A crumbled up letter, smudged at the edges with soot lay discarded outside of the guard barracks within New Ashen. "Mother, Routines and events around the Outlook are... Different now. Orders only come late at night or the early hours before dawn now. Hushed directions whispered between the captain and the quartermaster that seem to distance himself from myself and my comrades when we get brief respite around the fire..."

"Mother, Something happened tonight. Something that is sitting poorly with me as the hours wind on..."

They posted me to the northern watchroad just outside of the Outlook. It is not grand work, but at least it’s honest. Better than...

The Weeping Hollow has long been empty- just fog, half buried stones, and the lingering echo of dreams never come to fruition. It lays on a winding path heading northwest from the Outlook just before the Sirencester Sea air salts the senses. No one went there unless they were trying to forget something- or rid their thoughts of someone.