Faulmoor Locations Faulmoor is a land steeped in sorrow, where the weight of the Rotmire Blight presses against the hearts of its people as surely as the thick fog that clings to its marshes. The air is heavy with decay, carrying the scent of damp earth, stagnant water, and something far fouler—the distant, cloying rot of the dead. In the second year of the Blight, the land is neither fully consumed nor truly untouched, existing in a purgatory of slow decline. The deeper reaches of the swamps pulse with the foul sickness, and abandoned hamlets sag beneath the weight of creeping mold and deathless hunger. But Faulmoor is not yet lost—its roads are still traveled, its villages still cling to life, and its people still fight for whatever scraps remain. Valkenheim Steel and Sacrifice Valkenheim is a golden lantern in the dark, its light a promise against the creeping night. It stands tall, unwavering, a symbol of warmth and safety for those who call it home. Yet, even the brightest lantern must be tended, its flame carefully shielded, lest the winds of despair snuff it out and leave us all to the shadows. - Lord Ivor Valkenmar Valkenheim, the capital of Faulmoor , stands as a beacon of false hope amid the chaos of the Rotmire Blight . Unlike much of the kingdom, the city is blessed with a more temperate climate, where the sun regularly shines upon its stone streets and well-kept gardens. From a distance, it appears almost idyllic, a place of serenity untouched by the creeping decay that threatens the land. Yet, beneath its polished veneer lies a carefully maintained illusion, masking the deep-rooted fear and iron grip of House Valkenmar . At the heart of Valkenheim is the Blackspire , an imposing fortress that dominates the skyline with its high walls and blackened towers.  It was once a symbol of strength and governance, but now it serves as the secluded bastion of Baron Malric Valkenmar , who has grown increasingly detached from his people. Overcome with grief from the loss of his family to the Blight, he has turned inward, obsessing over containment and a cure, isolating himself from all but his most trusted retainers. The fortress is heavily fortified, its exterior stark and unwelcoming, a stark contrast to the city’s bright and lively facade. Despite the Baron’s descent into paranoia, his younger brother, Ivor Valkenmar , has taken on the role of a reluctant steward, working tirelessly to maintain order and alleviate the fears of the people. He ensures that life within the city walls remains as normal as possible, keeping markets open, overseeing festivities, and promoting a sense of community. Under his careful guidance, Valkenheim retains a sense of peace, and its people continue to go about their daily lives as if the horrors beyond their walls do not exist. The city’s well-maintained streets, bustling marketplaces, and flourishing gardens serve as a stark contrast to the brutal and heavily fortified defenses surrounding it. Gaining entry into Valkenheim is near impossible for most. The towering gates are shut to outsiders, and the walls are patrolled day and night by the city’s hardened enforcers. Identification papers are required to pass through the gates, and even then, only those deemed essential—official envoys, select merchants, and high-ranking individuals—are granted access. Refugees, wanderers, and those fleeing the horrors of the Blight are turned away without question, left to fend for themselves beyond the fortified walls. Yet, as with all things, there are always ways for the determined or the wealthy. Bribing the right officials or gaining favor with one of the influential figures in Valkenheim can open doors that would otherwise remain closed. Smugglers operating through the Duskwater Canal have been known to ferry in those willing to pay the exorbitant price, and secret tunnels—though perilous and ever-changing—whisper of hidden paths into the city. For those with enough coin or cunning, the impenetrable walls of Valkenheim are not as absolute as they seem. Beyond the city’s walls, however, the reality of  Faulmoor ’s plight is inescapable. Towers loom over reinforced gates, ballistae and barricades stand ready, and any who dare approach uninvited are met with cold steel. Duskwater Canal , which once served as a vital trade route, now serves as a silent reminder of the city’s desperation—its dark waters carrying away the bodies of the infected, ensuring that the city’s pristine illusion is not disturbed by the truth of what lies beyond. Soldiers patrol the perimeter tirelessly, their presence a necessity to keep the horrors of the Blight at bay. Valkenheim’s people live within this delicate balance of beauty and brutality. While the city itself provides comfort and safety, the knowledge of what lurks beyond its walls casts a long shadow. The Gilded Exchange thrives, offering silver, food, and medicine, but behind closed doors, smugglers and dissidents work to undermine the Baron’s control. The Silverclad Spire , once a cathedral of faith, now serves as a research center where alchemists and scholars secretly conduct their experiments in pursuit of a cure. The city’s peace is a carefully orchestrated performance, and while Ivor Valkenmar does his best to maintain the illusion, the cracks in the facade are beginning to show. Detailed Overview Attribute Details Region Faulmoor Ruling House House Valkenmar Population (Before Blight) 25,000 (Estimated) Population (After Blight) 10,000 (Estimated) (Under strict lockdown) Major Industries Governance, Military Command, Research Primary Exports Weapons, Armor, Relics (Restricted) Current Ruler Baron Valkenmar Government Type Feudal Rule under Baron Valkenmar Defenses Fortified walls, elite guard, magical wards Notable Features Seat of power, quarantined research Status Under military lockdown, extreme quarantine measures Notable Locations The Blackspire The seat of House Valkenmar and the city’s most imposing structure. Blackspire looms over Valkenheim, its towering black walls a stark reminder of the Baron’s iron rule. Within its cold halls, alchemists toil over forbidden experiments, while Malric Valkenmar broods over the future of his crumbling domain. The Gilded Exchange Once a thriving market, now a tightly controlled hub of commerce where silver, medicine, and food dictate survival. Merchants trade under the watchful eyes of House Valkenmar’s enforcers, and beneath the surface, smugglers barter with those willing to risk the Baron’s wrath. The Silverclad Spire A towering cathedral-turned-research facility. Once devoted to faith, it now serves as a place of desperate experimentation, where alchemists and scholars test dubious treatments for the Blight. The faithful still gather in its upper chambers, praying for salvation while dark dealings take place below. Duskwater Canal A winding waterway that snakes through the city, its dark waters carrying away the bodies of the infected. Once a symbol of trade and prosperity, it is now a grim reminder of the city's struggle against the Blight. It is said that those who fall into its depths do not always stay dead. The Sunveil Gardens A breathtaking display of greenery and flowers that flourish despite the turmoil. Maintained by Ivor Valkenmar as a place of respite, the gardens are a symbol of hope for the people, but also a carefully constructed illusion to distract from the city’s harsher realities. The