"How in Mogar's name did I end up in the Langharn plains?" Tezka found it hard to believe the map, but the peculiar shape of the Clawstone brooked no doubt about his position. "I missed my target by a hundred kilometers and then some."
The tall piece of rock was shaped like a spindly clawed finger pointing east. The local tribes believed it to be the remnant of a lost species of Divine Beasts, but anyone with a sensitive nose or a breathing technique knew better.
The Clawstone was not a fossil, just an unusual consequence of prolonged erosion, if not even the stupid prank of some forgotten mage with earth magic. Animals ignored it, and the superstitious monsters avoided it, leaving the Clawstone as the only natural landmark left in the once lush Langharn plains.
The monster tides had uprooted the trees, devoured the grass, and destroyed the natural stone formations to craft weapons and tools, turning the plains into a barren wasteland.
