Beyond the creaking cliffs, the Veil of Gloomvale stretches—its air thick with the scent of forgotten lullabies and rotting echoes. Moonlit paths carve through the ashen fog, leading brave souls to the forgotten shrine—guarded only by shadowy spectres. Take heed, for they speak in riddles.
A land tangled in an eternal twilight, Thornmoor is a whistler's haunt. The thorned trees reach for travelers, their whispers promising forgotten secrets. Yet within their grasp, many have succumbed to dreams unbidden, lost to the world as if never born. Beware the singers.