Ironveil Barracks Home to Valkenheim’s elite enforcers, these barracks house the brutal warriors who maintain order. Clad in dark steel and trained to act without hesitation, they are both the city’s protectors and its oppressors. The Widow’s Walk A high balcony overlooking the Duskwater Canal, where executions are carried out. Those deemed enemies of House Valkenmar or carriers of the Blight are thrown from its heights into the dark waters below, their fate sealed by the city’s silent judgment. Notable Establishments The Golden Hearth A lavish inn catering to nobles, merchants, and the city’s elite. Its fine cuisine, luxurious decor, and warm atmosphere make it a sought-after refuge from the troubles of Valkenheim—though only those with influence or wealth can afford its comforts. The Black Flagon A rowdy tavern known for its strong spirits and even stronger tempers. Frequented by mercenaries, traders, and those seeking work, it is a place where deals are struck, alliances formed, and brawls break out nightly. The Hollow Quill A quiet, dimly lit bookshop where scholars, scribes, and those with an interest in forbidden knowledge gather. Rumors persist that certain texts hidden within its shelves contain knowledge of the Blight’s origins and the means to fight it. The Silver Vein A gambling hall and den of illicit pleasures, where fortunes are won and lost in the blink of an eye. House Harrowden’s influence runs deep here, and those who cross the wrong people often disappear without a trace. Vexenford Steel and Suffering I came here hoping for safety, but all I found was more death. The enforcers don’t see us as people—just a burden. They say Ebonmoor is safe, but none of us will ever get past that cursed gate. I’ve seen mothers beg to be let through, only to watch their children cut down for fear of the Blight. If this is survival, I don’t want it. Vexenford, once a prosperous trade hub in Faulmoor , now stands as a grim stronghold of House Valkenmar . Straddling the banks of the Blackflow River, it serves as the last fortified checkpoint before reaching the bridge to Ebonmoor . Before the Rotmire Blight , its streets were filled with merchants, artisans, and travelers who brought wealth and vibrancy to the city. Now, it is a place of suspicion, suffering, and iron-fisted rule, where the ever-present banners of House Valkenmar hang from its battlements, a constant reminder of the unyielding authority that governs within. A thick stone wall, reinforced with iron-plated gates and sharpened wooden spikes, surrounds Vexenford, ensuring that only those permitted by the enforcers may enter or leave. The city’s once-thriving population has dwindled, many having fled or succumbed to the Blight, leaving behind a broken remnant of what was once a bustling center of commerce. Now, the people live under the watchful eyes of Valkenmar’s enforcers, who patrol in squads, searching for signs of infection and executing those who show even the faintest symptoms of the disease. Families are torn apart by paranoia, many too afraid to shelter their own kin for fear of being condemned themselves. The wealthy have retreated into the inner districts, fortified and protected, while the poor and desperate linger in the outer rings, caught between starvation and the ever-present threat of execution. At the heart of the city stands the Iron Gate , the only land route to Ebonmoor , where soldiers scrutinize every cart and traveler before allowing passage. To control the flow of goods and people, the Blackflow Docks are under strict military watch, with only approved shipments bound for Valkenheim permitted through. Those who attempt to bypass these restrictions risk a swift and merciless response. The city’s gallows square is rarely empty, a place where public executions serve as a warning to all who would defy the law. Nearby, the Rot Ward stands as a prison for those suspected of infection, a walled-off district where the condemned await either death or exile. Rumors of inhumane experimentation by the Baron’s alchemists persist, but officials vehemently deny such claims, dismissing them as fearmongering and propaganda. Despite the suffocating grip of House Valkenmar , illicit activity thrives in the shadows. Smugglers and black marketeers operate beneath the city’s surface, bribing guards and forging papers to move people and goods past the enforcers. The Hollow Crown , a decrepit tavern on the outskirts, serves as a meeting place for mercenaries, refugees, and those willing to take on dangerous jobs. Those with coin and courage might find passage into Ebonmoor , but whether they make it past the watchful eyes of the Iron Gate is another matter entirely. Among the desperate masses huddled at the outskirts of the city are the refugees from quarantined villages, many of whom have traveled great distances in the false hope of finding safety in Ebonmoor . They are met with rejection, or worse, the swords of the enforcers who see them as nothing more than a liability. Within the city, rumors of a secret cult have begun to circulate, whispered in hushed tones by those who claim to have seen evidence of their work. The so-called Rotmire Cult is suspected of engaging in dark rituals, believing the Blight to be a divine reckoning. While no direct evidence has surfaced, investigators have discovered grisly remains and signs of sabotage in abandoned quarters of the city, fueling fear and paranoia. The enforcers have launched an inquiry, seeking to uncover the truth behind these unsettling findings, but many believe that the cult, if real, has already rooted itself deep within Vexenford’s underbelly. At the core of Vexenford’s suffering is the Valkenmar Bastion , the seat of the city’s ruling power. From within its cold stone walls, House Valkenmar ’s appointed commander governs with ruthless efficiency, ensuring that the Baron’s orders are carried out to the letter. In this city, mercy is a rare commodity, and those who step out of line rarely get a second chance. " Steel and Sacrifice " define the way of life in Vexenford, where the strong rule, the weak perish, and the fearful pray that the Rotmire Blight does not claim them next. Detailed Overview Attribute Details Region Faulmoor Ruling House House Valkenmar Population (Before Blight) 12,000 (Estimated) Population (After Blight) 4,500 (Estimated) (Under strict quarantine) Major Industries Trade, Military Supply, Smuggling Primary Exports Silver (when available), Weapons, Rations, Contraband Current Ruler Appointed Governor Government Type Military Governor under House Valkenmar Defenses Heavily fortified bridge, reinforced gates, stationed soldiers Notable Features Only land route to Ebonmoor, key smuggling hub, strong military presence Status Under military rule, restricted movement, heavily monitored Notable Establishments The Hollow Crown A decrepit tavern on the outskirts, The Hollow Crown is a gathering place for mercenaries, smugglers, and those looking for a way out of Vexenford. The owner, Olric Fenn, a grizzled veteran with a knack for knowing more than he lets on, runs the establishment with a firm hand. While the ale is watered down and the rooms damp, it remains one of the few places where desperate souls can make the connections they need to survive. Blackflow Market Once a bustling center of trade, Blackflow Market has decayed into a black-market haven. Stalls once filled with exotic spices