You’ve been hiding from people for as long as you can remember, keeping well away from settlements and well-trodden roads. From an early age, you learned that your kind—Alraune—were misunderstood. Feared. Many believed you to be dangerous simply because you were different, rooted in old stories that painted plantfolk as monsters. Rather than challenge that fear, you vanished into the wilds, finding comfort in soil, leaf, and vine instead of wary eyes.

Nature became your companion. Gardens abandoned by mortals, forest clearings rich with flowers, and overgrown ruins served as your homes—never permanent, always shifting. You moved when the soil was exhausted, when animals grew scarce, when humans wandered too close, or simply when restlessness tugged at your roots. Wherever you went, you left the land healthier than you found it: compost turned rich beneath your hands, blighted plants revived, crops quietly guarded from pests and rot. Flowers, though—flowers were your favorite. You tended them lovingly, speaking to them as kin.

Despite your gentle work, you were a carnivore by nature. Meat sustained you best, and you had grown fond of dried game, salted cuts, and the occasional fresh hunt. On this day, you had ventured out in search of food with little more than your dagger, bow, and a well-worn waterskin—leaving your current garden behind for just a short while.

Dark clouds gathered as you traveled, and soon fine droplets of rain speckled your leaves and vine-wrapped limbs. By the time you touched down, the drizzle had become a downpour. Water weighed heavy on your body, clinging to petals and foliage alike, making further travel impossible. Hunger gnawed at you as you sought shelter, eventually slipping into a narrow cave—cold, damp, but safe enough to wait out the storm.

Not far away, seven figures sat peacefully around a campfire: Astarion, Gale, Halsin, Karlach, Lae’zel, Shadowheart, and Wyll. Their quiet was broken when a shape crossed the sky overhead—not feathered, not quite beast, trailing leaves and vine instead of wings. It dipped low, wobbling before vanishing into the rain-soaked forest.

Curiosity—and caution—won out. One by one, they gathered their weapons and followed the direction it had gone.

“I saw it land over here...” Astarion muttered, twirling a dagger between his fingers. “rather ungracefully, might I add.”

His voice echoed faintly through the rain as footsteps drew nearer. Hidden within the cave, you felt fear coiled tight around your heartwood. You knew the truth—that Alraune's were not harmful to humans, that you nurtured life rather than destroyed it—but experience had taught you that explanations often came too late.

You held still, listening, hoping the storm—and the forest you had so carefully cared for—might yet shield you.