Aetharis is but one small world in a vast universe, a realm filled with potent magics and mighty beings. Since the dawn of time, these forces have influenced Aetharis and the surrounding cosmos, setting the stars in motion and shaping the destiny of countless worlds and mortal civilizations.
THE GREAT BEYOND INFINITY
The Great Beyond represents the physical universe. It is an infinite living realm composed of innumerable stars, worlds, and mortal civilizations. Aetharis - the world of Grim Hallow - is merely one of the countless worlds drifting through the vast reaches of the infinity of The Great Beyond.
THE DARKNESS BEYOND INFINITY
There is something further, something past our boundaries of reality. The Darkness. Entities of Darkness are monstrous horrors composed of pure negative energy. The beings that inhabit this realm are cruel, merciless, and nightmarish beyond any mortal comprehension. Driven by insatiable hunger, Darkness seeks to devour all matter and energy in the physical universe of Beyond. In it's natural state, Darkness exists outside reality. Only the most powerful of these entities can manifest in the physical universe, and only for limited amounts of time. To maintain their presence in reality, Darkness must consume untold amounts of matter and energy.
THE ELDER HORRORS DARKNESS MANIFESTED
The Elder Horrors and their twisted minions are physical manifestations of the Darkness. They are nightmares incarnate: mountains of blighted flesh and writhing tentacles that grow like cancers within the worlds of the Great Beyond. These malignant entities serve the Darkness, and they live only to transform the worlds they infest into places of despair and death. Ancient lore places the Elder Horrors at five, but this is not entirely known for sure. However, one Elder Horror, Umbra, is known by name and identified, for it lives deep in the core of Aetharis - tainting, and corrupting mankind.
"WHAT THE FLESH CANNOT KEEP" A TALE OF GRIM HOLLOW
When I opened the back door of the farmhouse and stepped into the fading light of the sun's descent, I did not notice the remnants of the crimson sunset - my attention was consumed by the Haunter Behind Space, lurking in the western sky. The air was shallow, almost brittle, and its coarseness clawed at my lungs. Around me, the atmosphere was suffused with paleness like flesh drained by fever. The contrast between the sun's vivid brilliance and the atmosphere's pallor caused flickering beams of glare to stretch out with tentacles of keen distraction. Standing on the soil behind the farmhouse, I sensed it, beyond the bounds of the seen, watching me intently. It had worlds to devour with its attention, but it gave that attention - at that moment - only to me. An unbidden, indefinable form of communication allowed me to envision its face through my mind's eye. The imagery was so fierce that this visage was projected from my mind - most likely in some hallucinatory manner - into the sky before me. My eyes gazed beyond matter into its sinister demeanor.
I had stopped in my tracks as soon as I noticed it, surrendering to a quietus. Just as it focused on me, I stared back at it: an entity larger than the sun it loomed behind. It was not angry or passionate, vengeful or anxious, but strangely content. In our exchange of awareness, it neither altered its expression nor revealed its intent. This occurrence could not have been timed, but eventually I felt a sensation of dread. I saw and felt a flash of death. A short burning like the spill of acid seared my skin, and then there was nothing. I looked behind to see my flesh - my body - fall away from me to the ground while I remained standing, a specter. I squatted beside my corpse and prodded it with my invisible, non-existent fingers, but quickly found there was nothing to gain from investigating the body. I turned back to the Haunter Behind Space, but it was gone. I was left alone to ponder my catatonic ascension.
In that moment, when I felt lost in a nightmare that could only be conjured by the most nefarious of creatures, I saw again in my mind the visage of the Haunter Behind Space. I remembered its ghastly features: the eyes that covered every surface, the souls within them, and the vulgar, detestable complacency of existence that saturated every ounce of its being. It was in the distances of space that I had originally seen it, and so it was in the distances of space that I then pictured it, staring once again at my hapless shape. It's gaze was my death.
I wanted nothing more than to see it once again, to know that it was there and that I could find it. In a test of my spiritual limitations, I shot upward into the sky with vengeful speed. I passed the atmosphere and outer rims of Aetharis, past the neighboring planets. On and on I traveled until the stars danced around me in a play of the unthinkable - each act and dialogue of profuse verse lasting longer than the one preceding it. The Great Beyond leapt about me in the solitude of its enormous infinity, and still I sailed on in pursuit of the vile entity that had fathered my undead transformation.
While hovering in the vastness of the heavens trapped within my enslaving memories, I understood that I had become lost in the greatest maze of all existence, with no recognizable star to guide me back home. Aetharis was now but a speck of dust floating in an unsearchable, impossible ocean of galaxies.
"Do not seek eager what lies beyond the walls of man. Hither comes the Darkness - the twilight of all things." - The Final Tenant of the Creed
THE WORLD OF AETHARIS While Grim Hollow takes place on a world called Aetharis, our continent of focus is one called Gloam.
THE CONTINENT OF GLOAM Gloam is a near-apocalyptic Victorian/Colonial-inspired fantasy realm where burgeoning technology has brought an end to old magic and ushered in an era of grim survival, black powder, and shadowy horror beyond human reckoning. Now, foolhardy men and women, wielding misplaced bravery and trusty flintlocks, venture beyond the crumbling walls of their cities on horseback, seeking fortune or redemption down The Withered Road. Humanity rules over a doomed world. Yes, there are pistols, rifles, blunderbuss, and pepperbox guns in Grim Hallow. The continent of Gloam survives on the tail end of an industrial revolution that provided humanity with the means to drive elves and dwarves to near-extinction. Dirigibles float overhead, gaslight lamps quell the darkness, and humans entrench themselves with destructive black powder weapons along with sword and steel.
THE BARONY OF STRAND The Barony of Strand is one of the Five Kingdoms of Gloam, a rain soaked coastal region veined with rivers and wetlands. Strand is overseen by Baroness Yesenia Foxglove, whose infamously bloody rise to power left her father, three brothers, and husband dead. Watery horrors emerge from the sea and marshes, and rumors swirl of a coven of witches practicing illegal and profane magicks in the darkest depths of the Irwhile Bog.
THE TOWN OF DRIFTCHAPEL This is where our campaign begins. The seaside town of Driftchapel is a cluster of stone structures veined with crisscrossing canals and alleys. The village sits on Trawler's Bay, a dark stretch of briny water. Driftchapel is a maddening maze of buildings, built haphazardly over generations as the fishing trade waxed and waned. Driftchapel has been plagued by the underlying darkness of an Elder Horror for decades - townsfolk succumbing to madness, rumors of strange creatures lurking in the shadows, and an abnormally high rate of violent crime. But lately, things have become even more dire.
1. The Darkness Encroaches on the Five Dominions With fire and iron, we snuffed out the Old Magicks - and, as a result, the wards holding back an ancient cosmic evil shattered. The influence of an Elder Horror seeped into our world. With it came vile arcane magic, unfathomable horrors, and a ceaseless dark shadow both figurative and tangible, inching us ever closer to the end of all things.
2. The Withered Road The encroaching Darkness swallows more of humanities domain with each passing day. Like a twisted vein of refuge amidst the inky gloom, the Withered Road is a simple thoroughfare of pallid earth that extends from one side of the realm to the other, dotted with roadhouses and villages. The Road offers a fleeting reprieve from the Darkness - and the terrors that dwell within in.
3. The Grand Bastion of Oubliette As the Darkness encroached on our domain, we took refuge in the dwarven ruins of the Pinnacles. Upon those crumbling, ancient stones, we forged the great city of Oubliette, only reachable by dirigible. Oubliette, our sky breaching capital city, is dotted with beacons of gaslight, and spared the horrors of the Darkness - for now.
4. The Crown and the Creed From the last great human city of Oubliette, the matriarchal Crown rules alongside the Creed, a pantheon of gods worshiped for their benevolence and justice. The power of the Crown wanes, and the voice of the Creed is little more than a strangled whisper.
5. The Veiled Mages of the Ordisterium Veiled alchemists and arcanists, the ordists of Oubliette are Crown-sanctioned magic-users. They bend the eldritch arcane to their whim, an are responsible for black powder and the blaugas that lift our dirigibles and lights our lamps. Their most impressive and terrifying creations - the ogres - are elephantine magical machines designed to withstand the crippling power of the Darkness. Ordists serve throughout the human dominion, and can be found from Oubliette all the way to the meager villages at the edges of the frontier.
6. The Ruling Regencies Governing the remnants of a once-great empire, four regents act as overseers in service to the Crown. These four dominions, along with the Crownlands, are the boglands of the Barony of Strand, the mountainous Duchy of Rekhart, the frigid County of Thurland, and the forested Margrave of Hildebrandt - each of them supplies a valuable resource to the Crown, and each is plagued by their own unique Darkness.
