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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...

The Restless Rot They are the ones we expected. The ones we thought we understood. The ones we thought we could handle. But it is not just their hunger that makes them terrifying—it is their numbers. When people speak of the Rotmire Blight, they often co...

The Lying Dead They don’t fight like the others. They make you come to them. Of all the horrors the Blight has birthed, the Whisperers remain the most insidious. They do not lurch forward with guttural moans like the mindless husks of lesser undead. No, ...

The Unkillable Steel does not forget. Neither do they. The Broken Lords are unlike the other Blighted. They do not wander aimlessly through the ruins, nor do they mindlessly lunge at the scent of the living. Instead, they march, armor rattling softly in ...

The Watching Dead They just… stand there. Staring. Like they're waiting for something. There is a sickness that spreads through the minds of those who travel Faulmoor’s abandoned roads. It is not a fever, nor a plague of the flesh, but rather something m...

They Do Not Need to Breathe I swear on my life, we sank the boat. They shouldn’t be here. They shouldn’t be here. Many years ago, when the first signs of the Blight appeared, the people of Faulmoor sought ways to contain it. They thought water would be i...

The Starving Dead They leapt from the shadows, hitting us like starving beasts. Their ferocity wasn’t human—it was primal, desperate. I watched as one tackled a companion to the ground, jaws snapping wildly. Avoid letting them close the distance at all cost...

Death Comes Bursting At first, we mistook it for another of the countless pitiful shamblers that infest the marsh. It lurched toward us, stumbling through knee-deep muck, its bloated form swaying grotesquely, limbs swollen beyond recognition. We joked nervo...

Decay from Within It wasn't an attack—not at first. It began as a convulsion, the corpse doubled over, chest heaving like bellows stoking an unseen furnace. Then its jaw snapped open, and that burning, foul liquid spewed forth, melting through wood, steel, ...