“Are you absolutely sure that this is the right way?” - asked the large racoon, turning around - “This place is giving me the creeps…”
“Oh my angels, YES, it is!” - answered the old man, annoyed - “I checked the map a thousand times, and the compass glyph keeps pointing in this direction. I know that you really don’t like the Ethereal Steppes, Khalun, but it’s either these or lengthening the journey by 80 Toors, and I honestly don’t feel like doing so.”
“I know Muen, I know… it’s just that I don’t want to run into some orc outlaws, that’s all. You know how brutal those guys can be.”
“Again, I have a Watchtower Glyphstone with us, if there were any hostile presences coming our way I would know in advance, and I would just cast a cloaking spell.”
The curious pair continued to walk among the empty fields and hills, covered in tall, pinkish flowers that waved in the wind, emitting strange and unsettling whispers. Old, decrepit and long abandoned buildings and structures dotted the landscapes - an abandoned abbey, a crumbling castle, a broken pillar - bits and fragments of rock, wood and other materials floating in the air near where they normally would have been. While structures like these, no matter how fallen, could normally offer repair, it was generally advised not to stay inside of them or near them for too long: at times, the floating stones would compact back into the place in which they used to be, and violently explode back forwards, causing harm and damage to anyone unlucky enough to be standing nearby. Even after a thousand years, the signs, wounds and gifts of the Fracture still held onto reality, rippling and tearing it’s delicate fabric.
Muen stopped and planted his dark, onyx staff into the ground, taking a map of the area out from his bag. Tracing, compass and localization glyphs decorated the map’s external frame, faintly glowing with mana.
“The next town should be behind those hills. Give or take, it’s going to be either 4 or 5 Toors from here. We should probably go there and take a rest. It’s going to be night soon anyways, so it’s probably best if we take a good night’s sleep and refill at a local tavern.”
“What’s the name of the town?”
“It’s called Shamar.”
“Oh, no way! I know that town!”
“Really?”
“Yeah, I do! My mother told me about it when I was little. It was her first far away trip from Dimadrel’s countryside. If I’m not wrong, it’s actually pretty close to Uzdrird!”
“Mh, I see. Well then, off we go little buddy.”
“Hey, I told you to stop calling me that you sack of dried raisins!”
“Ahaha. Seriously though, we really need to go now.”
“Lead the way raisin!”