7. The Black Crusade The Crown and the Creed saw our great destiny, and called us to arms. The ordists perfected our black powder, and with fire and iron we drove the elves and dwarves and their Old Magicks to the edge of extinction. Those few meager tribes that escaped justice slipped into the shadows, and exist now as distant myths - fairy tales we spin for our children.
8. The Forgotten Glory of the Dawnhammers In the Black Crusades, the anointed Dawnhammer cut down the armies of the shadow elves in great, bloody swathes. Armed with flintlocks, hatches, and the stark black-and-white garb of their faith, these puritanical templars are scattered now, a remnant thanklessly forgotten by the people they once protected.
9. Familiar Forms, Twisted in Shadow From the wolves that stalk the wilds, to men and women dwelling in frontier villages, many mortal creatures have become warped by the unfathomable energies of the Darkness, now appearing savage and monstrous - aberrations. They roam the wilds and ruins of the world, searching for answers and respite - or prey to sate their dire whims.
10. A Plague of Shadow Elves Once innumerable, now twisted and warped by the Darkness, the few remaining elves seek to usurp humanity with dark magic. Halting their ages-old feud with the maligned, stone-skinned dwarves, these shadow elves live like vermin beneath the earth and in the dark wilds. Iron burns their fiendish flesh, and fire sends them skittering.
The continent of Gloam contains the Five Dominions. In the middle is Ouebliette - the Capital of Gloam, home of the Crown and the Creed. To the west is the Margrave of Hildebrandt, to the south is the Duchy of Rekhart and the County of Thurland. To the east is the Barony of Strand, home to the town of Driftchapel.
The town of Driftchapel is located in the Barony of Strand. Some points of interest in the town are the Profane Chapel, the Ordist's Lab, Rivermouth Inn, the Graveyard, the Town Square, and the Taxidermy Shop.
THE STREETS OF DRIFTCHAPEL Driftchapel's winding, crisscrossing streets and alleyways make for a maddening maze. The every-present fog and intermittent rainfall do little to diminish the overwhelming unease of this cursed town. The gaslight lamps flicker, and the shadows writhe.
THE TAXIDERMY SHOP This squat, stone rowhouse sits sandwiched between two dingy pubs. The windows are dark with soot. A stuffed barn owl clutches a swining wooden sign that reads TAXIDERMY - FAST AND CHEAP
THE RIVERMOUTH INN A crooked structure of rotting wood, the Rivermouth Inn straddles a churning waterway and creaks lazily in the night air. The sounds of drunken merriment reach your ears as a man stumbles out the front entrance and vomits over the railing into the river below.
THE PROFANE CHAPEL This crumbling seaside temple is long abandoned. The daded busts and peeling frescoes depict Aliana: an old, forgotten goddess of the sea. The shingled roof is pockmarked with holes, and the moldering wooden doors creak on loose, rusting hinges. The wind howls through the ruined, algae-covered walls with piercing shrillness.
THE ORDIST'S LAB The stout, stone workshop of Driftchapel's resident ordist stands on the edge of town, surrounded by a low, cobbled wall. Within, meticulously organized handing shelves contain myriad vials and jars, filled with sloshing liquids of every color; bundles of dried, strong smelling herbs, and iron tools of unknown purpose.
THE DRIPPING CAVES Beneath Driftchapel, connected to the canals and waterways, await the Dripping Caves. A natural cavern, eroded by the tides, this place is to to its name - the walls drip with salty water and slimy, green algae from Trawler's Bay. Amid the crashing of the waves, indiscernible voices whisper, seemingly from the walls themselves.
As you all try to come up with concepts and backstories, use this information here for assistance in sparking some additional ideas. What is listed below are facts about our campaign setting.
ROYALTY - The continent of Gloam consists of five dominions: The Crownlands, the Barony of Strand, the Duchy of Rekhart, the County of Thurland, and the Margrave of Hildebrandy. All of it is ruled by Baroness Yesenia Foxglove, who's bloody rise to power left her father, three brothers, and husband, dead. She resides in the capital of Gloam, Oubliette, in the Crownlands. Our campaign begins in the Barony of Strand - in the town of Driftchapel. Perhaps you are a member of royalty?
EXTERMINATOR - Years ago, the humans of the Five Dominions banded together and snuffed out magic, using steel and gunpowder to bring the elves and dwarves to near extinction. In doing so, the magical wards that kept the Darkness at bay were destroyed - slowly allowing the influence of an Elder Horror to take root. Now, dwarves and elves are nothing but legends. Magic is rare, and feared, in this world. The cause of the hatred between humans and dwarves and elves is currently unknown. Perhaps you were part of this horrible time?
PROTECTOR - The Dawnhammers were a group of anointed templars who served in the Black Crusades. When the corrupted shadow elves came from the forests, it was they who protected our lands. The Dawnhammers are all but scattered now, a remnant thanklessly forgotten by the people they once protected. Perhaps, at one time, you were one?
ACADEMIC An arcane group called the Ordisterium are the only official magic user sanctioned by the Baroness. They serve her and bend eldritch arcane power to their whims. They can be found hailing from Oubliette, to the meager villages at the edges of the frontier. Perhaps you were one - and that's how you are able to wield the lost art of magic?
DIVINE Two powers govern the world of Grim hollow, the Crown that rules, and the Creed that prays. One political, one religious. The Creed worships a pantheon of gods for their benevolence and justice. As the power of the Crown wanes in this terrible time of darkness, the Creed is little more than a strangled whisper. For those with the power of the divine, were you once part of the Creed?
CORRUPTED Umbra, one of the four Elder Gods, has a hold on this world. The Darkness it brings has wrought forth nightmares no mortal can comprehend. The shadow envelops all, and somehow, you have been touched by it. Be it whispers, favors, an accident - you have had a sample of the Darkness and, somehow, are able to control it. You have heard the voice of a cosmic horror. Somehow, have you been chosen? Will you continue to listen? Eventually, we all pay the price.
MONSTER There are other terrible things in the world of Grim Hollow. Vampires. Aberrants. Werecreatures. Devils. Some whisper even of angels in human form. What might you become? What choice will you make when confronted with such evil - or redemption?
The continent of Gloam survives on the tail end of an industrial revolution that provided humanity with the means to drive elves and dwarves to near extinction. Dirigibles float overhead, gaslight lamps quell the darkness, and humans entrench themselves with destructive black powder weapons. Flintlocks are powerful weapons that dish out crippling damage at range. However, the technology is not perfect, and many limitations exist.
- Flintlocks partially bypass traditional armor. When using a flintlock to attack a creature wearing armor, the effective armor class of the target creature is reduced by 2. (Or, you have a +2 to hit bonus.)
- Adventures have disadvantage on attacks if using a flintlock at melee range.
- Rolling a nat1 equals a misfire. You take 1d4 damage from an improper discharge, and the weapon cannot be used again until a short rest is taken to clear the breech.
- A flintlock that is submerged in water cannot be fired again until a short rest is complete to properly clean and dry the weapon.
- In rain or snow, rolling a nat1 or 2 will result in a misfire.
Pistol 1d8 piercing damage. Simple, ranged, ammo, action to reload. Pepperbox 2d4 piercing damage. Simple, ranged, ammo, action to reload. Blunderbuss 2d6 piercing damage. Martial, two handed, ranged, ammo, action to reload. Rifle 1d12 piercing damage. Martial, two handed, ranged, ammo, action to reload.
Vulcan Ravensteel, first of his name, descendant of the very same Ravensteels who's forges once crafted the barrels and filled the powder bags of the guns that were taken to kill the world so long ago. Once a much more prosperous family, they have since fallen from grace, reaching Vulcan. Orphaned, and with only the knowledge of his forbearers and a lowly forge in a cesspool of a town, one could laugh at such conditions. However, it mattered not to Vulcan. All he had was his work, crafting methods for which others may wage war. If he was asked what he hoped to attain from this would be, his only brief answer would be, "Perfection." He rarely builds off that statement, however, he often goes out to test his craft, firing holes into beasts and monsters alike, occasionally almost blowing holes into himself. He has since then taken to wearing armor when crafting, never knowing when something might try to kill him. On one random day, Vulcan had finished crafting a canon, desiring to test it, he stepped out of his smithery to find that a monster was attacking the town. Not the least bit caring for the townsfolk, Vulcan was thankful for the fact that he wouldn't have to spend more time walking to the woods and hunting down a test subject. Unloading multiple times into the best to calibrate the average optimal results, Vulcan killed the monster. After that, he saw a small surge in business as more came to shop from his wares. He didn't care though. So long as he worked, he would strive to craft his "perfection", all else be damned.
