seconds away now....

It started when the sounds became so loud it started to immitate a cloud of insects....pitched sounds...natural...but driven with a need to avenge...driven with anger....driven with hatred....those that had hurt the world roots in the past were about to pay the price....

The first dryads pushed their wooden arms towards the tops of the tree....with a bursting, popping sound they smashed through the necks and faces of the victims.... humans...elves...ogres....beastmen....goblins....they all died there...their blood gushing in wide streams on the forest floor...feeding the ritual....

Azrotha stood in the centre of it all...feeding on the fear and dismay of the dying beings...she felt the roots under the glade stir... they were pleased... the would grow... nourishing on the life blood she had given them...

...the glade was thirsty still ...that was good...there was lots of more nourishment yet to give......