“Three nights in a row, the river flowed backward. Old Mera swears she saw lanterns drifting against the current—like a procession.”
“A standing stone on the plains cracked clean in half. Folks say you can hear a name inside it if you press your ear to the break.”
“Northshire’s fog rolled in and the bells rang by themselves. When it cleared, every net was full… of bones.”
“They found a sun-mural in Nagrar’s ruins—fresh paint, bright as dawn. No one’s been out there for weeks.”
“A dwarf from Khazad-Dum bought six barrels of desert sand and hauled it below. Wouldn’t say why. Wouldn’t meet anyone’s eyes.”
“In the Verdant Rise, a grove grew overnight where there was only rock. The trees lean toward the same point, like they’re listening.”
“Marsh-beasts have started showing up with glassy black thorns in their hides. They don’t bleed right.”
“A caravan crossed Dead’s Sands and came back with shadows that didn’t match their bodies. They refuse to sit by fire.”
“A fisherman in Lakeshire hooked a silver ring—warm to the touch, like it was left in sunlight. He hasn’t slept since.”
“Gartaas Forest is webbed so thick you can pluck it like harp strings. Someone did. Something answered.”
“The Mountains of the Undying are marching again—only at dusk. A line of bones on the ridge, perfect spacing, no sound.”
“A child in Oakhaven talks to the nailed-shut oak. Says it’s teaching her songs that make animals come closer.”
“Ironhaven’s smiths are arguing about a new metal that sings when struck. The ones who hear it best go quiet afterward.”
“A nomad tribe claims a volcano breathed last month. Not smoke—words. They won’t repeat what it said.”
“Elderwood Hollow’s best crop field sprouted flowers that smell like winter. The mayor ordered them burned. They grew back.”
“There’s a ferry on the river with no ferryman. The boat comes when you whisper a regret into the water.”
“Someone saw a dragon-shaped shadow cross the moon above the Northern Heaven Mountains. No wings. Just the shape.”
“In the swamps, a pale deer offered a traveler a crown of reeds. He wore it. Now he won’t speak, only smiles at the fog.”
“A miner near Khazad-Dum broke into a sealed tunnel and came out older—hair white, hands shaking—saying he heard drums in stone.”
“At a standing stone circle, a woman in war-armor asked for directions to a battle that ended centuries ago. She seemed… impatient.”