The Gnarlroot glade are the memory-keepers of the sylvaneth, wardens of grove-magic and of the lamentiri: the soul-pods in which the recollections of the forest-folk are stored and reborn. Where other glades tend the wilds, Gnarlroot tends what the wilds know, cultivating an archive of song and season that reaches back to the world-that-was. Its nobles are scholars as much as warriors, and their rootways thread quietly into the libraries and colleges of mortalkind.
Alone among their kin, the Gnarlroot deal openly with the wizards of the free peoples, trading fragments of their ancient lore for pledges to guard the wyldwoods against axe and flame. It is a bargain born of hard experience. Gnarlroot rootways have been poisoned by blight and opened by betrayal more than once, their trusting boughs repaid with fire, and the glade has learned that wisdom shared is also wisdom risked. Their generosity survives, but it now comes braided with a cold and constant watchfulness.
So the Gnarlroot hold a lonely middle ground among the Sylvaneth: the glade most willing to walk beside the younger races, and the most quietly braced for the day that walking beside them proves, once again, to be a mistake.
Order of battle
The Gnarlroot field the units of the Sylvaneth, a detachment from the roster:
Other Sylvaneth formations
HeartwoodThe most martial of the glades, honoring the hunter-god Kurnoth in every drawn bow and every silent kill. Heartwood answers the call to war faster than any of its kin and fields Kurnoth Hunters in unmatched numbers. Its spirits hold that protection is not a mood but a discipline, practiced daily and forever.
OakenbrowThe eldest of the great glades, rooted in lineages that remember the world-that-was. Oakenbrow marches beneath more Treelords than any other glade, and it wakes to war the way mountains wake: slowly, and then all at once. Its nobles counsel patience in all things except the defense of the old groves.
WinterleafA glade scoured by an unending winter of war, whose survivors' sap froze and never wholly thawed. Winterleaf fights without mercy and largely without song, killing with the quiet of snowfall. Other sylvaneth mourn what the glade lost; Winterleaf considers grief a weapon like any other, and keeps it sharpened.
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