It was a small village, nestled deep into the wilds of Tular. Barely larger than a simple collection of huts, the two main buildings of the small village were the tavern and the blacksmith - and even those were not that large. The tavern was the busiest place this even though, with the men and women laughing and cheering to each other. The harvest had just been collected, and they had more than enough supplies to last them through the winter. Which meant that they could devote their attention to securing other materials - namely, metals from the mine that they had started just last winter.

The mine gave the men folk something to do as the winter months passed by, aside from getting black out drunk at the tavern. They hadn't paid too much attention to it recently though, as making sure they had enough food to last through the cold months had taken far higher priority for these folks. But - mining could wait for later. Tonight, they would celebrate the end of the harvest! For the next few days the men would hunt, and the women gather, from the nearby woods.

Things were slightly strained though. And that was entirely because of the large man in robes that was sitting at the bar, sipping ale from a tankard. He had come in yesterday, and offered to help with the harvest - an offer that was soundly refused. The man had merely shrugged, informed them he would be drinking for the next few days, then leave them be. So several of the men of the village were keeping a close eye on him, making sure he got up to nothing nefarious - and aside from driving enough to have pickled the liver of four men, he didn't seem to be up to anything at all.

Then a child ran into the bar, screaming, and the entire tone of the evening changed. The small girl ran to her father and leapt into his arms, sobbing about a 'tree that ate her sheep'. Most of the villagers tried to ignore it, dismissing it as the fantasies of a child who was scared by something - that is, until the father brought one hand away from her back, and found that his hand was slick with blood. With a strangled scream he checked his daughter, and found that the back of her simple dress was torn, and there was a gash in her back.

Tears began to roll down his face as his daughter quieted - sniffling, weakening. There was no medicine man in town, not tonight - and he wouldn't be back in the town for another few weeks to months if the snow was bad enough. They would have to do their best with what they had to save his little girl-

"A warm breeze is blowing. Fret not,
neighbor." It was the voice of the stranger. He had thrown his hood back and approached the father and daughter, and in one hand was a strange cross-shaped object, with bells hanging from the sides. He knelt beside them, and took one of the girl's hands in his. "Little one, I know it hurts and you are scared, but I need you to be brave a few minutes longer. Hold tight to your father, he will not let anything else hurt you. Now. Thus he saw their wounds were many, but small, and he sheltered them in his warm embrace, the tears of his sorrow washing away the stings of pain. Minor Heal." Warm gold light coalesced around the robed man as he shook the chime in his hand, bells ringing softly, pleasantly. The light sank down into an ornate circle that flowed around his feet, filling with strange symbols - and then a bright glow filled the room. When the light faded, the wound on the girl's back had closed up, though she still looked rather pale.

"I can do naught for the dress, I am afraid. Now, little one - can you point the way to where this tree attacked you?" Murmurs filled the air, shock and disbelief mingling.

"It sounds like you have a treant problem, neighbors. An almost sentient tree, and it must be dealt with now, as it has a taste for blood, and will only grow stronger as time passes."