Wrathion would recognise the gardens outside Ravenholdt Manor anywhere.

He steps forward hesitantly, the trees of the forest they were in giving way to several more common in Hillsbrad. The low wall around it is familiar, the mushrooms, the worn path, the patch grass. The slight hill to it all.

He looks back, but the manor isn't behind them.

It's just this. This sloping path down, away from it.

"This cannot be real," Wrathion says, with the wary tone of someone aware they're likely in a trap.