Salvation Outpost

You make your way north out of Salvation, quickly picking up on a well used trail from the outpost’s many scavengers. It may as well be a road. You come to the crest of a grassy hill and see it for the first time.

The grey mists.


A towering curtain of thousands of swirling, tortured faces. Each contorted, silently screaming as they appear then fade away. The shroud stretches far as you can see on each side of you, encircling the entirety of the Mournland. As you pass through the shroud, it feels like a chilled fog passes through your body. All sound from outside the grey vanishes. The silence is suffocating, the swirling mist disorienting.

An overwhelming sense of dread overtakes you as you try to peer through the mist. There’s nothing except grey. You feel weightless, almost floating, but when you look to the ground to gain your bearings, you can feel you’re on solid ground. Your feet appear miles away from you. Your new found friends seem just as far. Shapes in the mist coalesce into the faces you saw. Closing in on you, huge mouths agape, ready to swallow you.

"This way!", Gzizmix calls out. His voice sounds ethereal and muffled, but you follow it. The silent faces turn to this interruption allowing you a chance to escape.

And then… you’re through. Everything is still. The sky is cloudless, yet dull and grey. Gzizmix stands before you. Behind him is a battlefield, you would know is over two years old. Yet, the bodies show no sign of decay save for the eerie grey parlour of their skin. Most of the fallen you can see have been scavenged of their gear and armour. Battle flags flap as though in a gentle breeze, but there is no wind.

Looking at the map, you are unable to make out any landmarks. The "X" on the map sits in the middle of the Plymdonwood, but looking around, you can’t see a forest.

You wander for what feels like a couple of hours in the direction 37 has pointed. With no forest yet in sight, you come across a trio of salvagers dismantling some sort of Cyran ballista.