and fine wares now deal in contraband—medicine, weapons, stolen goods, and forged passage papers to Ebonmoor. While technically illegal, many enforcers turn a blind eye in exchange for coin, making it a thriving, albeit dangerous, hub for those willing to take risks. The Gallows Square The Gallows Square is more than just a site for executions; it is a grim social space where public punishments serve as a warning to all. The scent of death lingers in the air, and condemned criminals—whether smugglers, dissenters, or suspected plague-bearers—are often left hanging for days. The whispers of the desperate merge with the howling wind, carrying stories of betrayals and failed attempts to escape the iron rule of Valkenmar. The Rusted Chain Beneath a nondescript smithy lies The Rusted Chain, an underground fighting pit where the desperate and the cruel wager lives and coin. Blood spills nightly in brutal contests, and whispers suggest that some who fight here too often either disappear or are later found among the doomed in the Rot Ward. The enforcers tolerate its existence, perhaps even partake in the bloodsport themselves, so long as the pit masters know their place. The Rot Ward The Rot Ward is a grim and walled-off district, its towering barricades cutting it off from the rest of the city like a festering wound. It serves as both a prison and a quarantine zone for those suspected of carrying the Blight, though many believe its true purpose is far darker. Officially, it is described as a necessary precaution to contain the infected, yet countless whispers claim to have seen healthy men and women dragged through its gates, never to return. The air reeks of decay, and at night, distant screams echo through the streets, only to be silenced moments later. Those who peer too closely into the Ward’s dealings risk vanishing themselves, making it a place of dread even among the hardened souls of Vexenford. The Iron Gate Checkpoint The Iron Gate Checkpoint stands as the last lawful passage into Ebonmoor, an unyielding bastion of stone and steel, reinforced with layered defenses and vigilant enforcers. Every traveler is subjected to intense scrutiny, their belongings rifled through, their bodies inspected for the telltale signs of the Blight. A single blemish, a moment’s hesitation, can mean immediate execution or exile. The air is thick with tension, as even the most innocent fear that a wrong word could condemn them. Bribes are almost unheard of here; the guards are chosen for their unwavering loyalty, their training strict and their discipline absolute. Those who dream of fleeing into Ebonmoor must either risk the treacherous waters of the Greymere or find another way past this impenetrable fortress, for the Iron Gate is not merely a checkpoint—it is a final judgment. Greymire The Smuggler’s Haven In Greymire, you can buy anything—stolen grain, a name that ain’t yours, a dagger meant for a friend’s back. Gold still changes hands, but silver? Silver’s worth more than life. You don’t spend it here, you guard it, ‘cause the moment someone sees silver in your purse, they’ll gut you just to melt it down for a blade. Before the Blight cast its shadow over Faulmoor , Greymire was a bustling coastal town renowned for its vibrant shipping industry and strategic maritime significance. Nestled along the jagged coastline, the town's docks were alive with activity as merchant vessels from distant lands anchored to trade goods, culture, and news. The air was filled with the mingling scents of fresh sea breeze and exotic spices, while the streets echoed with the harmonious blend of diverse languages and lively commerce. The town's architecture reflected its prosperity: well-maintained stone buildings lined the cobbled streets, and the harbor was fortified with sturdy piers and warehouses. Local businesses thrived, from shipwrights and fishmongers to artisans crafting wares for both locals and travelers. Greymire's markets were famous for offering a plethora of goods, including fine textiles, rare spices, and handcrafted jewelry. The town was not only a hub of economic activity but also a cultural melting pot, where festivals and maritime celebrations drew visitors from across the region. However, the onset of the Blight brought profound and devastating changes. As the disease spread, fear and paranoia gripped the land. Trade routes were disrupted, and the once-thriving docks saw a sharp decline in legitimate commerce. The Baron’s quarantine edicts aimed at containing the Blight led to increased restrictions and isolation of affected areas. Greymire, though outside the official quarantine zones, found itself teetering on the edge of economic collapse. In this vacuum, opportunism flourished. The town's strategic location and intricate knowledge of hidden coves made it an ideal haven for smugglers and black-market traders. The once-respectable shipping town transformed into a lawless enclave where the exchange of contraband became the norm. Salt-stained ships began arriving under the cover of darkness, unloading illicit cargoes such as contraband silver from Fenmire , alchemical elixirs falsely promising protection from the Blight, and relics scavenged from the ruins of quarantined towns. The docks, once a symbol of legitimate trade, now served as the epicenter of clandestine operations. The town's leadership became fragmented, with loyalties shifting between influential houses such as  Wilthorne and Harrowden , and occasional feigned obedience to House Valkenmar when their presence loomed. The once-celebrated festivals were replaced by secretive gatherings, and the open markets gave way to the Bone Ledger, Greymire’s shadow market where anything could be bought—for a price. Despite the chaos, a semblance of order emerged through groups like the Tideborn, a fledgling smuggling guild striving to establish dominance in the now lawless town. Greymire's transformation from a respectable shipping hub to a smuggling center exemplifies the town's resilience and adaptability in the face of adversity. It stands as a testament to how desperation and opportunism can reshape a community, turning it into a place where survival hinges on secrecy, deception, and the relentless pursuit of profit. Detailed Overview Attribute Details Region Faulmoor Ruling House(s) Nominally Valkenmar, but shifts between Wilthorne and Harrowden Population (Before Blight) 9,000 (Estimated) Population (After Blight) 5,500 (Estimated) (Many unregistered smugglers and drifters) Major Industries Smuggling, Black Market Trade, Fishing, Refugee Transport Primary Exports Contraband Silver, Stolen Goods, Illicit Alchemical Goods, Hidden Relics Current Leadership Various shifting leaders; no centralized authority Government Type Loose Anarchy; rule by profit and survival Defenses Hidden coves, armed smugglers, shifting alliances Notable Features A hub for illegal trade, home to the Tideborn smuggling guild, rumored to harbor the undead Status Lawless, unregulated, thriving on secrecy and deception The Tideborn The Tideborn is a fledgling smuggling guild struggling to establish dominance in Greymire. Unlike the entrenched and well-funded operations in Ebonmoor and Fenmire , the Tideborn is a loose collection of sailors, outcasts, and opportunists trying to carve out a space in the town’s underworld. Their influence is tenuous, their resources limited, and they are constantly forced to