[Journal Entry of a Reporter]
There is a place in the Broadleaf Forest that even the most daring of adventurers are keen to avoid. A favorite hideout for bandits and thieves during the reign of the Mad King, the legends of Rogue's Hollow have spread like roots, deep into the furthest corners of Elyria, for many know its stories, but few know its name. Perhaps, long ago, Rogue's Hollow went by a different name, but it has since then been forgotten and has been called Rogue's Hollow ever since. It has become a favorite locale for storytellers around the campfire, used to scare young children into behaving.
Legend has it that an ancient and evil troll is buried beneath the great Ironwood in the area, undying and restless, his dormant slumber is said to be what causes the strange apparitions to appear to those who wander off the main road. Hapless merchants and travelers alike claim to have seen or heard deceased loved ones call out to them in the mists, during the early morning hours, before the mid-day sun burns the fog away, only to become lost in the unknown, chasing ghosts. Those that recount their experiences to the locals aren't met with the usual skepticism or laughter one might normally expect to receive, but instead are greeted by hushed whispers and knowing glances.
The strangest thing about Rogue's Hollow isn't the phenomena that occurs regularly, but rather, why anyone would choose to stay. Many have made their fortunes here. The land is fertile. Plants seem to grow under odd conditions that would otherwise not grow elsewhere. Bone Grass appears more often than it should, given the biome. The Kypiq of Rogue's Hollow have learned to ignore their primal warning signals for monetary prosperity. Every inch of them telling them that they should run away is instead telling them to stay, stay where it is comfortable and warm, where there is prosperity and plenty. The Kypiq of Rogue's Hollow stay and remember,
...
I heard my daughter tonight. Nearly twelve years old when she died of the sickness, she sounded the same as she ever did. She motioned to me through the night fog. I called out to her, expecting an answer, expecting.. I don't know. Not this. I called to her from my hotel room, overlooking the river, but it wasn't her. It wasn't my Angelique. At least, I think it wasn't. She knew what to say. She knew how to get a rise out of me, and I took the bait full and sinker. I took the bait and now I curse ever coming here. I don't believe in superstitions, but tonight I watched my baby girl descend into the mist. I chased after her until I reached the water's edge and I could go no further, lest the river's current would sweep me away, and my God, the stories are true. I couldn't find Angelique, because I knew she was dead, but I heard her. I heard her laugh. I heard her cry out my name, taunting me. I heard HER. I cannot explain it, but every fiber of my being is screaming at me to pass on this warning. Don't come to Rogue's Hollow. Let its name fade from memory once again, and say a prayer to whomever diety you believe in, that whatever sleeps beneath these cursed riverbeds never awakens.
There are those who have more bravery than sense in them, and should you decide to ignore my warning and journey to this eerie place, I pray that the light always finds you in the darkness.
