|Site:||Sycamore State Park|
|Dates:||Jan 1-3, 2016|
The shrieking cacophony of writhing mists continually ascend a terrifying crescendo as nanite mists and elemental forces rage on. Red mist churns through razor mist and the black sludge of what remains of those in the ebola mist alike; fire raining up into the sky, trees melt into pools of minerals, rabbits dine on bears, waters boil and flow uphill oblivious of such petty concepts as gravity and physics before erupting into undulating calm. It won't be long before the corps get curious. A crude expanse of landscape, once Misthaven, smolders where the coagulated grimy ooze is absent. Webs dangle from trees, many of which were rent from the earth, around the spider queen. Were it not for her three remaining yellow eyes faintly luminescent one may not have recognized the colassal broken carapace without its appendages. From a distance, its nearly impossible to see who the folks coming and going are or what they're up to.
As one approaches, they find a crossword on a signpost. How odd.