Throughout the deep forests of the Empire stand grim monuments to the Beast Mother's worship. Gnarled dead trees are hung with fresh offerings of flesh, from prized livestock to unfortunate souls surrendered in desperate hope of earning her favour. Beneath the branches, skulls are heaped into silent records of bargains struck, prayers offered and seasons passed beneath her watchful gaze. These woodland shrines are seldom empty. Murderous crows crowd the blackened limbs, picking at the remains and filling the trees with harsh cries. Rotting cloth and crude fetishes sway beside towering effigies marked with the three-eyed countenance of Baphomet. Her mortal devotees leave such gifts within hollow trees, beneath standing stones and in forgotten groves because blood must answer blood. Whether the shrines appease her ravenous children, invite their presence or simply proclaim the faith of those who raised them, few travellers remain long enough to discover the truth.