The Hanging Tree

Perhaps more terrifying still, more so than any measure of wild beasts, is the darkness that occupies the mind. Like a viscid, amorphous pool, it breeds the demons that shape and constrain us. Every so often, they even win. Many a person has felt the insufferable tug of the noose to their throats, like a sirens song, leading them further and further still into the Wilted Wilds, where legends say lies a bloated, gnarled beast of a tree seemingly grown out from the fetid swamps for one purpose, and one purpose only.
There is no blade in all of Aran, no arcane tome of spells, no sleight of hand or dexterous wiles that can trump the darkness of the mind.
All heed the call of the Hanging Tree.