Overgrowth

“Overgrowth. Plants plants plants, planty plant plants.”
Coming through the door, you’re greeted with something quite different from what you’d expect from the main room. Instead of more brick walls and other man-made structures, there’s a veritable ocean of plant life spread out before you. The controls and a small structure with the door back to the club are the only non-natural things here. What’s more, the plants are definitely not the garden club’s collection of roses and tulips; no, many of these seem quite alien, with masses of vines writhing about, looking for prey around the floor of this sea of exotic flora. The air is somewhat humid, and it’s rather warm.

Even with this being a botanist’s dream come true, there is evidence that this place was not completely haphazard in it’s arrangement; there are some large, smooth stones for a footwalk, though still half-buried in the ground. However, some are overturned, some are covered with faintly luminescing mosses, and a few others are plain missing. There’s a huge hollowed out tree filled with rainwater, and on top are a number of lotus’ and giant lilypads — occasionally the water spills over the sides and into a shallow, muddy swamp around it.

It’s not all entirely green, of course. It seems that at all times of day, there’s at least some flowers in bloom in this dilapidated former garden; many of them laced with potent, mind-altering pollens and nectars. Other, possibly sentient, plants exist, some with bulbs as big as basketballs or even bigger; these bulbs show the hints of being mouth-like. The more perceptive might notice a few dead beach ball-thick vines wrapped about a giant tree exhibiting the dried-up remains of a thick sap, once sticky and gooey, now hard as rock. Who knows who originally tended this expanse — they seem to be long gone, perhaps lost to their own hobby.