NOW
Vulcan was hammering away a yet another plate of armor. The commissions lately had been good, and it had kept him busy, that said, not all the customers where happy with his "experiments", using them as living test subjects for his products. Already today he had been slapped by the father of a dead customer who blamed his "strange" armor. Not that he cared about them, but he did pay them most of their son's commission in order to hear how his armor fail. Data was important......the sound of his hammer was soothing. There was nothing like being in his forge, crafting weapons and armor for war.....how long would it be until he no longer could swing his hammer?....He had no son or daughter. No lover, much less a wife....still, the thought of leaving his forge to go mate seeking was nauseating to him. He had his work, he couldn't leave it......could he?...perhaps the journey would provided new test subjects.....who knows.....still, for now, he kept hammering.
There are worlds between our own. They have windows to glimpse them by, but those looking glasses are more than often diminutive. Still, a different method of gleaning the stories, visions, nightmares, and fantasies therein is quite feasible, although likely not in the way that you would expect. An inscription of vast knowledge, both ancient and modern, from a myriad of various authorships, rests within the very boundaries of our realm. Both its virtue and curse can be willingly found. All you must do is fix your eyes uncomfortably within you and there look deeply in a way you were never meant to see. If successful, your gaze will unlock the door behind raw, amalgamated imagination and meet the precarious manuscript of histories locked away in the innumerable folios of what is called The Dark Verse.
The following tale is from the Passages of Revenants. To dreams, the heralds of what's to come.
My name is Madison Von Schmiggleton. I come from the Duchy of Rekhart, one of the Five Dominions. I have lived in Gloam all my life, and that time, it has lived in the shadow of a terrible evil beyond what mortals can comprehend. A cosmic evil, born before time and reality - a part of it, and beyond it. When it manifests on our world, it does so as the Darkness. Like a cancerous organic terror it spreads, corrupts, and kills all living things.
Once, years ago, I was a Dawnhammer. I served the Creed with all my heart and soul and during the Black Crusades - we drove those filthy elves and dwarves to extermination. I did so not only with my faith, but with flint, and steel. When the Crusades were over and the Darkness came to our world, most of us were killed and the Crown disbanded us. Now, we are all but forgotten, like a rusted broken tool.
But I refused to give up, to be forgotten. Even though the Dawnhammers are no more, hushed rumors told me of an entity named Qatu - the Writhing Whisper. Beneath the dark sea off the coast of Driftchapel, lies Qatu's Tomb, the prison mausoleum of a once-great sea goddess, twisted and warped by the Darkness. Qatu's spawn work her vile will while she slumbers, her strength growing.
I travel to Driftchapel with the hope of finding purpose once again. Hopefully I can find others who wish to battle the Darkness.
Emma closed the door behind her - the bell answered with a dull clunking sound - and breathed a sigh of relief - she was safe, at least for now. She would never go out at that hour in normal circumstances, but uncle George needed his heart-drops urgently, and she risked it. After all, the Ordist's Lab was not too far and the moon was not full yet, not remotely safe but manageable - her return was a proof to that.
They had to leave the town months ago! If not years - who in his right mind opens a bookstore of "rare & antiquarian books" in a, practically, fishing village! Decades ago the town could pretend to be more than that, and at first grandfather's shop did get some attention, but interest (and any kind of profit) died out pretty soon. Family had to rid of the shop and books right then, not to drag it for two more generations.
The thought was as dreary as the darkness outside, and as familiar too. Emma shook her head and went upstairs, to the living part of the house. Uncle was sleeping in his chair by the fireplace, with an open old tome slowly sliding off from the moth-eaten lap blanket. Emma picked the book up (of course it was "The Greatest Mysteries" - uncle still thought there are some answers there!), tucked the blanket and tiptoed out of the room. Good sleep is the best medicine - she heard it once and took it to the heart. Too bad that kind of medicine did not work for her, Emma was afraid of sleeping: the strange calling did not let her rest anyway, but instead filled with such dread, that she could not even scream waking up from the nightmare, feeling just unending horror in every bone of her body.
It was getting a touch easier lately or may be she was finally getting used to it? Emma did not know. But the calling now had ... not the words, not really, but it became more comprehensive, demanding and promising something in the same time. She was not sure what, but not long ago realized she was able to do strange things - answering questions people did not ask yet, or reacting to words that were not spoken at all. Emma was getting used to confusion on faces of those she come across and tried to keep to herself more. Especially after that night last week. Someone came too close on the street - may be he did not even mean any harm, but she ... She was not sure what exactly she did: there was a blast as if she was shooting, though without a sound, and then her skin got so cold she could see frost on it! That "someone" (Emma was too afraid to look in his face) was screaming, but she run away and now was doing her best to forget the scene, though the picture kept coming back.
Emma looked at the book she still had in her hand. She read it too, more than once even, and was sure it is nothing but a collection of badly recorded rumors and scary stories. However, the shop was big and the catalog they kept not nearly detailed enough. May be if she keeps looking she will find the answers to the torturing questions - who or what is calling to her and what does that madness wants? She sighed and slowly descended downstairs - the upper right shelve at the back looked promising and the night ahead was long, who knows, may be she can finally get lucky.
Born of divinity, scooped up by the crown to be made their pet. Groomed for espionage and disciplined for war. Twisted by the shadows and corrupted by the darkness.
"'This fear has me chilled down to the bone And I have been haunted by these things I still have left to say I’m weary of fighting this alone So tired of holding on to strings much better left to fray
And I said Hear me now here and now I’m calling
Memories wear me down And this seems so complicated When all I want is just the truth
I’m wilted and faded after all Too strung out and burnt out to be half the one that I could be I’ll never belong inside your world So black out the sun and leave me to play out the same old tragedy'
Who am I? Exelda LeBlanc. What am I? A survivor. No different than any one native to Gloam. Who are my parents? Good question. I imagine a handsome fellow 'bout yea tall and a fair skinned maiden with hair much like myself. Reality is, they aren't the ones who raised me. The Crown raised me. They, groomed me. Nurtured my skills. I was disciplined. Obedient and above all else, faithful to my Lead Hand. What happened? War. Madness. Endless suffering, not for the faint of heart. I began losing pieces of myself that day…
Olivia Foxglove stared at the arcane circle in front of her. Was this the right choice? She banished the brief flicker of doubt. She'd come too far to hesitate now. Besides, she was out of options. If she remained powerless for much longer, Yesenia would see her dead, even if Olivia sided with her sister. Without another moment of hesitation, Olivia poured the fresh blood into its bowl and spoke the ancient words.
The creature that formed in the circle stared at her, a mixture of disdain and amusement in his eyes. "Who has the arrogance to call me?"
Olivia smiled. "One who seeks your power, Jaoth."
Jaoth chuckled. "And just what are you willing to give up for this power?"
Olivia lifted her head boldly. She already knew the answer. "Anything."
Ten Years Ago
The woman looked around at the woods around her. When she'd asked Jaoth to bring her somewhere her sister couldn't have her killed, she hadn't quite envisioned somewhere this distant. In the years since she had made her deal, much had changed about her as she began to collect souls. Indeed, her physical appearance was almost unrecognizable. But the woman still wasn't much of a fan of living rough. She gave Jaoth an even look. "Here?"
"There's someone I want you to meet...Diavola"
One Year Ago
Diavola gazed up at the stars. Tora slept beside her quietly. It was time, she decided. Jaoth had had a hold over her long enough. She reached over towards Tora and gently shook the weretiger's shoulder. "Wake up, my dear. We need to talk."
Freya Shun enters the Profane Chapel on Drift Street, and silently slithers into the confessional.
Clearing her throat to get Father’s attention:
“They say the under city is a place that no respectable person goes. Thankfully for everyone, I’m not a respectable person.
I was born in the underbelly of civilization, as if that were an excuse for my life. Parents? Who the hell knows. I have no memory of ‘em! A street rat they call me. Right under the level of trash in the caste of life. On the same level as plague buggers, but I don’t mind one bit. Oh no. In fact, I relish my nonexistence. It allows me to slink in and out of people’s homes, liberatin’ them of their goods!
I got me a place….real nice….up in the marshlands north of Driftchapel. A shanty of my own. It even has a roof! How luxurious! But don’t you go thinking I take in guests. Nope. Ain’t got no room for anyone but little ‘ol me.
Here’s the thing. Lately, I’ve been having these nightmares. Real scary and all. Wakin’ me up hootin’ and hollerin’. Some biggin’ blackness trying to envelop the entire land. Calls itself Under-bra or somethin’. Real scary and all. Not sure what that’s all about!
