Post 1, Map 1
Post 2, Map 1
The sun hangs in the sky; a golden disc shrouded in brown mist. The club of wood is heavy in the fist. The dead earth's dirt is baked and cracked. The green fluid moves like a glacier; its aura pulses. The body's confused cells cry in anguish, but the brain isn't listening. One foot moves and then the other.
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