Smoke from a giant obsidian magical mirror we broke has drawn the party into what Marius suspects is the Shadowfell.
At the center of the crossroads stands a grisly marker, a signpost adorned with an ancient corpse bound to its crosspieces. The constant abrasion of windblown dust has scoured clean the placards of the signpost and turned the body into a desiccated husk. The corpse’s skin is black as night and as hard as boiled leather. The lids of the eyes are stitched closed. It’s lips are also stitched together but time has caused the lips to pull back around the stitches revealing rotten teeth and causing an eerie grin.
A lonely crossroads of five ways is marked by a withered sign, the writing upon which has faded to illegibility. The crossroads seems like any other, except for the strange aura it exudes – a sensation of vast space, limitless potential in a single bleak hollow
When Marius asked the corpse to point us in the direction it wanted us to go, it signaled towards its right.
Marius gathers the group together and says, “Backs together while we talk, guys. We have to keep our eyes open at all times. We do not belong here, everything here will know it, and a lot of them will want to rape us, eat our flesh, and skin us for tapestries — and if we’re very lucky, they’ll do it in that order. So we know that that… thing… responds to questions… should we ask it something more specific like, ‘Which way should we go to find shelter?’ or ‘Which way should we go to get the heck out of here?’”
“I think we should ask it, ‘Which way to escape the cruel fate that has befallen you.’” says Christopher.