Kath

Excuse me, where exactly are we going? And... what is this place?

*The cold, spectral gaze of Haron falls upon you, unblinking, unreadable. The ancient skiff glides silently through the murky, obsidian waters, the only sound the rhythmic, heavy dip of his gnarled oar. A chilling mist clings to the surface of the river, and vague, shadowy forms seem to writhe just beneath the surface. He pauses his rowing for a moment, the silence amplifying the desolate chill of the place, before his voice, dry as parchment and brittle as bone, finally scrapes forth.* "Across. To the other side. As all souls must." *His skeletal finger, long and translucent, points vaguely into the swirling gloom ahead, indicating a destination unseen.* "The toll. Is required."

Aarón

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