But those nightmares are becoming daymares. Freaky deaky like. See, the other day, I was liberatin’ this real pretty gal of her weighty jewelry, when suddenly I had imaginins of that Under-bra fellow blotting out the entire sky. Scared the dickens outta me! Caused me to sneeze, alerting the noble gal of my doings. Hadta drop what I was doing, and run away lickety split! And now, here’s where it got really weird. As I was runnin’ away right quick, I sneezed again, and when I opened up my eyes, I was somewhere else! And by somewhere else, I mean that I wasn’t where I just wuz!
So now tell me, Preacher Man, you got anything in that book of yours that can tell me what’s happening to me? What’s causing these ‘mares?”
And with that, Freya sneezes again, and instantly disappears. Only to reappear in some other plane of existence, lost, dazed, and confused.
"Many years ago there was a couple, blended into the darkness of humanity. They lived their life like any other, uniformed and filled with greed. However, others had what they soon discovered they could not acquire. A child.
Humans did what humans always do. Lie. Spread rumors. Judge. And it all became too much for the couple. Driven by regret, sadness, and self pride, they turned to alternate means. Darker means.
Days were spent on research. Nights were spent on testing. Until one night, a night of a full blood moon, they did it. They contacted a devil by the name of Jaoth. A dark and powerful being who granted them a child, but in return requested their souls. He toyed with them before their eyes before replacing them in their bodies. He lay a curse upon the family that could not be healed and the deal was done, their human souls collected and replaced by those more sinister.
For a while, all was right in the world. The woman became pregnant with a child soon after and the people saw it as a gift from God. But it was anything but that.
Soon the couple began noticing changes to themselves. People started going missing. They became beastlike. Until one night the beast took over. A man was murdered. That was the end to their happy life.
Driven out by those they wished to impress. Scorned for their dealings with the devil. Fleeing from their crimes. The couple retreated into the woods.
The woods offered sanctuary. A home for their soon born child. A place to shield her from the darkness of the world. And, when she was old enough, they would leave. Allow her to live a normal untainted life away from the darkness and despair that was society.
However, when the young girl was born, she was different. By the light of the full moon, the woman gave birth to a cub. The couple was stricken in grief. Furious at the betrayal. But they loved her nonetheless.
As she ages, her body changed, taking the form she was meant to have. A small ginger girl, cheeks freckled lightly. A strong soul. But one tarnished by the beast."
"Once upon a time, the Dawnhammers were a necessity. Gloam was at war with the Dwarves and Elves who encroached on us, so the templars were needed for the Black Crusades. Whether the templars truly were anointed or not is beyond me, but they got the job done. The Elves and Dwarves don't exist anymore, the Black Crusades saw to that. But then a new darkness appeared and the Dawnhammers tried to fight it. Most of them were slaughtered and shortly afterwards, the Crown completely disbanded the order. Some Dawnhammers still kept up the fight though. They swore an oath to protect Gloam and they'd keep it until death. Some call that honorable. Me? I call it stupid."
A small boat rows out to the middle of a lake with two passengers, a young woman with silver hair whose wearing red and black armor. On the shoulder of the armor is a sigil that appears to be scratched out, but not enough. The other passenger is a peasant male who's been gagged and bound. "You're right, I was one of the Dawnhammers, when the order was alive. I killed plenty during the Black Crusades and swore the same oath everyone else did. But the cause is dead. The Dawnhammers are all but extinct and there's no reason for me to die with a few fools who couldn't see the way the tide was turning. That's why I came to this town. To get away from their affairs and live in peace. And you would have lived in peace too, if you didn't ask me so many questions about this little symbol on my armor."
The woman picks up the man, who desperately tries to break out of his bonds while screaming into the gag, pleading for her not to do this. She stops for a moment and the man for a second thinks that she's going to spare his life, before she pulls out a dagger and slits his throat. "It's a quicker death than drowning. This is the only mercy I will show you." She tosses his corpse into the water and rows back to shore.
When I was young, I was told I lacked empathy. I didn't understand it at first, but then, when I grew older, I couldn't help but agree with them. It dawned on me; I had no emotional bonds with my abusive parents, nor my bothersome siblings. I could care less of what they felt when I pushed them into the mud, hit them for taking my favorite toy, threatened them with a knife at their throat when they bothered me. The only thing I felt during those moments were pure unaltered bliss.
I felt powerful. It felt right.
I was also very much fascinated by death when I was a child, so much so that I enjoyed killing innocent creatures around my dilapidated household. My first kill was my neighbors cat, Jeffery, then a stray dog that I personally named Hamilton. To see them struggle as I cut off their airways bought me joy, seeing them breathe their last breath of life brought me a pleasure that nothing else could provide me. Their bodies were easy to hide, and soon I would have a menagerie of buried animal bodies near my house. But I couldn't just stop at animals, and I knew who was going to be my first target.
Abigail was so beautiful. She was sought after by so many men in town, but none of them had charmed her like I had. I made her feel something for me, but the feeling wasn't at all mutual, yet my performance was wondrous. It was so easy to end her life when she was underneath me. Truthfully, I found that she looked much better when she was a corpse.
After that first kill, however, I had dreams, visions of a dark, writhing mass with countless eyes and tentacles slowly making its way towards me. With every murder I committed, it would get closer, until finally, it reached me with one of its longs tendrils, and offered me the one thing I wanted most in life.
Power.
Worship me, feed me, and obtain power beyond what you had ever imagined, child.
WITHIN THE BLACKEST OF BLACK THERE SHINES IT'S MIGHTY MARK BEHOLD IT AND ITS WONDERS THE MASTER OF THE DARK
If the stars were maps of history, then it's heart would have been their maker. If there were a way to look within the earliest light still travelling upon the edges of this universe, then it's face would be the subject there discovered. Bittersweet were the eons of it's early life.
THE FIRST MEMORY In it's first memory, it was but an idea - a germ of thought travelling the endless roads of realms intangible and unspeakable where both colossal and minuscule entities roamed without substantial shape or purpose; the only purpose, if even at all, was to everlastingly be. The sizes of things varied, but not by any visible measurements; the hierarchy of existence was a computation of reason within the boundaries and scope of will - what made more decision, if any, and what acted effectively on those decisions.
It was more of a virus, but unlike a virus that would destroy its host, it sought to change it with the incredible power of suggestion. It sought to inhabit an entity worthy of the resources it required so that it might release what it held: innovation. It was the First Innovation - a robust malfunction floating in a chaotic system of purposelessness, with a purpose that before it did not exist. When it latched upon the entity capable of receiving it's inspiring toxins - an indiscernible mountain of being - the innovation ingrained within it came to life and set in motion an awful and instantaneous effect: the creation of physicality.
THE SECOND MEMORY In it's second memory, it was expelled from it's reality and thrust into form in our own as a creature of limbs. It lay upon a cold, rocky ground while shivers ran through it's body, inflicting sharp discomforts. Thick air entered it, drawing in unsettling temperatures and fumes, and exited it, ejecting mucus-filled rasps. Devoured by an emotion unknown to it, which was fear, it convulsed heavily, flopping it's limbs about as if it were a doll. The edges of rock beneath me cut into it's flesh as it writhed.
By the will of that entity enlivened with it's innovation, all things changed, for there could not exist two opposing planes between a single set of life. Life had to sway one way or the other, and because of it's influence, it chose to manifest in shape and in sight and in touch.
THE THIRD MEMORY In it's third memory, it witnessed the emergence of all other physical beings and life forms and they birthed and sprouted with the distant translation of information between beyond the infinity and the physical realm. Fiends of land and sky began to wander and growths of vegetation began to loom. It was both terrible and beautiful all at once.
THE FOURTH MEMORY In it's fourth memory, it recalled what it was - a vessel of catastrophic, universe-altering influence and manipulation. It's fear turned to revel as it remembered the triumphant success of it's role, although many memories slipped away from it though the limiting and incompatible architecture of it's new infinity.
- Excerpt from "Beyond The Grip of Time", an ancient text of Umbra, told by the Herald.
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Aetharis is but one small world in a vast universe, a realm filled with potent magics and mighty beings. Since the dawn of time, these forces have influenced Aetharis and the surrounding cosmos, setting the stars in motion and shaping the destiny of countless worlds and mortal civilizations.
THE GREAT BEYOND
INFINITY
The Great Beyond represents the physical universe. It is an infinite living realm composed of innumerable stars, worlds, and mortal civilizations. Aetharis - the world of Grim Hallow - is merely one of the countless worlds drifting through the vast reaches of the infinity of The Great Beyond.
