The Golden Eye Spits the Butterfinger BB Out Again

A path unfolds before you with a sign reading Eastern Bridge this way. The Tamara forest hangs overhead, birds chirp and small shapes rustle and shift on the edges of your vision. To the north, you smell the faintly sweet breeze of the seldom see. To the south, the terrain grows rockier. Huge boulders cause a ripple in the sea of trees. In the far distance, you can make out what seemed to be the moss drowned remains of a gnomish techno mech.