Not far off, a patch of fiery red roses came into the vision of Bartlett and his team, the thicket of roses was so dense and numerous, spreading out towards the depths of the mist on both sides, blocking their way forward.
Bartlett led the group a little closer to observe more carefully.
The roses looked a bit peculiar - the bright red petals adorned with spots of gold and black, beneath the petals were dark thorny stems, but they lacked any green leaves. It was clear this type of plant could survive without sunlight.
The air held a faint sweetness, a touch of greasiness, mixed with an undertone of decay. It smelled like a soup cooked with rotten pork, no amount of onions, rutabaga, or spices could conceal its inherent putrescence.
"Boss, your tobacco's gone off. It's moldy," the ogre Morris suddenly said.
