Skull Woods was one of those places which had no palpable reason to exist.
It was a creaking shack created by nature to serve as a reminder that things could always be much, much worse. The unnatural, choking mist that swirled and sprawled on the forest floor was the first thing that spoke of a strange sort of wrongness. Trails were overhung by archways of ribcages once belonging to giant beasts. Pools of calcium liberally flecked the floor. The sickly white substance seemed to possess liquid properties which only reminded of the maggot-like texture of the eyes of a dead man who had been forgotten in his home for a few months, ready to burst at the slightest touch.
The smoke made no sound however and only parted to swallow up the feet of men as they marched upon the giant dead, festering eyeball of the forest floor.
Even now, the rotting odors of mushy and dead leaves wafts from under the skin of the mist.