THE DARKNESS
BEYOND INFINITY
There is something further, something past our boundaries of reality. The Darkness. Entities of Darkness are monstrous horrors composed of pure negative energy. The beings that inhabit this realm are cruel, merciless, and nightmarish beyond any mortal comprehension. Driven by insatiable hunger, Darkness seeks to devour all matter and energy in the physical universe of Beyond. In it's natural state, Darkness exists outside reality. Only the most powerful of these entities can manifest in the physical universe, and only for limited amounts of time. To maintain their presence in reality, Darkness must consume untold amounts of matter and energy.
THE ELDER HORRORS
DARKNESS MANIFESTED
The Elder Horrors and their twisted minions are physical manifestations of the Darkness. They are nightmares incarnate: mountains of blighted flesh and writhing tentacles that grow like cancers within the worlds of the Great Beyond. These malignant entities serve the Darkness, and they live only to transform the worlds they infest into places of despair and death. Ancient lore places the Elder Horrors at five, but this is not entirely known for sure. However, one Elder Horror, Umbra, is known by name and identified, for it lives deep in the core of Aetharis - tainting, and corrupting mankind.
"WHAT THE FLESH CANNOT KEEP"
A TALE OF GRIM HOLLOW
When I opened the back door of the farmhouse and stepped into the fading light of the sun's descent, I did not notice the remnants of the crimson sunset - my attention was consumed by the Haunter Behind Space, lurking in the western sky. The air was shallow, almost brittle, and its coarseness clawed at my lungs. Around me, the atmosphere was suffused with paleness like flesh drained by fever. The contrast between the sun's vivid brilliance and the atmosphere's pallor caused flickering beams of glare to stretch out with tentacles of keen distraction. Standing on the soil behind the farmhouse, I sensed it, beyond the bounds of the seen, watching me intently. It had worlds to devour with its attention, but it gave that attention - at that moment - only to me. An unbidden, indefinable form of communication allowed me to envision its face through my mind's eye. The imagery was so fierce that this visage was projected from my mind - most likely in some hallucinatory manner - into the sky before me. My eyes gazed beyond matter into its sinister demeanor.
I had stopped in my tracks as soon as I noticed it, surrendering to a quietus. Just as it focused on me, I stared back at it: an entity larger than the sun it loomed behind. It was not angry or passionate, vengeful or anxious, but strangely content. In our exchange of awareness, it neither altered its expression nor revealed its intent. This occurrence could not have been timed, but eventually I felt a sensation of dread. I saw and felt a flash of death. A short burning like the spill of acid seared my skin, and then there was nothing. I looked behind to see my flesh - my body - fall away from me to the ground while I remained standing, a specter. I squatted beside my corpse and prodded it with my invisible, non-existent fingers, but quickly found there was nothing to gain from investigating the body. I turned back to the Haunter Behind Space, but it was gone. I was left alone to ponder my catatonic ascension.
In that moment, when I felt lost in a nightmare that could only be conjured by the most nefarious of creatures, I saw again in my mind the visage of the Haunter Behind Space. I remembered its ghastly features: the eyes that covered every surface, the souls within them, and the vulgar, detestable complacency of existence that saturated every ounce of its being. It was in the distances of space that I had originally seen it, and so it was in the distances of space that I then pictured it, staring once again at my hapless shape. It's gaze was my death.
I wanted nothing more than to see it once again, to know that it was there and that I could find it. In a test of my spiritual limitations, I shot upward into the sky with vengeful speed. I passed the atmosphere and outer rims of Aetharis, past the neighboring planets. On and on I traveled until the stars danced around me in a play of the unthinkable - each act and dialogue of profuse verse lasting longer than the one preceding it. The Great Beyond leapt about me in the solitude of its enormous infinity, and still I sailed on in pursuit of the vile entity that had fathered my undead transformation.
While hovering in the vastness of the heavens trapped within my enslaving memories, I understood that I had become lost in the greatest maze of all existence, with no recognizable star to guide me back home. Aetharis was now but a speck of dust floating in an unsearchable, impossible ocean of galaxies.
"Do not seek eager what lies beyond the walls of man. Hither comes the Darkness - the twilight of all things." - The Final Tenant of the Creed
THE WORLD OF AETHARIS
While Grim Hollow takes place on a world called Aetharis, our continent of focus is one called Gloam.
THE CONTINENT OF GLOAM
Gloam is a near-apocalyptic Victorian/Colonial-inspired fantasy realm where burgeoning technology has brought an end to old magic and ushered in an era of grim survival, black powder, and shadowy horror beyond human reckoning. Now, foolhardy men and women, wielding misplaced bravery and trusty flintlocks, venture beyond the crumbling walls of their cities on horseback, seeking fortune or redemption down The Withered Road. Humanity rules over a doomed world. Yes, there are pistols, rifles, blunderbuss, and pepperbox guns in Grim Hallow. The continent of Gloam survives on the tail end of an industrial revolution that provided humanity with the means to drive elves and dwarves to near-extinction. Dirigibles float overhead, gaslight lamps quell the darkness, and humans entrench themselves with destructive black powder weapons along with sword and steel.
THE BARONY OF STRAND
The Barony of Strand is one of the Five Kingdoms of Gloam, a rain soaked coastal region veined with rivers and wetlands. Strand is overseen by Baroness Yesenia Foxglove, whose infamously bloody rise to power left her father, three brothers, and husband dead. Watery horrors emerge from the sea and marshes, and rumors swirl of a coven of witches practicing illegal and profane magicks in the darkest depths of the Irwhile Bog.
THE TOWN OF DRIFTCHAPEL
This is where our campaign begins. The seaside town of Driftchapel is a cluster of stone structures veined with crisscrossing canals and alleys. The village sits on Trawler's Bay, a dark stretch of briny water. Driftchapel is a maddening maze of buildings, built haphazardly over generations as the fishing trade waxed and waned. Driftchapel has been plagued by the underlying darkness of an Elder Horror for decades - townsfolk succumbing to madness, rumors of strange creatures lurking in the shadows, and an abnormally high rate of violent crime. But lately, things have become even more dire.
This is the exact moment our adventure begins.
GRIM HOLLOW PRIMER:
1. The Darkness Encroaches on the Five Dominions
With fire and iron, we snuffed out the Old Magicks - and, as a result, the wards holding back an ancient cosmic evil shattered. The influence of an Elder Horror seeped into our world. With it came vile arcane magic, unfathomable horrors, and a ceaseless dark shadow both figurative and tangible, inching us ever closer to the end of all things.
2. The Withered Road
The encroaching Darkness swallows more of humanities domain with each passing day. Like a twisted vein of refuge amidst the inky gloom, the Withered Road is a simple thoroughfare of pallid earth that extends from one side of the realm to the other, dotted with roadhouses and villages. The Road offers a fleeting reprieve from the Darkness - and the terrors that dwell within in.
3. The Grand Bastion of Oubliette
As the Darkness encroached on our domain, we took refuge in the dwarven ruins of the Pinnacles. Upon those crumbling, ancient stones, we forged the great city of Oubliette, only reachable by dirigible. Oubliette, our sky breaching capital city, is dotted with beacons of gaslight, and spared the horrors of the Darkness - for now.
4. The Crown and the Creed
From the last great human city of Oubliette, the matriarchal Crown rules alongside the Creed, a pantheon of gods worshiped for their benevolence and justice. The power of the Crown wanes, and the voice of the Creed is little more than a strangled whisper.
5. The Veiled Mages of the Ordisterium
Veiled alchemists and arcanists, the ordists of Oubliette are Crown-sanctioned magic-users. They bend the eldritch arcane to their whim, an are responsible for black powder and the blaugas that lift our dirigibles and lights our lamps. Their most impressive and terrifying creations - the ogres - are elephantine magical machines designed to withstand the crippling power of the Darkness. Ordists serve throughout the human dominion, and can be found from Oubliette all the way to the meager villages at the edges of the frontier.
6. The Ruling Regencies
Governing the remnants of a once-great empire, four regents act as overseers in service to the Crown. These four dominions, along with the Crownlands, are the boglands of the Barony of Strand, the mountainous Duchy of Rekhart, the frigid County of Thurland, and the forested Margrave of Hildebrandt - each of them supplies a valuable resource to the Crown, and each is plagued by their own unique Darkness.
7. The Black Crusade
The Crown and the Creed saw our great destiny, and called us to arms. The ordists perfected our black powder, and with fire and iron we drove the elves and dwarves and their Old Magicks to the edge of extinction. Those few meager tribes that escaped justice slipped into the shadows, and exist now as distant myths - fairy tales we spin for our children.