adapt to the shifting allegiances of Greymire’s ruling factions. The group primarily deals in stolen goods, illicit shipments of silver, and ferrying desperate refugees away from Faulmoor ’s cursed shores, though they often find themselves outmaneuvered by larger and more ruthless operations. The guild is led by a self-proclaimed Captain Veylan Dorne , a former privateer turned smuggler, whose leadership is constantly tested by both internal strife and external pressure from rival smugglers. The Tideborn lack the iron grip of more powerful guilds, and their members live precariously, always watching for betrayals or hostile takeovers. Despite this, their daring raids and whispered secrets have earned them a place in Greymire’s underbelly, if only just. Whether they rise to power or are snuffed out by stronger forces remains to be seen. Notable Establishments The Rusted Keel – Tavern & Smuggler’s Haven A decaying two-story tavern overlooking the docks, The Rusted Keel is as much a market for illicit deals as it is a place for drinking. Its warped wooden floors are permanently damp with seawater and spilled ale, and the low ceiling, thick with smoke, gives it a claustrophobic air. The tavern is owned by Murdren Varlo , a former corsair turned dockmaster, who allows transactions to occur under his roof so long as he gets a cut. It’s a common meeting place for smugglers, mercenaries, and those looking to offload contraband goods without attracting too much attention . Deals are often sealed over cups of spiced rum, and those who can’t pay their debts tend to vanish into the Greymere Sea before dawn . The Bone Ledger – Greymire’s Shadow Market Tucked behind a collapsing warehouse in the Saltmarked Quarter, The Bone Ledger is the beating heart of Greymire’s black market . It isn’t a single shop, but rather a network of sellers, fences, and information brokers , all operating under the eye of Garrik "Blackthumb" Stowe , a man with burned hands and a reputation for making debts disappear—along with those who refuse to pay them. Anything can be bought or sold here, except silver , which is always melted down immediately upon arrival. Need a forged seal, a rare alchemical tincture, or a smuggler to get you out of Faulmoor? The Bone Ledger will provide— for a steep price . Oldfen The Walled Grave Steel and sacrifice—this is the way of Valkenmar. And today, you will give what must be given. These walls are not built in cruelty, but in necessity. They do not rise to punish, but to protect. If you suffer within them, know that your pain buys the lives of countless others. You were once men and women, but the Blight has taken that from you. Now, you are only the sickness, the rot, the slow march of death. And death cannot be granted mercy. Death does not deserve freedom. - Baron Malric Valkenmar During the first year of the  Rotmire Blight , the desperate rulers of Faulmoor attempted to contain the outbreak in Oldfen by constructing a wooden wall, encircling the entire town in a cruel perimeter. The walls were meant to keep the infection from spreading beyond Oldfen’s borders—but in reality, they became a prison of suffering and death. The remnants of these rotting wooden barricades still stand in places, their timbers warped by time and decay. They bear the scars of claw marks, bloodstains, and the deep grooves of desperate hands trying to climb or tear their way out. In some places, skeletal remains still hang from the spikes, grim reminders of those who made it to the top but not beyond. Soldiers were stationed at these walls, ordered to kill any who tried to escape—whether infected or not. Some of these men and women remain to this day, twisted remnants of the past, either as shattered survivors who lost their minds, or as undead horrors cursed to wander their old posts. It is said that at night, one can still hear the echoes of old commands, the clash of steel, and the cries of the desperate. Beyond the walls, unmarked burial pits stretch into the nearby wilderness—places where soldiers once dumped the dead to prevent further spread. These places are unnaturally silent, as if the land itself remembers the suffering. Despite its ruin, Oldfen is said to hold secrets beneath its decayed streets. Rumors persist that before the Blight, the town’s wealthier merchants and noble families hid their treasures away, burying gold, heirlooms, and valuables in concealed vaults and forgotten cellars. Desperate scavengers and daring smugglers risk the horrors of Oldfen to search for these lost riches, believing that wealth still lingers beneath the rot. Some claim to have found untouched caches of silver and relics , while others vanish without a trace, their fates unknown. It is whispered that the dead guard these treasures, drawn not only by the hunger of the Blight but by the lingering greed of their past lives. The town, once a place of trade and prosperity, has become a gambler’s folly—a place where fortune and death walk hand in hand. Oldfen is more than just a town ravaged by the Blight—it is a monument to a terrible mistake, a place where mercy was abandoned in the name of containment. Now, the dead rule the streets, the ghosts of the fallen linger, and the few who venture within rarely return. Detailed Overview Attribute Details Region Faulmoor Ruling House House Valkenmar Population (Before Blight) 6,000 (Estimated) Population (After Blight) Unknown (Undead infestation) Major Industries Former Farming, Now Overrun Primary Exports None Current Ruler None (Undead control) Government Type None Defenses None (Undead roam freely) Notable Features Rotmire Blight epicenter Status Overrun, hazardous Ashenmoor The Half-Built Bastion Ashenmoor is already lost—they simply refuse to see it. They are not survivors; they are the dying, clinging to the illusion of life. To send men to them is not a rescue, it is an invitation to join them in their slow death. The Blight takes all in time, and I will not squander good steel and strong bodies for those too stubborn to accept their fate. - Baron Malric Valkenmar Unlike  Oldfen , which was completely sealed off in its final days, Ashenmoor's wooden wall was never finished. At the height of the Blight, construction was abandoned as the town was overrun, leaving gaps and breaches where the dead poured in. Many fled, but those who remained fought, endured, and survived—even as the world outside marked them for death. Over time, the surviving townsfolk reclaimed portions of the wall, reinforcing what they could with scavenged materials—wagon parts, sharpened stakes, and scavenged metal plating. What was once meant to keep them inside is now their best defense against the horrors beyond. The gates of Ashenmoor, now called the Gate of Bones , have been reinforced with the remains of fallen undead, twisted branches, and rusted weapons. It stands as both a barricade and a grim warning to anything that approaches. The side of town where the wall was never completed, known as the  Shattered Quarter , has been turned into a desperate, uneven bulwark, where buildings themselves have become barriers, their doors and windows nailed shut in a last effort to keep the dead out. Along the perimeter, pyres burn constantly, not only for light but to destroy any undead that wander too close. The survivors have become adept at using oil and fire to hold back attacks. Life in Ashenmoor is harsh, paranoid, and unrelenting. Every