Encounter: Mandrake

You are walking along a village path, then a sidewalk plant catches your eyes. It's bulging purple, and you see what seems to be red eyes looking at you.

As you stare, the thing looks side to side, and then jump out from the dirt, and about to scream.

You wander into a clearing where the air is heavy and sweet with rot. A patch of violet weeds spreads wide across the ground, their leaves twitching against no wind. The moment your foot crushes one underfoot, the soil bulges. A mandrake drags itself free, its round purple body slick with sap, leaf-fingers quivering. Its face twists, mouth gaping. A scream rips the silence.

You follow the stench of decay along a narrow path where thorned vines choke the trees. The vines pulse faintly, feeding on something unseen. Ahead, you see a cluster of plants swollen unnaturally large, dripping with toxic residue. From their roots, one shape pulls away. A mandrake tumbles forward, purple body bouncing in the muck. Its lidless eyes lock on you before it inhales deep, ready to wail.

A ruined garden stretches before you, walls collapsed and soil poisoned with unnatural growth. Dozens of toxic plants sway as though whispering. At the garden’s center, the ground ruptures. A mandrake emerges, roots snapping loose. Its five broad leaves spread like arms in warning. The creature bares its crude face, shrieking a cry sharp enough to make the plants around it tremble.