• This game has been marked for deletion.
DND 5e: Grymm's Grimoire
It's dark, this world.

Not dark like a clouded, starless night, but dark like a persistent melancholy.  The world is drab and even the well to do are dressed in threadbare. There is scant little in the way of trade and those that do have something worth trading, are often times found with their entrails spilled in a soup beneath their bloated corpses in back alleys.  If that's the flavor of the town you're in, that is.

Winters in the north are more fierce than the folk that dwell there, winter storms what can freeze the life's blood in a matter of seconds, so cold that a man breathing freezes his lungs and throat.   A piss poor way to go, if you ask me.  Winters are getting longer, too, not just in the north but that's for the northerner's to worry about

Even the goodly folk of Valldereigh can't keep the blight at bay from their forests, and it seems what they're the only folk what want to do a thing about it. Still they persist, probably the only folk left that have any type of light there, their crops ain't dying yet, and their water idn't fouled.  Keeping the darkness at bay is like trying to stop a blade wit ha wicker basket; like time, men can do little to stifle the ravages of aging, so too is this darkness.

None knows when it started happening, this darkness. It crept up on us all, slowly at first, an insidious seed what no one knew was planted, then it began to unfurl. Supposing we knew it was coming, knew what we were getting ourselves into, but it came slowly, until it crept up so close it was too late to stop it.

It's a dark world. Some say that the dead walk at night in the shadows, and some say that wraiths of men haunt the forests.  Some even say that Furies have been seen at Tamberland's crossing, near to the bridge.

Who knows, the common folk live their lives as always they have. A bit more killing, and the nobles at least have their share of goodly times, but the rest of us, we rot.





    Lately, and that's a rather recent lately than anything, the bay's been smelling a little sweeter for the brine.  At first we thought that it must be those damned Rovers, bastards bring a stench where ever they go anyway.  Probably would have killed them, if the boy hadn't seen all the dead fish in the estuary not far from here.  It wasn't just silver mackerels, or red harpies, it were sharks, dolphins, crabs, even the bottom feeders, all washed up and dead to like.

Don't know what's been happening to the sea, but it ain't like it used to be.  Seems like something's come awake under the waves, and that's saying something to the like.   I don't know what to make of it rightly, but it's left me with a chill.  Seen something slick as oil slithering in the bay, bigger than a galleon, but that's just things as they are.

Only thing me and my kin know, is we ain't wantin' to go out to sea no more.  Fishing is useless, too dangerous and too fruitless.

-Teg the Fisherman


   That's not the only thing.  There's also Drifters on the tide.  No one has seen them in a couple of hundred years, the Drifters.  They're the most deadly of any thing that's been popping up lately.  More deadly than the famine, more deadly than anything.  They say that they can take the face of a man, take the face of a man and kill when the feel it.  Dangerous business, that.