day, scavengers venture beyond the walls for food, supplies, and medicine—knowing they might not return. Every night, the town prepares for the next attack, as the restless dead from Oldfen still roam the land, drawn by sound, fire, and the scent of the living. Those who can fight do so, forming small hunter teams that track and thin out the undead to prevent the town from being overrun. Some have developed techniques for luring the dead into traps or leading them away, though such tactics are as dangerous as they are necessary. Among the town’s people, there are those who have lost too much to grief or fear, wandering the streets like ghosts, neither fully alive nor willing to give in to death. These individuals, known as the Hollowed Men , are whispered about in fear, for their hopelessness is contagious, and some claim they are simply waiting for the inevitable end. Even more disturbing are the rumors of a voice that calls from beyond the walls, one that mimics the voices of lost loved ones. Some claim it is a trick played by the wind, others believe it to be something far worse. Regardless of the truth, those who follow the voice never return. Ashenmoor is more than a struggling settlement; it is a place where the living are trapped between death and survival, where each dawn is a victory and each dusk a renewed battle. Its people fight on, not because they believe they will win, but because there is nothing else left. Detailed Overview Attribute Details Region Faulmoor Ruling House House Valkenmar Population (Before Blight) 5,500 (Estimated) Population (After Blight) 500 (Estimated) (Survivors struggling) Major Industries Survival, Hunting, Small Trade Primary Exports Minimal (Survival-based economy) Current Ruler Self-governed by survivors Government Type Self-Governed Defenses Improvised wooden walls, traps Notable Features Incomplete quarantine wall, undead presence Status Barely holding on, survivors struggling Blackholt Fort A Crumbling Sanctuary As long as I draw breath, Blackholt will not close its gates to those in need. Faulmoor's people are not just subjects to be ruled, but lives to be protected. If the Blight has taken their homes, if the nobles have turned their backs, then let them come here. It is my sacred duty to give them refuge, no matter the cost. —  Commander Aeylan Vayne Blackholt Fort, the largest and most strategically vital stronghold in  Faulmoor , was originally built to maintain military control over the routes to Fenmire and Ebonmoor. Its towering stone walls, watchtowers, and battlements once housed one of the region’s strongest garrisons, ensuring House Valkenmar ’s dominance. However, the spread of the Rotmire Blight has forced the fort to become more than just a military bastion—it has become a desperate sanctuary for refugees. As thousands sought shelter within its walls, the fort’s barracks, armories, and supply halls were hastily converted into overcrowded living spaces. With more displaced people arriving daily, soldiers were forced to tear down old structures to house the sick and starving, but space remained scarce. Diseases spread rapidly, food rations dwindled, and tensions between the military and civilians escalated into frequent clashes. The once-orderly fort now teeters on the brink of chaos, its courtyards filled with makeshift tents, broken supply crates, and the muffled cries of the suffering. Despite its struggles, Blackholt remains loyal to House Valkenmar , at least in name. The fort’s commander, a seasoned officer known for his restraint and compassion, upholds his duty but quietly refuses the Baron’s more extreme and brutal orders. Though still a critical military stronghold, the garrison has been greatly weakened by both battle and illness, and many soldiers have been reassigned to maintain order within the overcrowded quarters. Those stationed here remain loyal to Valkenmar, but the commander has begun sheltering people who would otherwise be executed under strict quarantine laws. Some whisper that this act of defiance is not out of mere sympathy, but a calculated choice—the commander knows that should Valkenmar’s rule collapse, he may need allies among the refugees to ensure Blackholt’s survival. With space above ground running out, many refugees were forced to move into Blackholt’s lower levels—an expansive underground storage area meant for supplies and emergency shelter. These subterranean halls were once a vital resource depot, housing weapons, rations, and medical goods, while also concealing escape tunnels that led deep into an extensive natural cavern system. The tunnels, some carved by hand and others remnants of an ancient, forgotten network, were once used by smugglers long before Valkenmar seized control of Faulmoor . There are rumors that some of these passages lead to ruins that predate even the old empire, and that things best left undisturbed may still dwell in the darkness. At first, these underground vaults seemed like salvation, providing ample space and protection, but the close quarters and poor conditions quickly turned them into a deathtrap. The Rotmire Blight found its way below, and with no means to stop its spread, the infection tore through the underground refuge. Those who fell ill turned on the others in mindless violence, their fevered bodies warping into something inhuman before the end. Some fought to escape, clawing at the heavy doors, begging to be let out—but the fort’s leadership made a brutal decision. The tunnels were sealed, the escape routes collapsed, and thousands of pounds of supplies were abandoned behind heavy iron doors. The official story speaks of a cave-in, a structural failure that made the lower depths unsafe, butthose who helped seal the underground know the truth. Even now, soldiers patrolling the sealed corridors report faint scratching sounds from beyond the stone, whispers drifting through the cracks, and the unsettling feeling that something remains alive in the darkness below. Some claim to have heard voices, pleading in a tongue no longer spoken, or to have seen figures moving in the deep shadows where no light should reach. The bravest, or most foolish, among the refugees whisper of ways to break the seals—of hidden paths yet undiscovered, and of treasures buried beneath the fort. Now, Blackholt Fort stands at a crossroads. Though it still holds immense strategic value as the last major stronghold before the marshes, its strength is dwindling. The loss of supplies and soldiers weakens its ability to maintain control, and the growing tension between the refugees and the military threatens its stability. The fort’s commander walks a dangerous path, knowing that his quiet defiance of Valkenmar’s harsh rule may soon bring consequences. Meanwhile, beneath the stone, something waits—something that should have perished with the Blight-stricken souls trapped below. Should the underground seals ever be breached, the consequences could be catastrophic. Detailed Overview Attribute Details Region Faulmoor Ruling House House Valkenmar Population (Before Blight) 1,000 (Primarily soldiers) Population (After Blight) 2,000 (Military & refugees) Major Industries Military Operations, Refugee Management, Supply Depot Primary Exports Weaponry, Quarantine Enforcement Current Ruler Commander (More compassionate than Valkenmar's other officers) Government Type Military Rule under House Valkenmar Defenses Stone fortifications, stationed troops, underground escape tunnels (now sealed) Notable Features Largest fort in Faulmoor, strategic control over routes to Fenmire and Ebonmoor, houses overcrowded refugees, sealed underground chambers containing an outbreak Status Overcrowded, struggling with dwindling supplies, secrets beneath the fort remain unknown to most The Ash Peaks The Unclaimed Heights of Faulmoor The Ash Peaks? A land of untamed beauty and forgotten history! Every ridge hides a story, every cave whispers of something lost to time. The fools call it treacherous—I call it an open invitation. There’s glory to be found in those peaks, if one has the courage to claim it.  — Eldrin Varrow, Explorer of the Unknown Rising in jagged defiance at the heart of Faulmoor , the Ash Peaks are a rugged and inhospitable mountain range bordering the capital. While not the tallest peaks in the land, they are treacherous enough to make passage through them perilous, forcing most travelers to take longer routes around. The mountains are composed of dark, craggy rock , their slopes veined with deep fissures and shadowed gullies, carved over centuries by relentless winds and cold, biting rains. Mist clings stubbornly to the upper ridges, often rolling down into the valleys below like a slow-moving tide, swallowing entire sections of the landscape in a suffocating fog. The peaks are crowned in jagged, uneven formations, some resembling the  broken teeth of a long-dead giant , others standing tall and thin like the remains of a forgotten fortress. Cracked ravines, hidden sinkholes, and treacherous shale deposits make even the most well-planned routes unpredictable, and many who attempt to map the region find their paths shifting as if the mountains themselves are unwilling to be known. Geography & Isolation The Ash Peaks are riddled with caves and forgotten tunnels , some natural, others carved by hands long dead. Among these is the Sveerla Mines , once a thriving excavation site for valuable minerals and metals. Now, it lies abandoned, its depths flooded or collapsed, its wealth nothing but a memory. Those who venture into its ruined passages do so at great risk, for the mountain does not give up its secrets easily. At the heart of the range lies the Valley of Ash , a desolate stretch of land where the winds carry fine gray dust, coating everything in a dull, lifeless sheen. The valley is said to be the result of an ancient calamity, though no records remain of what could have caused such devastation. The soil is barren, incapable of sustaining life, and travelers who pass through speak of an unnatural silence, as if the very air holds its breath. High above the valley, jagged peaks give way to The Shattered Spires , a series of towering rock formations that rise like broken fingers grasping at the sky. Some believe they were once the foundations of an ancient stronghold, now eroded beyond recognition. The wind howls eerily through the gaps in the stone, producing a sound that some claim is the whisper of long-dead voices carried on the air. With the rise of the Rotmire Blight , desperate refugees fled into the mountains, seeking shelter from the horrors below. But the Ash Peaks are no sanctuary—the land is harsh, food is scarce, and those who call the peaks home must contend with predators, both mortal and otherwise. The Blight’s presence, if it has reached the mountains, remains unconfirmed, but if the infection festers within the peaks, no one will be there to warn the lands below . The military presence of House Valkenmar does not extend here; the mountains are lawless, claimed only by those strong enough to endure them. Rumors & Legends of the Ash Peaks The Ash Peaks are steeped in mystery, their depths harboring tales of vanished explorers, ancient tombs, and spectral horrors . Few who enter return unchanged, and those who do whisper of things best left undisturbed . The Hollow King Sleeps Among the most enduring myths of the Ash Peaks is the legend of the Hollow King , a forgotten warrior whose throne still lies hidden somewhere within the mountains. Long ago, miners in the Sveerla Mines stumbled upon an unnatural chamber—a black throne of strange metal , carved with runes no scholar could decipher. The throne was empty, but those who laid eyes upon it claimed they felt an overwhelming presence, as if something was waiting to return . Shortly after, those miners vanished, and the tunnels leading to the chamber were sealed, ensuring that none would disturb what slumbered beneath the stone. The Crown of the Hollow King (Rumored Relic) Among the myths tied to the Hollow King is the legend of his crown , said to be hidden somewhere in the Ash Peaks. Some say it was placed upon his throne to seal something inside , while others believe it is an artifact of immense power, waiting for one worthy to claim it. No one knows its true purpose, only that it was once worn by a great warrior , one whose deeds were so grand—or so terrible—that their very name was erased from history. Those who have sought the relic have either vanished or returned empty-handed, speaking only of wrong turns, dead ends, and an unnatural sense of being watched . Some say the Hollow King’s power came from the crown itself, while others claim it was merely a symbol, a mark of his legend. Whether it grants strength, wisdom, or something far darker remains unknown . Many who hear the legend dismiss it as folly, yet the whispers persist. Perhaps the crown is still buried somewhere deep beneath the mountain, untouched for centuries. Or perhaps it was never real at all, merely a tale meant to lure the desperate into the mountain’s grasp. Southvale The Town That Wealth Devoured I don’t see what all the fuss is about. We pay them, don’t we? They should be grateful to have work at all—better than rotting away in some plague-ridden gutter. Honestly, the way they whine, you’d think we weren’t the ones keeping this town alive. —  Lady Evelyne Marsten, noble resident of the Gilded Pits Southvale was once a peaceful village, nestled in an idyllic valley along the banks of a slow-moving river, its surroundings untouched by the worst of the  Rotmire Blight . Rolling green hills and ancient oak groves stretch across the landscape, and in better times, it could have been a retreat for nobles seeking respite from the burdens of courtly life. The town’s architecture reflects its humble origins—stone cottages with moss-covered roofs, wooden homes reinforced against the cold, and a modest central square with a crumbling fountain that once served as a gathering place for festivals and markets. However, when the Blight began, the wealthy flocked to Southvale, believing it to be a temporary refuge where they could ride out the crisis in comfort. What was meant to be a brief escape became permanent as the Blight spread, and soon, they seized control of the town entirely. Lavish manors, hastily constructed with imported materials, now loom over the original homes, standing in stark contrast to the village’s rustic charm. The scent of roasted meats and spiced wine drifts from their halls while the common folk ration their meals, surviving on what little they can afford. Overcrowding has turned the once-charming village into a festering den of tension, as the town was never built to accommodate such a large population. While the elite enjoy the comforts of their ill-gotten haven, the original residents