So the woods say, a soldier was once marching through an ancient forest with his regiment. They were starving because their supply lines had been intercepted, and the army was fleeing pursuit by superior forces. The soldier gathered acorns and mushrooms in his desperation for sustenance. His troupe was set upon in an ambush as they were bogged down in the marshes — and the pouch of acorns and mushrooms he was carrying eventually sprouted into a tree, bearing a dryad as fruit.
Her fey spirit was darkly warped by the tortured blood of so many slain men which had stained the soil from which her roots suckled. Olienne’s whims are disturbingly morbid and she is known for vindictive acts of stunning cruelty. Her fey bond with the soul of the land which surrounds her abode grants her, like other dryads, much lore of natural magics, but Olienne’s sap also pulses with the taint of black witchcraft.
After her confrontation with a band of adventurers, she was forced to flee. Who knows where she might set down new roots to nurse her grudge?