I... don't have much time, mortal. You must take this staff, a branch of the world tree... corrupted... wrong. I carried it here... The Wild Gods... they must know. Take it to her. The... crow... <The dying Wild God grows still and his eyes stare blankly ahead. What little is left of his corporeal form seems to break apart and drift away. There is a faintly glowing branch on the ground, with a sickly green crystal affixed to its head.>