June 6th -- Overroot
Moira studied the barren plain with an uneasy eye. The air seemed different to that of the fertile north and there was a taste to it at once reminiscent of bloodied steel and blacksmith's coals. She drew a faded silk scarf of now indistinct colour across her lower face and pulled the hood of her battered coat up to cover her thick dark tresses.
Beside her her friend and companion Reia shivered in spite of herself.
Though the landscape was vacant, there were hints that something lived in those badlands. Tracks could be seen, appearing similar to human tracks. Images that appeared to be buildings could be seen as shadows in the distance. A spire facing the western coast loomed large like a needle to the heavens against the ashen clouds rising from Volcano Nightscree.
No wind blew around Moira, though the tracks beneath her feet pointed to the only city of the Zuma, spoken by travelers who had before taken the trek, that of Nightmarch where the great temple stood.