Two hexes south, two southwest of Alakran.
Like a dismasted ship on the horizon,sighted nine miles away, looms this nameless formation of black stone. A bumpy heap of knobs and jags, visually and geologically it is wrong. Still, the desperate drive themselves to climb it, to see what lies on top beyond its rim.
There they find in the black hollow a surface of utterly clear water. If the scattered bones of beasts and people do not deter them, they bend to drink and find it a pool of perfectly clear and unmarred crystal, filling the basin as if poured. And within its depths they scry the worst thing that has or will ever happened to them, save only the moment of death.
Some who know the legend walk away smiling, knowing that they have passed this point already. Others who see the future remain, paralyzed from fear. As they breathe their last dry breath, some few of them realize that the vision itself was false, but also true, for now it is the worst thing that has ever happened to them. But by then it is too late.
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