The Nightgarden

After the Barthrax Crisis, Ebara fled from Oriund into the Shadowfell. There, amidst the perpetual gloom and despair, she planted a new realm: the Nightgarden. Embracing her own despair, and then vomiting it forth, she sowed raw anguish into the very soil and bedrock around her. From her labors, a terrible landscape arose.

At first glance, the Nightgarden might not appear so terrible: fruit-laden trees fill row upon row; fields are filled with heavy heads of grain; garden-lined pathways wind their way throughout the domain; and the babble of spring-water is ever-present. But the vista is a deceit; naught but a mirage to promote the hopes of the careless traveler, before dashing them over and over and over again. The fruit, so full of promise, is forever rotten, pest-ridden, or as bitter as bile. The ears of corn and wheat are empty, diseased, and turn to dust at the slightest touch. The gardens thirst for blood and horror, and consume those that stray too close to the edge of the paths; and the paths themselves are an endless maze, turning in on themselves, and never actually leading anywhere. What water that can actually be found is rank and fetid. The Nightgaren is a realm of plenteous promise, forever falling short.

Weather

Travelers that stray into the Nightgarden will still find that the sun rises each morning. However, the light is swiftly swallowed by a perpetual cloud of menacing gray and black. That same cloud always appears on the verge of unleashing a torrential downpour, and yet rain never eventuates. At best, when trespassers are desperate for want of water, a scattering of rain drops might fall, teasing their need.

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