The fresh shade, on the path to judgment, steps out of the marshes of the Styx into the City of Lost Souls. This city is carved out of the very stone foundation of the Underworld. It is home to many of the shades who are inhabitants of the plains, and to many passing through, or lingering, hoping not to be judged quite so soon. Unlike the living, shades have little weight or substance. They think nothing of the steep wall faces into which their stone houses are carved. Nor does the winding, mazelike path through the city bother them. The new shades feel the constant pull of the tower and do not lose their way. The old shades have no ambitions or goals. They meander the byways, cross the stone bridges, and linger in their halls and homes as they will.

The call of the Tower of Judgment is somewhere between a great hunger and a deep longing. Some shades fight it, but rarely for very long. They know where the tower is, across the plains. They know how to get there. They know they must go. From the City of Lost Souls, a new shade will set out onto the salt flats. These are great stretches composed of only two things: the dusty, colorless flats, and the noxious salt pools. The reddish crusts that border the pools are the only color to be found in this lifeless land. The strange heat from the pools, which often belch steam, is no consolation and never seems to warm the numbing chill of the flats. Nor do they give life to the dead trees and brush found here.