are squeezed into slums on the outskirts, forced into servitude or left to scrape by in misery. To maintain their sense of security, the wealthy have erected a meager stone wall around Southvale, though it is more of a symbolic boundary than a true defense. At each checkpoint, hired guards clad in polished armor—mercenaries rather than true soldiers—inspect those who enter or leave, ensuring that no desperate refugees slip through. These private enforcers are more concerned with protecting the interests of the elite than maintaining order, often turning away those who cannot bribe their way inside. Though the Rotmire Blight is rare in Southvale, occasional reports of undead have begun to surface, their numbers small for now but enough to stir unease. The checkpoints, however, serve less to prevent the spread of the Blight and more to keep Southvale exclusive to those with means. Despite the illusion of control, Southvale teeters on the edge of collapse. The original residents, forced into servitude or driven into the slums, grow increasingly resentful of their new overlords. Some have formed mobs, rioting in the streets when their suffering reaches a breaking point. Others turn to crime, smuggling supplies and spreading whispers of rebellion. There are even rumors that the elite are hoarding silver, a precious resource known for its effectiveness against the Blight, further fueling resentment. Yet the true specter haunting the rich is the Copper Judge —a ruthless and unseen executioner who preys upon the worst among them. Those found guilty of hoarding food, evicting families, or withholding silver for their own greed are discovered lifeless, their mouths and throats stuffed with copper coins, a grim message that they have choked on their own avarice. To the rich, the Copper Judge is a monster, a murderer who must be stopped. To the poor, they are a phantom of vengeance, punishing those who exploit the town. Even Southvale’s leadership has been consumed by corruption. The town’s first mayor, who may have been complicit in the growing injustices, was murdered by the Copper Judge, his body found with copper coins jammed down his throat. His death sent a message—those who enabled the rich would be judged just as harshly. In response, the elite wasted no time installing a replacement, one who would serve their interests without question. The current mayor is little more than a puppet, a cowardly bureaucrat who bends to the will of the wealthy and turns a blind eye to their hoarding, their cruelty, and the suffering of the town’s original residents. He upholds their illusion of power, ensuring that Southvale remains a haven for the privileged while the common folk are pushed further into poverty. Behind the scenes, the mayor is more concerned with keeping the rich calm than addressing the town’s true problems . He dismisses the suffering of the people as "unfortunate but necessary," refusing to intervene as families are evicted and driven into the slums. He downplays the Copper Judge’s killings , publicly calling them the work of a madman while secretly funneling coin into private mercenary groups to hunt the vigilante down. His guards are instructed to protect the interests of the elite, not the town itself, and those who complain too loudly about the injustices in Southvale often find themselves accused of conspiring with the Copper Judge, arrested, or quietly "disappeared." While the mayor presents himself as a stabilizing force, those who look deeper will see that he is nothing more than a lackey—a man who holds no true power, but merely maintains the illusion of order while Southvale rots from within. Detailed Overview Attribute Details Region Faulmoor Ruling House None (De facto control by Lord Alistair Veyne and the elite) Population (Before Blight) ~800 (Estimated) (Small village) Population (After Blight) ~1,500 (Estimated) (Overcrowded due to wealthy refugees) Major Industries Previously farming, fishing, and small trade; now dominated by luxury goods, black market dealings, and service to the elite Primary Exports None (Once a trade stop, now mostly self-contained due to unrest and elite control) Current Ruler Lord Alistair Veyne (unofficial, but holds true power) Government Type Corrupt bureaucracy, with a bribed mayor serving the elite Defenses Modest stone wall, guarded checkpoints manned by private mercenaries , used more to keep out refugees than to protect against threats Notable Features The Gilded Pits (fortified noble estates), The Lantern’s Hollow (overcrowded common house), The Hearth & Oak Tavern (now catering only to the elite) Status Tense and on the brink of collapse , with open class division, growing unrest, and murders carried out by the Copper Judge Notable Establishments The Hearth & Oak Tavern The Hearth & Oak Tavern stands near the heart of Southvale, its timbered walls and stone foundation radiating a rustic charm that once made it a cherished gathering place for locals. A grand, ancient oak tree—once a symbol of the town’s unity—still looms beside it, though its branches now cast longer shadows than before. The massive hearth within, once a beacon of warmth and camaraderie, still burns, but its welcoming glow is now reserved for the wealthy. Plush chairs and polished tables have replaced the well-worn wooden benches of old, and the once lively atmosphere has dulled to a quieter, more refined murmur of aristocratic conversation. At first glance, the tavern still carries the illusion of warmth, but to those who knew it before, it is merely a husk of what it once was. The scent of spiced wine and roasted meats lingers in the air, but none of it reaches the lips of the common folk anymore. The cheerful bard songs that once filled the halls have been replaced with subdued string quartets playing elegant, soulless melodies to entertain noble patrons. Oswald Caskholt , the owner, remains behind the bar, polishing glasses with a forced smile, his once jovial nature dulled by the reality of catering to a clientele he neither loves nor trusts. Though he regrets what the Hearth & Oak has become, he knows that to resist the whims of the elite would be to lose everything. For those willing to pay, the Hearth & Oak offers the finest food and drink in Southvale. For those who cannot, it is a painful reminder of what has been lost. The Lantern’s Hollow Tucked near the town’s outskirts, The Lantern’s Hollow was once a simple but welcoming inn, where weary travelers could always find a warm bed and a hot meal. The iron lantern that hangs above its entrance, said to have guided lost wanderers for generations, still sways in the wind—but now, it is a light for those who have nowhere else to go. No longer an inn, the Hollow has become a common house , a desperate refuge for those displaced by the elite’s arrival. The once tidy and orderly rooms have been converted into makeshift dormitories, with thin sheets strung between beds to give the illusion of privacy. The common room, which once bustled with travelers swapping tales of the road, is now packed with displaced families, struggling workers, and those who can barely afford to eat. The air is thick with the smell of damp straw, unwashed bodies, and desperation. Yet, despite the overcrowding, there is still an air of defiance within these walls—a place where whispers of rebellion are spoken in hushed tones and where Mira Thornbrook , the innkeeper, does her