Hover your mind upon the edges of Inky Isles.
*Eldritch Murmurs of the jetsam tides guide wandering whispers...*
There beneath the veiled yawning sky, lie ruins whispered of in the trembling tongues of shadowed morn. Isles, where the brine-infested wail of past centuries lingers. And they govern their destinies by weather and whim, shifting in the sea's hands. The ancients foretold it all, yet none are there to witness, save the inked maps that crumble under touch.
In the heart of Arborescent Dread, amid the skeletal whispers of gnarled trees, one might find the Path of Corrosion—a twisted nexus where time itself bends and sways. Journals of the forgotten say the trees weep crystalline tears at dusk.
Keep your gaze to the East, where Noxian Brume weaves and unfurls. A land cloaked in midnight mist, where specters trade forgotten tales for ominous secrets. Wandering pilgrims speak not of their journeys in the light of day.
*Echoing Footfalls on the edge of past futures...*