8. The Forgotten Glory of the Dawnhammers
In the Black Crusades, the anointed Dawnhammer cut down the armies of the shadow elves in great, bloody swathes. Armed with flintlocks, hatches, and the stark black-and-white garb of their faith, these puritanical templars are scattered now, a remnant thanklessly forgotten by the people they once protected.
9. Familiar Forms, Twisted in Shadow
From the wolves that stalk the wilds, to men and women dwelling in frontier villages, many mortal creatures have become warped by the unfathomable energies of the Darkness, now appearing savage and monstrous - aberrations. They roam the wilds and ruins of the world, searching for answers and respite - or prey to sate their dire whims.
10. A Plague of Shadow Elves
Once innumerable, now twisted and warped by the Darkness, the few remaining elves seek to usurp humanity with dark magic. Halting their ages-old feud with the maligned, stone-skinned dwarves, these shadow elves live like vermin beneath the earth and in the dark wilds. Iron burns their fiendish flesh, and fire sends them skittering.
THE CONTINENT OF GLOAM
The continent of Gloam contains the Five Dominions. In the middle is Ouebliette - the Capital of Gloam, home of the Crown and the Creed. To the west is the Margrave of Hildebrandt, to the south is the Duchy of Rekhart and the County of Thurland. To the east is the Barony of Strand, home to the town of Driftchapel.
THE TOWN OF DRIFTCHAPEL
The town of Driftchapel is located in the Barony of Strand. Some points of interest in the town are the Profane Chapel, the Ordist's Lab, Rivermouth Inn, the Graveyard, the Town Square, and the Taxidermy Shop.
THE STREETS OF DRIFTCHAPEL
Driftchapel's winding, crisscrossing streets and alleyways make for a maddening maze. The every-present fog and intermittent rainfall do little to diminish the overwhelming unease of this cursed town. The gaslight lamps flicker, and the shadows writhe.
THE TAXIDERMY SHOP
This squat, stone rowhouse sits sandwiched between two dingy pubs. The windows are dark with soot. A stuffed barn owl clutches a swining wooden sign that reads TAXIDERMY - FAST AND CHEAP
THE RIVERMOUTH INN
A crooked structure of rotting wood, the Rivermouth Inn straddles a churning waterway and creaks lazily in the night air. The sounds of drunken merriment reach your ears as a man stumbles out the front entrance and vomits over the railing into the river below.
THE PROFANE CHAPEL
This crumbling seaside temple is long abandoned. The daded busts and peeling frescoes depict Aliana: an old, forgotten goddess of the sea. The shingled roof is pockmarked with holes, and the moldering wooden doors creak on loose, rusting hinges. The wind howls through the ruined, algae-covered walls with piercing shrillness.
THE ORDIST'S LAB
The stout, stone workshop of Driftchapel's resident ordist stands on the edge of town, surrounded by a low, cobbled wall. Within, meticulously organized handing shelves contain myriad vials and jars, filled with sloshing liquids of every color; bundles of dried, strong smelling herbs, and iron tools of unknown purpose.
THE DRIPPING CAVES
Beneath Driftchapel, connected to the canals and waterways, await the Dripping Caves. A natural cavern, eroded by the tides, this place is to to its name - the walls drip with salty water and slimy, green algae from Trawler's Bay. Amid the crashing of the waves, indiscernible voices whisper, seemingly from the walls themselves.
ACCEPTING CHARACTER DISCUSSIONS, PROLOGUES,
AND BACKSTORIES STARTING FEBRUARY 12, 2020.
GRIM HOLLOW WORLD CONCEPTS
As you all try to come up with concepts and backstories, use this information here for assistance in sparking some additional ideas. What is listed below are facts about our campaign setting.
ROYALTY
- The continent of Gloam consists of five dominions: The Crownlands, the Barony of Strand, the Duchy of Rekhart, the County of Thurland, and the Margrave of Hildebrandy. All of it is ruled by Baroness Yesenia Foxglove, who's bloody rise to power left her father, three brothers, and husband, dead. She resides in the capital of Gloam, Oubliette, in the Crownlands. Our campaign begins in the Barony of Strand - in the town of Driftchapel. Perhaps you are a member of royalty?
EXTERMINATOR
- Years ago, the humans of the Five Dominions banded together and snuffed out magic, using steel and gunpowder to bring the elves and dwarves to near extinction. In doing so, the magical wards that kept the Darkness at bay were destroyed - slowly allowing the influence of an Elder Horror to take root. Now, dwarves and elves are nothing but legends. Magic is rare, and feared, in this world. The cause of the hatred between humans and dwarves and elves is currently unknown. Perhaps you were part of this horrible time?
PROTECTOR
- The Dawnhammers were a group of anointed templars who served in the Black Crusades. When the corrupted shadow elves came from the forests, it was they who protected our lands. The Dawnhammers are all but scattered now, a remnant thanklessly forgotten by the people they once protected. Perhaps, at one time, you were one?
ACADEMIC
An arcane group called the Ordisterium are the only official magic user sanctioned by the Baroness. They serve her and bend eldritch arcane power to their whims. They can be found hailing from Oubliette, to the meager villages at the edges of the frontier. Perhaps you were one - and that's how you are able to wield the lost art of magic?
DIVINE
Two powers govern the world of Grim hollow, the Crown that rules, and the Creed that prays. One political, one religious. The Creed worships a pantheon of gods for their benevolence and justice. As the power of the Crown wanes in this terrible time of darkness, the Creed is little more than a strangled whisper. For those with the power of the divine, were you once part of the Creed?
CORRUPTED
Umbra, one of the four Elder Gods, has a hold on this world. The Darkness it brings has wrought forth nightmares no mortal can comprehend. The shadow envelops all, and somehow, you have been touched by it. Be it whispers, favors, an accident - you have had a sample of the Darkness and, somehow, are able to control it. You have heard the voice of a cosmic horror. Somehow, have you been chosen? Will you continue to listen? Eventually, we all pay the price.
MONSTER
There are other terrible things in the world of Grim Hollow. Vampires. Aberrants. Werecreatures. Devils. Some whisper even of angels in human form. What might you become? What choice will you make when confronted with such evil - or redemption?
FLINTLOCKS OF GLOAM
The continent of Gloam survives on the tail end of an industrial revolution that provided humanity with the means to drive elves and dwarves to near extinction. Dirigibles float overhead, gaslight lamps quell the darkness, and humans entrench themselves with destructive black powder weapons. Flintlocks are powerful weapons that dish out crippling damage at range. However, the technology is not perfect, and many limitations exist.
- Flintlocks partially bypass traditional armor. When using a flintlock to attack a creature wearing armor, the effective armor class of the target creature is reduced by 2. (Or, you have a +2 to hit bonus.)
- Adventures have disadvantage on attacks if using a flintlock at melee range.
- Rolling a nat1 equals a misfire. You take 1d4 damage from an improper discharge, and the weapon cannot be used again until a short rest is taken to clear the breech.
- A flintlock that is submerged in water cannot be fired again until a short rest is complete to properly clean and dry the weapon.
- In rain or snow, rolling a nat1 or 2 will result in a misfire.
Pistol 1d8 piercing damage. Simple, ranged, ammo, action to reload.
Pepperbox 2d4 piercing damage. Simple, ranged, ammo, action to reload.
Blunderbuss 2d6 piercing damage. Martial, two handed, ranged, ammo, action to reload.
Rifle 1d12 piercing damage. Martial, two handed, ranged, ammo, action to reload.
PROLOGUE ONE - VULCAN RAVENSTEEL
THEN
Vulcan Ravensteel, first of his name, descendant of the very same Ravensteels who's forges once crafted the barrels and filled the powder bags of the guns that were taken to kill the world so long ago. Once a much more prosperous family, they have since fallen from grace, reaching Vulcan. Orphaned, and with only the knowledge of his forbearers and a lowly forge in a cesspool of a town, one could laugh at such conditions. However, it mattered not to Vulcan. All he had was his work, crafting methods for which others may wage war. If he was asked what he hoped to attain from this would be, his only brief answer would be, "Perfection." He rarely builds off that statement, however, he often goes out to test his craft, firing holes into beasts and monsters alike, occasionally almost blowing holes into himself. He has since then taken to wearing armor when crafting, never knowing when something might try to kill him. On one random day, Vulcan had finished crafting a canon, desiring to test it, he stepped out of his smithery to find that a monster was attacking the town. Not the least bit caring for the townsfolk, Vulcan was thankful for the fact that he wouldn't have to spend more time walking to the woods and hunting down a test subject. Unloading multiple times into the best to calibrate the average optimal results, Vulcan killed the monster. After that, he saw a small surge in business as more came to shop from his wares. He didn't care though. So long as he worked, he would strive to craft his "perfection", all else be damned.
