The Barrens of Lost Roots

The Barrens of Lost Roots stretch endlessly under a pale, trembling sun — a wasteland where sand and cracked earth swallow all sound. Here, the wind carries whispers that are not its own: the voices of the Rootborn ancestors, murmuring to those who dare to listen. Blackened husks of ancient trees rise from the dunes, petrified reminders of the forests that once lived here before the Sandreach devoured them. Strange figures wander the horizon — traders, deserters, or something older — drawn by the faint promise of water, dustmarks, or revelation. It is said that the roots beneath the ground still pulse faintly, waiting for a time when the desert will bloom again.