The world is dangerous out on the borderlands. Looming threats and mysteries lurk behind every cliff and tree.

A boar limps out of the underbrush, snorting and whining. The arrow protruding from its hind legs is of strange design, and seemingly carved of stone. Black veins radiate from the wound, indicating infection or worse.
Two brown rabbits are caught in a hunter’s trap. Judging by the rabbits’ emaciated condition, they have been here for some days. Strangely, no larger predators have come along to claim this prize. A sense of foreboding surrounds the area.
A deaf old man invites the party to share his fire. Beyond this simple gesture, he makes no attempt to communicate or provide food. Indeed, he grows increasingly erratic the longer the party stays, culminating in a violent fit of silent anger.
A terrified stallion bolts across the party’s path, oblivious to its surroundings. If the horse is caught and calmed, its saddlebags provide some coins and food, but no clues as to the owner’s fate. A strange brand is seared into the horse’s jaw, and it is fresh.
A rider dressed in unusual clothes emerges from the brush, waiving an ornate bronze dagger above her head. She speaks an incomprehensible language, but shouts at the party with some urgency. Cold sweat drips from her face. Frustrated, she runs off down the road.
A fresh corpse sprawls on the side of the road. No injuries are apparent, but her expression is one of extreme shock. The eyes within her head have turned to bronze, and the coins within her purse are iron. She holds a blank scrap of parchment in a curled hand.
A discarded doll lies face down on the ground. It is of fine make, and well loved, but has been discarded for some time. Burn marks line the doll’s dress, and lice crawl through its hair. The toy is warm to the touch, and oddly soft.
The party passes a rough-hewn statue of a crying woman. Judging by the quality of the work, this may have been the passion project of an unskilled labourer. Trees and vines partially cover the stone, drinking life from the dew collecting on the statue’s face. Despite its hurried craftsmanship, the statue conveys a sense of utter loss.
A haunting song is warped by the breeze. The lyrics are of a dead language, but the tone is obviously mournful. The tune distorts as the party approaches, until it is nothing but a discordant howl of wind through a shattered stone. As the party leaves the stone, the song begins again.
A nervous merchant approaches the party and offers his wares—mostly torn clothing and cheap jewellery. He displays these in frenetic bursts, scratching his skin and chattering incessantly. While he offers many items, he does not offer his name. As the encounter drags on, the man grows increasingly agitated, eventually fleeing from the party in terror.
An emaciated woman stands in a field, arms outstretched to the heavens. She recites funerary hymns and stares unblinkingly at the sun. She is blind and deaf to the party, and lapses into brooding silence if restrained.
Three hangman’s nooses dangle from a tree. There’s no sign of a scuffle, only a feathered cap discarded on the ground. Further down the road, the ground is sprinkled with green arrows. None have found their mark.
Three riders approach. They are armoured as if for war, and their mounts are barded. They give the party a wide berth as they pass, too far for any sort of detailed scrutiny. Should the party approach, the riders draw their weapons and bolt.
Wolves howl in the distance. Judging by their calls and cadence, they are stalking injured prey. The chase continues for several minutes, until an abrupt about face. From over the horizon echo the whimpers and whines of wolves in pain.
Throughout the night, torches and campfires refuse to stay lit. Strong gusts blow them out, sudden deluges extinguish them or they simply gutter and die of their own accord. Even magical lights seem to flicker, uncertain of their strength.
Giant tracks of some beast or humanoid cross the party’s path. The markings are unusual—seven toes, claws and an uneven number of legs. The creature was dragging something nearly as large as itself; tarry black blood obscures some of the tracks.
A fresh corpse hangs from a tree, riddled with arrows. Flies feast in the various gashes of its skin. Many mutilations took place after the unfortunate victim’s passing. This is clearly a warning for other travellers.
Hot, stifling mist rolls over the landscape, smelling of sweetness and sharp lye. The air is deadened into silence, but blood pounds in the party’s ears. Even flowers wilt and insects go silent. The feeling of suffocation is near unbearable, and the mist does not pass for several hours.
By morning, dusty cobwebs festoon the camp. They infest armour, packs and even the inside of tents. Shrivelled spiders litter the ground, but no living arachnids survive in camp.
Ragged horns sound in the distance. By the time the party arrives, they find boar hooves, blood splatters and stone weaponry of unknown make. Was this a mere hunting party? Or something far worse?

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The material in this article appears in 20 Things #59: Shadowed Borderlands by Jeff Gomez.

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