From Introduction: When the magic of the shadowlands spills out into the lands of the living, the souls of the dead do not rest easy. And when the chaotic magic of mutation is soon after let loose upon that very same ground, life can grow, like a shadow, in the shape of those who pass on. Thus it is with the plant ghosts. What is to becomes of those creeping vines — the wooden trunks, the leafy boughs — now infused with arcane power? Drunk on the blood of ghosts, even they mock the ways of the living. But which ghosts are their inspiration? In this ruined city, the only people who die are those who came for treasure, for “adventure.” As their ghosts gnash and wail at the injustice of being murdered in this awful place, the plants that grow here replace their flesh and take up their arms to fight again. A slain man’s sword, a mauled maiden’s shield, both left lying in the weeds to rust. But now they find their way into flowering hands of bark and green. Like ghosts, they continue a quest to find some worthy treasure. But how can a plant know what gold and gemstones are? How can its mindless stalks and roots do what human hands cannot? The plant ghosts do not know what it means to loot a dungeon for treasure, not really. But they do know how to fight, and fight they do. Each time they cut someone down, another one of them rises. How long will it be until the city lives again, full of these abominations?