“I do not believe that there is a God in this place, but whatever weeps the noxious rainfall that poisons this accursed land could not possibly have our best interests in mind.”
-Paristal the Elf
___________________________________________
My name is Velsey Ganvald, daughter of Kravo and Listraya, both of whom were taken from me by sickness when I was very small. I cannot quite recall their faces, but I am told that they were good of spirit and (more importantly) dependable. Since their death, I have been raised by my village, as that is our way.
The very clouds above conspire against us, and we must depend on each other to survive.
Our village is called Hallondry, which I am told means “Place of bonds” or “Place of burdens” in the old tongue that no one quite remembers. I would not say our village is beautiful, but it is a spirited place where we look out for one another. This is very important, as in our customs, being dependable is of utmost importance. Everyone plays a function in our village, and one must do their best to keep the well-being of the community ahead of all other things, for we live in a place that is not lacking in dangers...
Hallondry is flanked by the Rotsplinter Woods on one side and the Kolphesh Hills on the other. The dense woodlands of Rotsplinter are filled with warped and hungry plant life in addition to the vicious animals that call that savage place home. It is commonly believed that the acidic rain from above has driven the forest insane, and the plants hunger for blood and meat since the rainwater does nothing to sooth their appetites. I know that I am not supposed to, but sometimes I walk through the dimly lit and winding trails there. I am brave to do so.
The Kolphesh Hills are beautiful to behold, but house a most accursed evil that has seemingly forever befouled the landscape. This is where Rookstride Manor resides, surrounded by tall and blackened iron gates.
Rookhelm is the name of this region in its entirety, and it is firmly under the control of the stained, spindly fingers of the Mistress of the place, the abominable Lady Rookstride. Little is known of the Lady, but she is an Alchemist of great skill, possessing a sharp mind and a strange tie to the lands she rules over. I have heard that there is nothing she cannot achieve through her toxic potions and gruesome alchemical arts. I have been in her presence each time that she and her accursed Knights arrive to claim tribute from Hallondry, and she is a curious thing to behold, with her stained hands and mouth, undoubtedly forever marred by the horrid concoctions she brews and tastes.
On all sides of Rookhelm, a constant sheet of furious rainfall downpours along the borders of the realm, promising to melt anyone to jelly who would be so foolish as to attempt to escape the land and see what (if anything) resides beyond Lady Rookstride’s Domain. I consider myself somewhat adventurous, and even I would not be so bold as to attempt to escape in such a desperate fashion.
Some say that it is due to her noxious presence that the clouds constantly weep down sizzling, painful rains that burn our flesh, warp our crops and poison our water. I cannot say the origins of this phenomena, but I have not known a time before it. The skies of Rookhelm are always a cloudy, hazy grey shade, and even on the clearest of days, those saddened clouds weep down foul, stinging droplets of rain.
Some in the village claim that there was a time where the rainfall was not poison. I would like very much to believe them.
Due to this poisonous rainfall, one will fall quite ill if they try to eat the food of the land or drink the water. Lady Rookstride has created an ashen white powder that can purify the water and food, making it safe to consume. Without her ingenious creation, the Village would soon fall into sickness and death. Some in the village are grateful for her brilliant discovery, but she does not part with her so-called “Salubrity Ash” freely. At the start of each month, she comes to Hallondry and demands tribute in exchange for a barrel or so of her sanctifying ashes. We must appease her with a grand gift of some kind in order to earn the right to eat and drink without falling sick. I believe she is a devil.
There is much more to learn in regards to my home and its inhabitants, and I will do my best to detail the places and people around it so that I leave a dependable record.
May this give you some small aid in this grim place.
-V
My name is Velsey Ganvald, daughter of Kravo and Listraya, both of whom were taken from me by sickness when I was very small. I cannot quite recall their faces, but I am told that they were good of spirit and (more importantly) dependable. Since their death, I have been raised by my village, as that is our way.
The very clouds above conspire against us, and we must depend on each other to survive.
Our village is called Hallondry, which I am told means “Place of bonds” or “Place of burdens” in the old tongue that no one quite remembers. I would not say our village is beautiful, but it is a spirited place where we look out for one another. This is very important, as in our customs, being dependable is of utmost importance. Everyone plays a function in our village, and one must do their best to keep the well-being of the community ahead of all other things, for we live in a place that is not lacking in dangers...
Hallondry is flanked by the Rotsplinter Woods on one side and the Kolphesh Hills on the other. The dense woodlands of Rotsplinter are filled with warped and hungry plant life in addition to the vicious animals that call that savage place home. It is commonly believed that the acidic rain from above has driven the forest insane, and the plants hunger for blood and meat since the rainwater does nothing to sooth their appetites. I know that I am not supposed to, but sometimes I walk through the dimly lit and winding trails there. I am brave to do so.
The Kolphesh Hills are beautiful to behold, but house a most accursed evil that has seemingly forever befouled the landscape. This is where Rookstride Manor resides, surrounded by tall and blackened iron gates.
Rookhelm is the name of this region in its entirety, and it is firmly under the control of the stained, spindly fingers of the Mistress of the place, the abominable Lady Rookstride. Little is known of the Lady, but she is an Alchemist of great skill, possessing a sharp mind and a strange tie to the lands she rules over. I have heard that there is nothing she cannot achieve through her toxic potions and gruesome alchemical arts. I have been in her presence each time that she and her accursed Knights arrive to claim tribute from Hallondry, and she is a curious thing to behold, with her stained hands and mouth, undoubtedly forever marred by the horrid concoctions she brews and tastes.
On all sides of Rookhelm, a constant sheet of furious rainfall downpours along the borders of the realm, promising to melt anyone to jelly who would be so foolish as to attempt to escape the land and see what (if anything) resides beyond Lady Rookstride’s Domain. I consider myself somewhat adventurous, and even I would not be so bold as to attempt to escape in such a desperate fashion.
Some say that it is due to her noxious presence that the clouds constantly weep down sizzling, painful rains that burn our flesh, warp our crops and poison our water. I cannot say the origins of this phenomena, but I have not known a time before it. The skies of Rookhelm are always a cloudy, hazy grey shade, and even on the clearest of days, those saddened clouds weep down foul, stinging droplets of rain.
Some in the village claim that there was a time where the rainfall was not poison. I would like very much to believe them.
Due to this poisonous rainfall, one will fall quite ill if they try to eat the food of the land or drink the water. Lady Rookstride has created an ashen white powder that can purify the water and food, making it safe to consume. Without her ingenious creation, the Village would soon fall into sickness and death. Some in the village are grateful for her brilliant discovery, but she does not part with her so-called “Salubrity Ash” freely. At the start of each month, she comes to Hallondry and demands tribute in exchange for a barrel or so of her sanctifying ashes. We must appease her with a grand gift of some kind in order to earn the right to eat and drink without falling sick. I believe she is a devil.
There is much more to learn in regards to my home and its inhabitants, and I will do my best to detail the places and people around it so that I leave a dependable record.
May this give you some small aid in this grim place.
-V
