The Bird of Paradise

Before the ancestors of the Kaddar first tasted blood... In a luscious jungle timeless beneath the shelter of its canopy... There existed a creature of flight blessed by Yaegar. His voice could be heard whispering among the beating of its wings; His breath could be felt amidst its fleeting shadow. It is said that the word of the elven god soars along with this mystic bird, traveling from heaven to our mortal realm, and that its sanctified blood will grant immortality.

At least this was what Bashka believed, and the power of belief is enough to change fate. The old crone devoted her entire existence and flesh to the mysteries of sorcery. Even her body was shriveled and singed by the charge of immense magics she would channel through her corporeal tissue. With each slight movement, her leathery skin would almost crack and ash would scatter into the wind. She was betrothed to the Reaper, soon to witness her fateful union with death, and yet one arcane secret eluded her: the attainment of immortality.

Years she lurked in the jungle, stalking her prey only to witness a streak of red plumage, a moment of bliss, and ever mounting frustration for her efforts. Only when the Reaper approached to claim his new bride did she see impending triumph in a lone scarlet feather floating downward: a single, intense mote of color in her ever-darkening sight. With this rare treasure, the old crone fashioned a charm to hide herself from the senses of the bird of legend. Unwittingly, the bird of paradise found itself in the talons of Bashka as she exhausted her last amount of life in the effort. As she avariciously drank the blood and essence from the slain creature, her fiery greed consumed her until she dissipated into an insubstantial mist. A beam of sunlight then pierced the impenetrable foliage of the jungle canopy to carry the kiss of Yaegar to the lifeless corpse of the bird of paradise. With this celestial touch, the divine messenger spread its wings to fly into heaven for the last time.

Where drops of its blood fell onto the ground, a beautiful scarlet flower blooms now. Each evening it withers with the fading light only to open its petals to a single sunray every consequent dawn, as if gasping the first breath of revival each morning. The bird of paradise flower is a symbol of restored hope and the cycle of life. However, the vicious crone still guards the area as a mist creeping across the forest floor, and her face can be seen in a large, granite stone travelers have named the Wrinkled Hag.