A decaying, moss-covered zombie-like figure with glowing green eyes and a helmet stands in a dark, misty bog.

Fíoch — The Forest’s Avatar At first glance it resembles a man. But the illusion lasts only a moment. Standing in the black water of a rotting bog is a corpse animated by something older than memory — a body reclaimed and worn by the will of a wounded forest. The figure is tall and gaunt, its posture stiff in a way that suggests joints moved by tension rather than muscle. It does not breathe. It does not fidget. It simply stands — as if it grew there. The Face The face is not skeletal, but it is long past the dignity of death. What remains of flesh clings to bone in patches: Grey-green skin stretched thin over cheekbones Torn lips exposing blackened teeth Hollow cheeks sunken deep toward the jaw One side of the face partially collapsed where rot has taken hold The nose has partially decayed away, leaving a dark hollow where cartilage once was. Inside the eye sockets burns a faint bioluminescent green glow, like foxfire fungus on a fallen log. The light is not bright — just enough to be seen in shadow. The eyes themselves are gone. What shines there is the forest looking out. When it speaks, the jaw moves slightly, but the sound does not come from the mouth. The voice emerges from deep within the ribcage like wind moving through a hollow tree. The Helm Resting upon the ruined head is a rotting leather helm, once the practical headgear of a forest bandit. The leather has darkened and stiffened with years of damp decay. Iron rivets along the plates have rusted nearly through Mehr sehen