In the Northern Whisperwood lies the Ruined Arcane Spire wherein time circles infinitely. Echo waxes volatile, whispers thick with alabaster shadows. Be warned, to map is to forget these lands, for Reality frays; truth oscillates wildly with uncanny discordance in the Belly of the Sky Leviathan.
The Vanquished City's heart pulses relentlessly despite no walls remaining. She who breathes here unknowingly partakes of memories left to ruin: skeleton clocks marking minutes falsely and amiably.
Continue to Quicksand Perspective
Peering Beyond The Binary Stars