i

In ages past, Mistwood was a land of harmony between mortals and spirits. The Sylvan Elves alone found the means to unite their cause with that of the fey, and together they had nurtured a realm unlike any other. And few among its denizens loved Mistwood as dearly as Searsha - one of the fairest dryads. For she was a daughter of Spring. Her soul encompassed the gentle breeze rustling amid young leaves, the beauty of the first flower blooming, and the joy of renewal.

The grove where Searsha dwelt was akin to a garden tended to with a steady and loving hand; beasts and Elves flocked to its glades, where the whisper of streams was like music, and neither pain nor dismay held sway. The fair mistress of the grove walked among them always. She listened to their worries and spoke words of wisdom, and all living creatures that knew her grace loved Searsha in turn.

Alas, vile treachery had turned it all to ashes. A servant of Siroth struck at Mistwood’s very heart and awakened the seeds of corruption that lay hidden in its soil. The Rhythm that guided all living things therein was broken, and madness reigned unchecked. Searsha was among those who fell. Her eyes clouded by a veil of nightmares, the dryad stalked her grove not as a caretaker but as a predator on the prowl, and woe alone awaited all who sought to take refuge with their beloved fey.

Then came the great battle between the loyal Sylvan Watchers and those lost to madness. Blood was spilled on hallowed ground, the clash of steel replaced the trill of birds, and all around, Mistwood burned. The flame spared none in its wake, and Searsha’s fair grove burned to cinders. The dryad stayed there to the last, her once-noble spirit seared by the fire, her mind reeling as the tainted Heart Tree fell at last and madness released its clutches. Though Searsha was spared from death, a part of her had been lost forever, consumed by the roaring inferno that left Mistwood scarred.

From that day onward, she cast aside all that once was dear to her and embraced the only thing that remained - vengeance. Only the blood of Siroth’s slaves could salve her pain. And so, Searsha turned all her powers to that goal, becoming a spirit of retribution and a ruthless avenger, ever-eager to join the Sylvan Watchers in their battles against Demonspawn and other blasphemous creatures.

Those who serve the Shadow or dare to harm Mistwood would do well to flee, for Searsha’s wrath burns as bright as the heart of a raging volcano, and none who live shall survive the dark flames summoned forth by her will. The Forest cries out for justice, and the Charred dryad shall serve as its weapon forevermore.