Liora reached into her satchel and produced a roll of parchment that had no business being in a traveling herbalist's inventory.
I could tell immediately that it was not a standard game asset. The material was too irregular, the edges worn in ways that did not follow the clean damage patterns of designed aging. This had been handled. Repeatedly, by multiple people, over a long time. The kind of wear that only came from actual use rather than texture mapping.
She spread it across the bench between us.
It was a map of all twelve zones, detailed and annotated, and the handwriting was not fantasy script. It was modern English, in multiple hands, each addition in slightly different ink or pressure or letter formation. Dozens of contributions layered over each other, a document that had grown
