Somewhere in the heart of the forests stands a solitary stone. Animal trails wind through the thickets and dense undergrowth until the traveler finally emerges from the depths of the woods into a clearing. In its center, atop a small mound, stands a tall menhir. Yet, it is not like other menhirs—unhewn and irregular in shape. This one is taller, octagonal. Once it was smooth, but now the ages of storms and icy winters have left their mark upon it. Mysterious runes are etched into its surface.
These are not the runes of the Arkins, but the arcane script of the Old Empire—a great and glorious power that fell eons ago, leaving behind many silent monuments to its former might. Forsaken cities in the forests overgrown with tree roots, collapsed towers, silent fortresses with crumbling roofs. And the Signpost Stone. Only a few scholars are capable of reading the spiraling inscription upon its surface.
“No one has ever read it to the end,” it is said among the people. For whoever began to read it was forced to walk around the stone, and after passing behind its mass, they never emerged on the other side. They did not depart into nothingness, however, but went where the inscription winds—to unknown lands, dense jungles, and empty, starry spaces beyond time. Such is the Signpost Stone—it is a great crossroads.
