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The Plant Assassin had destroyed the forest, his cold essence draining the life from fern and frond alike, bleaching branches and snapping shoots. The forest had been replaced by a wasteland, a country of marshes and bogs, of ice and dread draugrs, the shapes of people long forgotten, that sailed in from some long abandoned shore, following the Plant Assassin in his wake, as he marched to the citadels in the east, to where the sorcerors languished on thrones, seeking a centuries long revenge, as grasses turned to sand under his seven league boots, and he devoured the earth, hungry.

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