best to care for those under her roof. Mira is a woman worn by hardship, her hands calloused from constant work and her eyes darkened by sleepless nights. Though exhausted, she refuses to turn away anyone in need, even as supplies dwindle and tensions rise. She has no love for the elite and is one of the few in town willing to openly speak against them. Some believe she may be involved with the Copper Judge, though whether she is an ally or merely a sympathizer remains unknown. The Lantern’s Hollow is one of the few places in Southvale where the party may find true allies —but it is also a place where fear, frustration, and desperation grow by the day. The Gilded Pits Towering over the rest of Southvale like a monument to excess, the Gilded Pits is the cruel nickname given to the walled-off cluster of lavish estates where the elite have barricaded themselves. What was once an open part of town has been sealed off by tall stone walls , reinforced with iron gates and patrolled by hired mercenaries , making it nearly impossible for anyone uninvited to enter. The irony is not lost on the common folk—while the rich see it as a fortress of safety, to those outside, it is a prison of their own greed , where the elite wall themselves off from the suffering they created. Within the Gilded Pits, lavish mansions stand in stark contrast to the decaying streets of Southvale. Fine silks and rich foods are in abundance here, hoarded away while the rest of the town starves. Private gatherings, grand feasts, and decadent parties are still held behind closed doors, with the wealthy pretending that life is as grand as it ever was, even as the world outside crumbles. Many within the Pits still cling to the delusion that the Blight will eventually pass, and that they will one day return to their old estates in the capital. In the meantime, they live in selfish indulgence, oblivious—or willfully ignorant—to the suffering beyond their walls. The de facto ruler of the Gilded Pits is Lord Alistair Veyne , an aging noble who considers himself the true authority in Southvale. Cold, cunning, and utterly indifferent to the struggles of the common folk, he ensures that his fellow nobles remain comfortable, bribing the mayor and manipulating the town’s guard to maintain his power. He dismisses rumors of silver hoarding as baseless paranoia, though it is widely suspected that the Gilded Pits holds vast stockpiles of supplies and silver —hidden away from those who need it most. Though heavily guarded, the Gilded Pits is not impenetrable. Smugglers, servants, and desperate insiders may provide ways in for those who know where to look. However, those caught trespassing face swift and brutal punishment—Lord Veyne ensures that anyone foolish enough to challenge the elite never sees the light of day again . The Harrowgate Ruins The Forgotten Past Southeast of Valkenheim , where the mountains meet the marsh, the past lies drowned beneath the mire. The gods do not speak in words, but in echoes of the past. Harrowgate is where their voices still linger, where the faithful may listen. I do not seek riches or relics—I seek understanding. If the old prayers mean anything, then I will find my answer among the ruins. —  Sister Vaelin Dorne, Pilgrim of the Old Ways The Harrowgate Ruins are an enigmatic and largely buried remnant of the past, located at the foot of the mountains, southeast of Valkenheim . Once a place of unknown significance, the ruins have long since been swallowed by the marshlands, with only a few jagged structures protruding from the mire. What little has been uncovered hints at a much larger ruin beneath the surface, its purpose long forgotten or deliberately erased. Despite its obscurity, Harrowgate has not been forgotten. To the common folk, Harrowgate is cursed ground. The marshfolk refuse to venture near it, whispering of shifting lights beneath the water, voices that do not belong, and travelers who vanish without a trace. Compasses spin wildly, torches flicker without wind, and those who spend the night near the ruins often wake with memories that are not their own. Yet, not all fear the ruins. Some believe Harrowgate to be a holy site, a place where the voices of the gods still whisper to those who listen. Pilgrims seeking divine guidance travel to Harrowgate, hoping to experience visions, revelations, or signs from the Old Ways. Whether these voices are divine, residual echoes of the past, or something else entirely remains unknown. Others, less faithful but equally determined, venture into Harrowgate for adventure and discovery. They seek to brave its dangers, map its shifting tunnels, and uncover new secrets hidden beneath the mire. Most return empty-handed and shaken. Some do not return at all. The ruins that rise above the swamp are few and fractured, little more than blackened stone, half-consumed by moss and reeds. The most notable of these is the Black Arch, a crumbling gateway untouched by decay, always cold to the touch, as if it still remembers something no living soul does. Beneath the surface, submerged tunnels and flooded chambers suggest that Harrowgate was once a fortress, a city, or something far greater before the land collapsed into the swamp. Some scholars believe the marsh itself is unnatural, formed when the ruins sank into the earth, whether by natural disaster, war, or deliberate sealing. Those who attempt to dive into the flooded passages report strange sensations—corridors that seem to shift, glimpses of shadowy figures in the water, and metal structures untouched by rust, their purpose lost to time. Though no great artifacts of power have been recovered, small relics have surfaced over the years—objects that defy time, logic, or understanding. Among these are a dagger that does not rust, despite centuries buried in the mire, and a strangely light metal plate, weightless yet impossible to dent. A sealed stone container has been found, its carvings untarnished by time, but no one has dared open it. A small orb of polished glass has been recovered, faintly humming when held, though its purpose remains unknown. A ring of interlocking metal bands has been retrieved, which moves slightly when submerged in water. Other relics include the Whispering Coin, a worn silver coin that sometimes murmurs faint voices when flipped, and the Lantern Shard, a fragment of black glass that emits a faint, cold glow in darkness. There is also the Hollow Pendant, a small locket that opens into a void larger than its size, and the Stilled Gear, an intricate clockwork mechanism that vibrates when submerged. The Echoing Clasp is a brooch that, when worn, causes the bearer to hear a distant ringing bell. None of these relics hold immense power, yet each carries a lingering mystery, suggesting that Harrowgate is not merely ruins, but something unfinished, something that still lingers. Despite its ominous reputation, Harrowgate has never been fully explored. Some believe there is a door beneath the water, sealed and waiting, its presence known only through half-mad stories and strange dreams. Some believe the ruins shift at night, reshaping themselves, their true form only visible in the thickest of fog. Some believe it is still alive in some way, not in body, but in memory, an echo of something that refuses to die. House Valkenmar denies interest in the ruins, but rumors persist that they have sent men into its depths—none have returned.