Grimvæl A World on the Edge of Ruin

The gods are dead, and it was our hands that brought them low. Hundreds of years ago, when the Old Church launched its holy crusade against the heathen tribes, they could not foresee the devastation that would follow.     In their final, desperate hour, the heathen gods awoke from their ancient slumber, rising to aid their followers in battle. But when the Archangel descended from the heavens in answer to the First Saint’s prayers, the war reached its terrible crescendo, spewing the black, corrupted blood from the earth and soil beneath our feets as if the land itself screamed in agony. When the Old Church struck the killing blow against the heathen gods, the world was forever changed.     From the corpses of those fallen deities, the land became twisted and defiled. The God of Fire scorched the earth into an eternal inferno, leaving wastelands of ash and flame. The Goddess of Fertility birthed monstrous life from her dying body, a mockery of her once-giving nature. And the God of Wind and Sea, in his death, unleashed raging storms and oceans that no longer obeyed the tides.     Yet, their deaths brought about something far worse—The Shroud. A deadly fog that spread across the land, hiding horrors within. From the blood of dead gods rose twisted monsters, warped and ravenous, hungering for the flesh of the living. The Shroud became a veil of nightmares, its fog seeping into every corner of the world, a constant reminder of the sins of the past.     The survivors rallied behind what remained of their faith, forming the Church of the Three—followers of the Archangel, the Saint, and the Bishop. From their ranks emerged the Hunters: sinners and criminals, subjected to holy blood rituals that changed their very essence. They became more than human, and yet, something less. Bound to a penance of endless slaughter, these Blood Hunters wield their cursed abilities to slay the monsters of the Shroud—but at great cost. Their thirst for the corrupted blood of their prey is insatiable, and with each hunt, their own humanity slips further away. The very thing that grants them strength also drives them mad, warping their bodies, minds, and souls.     Now, long after the war, Grimvæl remains a shattered world, unable to heal. The great cities have crumbled, and in their place, petty vassal states rise, ruled by ambitious warlords and self-proclaimed kings. Factions vie for dominance, carving out territories amidst the ruins, while the common folk struggle to survive in the shadow of this fractured landscape. Betrayal and bloodshed are commonplace, with men more eager to stab each other in the back than face the terrors lurking in the dark.     The once-feared Hunters, now a dying breed, are rarely seen—mere ghosts of their former glory. They wander the land, offering their cursed talents only to those unfortunate enough to cross their paths. The beasts may have dwindled, despite the whispers of their return, however the rot within the world has not withered away, and the scars of the gods’ deaths run deep. Grimvæl is a world teetering on the edge of oblivion, where hope is a distant memory, and survival comes at the cost of one’s soul.