NOW
Vulcan was hammering away a yet another plate of armor. The commissions lately had been good, and it had kept him busy, that said, not all the customers where happy with his "experiments", using them as living test subjects for his products. Already today he had been slapped by the father of a dead customer who blamed his "strange" armor. Not that he cared about them, but he did pay them most of their son's commission in order to hear how his armor fail. Data was important......the sound of his hammer was soothing. There was nothing like being in his forge, crafting weapons and armor for war.....how long would it be until he no longer could swing his hammer?....He had no son or daughter. No lover, much less a wife....still, the thought of leaving his forge to go mate seeking was nauseating to him. He had his work, he couldn't leave it......could he?...perhaps the journey would provided new test subjects.....who knows.....still, for now, he kept hammering.
PROLOGUE TWO - MADISON VON SCHMIGGLETON
There are worlds between our own. They have windows to glimpse them by, but those looking glasses are more than often diminutive. Still, a different method of gleaning the stories, visions, nightmares, and fantasies therein is quite feasible, although likely not in the way that you would expect. An inscription of vast knowledge, both ancient and modern, from a myriad of various authorships, rests within the very boundaries of our realm. Both its virtue and curse can be willingly found. All you must do is fix your eyes uncomfortably within you and there look deeply in a way you were never meant to see. If successful, your gaze will unlock the door behind raw, amalgamated imagination and meet the precarious manuscript of histories locked away in the innumerable folios of what is called The Dark Verse.
The following tale is from the Passages of Revenants. To dreams, the heralds of what's to come.
My name is Madison Von Schmiggleton. I come from the Duchy of Rekhart, one of the Five Dominions. I have lived in Gloam all my life, and that time, it has lived in the shadow of a terrible evil beyond what mortals can comprehend. A cosmic evil, born before time and reality - a part of it, and beyond it. When it manifests on our world, it does so as the Darkness. Like a cancerous organic terror it spreads, corrupts, and kills all living things.
Once, years ago, I was a Dawnhammer. I served the Creed with all my heart and soul and during the Black Crusades - we drove those filthy elves and dwarves to extermination. I did so not only with my faith, but with flint, and steel. When the Crusades were over and the Darkness came to our world, most of us were killed and the Crown disbanded us. Now, we are all but forgotten, like a rusted broken tool.
But I refused to give up, to be forgotten. Even though the Dawnhammers are no more, hushed rumors told me of an entity named Qatu - the Writhing Whisper. Beneath the dark sea off the coast of Driftchapel, lies Qatu's Tomb, the prison mausoleum of a once-great sea goddess, twisted and warped by the Darkness. Qatu's spawn work her vile will while she slumbers, her strength growing.
I travel to Driftchapel with the hope of finding purpose once again. Hopefully I can find others who wish to battle the Darkness.
PROLOGUE THREE - EMMA GREEN
Emma closed the door behind her - the bell answered with a dull clunking sound - and breathed a sigh of relief - she was safe, at least for now. She would never go out at that hour in normal circumstances, but uncle George needed his heart-drops urgently, and she risked it. After all, the Ordist's Lab was not too far and the moon was not full yet, not remotely safe but manageable - her return was a proof to that.
They had to leave the town months ago! If not years - who in his right mind opens a bookstore of "rare & antiquarian books" in a, practically, fishing village! Decades ago the town could pretend to be more than that, and at first grandfather's shop did get some attention, but interest (and any kind of profit) died out pretty soon. Family had to rid of the shop and books right then, not to drag it for two more generations.
The thought was as dreary as the darkness outside, and as familiar too. Emma shook her head and went upstairs, to the living part of the house. Uncle was sleeping in his chair by the fireplace, with an open old tome slowly sliding off from the moth-eaten lap blanket. Emma picked the book up (of course it was "The Greatest Mysteries" - uncle still thought there are some answers there!), tucked the blanket and tiptoed out of the room. Good sleep is the best medicine - she heard it once and took it to the heart. Too bad that kind of medicine did not work for her, Emma was afraid of sleeping: the strange calling did not let her rest anyway, but instead filled with such dread, that she could not even scream waking up from the nightmare, feeling just unending horror in every bone of her body.
It was getting a touch easier lately or may be she was finally getting used to it? Emma did not know. But the calling now had ... not the words, not really, but it became more comprehensive, demanding and promising something in the same time. She was not sure what, but not long ago realized she was able to do strange things - answering questions people did not ask yet, or reacting to words that were not spoken at all. Emma was getting used to confusion on faces of those she come across and tried to keep to herself more. Especially after that night last week. Someone came too close on the street - may be he did not even mean any harm, but she ... She was not sure what exactly she did: there was a blast as if she was shooting, though without a sound, and then her skin got so cold she could see frost on it! That "someone" (Emma was too afraid to look in his face) was screaming, but she run away and now was doing her best to forget the scene, though the picture kept coming back.
Emma looked at the book she still had in her hand. She read it too, more than once even, and was sure it is nothing but a collection of badly recorded rumors and scary stories. However, the shop was big and the catalog they kept not nearly detailed enough. May be if she keeps looking she will find the answers to the torturing questions - who or what is calling to her and what does that madness wants? She sighed and slowly descended downstairs - the upper right shelve at the back looked promising and the night ahead was long, who knows, may be she can finally get lucky.
PROLOGUE FOUR - EXELDA LEBLANC
Born of divinity, scooped up by the crown to be made their pet. Groomed for espionage and disciplined for war. Twisted by the shadows and corrupted by the darkness.
"'This fear has me chilled down to the bone
And I have been haunted by these things I still have left to say
I’m weary of fighting this alone
So tired of holding on to strings much better left to fray
And I said
Hear me now
here and now
I’m calling
Memories wear me down
And this seems so complicated
When all I want is just the truth
I’m wilted and faded after all
Too strung out and burnt out to be half the one that I could be
I’ll never belong inside your world
So black out the sun and leave me to play out the same old tragedy'
Who am I? Exelda LeBlanc.
What am I? A survivor. No different than any one native to Gloam.
Who are my parents? Good question. I imagine a handsome fellow 'bout yea tall and a fair skinned maiden with hair much like myself. Reality is, they aren't the ones who raised me. The Crown raised me. They, groomed me. Nurtured my skills. I was disciplined. Obedient and above all else, faithful to my Lead Hand.
What happened? War. Madness. Endless suffering, not for the faint of heart. I began losing pieces of myself that day…
What now? I fight fire with fire."
Signed:
EL
PROLOGUE FIVE - DIAVOLA
Years Ago...
Olivia Foxglove stared at the arcane circle in front of her. Was this the right choice? She banished the brief flicker of doubt. She'd come too far to hesitate now. Besides, she was out of options. If she remained powerless for much longer, Yesenia would see her dead, even if Olivia sided with her sister. Without another moment of hesitation, Olivia poured the fresh blood into its bowl and spoke the ancient words.
The creature that formed in the circle stared at her, a mixture of disdain and amusement in his eyes. "Who has the arrogance to call me?"
Olivia smiled. "One who seeks your power, Jaoth."
Jaoth chuckled. "And just what are you willing to give up for this power?"
Olivia lifted her head boldly. She already knew the answer. "Anything."
Ten Years Ago
The woman looked around at the woods around her. When she'd asked Jaoth to bring her somewhere her sister couldn't have her killed, she hadn't quite envisioned somewhere this distant. In the years since she had made her deal, much had changed about her as she began to collect souls. Indeed, her physical appearance was almost unrecognizable. But the woman still wasn't much of a fan of living rough. She gave Jaoth an even look. "Here?"
"There's someone I want you to meet...Diavola"
One Year Ago
Diavola gazed up at the stars. Tora slept beside her quietly. It was time, she decided. Jaoth had had a hold over her long enough. She reached over towards Tora and gently shook the weretiger's shoulder. "Wake up, my dear. We need to talk."
PROLOGUE SIX - FREYA SHUN
Freya Shun enters the Profane Chapel on Drift Street, and silently slithers into the confessional.
Clearing her throat to get Father’s attention:
“They say the under city is a place that no respectable person goes. Thankfully for everyone, I’m not a respectable person.
I was born in the underbelly of civilization, as if that were an excuse for my life. Parents? Who the hell knows. I have no memory of ‘em! A street rat they call me. Right under the level of trash in the caste of life. On the same level as plague buggers, but I don’t mind one bit. Oh no. In fact, I relish my nonexistence. It allows me to slink in and out of people’s homes, liberatin’ them of their goods!
