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Fenmire, the most forsaken region of Faulmoor, is a vast expanse of deep bogs, brackish fens, and mist-choked waterways stretching toward the Greymere Sea. The land is half-drowned, characterized by sinking peat, twisted mangroves, and decaying reeds, making...

By Mire and Might. Fenwatch is no jewel, no grand city of polished stone and gold. It is wood and iron, grit and toil, built by those who endure, not those who dream. The swamp rises to claim it, the Blight knocks at its gates, but we remain. We do not bow,...

A Grave of Silver You dig long enough in Thornmere, and the silver starts feeling less like fortune and more like a curse. The deeper we go, the stranger the earth becomes—veins that twist in ways they shouldn’t, tunnels that weren’t carved by our hands. So...

The Drowned Halls The Pale Ruins? A graveyard of stone and silence. People think there's treasure buried in those halls, but all I've ever found is a feeling—like something is watching, something old. The walls hum when the air is still, and the mist moves ...

A Town Swallowed by Mire and Blight We had no choice. The bridges had to burn, lest the Blight cross with them. I tell myself this, over and over, yet still, I see their faces in the flames. And if faced with the choice again, I would set them alight withou...

The Last Haven of the Lost The world out there is dying, but not here. Not in Bogsend. We are not the lost—we are the ones who endure, the ones who build while others crumble. Let the Blight take its cities, let the lords war over their ruins. We have carve...

Where Loyalty Stands Unshaken We do not yield, we do not falter. Let the Blight claw at our gates, let the faithless whisper of our ruin—I will not let Mirefield fall. We hold the line, not just for ourselves, but for all of Fenmire. If the world must break...

A Town Built on Bones At first, it was just old stone—good, solid, nothing more. We built our homes with it, walked our streets over it, never thought twice. But the deeper we dug, the stranger it became. Walls too perfect, carvings too fine, steps leading ...

A world of quarantines, corruption, and survival. This guide will help you create a character that belongs in the world of Norvostra, whether they are a native survivor or an outsider drawn into the chaos of the Rotmire Blight. Every character must have a rea...

Ebonmoor, once a bastion of honor and loyalty, now stands at a precipice, its fate uncertain in the wake of the Rotmire Blight. Before the sickness took hold, House Wilthorne and House Valkenmar were inseparable, their alliance one of mutual benefit and unwa...

The Black Thorne Strikes Deep. Ebonmoor was never meant to wither in the shadow of another’s rule. We are not vassals waiting for scraps, nor a mere province to be bled dry in another man's war against inevitability. The world is changing, and we will not b...

The First to Fall This so-called Blight is just another hardship, no different from famine, war, or the thousand other misfortunes that have come and gone. Gloommire was meant to be the beating heart of Ebonmoor’s future, the bridge—literally and figuratively...

The Sentinel of Ebonmoor They come with their children in their arms, with nothing but the clothes on their backs, begging—pleading—to be let through. They hold up old documents, coins, relics, anything they think might buy them passage, but none of it matt...

The Stolen Harvest Ships come and go, always have. But that one… that one just sat there. No sails, no lanterns, no crew I could see. Days passed, and it didn’t move, didn’t drift, just sat watchin’. Then folk started gettin’ sick. Fast. Too fast. And when ...

The Dying Heart of Ebonmoor We’ve tilled this land since our fathers' fathers walked it. We’ve raised cattle so strong they could weather the worst winters. But now? Now they rot on their feet, their eyes black as the Blight itself. The rivers still flow, t...

The Forgotten Retreat Fetterbrook? Yes, dreadful business, truly. Cut off, you say? Starving? A real tragedy, of course... but tell me, do you know what this means for me? I used to summer there, you know. My estate overlooked the finest hunting grounds in ...

Welcome to The Festering Lands A Land Dying, A People Forsaken It started as a sickness. A fever in the night, sweat pooling on straw bedding, a cough that never stopped. Then the flesh began to blacken and split, sores blooming like rotten fruit across skin...

Purity is not measured in mercy. It is measured in the number of corpses left behind. In the past year, as the Blight spread across Faulmoor, a name has surfaced in whispers—not a title of rank or lineage, but a name spoken with dread. The Penitent is not...