“How long have I been asleep? It must be close to a thousand years.”

The dryad trapped in a slowly corrupting Forrest spoke in the sleek slender arms of the elf.

“You dramatic piece of driftwood, you got high again, didn’t you?” Eyed down the barbarian cradling the dwarf acorn dryad in his veiny arms.

“Found a new mushroom… have you noticed how the waters full of ugly tree people?”

“If Wiz was here he’d tear your leaves in two with that.”

“Thanks archer”

“You little goblin”

“So how far till your place”

The barbarian dropped the dryad and held his arms up with a dead faced look ahead.

“I’m not falling for the ‘it tastes like maple syrup’ hogwash again”

“Must’ve been a bad batch”

“Next time I’m turning you to mulch…”