It was a foolish mistake, taking up a carnivorous plant by the stem without gloves - humiliating, really. If this was to be Avarice’s grave, it was earned. She certainly hoped someone would chance upon her before she died a slow death in the maw of some beast or at the tender mercies of an oversized sundew, but she’d rather they never find her body than stand over her bleached phalanges, waxing poetic about her fate, “Oh, what a poor, ignorant soul! If only she’d known to wear gloves”.

The plant in question belonged to the species drosera feyvenenim, more commonly known as the migraine honeycomb or the magebane drosera - or, at least, that’s what she thought it was. The specimens she’d encountered outside of Moonveil were smaller, and their hexagonal glands only covered the face of their tentacles. She initially thought the gigantism was the only difference and wanted to uproot this plant to study its roots (the mycorrhizal network under the giant mushroom fields of Moonveil were the gold standard upon which Avarice judged all mycorrhizal networks, and she had a pet theory that they extended all the way to the Eclipse Jungle, bringing with them vital nutrients. Better mycelium meant better nutrition for plants, which would explain why the drosera grew so large despite the lack of sunlight) but to her surprise, the plant reacted to stimulus beneath its tentacles and curled downward to snare her wrist.

Unfortunately, those seemed to be the only differences the plant shared with standard magebane, which earned the colloquialism because of the enzyme such plants release after trapping their prey. To the mundane person, the absorption of this enzyme through the skin would cause a nasty headache, but a spellcaster would be left bereft of their spells until that headache subsided - when refined, the effects of magebane could be debilitating. Avarice could already feel the tension building behind her eyes, and her initial attempt to force wall her way out of the situation had failed.

Ava had seen what honeydews do to flies that struggle, and had no interest in putting her arm under a vice. She held perfectly still, letting her final wishes be known to whatever rat bastard deity was paying her mind, before taking stock of the situation in hopes of freeing herself - a forest of giant fungi was a very fine place to die, but she wasn’t quite ready for that.

Avarice was on her singular hand and knees before her predicament, holding an awkward pose with one arm extended. Her heavy linen dress was frayed at the hem with travel, the sleeves rolled up past her elbows to reveal scratched and stained arms - she’d been walking for about two nights to reach this location, constantly stopping to satisfy her curiosity. It just hadn’t killed her cat until now. A lock of hair escaped from its tail and fell into her face, obscuring her vision and tickling her nose. She blew at it, afraid to use her spare hand - if she lost her balance and fell forward, it might be her neck in the snare, next.

Her satchel and basket sat beside her. Within the basket, hidden under a blanket and amongst various samples she’d cut, tantalizingly within reach, was the knife she used to prepare those samples. She didn't even know if using it was wise - applying any force to the glandular tentacles could cause them to curl tighter before the blade cut her loose - but it was the only option on the table.

The ambience of the mushroom forest pressed in on all sides, made frightening by her inability to identify new sounds while trapped; each bird settling in the thicket became the footfall of bandits, the distant deluge of water the hiss of an ebony-scaled dragon, the sway of the youngest great mushroom stalks the first warnings of a thunderstorm. The dull blue gloam that made her morning walk so calming and cleansing became a roiling fog, concealing these threats. She knew these were paper tigers, all of them, but the knowledge did nothing to stop the worrying.

She was widening her stance incrementally and working up the nerve to sit up when another loud snap issued from the thicket to her left, far too heavy to be any bird. Avarice schooled her expression and looked over her shoulder, hair curtaining her face, magic inert, ready for nothing.

Hylltywyll sat and watched the woman hidden in the shadow of a large mushroom. He had just been out picking some edible mushrooms for breakfast when he suddenly saw a woman being held onto by one of the tendrils of that big, weird plant. In all his time living in this forest, he had never been daring enough to approach that giant plant. He was a bit curious to know what would happen if something did get close, but he'd always been too afraid of it to try and too shy to ask anyone if they knew. Thankfully, now he had an answer.

But now what? He'd feel pretty bad about just leaving her stuck like that. What if they died? He should lend a little bit of a hand, help them free themself. "But... now would be an easy time to mess with them..." Hylltywyll thought as his instincts to cause mischief slowly took over. "Maybe too easy". Hylltywyll debated with himself whether this fruit was too low-hanging until he noticed the woman oddly widening her stance and glancing at the satchel and basket near them. "Oh, she's probably got something in that bag to free herself. Hm. Well then, I think a little prank should be fine" he reassured himself as he finally let the mischief in him win.

Stealing that basket should be a fun prank, then. Just need a distraction. Hylltywyll let loose a little bit of his magic to make some noises behind the woman to distract her while he quietly crept from his hiding place toward the basket. He saw her attention fully taken by the sound of a few snapping twigs. "Maybe this will be too easy" he silently mused.

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Minor Trickery