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Nothing alive walks on the Dreaming Wall.

The vast bastion rises into the sky, bridging heaven and earth. The the ancient blocks that form the great barrier are more than mere stone: the gods themselves had built the Dreaming Wall. The dimensions of the wall shift even as you look - the very tips of distant mountains, crowned with snow, seem to fluctuate in and out of sight. Gargoyles cluster like cancers on the cold rock, balefully watching all who approach. Gritty water trickles like tears down worn channels, slowly obliterating the eldritch carvings that spiral and squirm across the stone. Ghost-lights flicker behind the crenelations, and the sound of inhuman feet pounding along the wall an often be heard. Towers loom like monoliths along the stonework, weeping ominous fog that wreathes the wall in a smog of dread.

What is sealed behind the impossible masonry? None can truly say. The gods are dead: some claim the terrible Malignancy that consumed them is trapped behind the endless wall. Others mutter that the gods themselves are the Malignancy, driven mad by some awful force. None have crossed the Dreaming Wall, above or below or through. The Wall dreams of nightmares, and in the whispering stone they take form to seize the foolish and the brave who try to pass.

The foot of the wall is just as grim and the jagged face. The land is grey and dead, the water black and foul to drink. Few animals exist near the Wall and those that do are misshapen, malformed things, with serrated gnashing teeth and no fear of their own destruction. Strangle-shrubs dot the blasted landscape, waiting for unwary prey to wander within reach of long, choking tendrils. The people who settle this land are a grim, violent people, living forever on the brink of death or vicious insanity. They fear the Wall, and hear it's whispers when they sleep. They do not sleep long, nor often. But any fool who tries to cross the wall may find themselves joining those who sleep forever.