Hollowmarch

A desolate stretch of scrubland and scattered ruins, where villages once stood and now lie half-swallowed by earth and silence. The ground is brittle, prone to sudden sinkholes, and strange hollows ring with the faint toll of bells—though no steeples remain.

Travelers report losing time, finding footsteps that aren’t their own, or hearing voices that speak in prayers long abandoned. Few tarry here, and fewer settle—for the Hollowmarch is not empty. It is waiting.