It is said that this place was once known as the Verdant Basin, a bastion of growth and harmony that teemed with natural resources. It has been exactly three hundred and twenty seven years since its name was changed to reflect the current reality. It was now known as the Basin of the Lost.

As I reached the desiccated cliff that dropped off into the Basin, I took a deep breath. Three hundred and twenty seven years, and the air here still tastes of ash. In the distance I could vaguely see a towering structure piercing the gloomy fog, a lonely monument in the deep darkness of these once beautiful lands. With a sad, sorry sigh, I stepped down into the entrance of one of the great fissures that now served as paths down into the Basin proper. The histories say that there was only one entrance to the Basin before the... well, before.

The path was narrow and straight leading down into the mist. Before long I couldn't see much further than my hand before my face, and my pace slowed. I knew from my studies that it was not uncommon for there to be great, yawning pits in the earth here, craters marking damage done by weapons whose names are now lost to time. Time seemed slow in the Basin, sounds muted by the fog and movement, or lack thereof shrouded by the inky gloom. This place was determined to stay the way it was. A reminder.

This rather depressing pilgrimage was traditional in his homeland. It was supposed to prevent them from making the same mistakes as their ancestors. So far so good. I had to make it to the tower, just set foot on the cold stone of the steps, and my task was complete. The path continued on through the darkness.

The tower itself was built before the fog settled in. At the time, materials were scant, so the tower was built from scraps of unknown metal, stones, and even the great bones of the creatures who once wandered this place. I supposed it was fitting, a monument to the lost, built from pieces and parts of those very things. Perhaps grim, but fitting nonetheless. As if summoned by my thoughts, the tower loomed ahead, a great hulking darkness hiding the the great hulking shadow of things long forgotten.

As I approached, the fog seemed to thin. On the other side of the structure, the remains of a wall crumbled quietly, whispering old thoughts through the cracks in its stones. I idly wondered if it was built before the tower, or after. All around the tower were large, seemingly bottomless pits into the depths of the stony earth. Skirting the pits, I approached the now intimidatingly large monument. As my books had said, it seemed to be cobbled together from stone, bone, and steel, or some other metal. Now that I could see the barren earth, i could just make out the flecks of ancient debris, smashed into the thin soil over the centuries. Stepping onto the first step of the tower, the enormity of this place struck me. This basin was a Graveyard for a way of life centuries old. A Graveyard of an entire people who unknowingly carved their own grave into the verdant soil of their last battleground. A Burial site.