In the southernmost reaches of the southernmost lands, among sun-baked golden hills and rocky ruins, the cities of Gor Kull offer travelers and citizens a plethora of sinful concoctions, powders, and draughts, born of a wicked desire to addle the mind and befuddle the eye. Yet, should ye wish to arm oneself with knowledge against such evil brews, I present such guide.
The party comes across a nice hermit in the woods. He gives them food and lodging for the night. They awaken to his terrified screams. "East! It's east! Stop it! It'll kill us all!" The poor horror-stricken hermit dies thrashing in agony, one boney arm outstretched, his finger pointing to the east.