Upon Moonshadow, rarely, a stream will cross the crumbling labyrinthine paths that thread through the benighted forest. The first explorers made the error of drinking from these streams; the pestilence carried within the waters quickly spread throughout their bodies; sores and gushing wounds killing all but the staunchest.
A few brave souls attempted to follow these waterways, surely they must lead to a lake or even an ocean; an end to the endless maze of arboreal cruelty. They set out with canteens and followed the waters downstream; waters that even the unwholesome life of the forest seemed to avoid. Perhaps they should have taken this rare warning to heart, perhaps then more would have returned. According to the two surviving scouts, they came to a river where the waters ran swift and dark.
Dark, save for the torchlight reflected in a legion of pale eyes. What fell and unearthly legion came forth from the river is not entirely known; however the wounds born by the survivors tell that whatever came from there is even less wholesome than the poison riddled waters from which they sprang. Neither survived more than a few days; though it is noted that, before a merciful cut ended their lives, they exhibited unnerving physical changes that led to their bodies being burned moments after death claimed them, least our well become infested with those pelagic monstrosities.