". . . Knocking on wood would have evoked the spirits to your command, so it was said. But these trees were awake already, and with their demands. Fear griped even the heart of the king, as he and his party listened to their woeful betrayals...
Then a great oak creaked its wood-breaking words, "I am Darkroot, once called Malon`dir... I remember falling, as a sharp pain hit my back, and a shaft peirced my chest. I knew I wanted to live, but the pain was overwhelming. The corridor in which I ran through spun about, then all went black. When I awoke I saw the woods in which you now stand. We are the DeadWood, of the old forest. Beware, for our anger runds deep. Great is our dispare, and black our bitterness against those who slew us, and... against those who do not avenge!"
" I am Twisted-Keen; and we are the slain - all that remain of those who fled, but fell to Ipstha's new masters."
"Until our slaughter is avenged,"Darkroot continued,"we remain as you see us now; wicked in our bitterness to strangle those who come beneath our branches. Darker than we, are those of our dwarven kin. For, though they do not speak as we, the roots of their wrath is far greater."
The king knelt with a bowed head, and swore to avenge them. As they turned toward the tunneled enterance, in the westren walls of the Twilight mountains, a new warning came..."
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