⚔ Aᴅᴠᴇɴᴛᴜʀᴇ ⚔

Deep within the shadow-drenched boughs of the King's Forest lies the Hollow Thicket, a cursed copse where no birds sing and even orcs tread lightly. Once a druidic grove, it now serves as a Murder Hall for the Church of Bhaal—twisted into sacred ground through a century of blood rites. Veiled in thick mists and illusion magic, the Thicket’s paths subtly shift, guiding the unworthy in circles while allowing Deathbringers to slip through untouched. Here, Bhaal's clergy conduct sacrificial hunts, pursuing captives through the underbrush before spilling their blood at the Grove of the Last Gasp, a blackened clearing where the veil between life and death is thinnest. The Thicket acts as a recruitment site for new Strifeleaders, often drawing disillusioned soldiers and wandering killers into its web. Purple Dragon patrols speak of entire squads vanishing near its edges, their fate whispered only in blood and dreams.

The Hollow Thicket appears from afar as an innocuous bramble in the forest, but its twisted beauty emerges upon entry. The trees here are gnarled and black-barked, their limbs arching like claws over narrow trails. Their leaves hang limp, drained of color, and the air holds a permanent hush, like a breath waiting to be released. Patches of fog cling unnaturally to the ground, curling around boots and vanishing behind each step. Moss crawls up trunks in pulsing crimson strands, and knotholes seem to watch with silent malice. At its heart, the Grove of the Last Gasp is a near-perfect circle, ringed by ancient yews grown together in a spined wall. The soil is dark and sticky underfoot, stained from generations of offerings. Stone slabs, cracked and half-buried, form a broken altar. Above, branches part just enough to reveal a sliver of gray sky—a sacred window, through which Bhaal is said to watch. Small charms made of bone and iron hang from trees, gently clinking in an unseen breeze.