Just about every village in the Quiverwoods has their local witch who lives on the outskirts, just far enough away that you can’t always hear the cackling. There is one witch older, wiser, and more witchy than any of them, who lives deep, deep within the woods, and of whom they all speak with reverence: the Crone of the Crooked Bough. She is old enough that there are folktales about her, older than anyone can remember: an old woman who fed the forest with her own blood, and who now lives on in every gnarled trunk and every twisted branch.