Ravenbreath

It hums in the dark, not with sound, but with rhythm—a golden glow that pulses like a heartbeat. Its stem is laced with shifting veins of faint, liquid light, its cap soft and warm beneath the touch, though no one can say why. It does not wilt. It does not rot. It simply is, and that alone makes it wrong.

No record mentions anything like it. Not in tomes, not in song, not even among the ramblings of hedge witches and madmen. Those who’ve held it say it whispers. Some feel it watch. The goblin who found it insists it blinked. Scholars want to study it. Smugglers want to sell it. And yet… none dare keep it for long.

Whatever it is, it wasn’t grown. It was made. And it is waiting.

Tinka

---

The Troublesome Toadstool

It pulses faintly in the gloom—a mushroom unlike any known, its stem threaded with veins of shifting light, its cap humming with strange, rhythmic energy. It shouldn't exist. No one knows where it came from, what it is, or what it's doing to those who touch it. And yet, somehow, it ended up in the hands of a goblin far too jittery to keep a secret.
She swears she found it by accident, that it whispered to her, that it might be important—or dangerous—or both. Now she needs help, and she's picked you. The question isn’t just what the mushroom is... it’s what happens when you find out. Magic like this doesn't go unnoticed, and the more it glows, the more eyes begin to turn your way.

---