Nero found a gap between two ridge formations on the southern side of the camp, just far enough that the chatter behind him became soft murmurs rather than words.
He sat down with his back against the bone, took a strip of dried Abomination flesh from the Mark, and ate it without looking at it.
It tasted dank and slightly bitter— the same way it always did. He had stopped noticing this some time ago.
The depression was still to the south. He couldn't see it from down here but he knew the direction. For some reason, the image refused to leave his mind.
Call it curiosity, or a persistent mental parasite.
Something about it had him on edge.
He called up the Oracle's runes.
'Oracle, tell me about this place...
The runes pulsed once, as though they could understand the intent behind those simple words.
{Recounting the history of a place steeped in antiquity will take some time, Heretic}.
'I have until nightfall.' Nero thought at the runes.
There was a short pause...
