Hand of the Dead Lyrist

Zone:

The Dryness

Type:

Area

At dawn, red rays strike the rocky upthrust of sand, pyrrhic ribbones jutting white-blood- sharp and skew, like eyes that cannot linger in the same place long or else be blinded.

Its crest is bumpy, knotted wisps of once- seaweed bleached by daylight’s violence, when a rare wind flutters them garrote-tight one might play them with broken fingers.

A deep crevasse mars as though here beyond elsewhere was by greatest anger a hand singeing biting lacerating thrust to sever a hand that lies here still, in dryness.

NPCs

• A snail with a burning candle instead of a shell
• Apeirophobos
• The Echo Flaw
• Untoward, Dissevered Solus