The shifting fog that was seen rising again and again from the great chasm of the Suoress Hamlet had returned... and with it, the host of Llannistaph knights and soldiers had returned as well, shouting their allegiance to Ithmong and to house Llannistaph into the otherwise still night. The Tradeway was becoming a highway for lost and twisted souls, and it was becoming more frequent.
There were bits and talk here and there from trackers and hunters who moved about the areas around Brost. Anyone who spent a breath in the Rangers Rest could catch more than an ear-full of all the tales that sounded somewhat similar.
One tale that stood out was a ghost of the Wealdath that looked like a dismembered man or less than- organs spilling out and drifting along vaporously through the gloom. Hearing the tale, one ranger said that was a crimson death, and he'd seen the same while stalking the marshes. The cowled woman who was telling the tale said this phantom wasn't in the marsh; it was in the forests proper, and that's why it should be called the Wealdath Ghost. Her tale imparted, she drifted away from the Ranger's Rest and wasn't seen again.