The air hung thick and heavy, a suffocating blanket woven from the perpetual twilight of the Shadowlands. Gone was the relatively familiar gloom of the outer regions; here, a deeper, more primal darkness pressed in, a palpable entity that seemed to seep into their very bones. The path, if it could be called that, was little more than a barely discernible track winding through a landscape of jagged, obsidian spires that clawed at the sky. These monoliths, twisted and gnarled like ancient, petrified trees, cast long, dancing shadows that writhed and shifted like living things.

Their boots crunched on shards of volcanic glass, the sharp edges a constant threat to their already weary feet. The wind, a mournful keening that echoed through the canyons, carried with it the scent of sulfur and decay, a chilling reminder of the life – or rather, the unlife – that thrived in this desolate realm. Strange, phosphorescent fungi clung to the rocks, casting an eerie, pulsating glow that offered little solace in the oppressive gloom. Their light only served to accentuate the unsettling shapes of the landscape, making the shadows seem even more menacing.