Charming Little Ol' Town

Cradle-shaped trees. Human frames outlined with beds of flowers. The faint stench of decay, masked behind sweet, unnatural perfumes.

The island's woods were full of anomalies that reeked of the Vile Ichor's influence, yet the three magi neither acknowledged nor pondered their origins.

Their instincts were screaming at them to flee.

It took all they had to keep their wits at bay and focus on idle conversation, following the vague trail of the Syndic's presence. He had left quite a number of mystical corpses in his wake, their essences slowly dissipating into the primeval dust from which they had formed.

"Eidolons are the epitome of mystery," Alwina explained. "Our current classifications serve little more purpose than half-baked indications of their threat level. In truth, we know next to nothing about them. Some have learned the common tongue, others speak in an accursed language, and most do not bother to communicate at all."