Volume III. The Trials Of The Hollow Crown
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The Abyssal Fringe.
The air in the Bleached Plains was still and heavy, a silence so profound it felt like a physical weight. Not far from the haunting silhouette of the Ossuary Valleys, a line of Weeping Stones stood like a row of grieving sentinels.
Massive obsidian formations, their surfaces unnaturally smooth, they wept a thick, viscous black substance that pooled at their bases. The air around them hummed with a low, discordant melody that resolved into the unmistakable sound of distant, echoing sobs.
It was a place shunned by all who had the misfortune to encounter them. Whispers spoke of its curse — a slow, insidious drain on the memories of any who lingered too long, leaving behind hollowed-out husks of men who could not remember their own names. Its origin and purpose were a mystery, a dark stain on the world's fabric.
A mystery to all but one...
"...Plop."
