Terrence paused at the edge of the battlefield. Here ended the stone footing and began the moorland grass; damp underfoot, it was a welcome respite from the heat of the Furnace above.

Polaris moved up beside him, taking the scene in. Tattered flags billowed in phantom winds. Armour was scattered across the grass- in some cases, with large, obviously lethal holes through them. The bones of the ancient warriors lay in heaps where they'd fallen; had there not been enough beings left behind to honour the dead?

Cairn stepped forward into the grass. Despite the cruelty depicted in front of him, he couldn't resist rolling in it; it was so soft, and it had been so long since he'd seen anything resembling his beloved moors back home.

"Cairn!" Polaris' voice was tinged with alarm. "Did it cut you? Are you wounded?" He rushed to Cairn's side, prodding at his friend's shoulder.

"What?" Cairn said, head whipping around to see the wound. There was none, but he gasped nonetheless; a dark stain had spread across his body. As they watched, the edges began to fade, receding like the tide.

"Your hooves!" Cairn said, dropping his head to Polaris' feet. His friend's hooves were coated in the same liquid.

"The toll of the damned." Terrence's ears were flat against his head. "I hate this place."

"We're still going, right?" Polaris asked, eyes flashing with alarm.

"You hired me for a job. Find your sister. We're still going, as long as you want to. I'm going to warn you again - this is not an easy place to be, nor is it a nice one. If, and I say if, we find your sister here, she might not be anything like she was."

"It's a chance we're going to have to take," Polaris replied firmly.

"Alright," Terrence said after a moment. "Let's go."