The willowwacks are a figment of the collective unconscious. Despite how things may seem, there is nothing beyond our circle. Whatever the foolish and the eccentric say, there is nothing there." -Urquhart, myrmidon to the last Lord of the City
The glint in his eye was unmistakable: Urquhart had found something unfamiliar. There was a rush of blood throughout the body whenever he took a jump from the safe to the surprising. The vines had managed to entangle every passing bird, rabbit, and traveler, but for the Hood.
Renowned for the way he disturbed the local towns, turning Fortune's wheel with a theft here and a donation there, the Hood believed he served those in need. Urquhart found himself inclined to disagree. So it was that he placed a bounty on the man's head.
Yet he still went out, into the lands, to find the man himself. Urquhart could have left the meting out of justice to those more qualified for the task; he was weaker, slower, and quite a bit heavier than most built for drinking fine wines and eating luxurious chocolate. Still, he rode out like this. Urquhart wanted to see the man, and hear him tell his piece. There was nothing more admirable than one who braved the willowacks.