5th of Mirrimont, The Year of Our King Seven Hundred and One
(Evening, 701 AT) Trace precipitation. Low 34. High 52.
Clouds hang forlornly in the chill skies above, a drip here and a drop there splattering on your cloaks as you ride, hinting the return of rain on the morrow. With a gleeful whinny Poncho trots off into the brush as you make the end of the pass, disappearing into the trees of the woodland bowl that spreads into the valley before you. Amid the cleared lands to the north, the city of Shadow’s Eye grows against foothills, capturing in its borders a confluence of tributaries which form into a larger river that runs south and east out of the valley.
The central city of Shadowdwell is large and bustling even at nightfall, window lights and street torches visible from the eastern pass. Like the streams, roads converge on Shadow’s Eye, one from the South, another the West, and of course your own as well. But it may not be this spidering of trails and waters that, like veins in an eye, make their way towards sprawling city that gave this place its name. It may instead be the great, forested half-mountain to the north of the city. The formation is absent its upper slopes and peak, replaced as you are informed, by a wondrous lake of darkness whose waters appear as an enormous black pupil, staring blankly at the sky.