It felt like a deity had peered into their hearts, judging the good and bad decisions they've made over the course of their lives and finding them lackluster.
No one was spared. End, Essenla, the Dryad, the elves, the Runners, all froze in place, unable to move.
Rather than an existential dread, a quagmire of emotional distress, it was rather like death itself had placed a hand on their shoulder, creating a very real, very frightening sensation that made them feel like they had been dipped in oil and were being brought to a fire.
None of them could shake this feeling, and when a second, louder CRACK-ACK rang out, sending tremors through the fog that reached each of them, they felt their blood run cold.
Meanwhile, within Morne's Inner World, something truly unique was happening.
Like a fallen angel being cast out of Azath's realm, a black, humanoid shape was spat out of the shadowy black sun that hung over his Chimh Well.
