The tempestuous conditions of Azys Lla is an eyesore at best and a pain to clear at worst.

Today's rather dreary horizon is a mix of electric blues and corrosive greens, warning the Garlean that nothing good will happen.

Reaching over to the crate of medicinal supplies, Regula van Hydrus raps his knuckles against the wooden planks three times.

Far better to knock on wood superstitiously than to inwardly groan in regret later on.

“What must I have cause to doubt? All will be well.”