The Weeping Grove of Malcor

The air in this clearing is thick with the scent of wet earth and copper. Four gnarled oaks, their bark bleached white like bone, encircle a low altar of fused ribcages. Deep, glowing purple fissures trace patterns of necrotic energy across the tree trunks, forming jagged glyphs that pulse in a slow, rhythmic tempo. Thick, oily sap the color of a bruise drips from the knotholes, pooling in the grooves of the bone altar below where black moss thrives in the decay.