An hour outside Tyr on the road to Altaruk, the group spotted a strange band of shuffling pilgrims moving aimlessly down the dusty path. As they approached, those inclined toward goodness felt an almost magnetic pull—a whisper of something otherworldly. Karnos, unable to resist, dropped his belongings and began to follow the pilgrims, his eyes glazed over. Safi, intrigued and disturbed, probed their minds and found them empty save for a single, haunting vision of a tree.

Quickly gathering Karnos’s things, the group hoisted him over Shank’s shoulder, determined not to lose him to whatever strange enchantment gripped the pilgrims. To keep the mesmerized wanderers from straying, they bound them and tethered them to Shank, who held the group together as they continued down the road. With each step, the weight of the pilgrims’ eerie trance hung over them, a reminder of the dark forces lurking in the sands.

After the skirmish had ended, Domera, seeing that Shank was a bit battered, decided to share warmth with him and his brother Shiv under their blankets for the night.

As morning broke, Domera rose and, with a lighthearted kiss to both brothers, bid them farewell and set off on her own journey. However, the group's path was once again interrupted by the overwhelming pull of the pilgrims. As Anvar and Karnos both succumbed to the strange, compulsive force, the group realized the difficulty of continuing with them in this state. Reluctantly, they decided to cut the pilgrims loose. Shiv and Shank, now carrying both Anvar and Karnos over their shoulders, pressed forward, their determination unwavering as they moved on without the burden of the trance-bound travelers.

As the group’s second day of travel drew to a close, they encountered yet another band of pilgrims, and to their dismay, Fazanna succumbed to the call. The pull of the pilgrimage was too strong, and the others reluctantly carried her, her entranced state leaving her no choice but to surrender to the mysterious force.

Setting camp under the vast desert sky, the group prepared a simple meal, the scent of their food drifting on the dry breeze. The waste of sand surrounding them was not ideal for rest, but there was little choice in the matter. They could only hope for a safer haven somewhere between Tyr and Altaruk, where trade posts or inns might offer refuge.

As they ate, the sounds of the desert filled the air—crickets, scurrying creatures, the distant rustling of sand. But suddenly, the sounds ceased, as if the land itself held its breath. Before they could react, a chilling, rhythmic howl split the silence, rising and falling with unnatural cadence.

The howl was followed swiftly by a booming voice, calling out to all who would listen: "All gather round and tarry for the Day of Return! Repent from the practices of the defiling wizards and sorcerer-kings! Cast away the trappings of all magic, reject the primitive, impotent belief in the elementals! Repent, for healing and judgment walk hand in hand, and they are nigh!"

A ragged figure appeared in the camp—an old man, his clothes tattered and sunburned, a sapling with vibrant green leaves clutched in his hands like a staff. His wild gray hair and beard suggested days, if not weeks, of travel under the harsh Athasian sun. He seemed to suddenly notice the group and turned toward them, his voice unwavering as he preached: "You! You have seen the faithful! They walk night and day, protected only by their faith! Follow them! Join them!"

With fervor in his voice, the old man continued, urging them to repent their ways and embrace the coming of the Forest Maker, a being of immense power who would restore Athas to life, bring shade and food to all who followed her. The Forest Maker, he claimed, had abandoned the world long ago, but now she had returned, disgusted by the sorcerer-kings’ destruction of the land.

As the prophet spoke of forests and cool brooks, the group offered him food and drink. When his hunger was sated, he divulged more details. The Forest Maker had planted a forest near Altaruk, a sacred place for pilgrims. There, they would gather in protection before embarking on their journey into the wilds where the forest lay. However, the precise location remained secret until the pilgrims passed through Altaruk’s gates.

But not everyone was pleased with the Forest Maker’s return. The prophet warned of those who opposed her—a strange alliance of power-defilers, secretive psionicists, and a mad warrior wielding a flaming sword. To truly protect the Forest Maker, the prophet urged them to destroy this warrior and his weapon, for within the sword’s flames, even the Forest Maker could be consumed.

With his sermon finished and his food consumed, the prophet—Coggalan, as he introduced himself—declared, "My work here is done!" and, with a final glance at the group, began his journey west, leaving behind only the echoes of his warnings. The group, still grappling with his words, settled into a tense silence as they watched him vanish into the night.

As the sun rose on the third and final day of their journey, Fazanna slowly regained her senses, though Anvar and Karnos remained trapped in their catatonic states, their minds still lost to the call. With heavy hearts, the group broke camp and resumed their trek, the terrain shifting from the barren sands of yesterday to the rocky barrens that signaled they were nearing Altaruk. The change in landscape, a welcome sign, meant they might finally encounter life once again after the endless emptiness of the wastes.

But the hope of seeing something—anything—alive quickly soured. A deep, rumbling laughter echoed through the air, carried by the foul stench of burning flesh. A column of black smoke rose from behind a rocky rise, and as they crested it, they saw the source of the chaos.

Ahead of them, on the road, a large band of pilgrims marched with grim determination, seemingly oblivious to the horrors unfolding around them. The pilgrims, numbering at least three dozen, moved forward toward Altaruk, each one stepping over the bodies of those already consumed by the beast beside them. The creature—a monstrous, spiny drake—snatched pilgrims from the roadside, stuffing them into its gaping maw without a shred of mercy. At the beast's side, a pile of charred corpses smoldered, the gruesome scene unfolding without a hint of disturbance from the marching pilgrims.

The worst part was their eerie indifference. As the drake lazily picked off another pilgrim, even those closest to the victim did nothing. When a woman spontaneously combusted, the other pilgrims merely stepped around her, unbothered by the cruel death. The creature’s disinterested gaze swept over them as it continued its grisly feast, raising another three pilgrims to its mouth.

The group, horrified by the scene, knew they could not let this continue. Fazanna, using her winged boots, soared high into the air and unleashed a powerful lightning bolt at the drake. Safi, with a surge of strength, enlarged Shank to double his size. Meanwhile, Shiv, struggling with the wand he pulled from Karnos, misfired a haste spell on himself instead of Shank. Undeterred, he continued to carry both his brothers.

Zahraan, tapping into his step of the Wind, closed the distance to the drake, his flame-bite sword flashing with deadly intent. He landed a critical hit, though his attempt to stun the creature failed. Shank, fueled by rage, moved to flank the drake and struck with a reckless blow from his greatsword, but the drake retaliated with a powerful bite, swallowing Shank whole.

Inside the creature’s stomach, Shank fought on, continuing to lash out as best he could. The drake, furious, clawed at Zahraan and missed with its bite, though its tail found its mark before being deflected by the fighter.

Fazanna, not missing a beat, cast another lightning bolt, finally bringing the beast down. As the drake crumpled to the ground, Shiv scrambled inside its maw, pulling both his brothers from the beast’s lifeless body.

But the pilgrims—unaware of the battle that had just unfolded—continued their silent march toward Altaruk, their eyes fixed forward, oblivious to the death they had narrowly escaped. With a grim nod, the group decided to harvest the valuable hide from the fallen drake, knowing its worth would be a grim reminder of their survival in the face of this unimaginable indifference.