It's a beautiful day of summer. The sun is shining, spine-flowers are blooming, and Watchertrees stand murderous vigil on iron-crusted dirt.
The Bloodfields are an expanse of blood-red moss patched with misshapen stalks. Circles of barren, maroon soil radiate from spindly trees tipped with membranous bulbs that resemble eyes more than most are comfortable with. Strange, six-legged creatures with no face shamble across the terrain, hunting for what? Twining brambles, dark and thick, bristling with hooklike thorns. Sickly, glowing growths making nests of bones and rusted armor. Bulbous plants grow in clusters, seeming to buzz with strange vitality.
It's a landscape of lush crimson.
