Deep in the mossy ruin of the , where the light of the castle torches doesn’t reach, the Moss Giants stir.
The wise adventurer doesn't go down there for the 25,000 gold pieces or the rune helm.
A Moss Giant’s skin is a small ecosystem: ferns, glowing mycelium, and the sticky, amber sap that smells like the wilderness before the God Wars. When one bleeds, it doesn't just bleed red. It bleeds green . And that green is hungry.
They don’t roam the trade roads. Not yet. But every spring, when the fog rolls off the River Lum and clings to the cobblestones of Varrock’s southeast district, the guards speak in hushed tones about the thrum .