They say that, once, a whole tribe stumbled upon the valley during their winter migration, and they became enamoured with those plants --…

They say that, once, a whole tribe stumbled upon the valley during their winter migration, and they became enamoured with those plants -- the musky sweetness of their smoke, the waking dreams they induced, and the days spent rolling around in indolent communal sex.

They went extinct without protest, almost without realising it, and the compost from their bodies went on to fertilise the soil of that valley and the plants they loved so.

All that remains is for you to decide whether you'll follow in their footsteps or remain with all the fucking citizens back home.

The plants are winning. (Remain in the valley.)

The green velvet mantle envelops you as you enter the valley. The odour of the dream-plants suffocates any memory of your previous life. You will die here, and you won't even know it.

Not enough slots.

Resist. Leave the valley, rejoin the human tribe.

The valley lies to your back. Before you lies a gruelling, achingly sober life of hunting and work.

Horrifying, a cautionary tale.

Sounds like they went out doing what they loved.

Not doing.

Pray tell, where might one find this forbidden valley? I enquireth for a friend.

That's the thing, H. You've already found it. Inside.

That sounds awesome.

Within half a year, they were all dead. The hunters of the tribe forgot to hunt, and the gatherers were only interested in gathering and drying the flowers of the dream plants.

And in fucking. Fucking all the time.

I have no time for indolent communal sex, I'm on an assignment.

They were too; they were originally trying to make it back to their summer hunting grounds.

H, look at that.

At what?

Really, it's just a state of mind, but one that corresponds exactly to a long-inexistent physical location lodged in your genetic memory.

Twelve thousand years ago, the Paleolithic huntress stumbled onto this place much as you just stumbled onto the location in your mind.

The forbidden valley of the dream-plants.

Survey the valley.

It opens below your feet -- a verdant depression hemmed in on all sides by nigh-impenetrable mountains and coated on the inside with green velvet.

Green so green it stings like lemon injected straight into the optic nerve.

And that smell -- equal parts evergreen forest and skunk gland, at once exotic and familiar.

Why is it forbidden?

Tribal law, owing to the legends told amongst the people of what happens to those who wander into the valley.

What happens to them?

Dream-plants? Sounds like something that gets you high.

Oh, fuck yes. These are the monstrous ancestors of the cannabis plants of today.

Megatherium to the pygmy tree sloth of the weed you know.

Legends circulate amongst the people that tell of what happened to those who wandered into the valley.

I can't see shit. It's all wobbly.