I got me a place….real nice….up in the marshlands north of Driftchapel. A shanty of my own. It even has a roof! How luxurious! But don’t you go thinking I take in guests. Nope. Ain’t got no room for anyone but little ‘ol me.
Here’s the thing. Lately, I’ve been having these nightmares. Real scary and all. Wakin’ me up hootin’ and hollerin’. Some biggin’ blackness trying to envelop the entire land. Calls itself Under-bra or somethin’. Real scary and all. Not sure what that’s all about!
But those nightmares are becoming daymares. Freaky deaky like. See, the other day, I was liberatin’ this real pretty gal of her weighty jewelry, when suddenly I had imaginins of that Under-bra fellow blotting out the entire sky. Scared the dickens outta me! Caused me to sneeze, alerting the noble gal of my doings. Hadta drop what I was doing, and run away lickety split! And now, here’s where it got really weird. As I was runnin’ away right quick, I sneezed again, and when I opened up my eyes, I was somewhere else! And by somewhere else, I mean that I wasn’t where I just wuz!
So now tell me, Preacher Man, you got anything in that book of yours that can tell me what’s happening to me? What’s causing these ‘mares?”
And with that, Freya sneezes again, and instantly disappears. Only to reappear in some other plane of existence, lost, dazed, and confused.
PROLOGUE SEVEN - TORA
"Many years ago there was a couple, blended into the darkness of humanity. They lived their life like any other, uniformed and filled with greed. However, others had what they soon discovered they could not acquire. A child.
Humans did what humans always do. Lie. Spread rumors. Judge. And it all became too much for the couple. Driven by regret, sadness, and self pride, they turned to alternate means. Darker means.
Days were spent on research. Nights were spent on testing. Until one night, a night of a full blood moon, they did it. They contacted a devil by the name of Jaoth. A dark and powerful being who granted them a child, but in return requested their souls. He toyed with them before their eyes before replacing them in their bodies. He lay a curse upon the family that could not be healed and the deal was done, their human souls collected and replaced by those more sinister.
For a while, all was right in the world. The woman became pregnant with a child soon after and the people saw it as a gift from God. But it was anything but that.
Soon the couple began noticing changes to themselves. People started going missing. They became beastlike. Until one night the beast took over. A man was murdered. That was the end to their happy life.
Driven out by those they wished to impress. Scorned for their dealings with the devil. Fleeing from their crimes. The couple retreated into the woods.
The woods offered sanctuary. A home for their soon born child. A place to shield her from the darkness of the world. And, when she was old enough, they would leave. Allow her to live a normal untainted life away from the darkness and despair that was society.
However, when the young girl was born, she was different. By the light of the full moon, the woman gave birth to a cub. The couple was stricken in grief. Furious at the betrayal. But they loved her nonetheless.
As she ages, her body changed, taking the form she was meant to have. A small ginger girl, cheeks freckled lightly. A strong soul. But one tarnished by the beast."
PROLOGUE EIGHT - VILLANELLE
"Once upon a time, the Dawnhammers were a necessity. Gloam was at war with the Dwarves and Elves who encroached on us, so the templars were needed for the Black Crusades. Whether the templars truly were anointed or not is beyond me, but they got the job done. The Elves and Dwarves don't exist anymore, the Black Crusades saw to that. But then a new darkness appeared and the Dawnhammers tried to fight it. Most of them were slaughtered and shortly afterwards, the Crown completely disbanded the order. Some Dawnhammers still kept up the fight though. They swore an oath to protect Gloam and they'd keep it until death. Some call that honorable. Me? I call it stupid."
A small boat rows out to the middle of a lake with two passengers, a young woman with silver hair whose wearing red and black armor. On the shoulder of the armor is a sigil that appears to be scratched out, but not enough. The other passenger is a peasant male who's been gagged and bound. "You're right, I was one of the Dawnhammers, when the order was alive. I killed plenty during the Black Crusades and swore the same oath everyone else did. But the cause is dead. The Dawnhammers are all but extinct and there's no reason for me to die with a few fools who couldn't see the way the tide was turning. That's why I came to this town. To get away from their affairs and live in peace. And you would have lived in peace too, if you didn't ask me so many questions about this little symbol on my armor."
The woman picks up the man, who desperately tries to break out of his bonds while screaming into the gag, pleading for her not to do this. She stops for a moment and the man for a second thinks that she's going to spare his life, before she pulls out a dagger and slits his throat. "It's a quicker death than drowning. This is the only mercy I will show you." She tosses his corpse into the water and rows back to shore.
PROLOGUE NINE - FATHER
When I was young, I was told I lacked empathy. I didn't understand it at first, but then, when I grew older, I couldn't help but agree with them. It dawned on me; I had no emotional bonds with my abusive parents, nor my bothersome siblings. I could care less of what they felt when I pushed them into the mud, hit them for taking my favorite toy, threatened them with a knife at their throat when they bothered me. The only thing I felt during those moments were pure unaltered bliss.
I felt powerful. It felt right.
I was also very much fascinated by death when I was a child, so much so that I enjoyed killing innocent creatures around my dilapidated household. My first kill was my neighbors cat, Jeffery, then a stray dog that I personally named Hamilton. To see them struggle as I cut off their airways bought me joy, seeing them breathe their last breath of life brought me a pleasure that nothing else could provide me. Their bodies were easy to hide, and soon I would have a menagerie of buried animal bodies near my house. But I couldn't just stop at animals, and I knew who was going to be my first target.
Abigail was so beautiful. She was sought after by so many men in town, but none of them had charmed her like I had. I made her feel something for me, but the feeling wasn't at all mutual, yet my performance was wondrous. It was so easy to end her life when she was underneath me. Truthfully, I found that she looked much better when she was a corpse.
After that first kill, however, I had dreams, visions of a dark, writhing mass with countless eyes and tentacles slowly making its way towards me. With every murder I committed, it would get closer, until finally, it reached me with one of its longs tendrils, and offered me the one thing I wanted most in life.
Power.
Worship me, feed me, and obtain power beyond what you had ever imagined, child.
Who was I to deny him?
WITHIN THE BLACKEST OF BLACK
THERE SHINES IT'S MIGHTY MARK
BEHOLD IT AND ITS WONDERS
THE MASTER OF THE DARK
If the stars were maps of history, then it's heart would have been their maker. If there were a way to look within the earliest light still travelling upon the edges of this universe, then it's face would be the subject there discovered. Bittersweet were the eons of it's early life.
THE FIRST MEMORY
In it's first memory, it was but an idea - a germ of thought travelling the endless roads of realms intangible and unspeakable where both colossal and minuscule entities roamed without substantial shape or purpose; the only purpose, if even at all, was to everlastingly be. The sizes of things varied, but not by any visible measurements; the hierarchy of existence was a computation of reason within the boundaries and scope of will - what made more decision, if any, and what acted effectively on those decisions.
It was more of a virus, but unlike a virus that would destroy its host, it sought to change it with the incredible power of suggestion. It sought to inhabit an entity worthy of the resources it required so that it might release what it held: innovation. It was the First Innovation - a robust malfunction floating in a chaotic system of purposelessness, with a purpose that before it did not exist. When it latched upon the entity capable of receiving it's inspiring toxins - an indiscernible mountain of being - the innovation ingrained within it came to life and set in motion an awful and instantaneous effect: the creation of physicality.
THE SECOND MEMORY
In it's second memory, it was expelled from it's reality and thrust into form in our own as a creature of limbs. It lay upon a cold, rocky ground while shivers ran through it's body, inflicting sharp discomforts. Thick air entered it, drawing in unsettling temperatures and fumes, and exited it, ejecting mucus-filled rasps. Devoured by an emotion unknown to it, which was fear, it convulsed heavily, flopping it's limbs about as if it were a doll. The edges of rock beneath me cut into it's flesh as it writhed.
By the will of that entity enlivened with it's innovation, all things changed, for there could not exist two opposing planes between a single set of life. Life had to sway one way or the other, and because of it's influence, it chose to manifest in shape and in sight and in touch.
THE THIRD MEMORY
In it's third memory, it witnessed the emergence of all other physical beings and life forms and they birthed and sprouted with the distant translation of information between beyond the infinity and the physical realm. Fiends of land and sky began to wander and growths of vegetation began to loom. It was both terrible and beautiful all at once.
THE FOURTH MEMORY
In it's fourth memory, it recalled what it was - a vessel of catastrophic, universe-altering influence and manipulation. It's fear turned to revel as it remembered the triumphant success of it's role, although many memories slipped away from it though the limiting and incompatible architecture of it's new infinity.
- Excerpt from "Beyond The Grip of Time", an ancient text of Umbra, told by the Herald.