A SHORT HISTORY ON TWICKET
Only reachable by one road that treks through the eerie darkness of the northern Whiskwood forest, this tiny village was settled in the year 652 by infamous adventurer, Caeliber Twicket.
Caeliber had intended Twicket to become a bastion of humanity that would grow to tame the Whiskwood— but no such thing happened. Caeliber assembled a large crew of 25 warriors, rangers, mages, builders, foragers, and a doctor, all who were more than qualified to embark on the brave expedition. Unfortunately, nearly half of the group perished during the two years it took just to carve a road through the forest to the place of settlement, leaving them with only 13.
To keep out unwanted creatures and unhinged forest spirits, the mages created Wardstones, placing them along the road to Twicket, and around the entire clearing they planned to build in.
Caeliber lived in and attempted to expand Twicket further into the Whiskwood for thirty years until his death at the gnarled hands of the Wild One for these attempts. Slowly, but surely, all plans to claim more of the Whiskwood for Twicket’s benefit were halted, as too many lives were being claimed by the ancient forest.
Over the course of a bit more than two centuries, Twicket became a very poor village so encompassed by gnarled vines and trees, that they’re nearly closed off to the rest of the world. The only thing that held the forest back were the Wardstones that still stand around the village and the road leading to it, serving as a magical barrier keeping the forest from consuming them entirely. There was, however a small group of people there in Twicket, however, who began to worship the Wild One, a god of the Whiskwood who most villagers dubbed an Afterdark god, one of the ones you aren’t supposed to pray to for the sole reason that your wishes will be granted in dangerous and roundabout ways that will only benefit Him.
Eighteen years ago, Twicket was destroyed, and the entire population devoured or slaughtered. A Wildling had been born to a couple five years before, conceived from a prayer to the Wild One, such children being like beacons to the spirits and demons dwelling in the Whiskwood. The incident was truly bad timing, as a Wardstone had cracked and deactivated, leaving an opening in the barrier that had stood to protect the village for so long. A demon entered, eating gluttonously and wildly, the people of Twicket like a rich man’s buffet to the entity. An Arcanist reported having retrieved the Wildling, and no one else.
Twicket presently stands as a ghost town, half of it a charred pile of crushed homes, stained by blood and death, or broken into by vines and trees and wild creatures, the skeletons of those who’d once lived there scattered unceremoniously upon the ground. Twicket has been reclaimed by the Whiskwood, but some who live down at the edge of the forest report hearing the Wild One call into the night for his lost Wildling.