>>6305090>>6305013>Reorient by trainingYou sit, shutting out the phantom senses that plague you. You do not trust your eyes or your nose, but you trust the sun. You close your eyes and feel its warmth on your face. You know its path across the sky better than you know your own name. You track its slow crawl in your mind, feeling its heat shift from one side of your face to the other.
You listen to the wind, not for its direction, but for its sound. The whispers it makes through these specific blades of grass are familiar, the song of the high plains. The alien taste in your mouth fights back, a cold wave against the warmth of the sun, but you hold onto the familiar.
Slowly, painstakingly, you rebuild the world you know inside your own mind. The sun is where it should be. The wind sings its proper song. When you open your eyes, the world snaps back into focus. North is north again. The phantom scent of salt and decay is gone, replaced by the clean smell of dust and grass.
Your senses are your own once more. But the struggle has left a mark. As the alien influence receded, it left behind an echo, a piece of knowledge that was not yours before. You now know, with the certainty of a bird knowing the way to its wintering grounds, that far to the northeast, beyond the rolling plains, lies a vast and terrible place: a white desert of sun-baked salt that stretches for days.
>Go Southeast: Hunt the Gore-Tusker.>Go East: Follow the Darkstone warriors.>Go Northeast: Investigate the Salt Pans.>Write-in 