4th of Zarantyr, 998 YK. Morning.
Dead Man’s Land, Metrol, Cyre
You venture forth into the ruins of the Dead Man’s Land. Buildings shattered, the dead and undead preserved in stone (calling cards of the House Tharashk Medusa squads), and the ever present mist lying limply on the land. The distance wouldn’t have been long, as a crow flies, but you are no crow. Instead you quietly skulk, climb, and sometimes crawl through gaps, as if you were a mouse.
Eventually you find yourself near the border, where Yelisha directs you to a building that breaches the wall. But one obstacle is still in your path: An overgrown and wilted garden. The wide selection of rotten plants imply this place was beautiful, years ago at least. The garden's twisted tangles of vines and roots consume the building, blocking the doors and windows.
As you test the unnatural barricade, you hear something, behind you. Your attention is drawn to a single black flower in the center of the garden. Bent over from wilting, but still as tall as a dwarf, with a stem as thick as your arm. The flower shakes and slowly points itself in your direction. From it you hear a weak voice.
“...please…so thirsty…”
