When the world was younger, curses and oaths were not whispered without weight.
One night, bandits near the outskirts of a forest bartered callously with the life of a passing noble. They promised freedom for gold and idly swore upon a nearly forgotten name. The noble died with an arrow in the back.
The name they swore upon belonged to something more ancient than even the Spirits, and it was roused to action.
A gnarled and weathered oak tree stood not far from the bandits. The air hummed with power and, slowly, Dendr creaked to life, charged with clarity of their purpose to bring oath-breakers to justice.
The bandits were extinguished beneath the ensuing thumps and rustles as Dendr strode into the night.
