Shadowgrove: A Lovely Place to Lose Your Sanity

Welcome to Shadowgrove, the scenic part of Altoria where despair grows on every corner, and the local fauna includes stray dogs—most of which are now nailed to walls. For years, this district has been the city’s favorite place to dump problems and forget about them, but recent events have stirred up even more of the delightful chaos we’ve come to expect. Symbols etched into stone, bizarre howls, and the occasional “art installation” involving dog corpses have left the locals either gibbering in fear or muttering about gangs (because apparently, tagging walls with eldritch glyphs and murdering pets is the new organized crime aesthetic).

Cue the desperate gathering at the Broken Chapel, where Father Colvin—Shadowgrove’s resident shepherd of the doomed—lays out the situation with all the gravitas of a man who knows the guards won’t be showing up unless the Abyss itself files an official complaint. And oh, Beatrice is here too! She’s the delightful elderly woman muttering about the Wailing Blight, an entity that sounds like your worst hangover turned into an omnipresent force of cosmic horror. But hey, at least she’s trying. Sort of.

Enter the Motley Crew

Answering the call for help is a team of colorful characters who’d probably make a great tavern brawl but an even better dark comedy.

• Naeaia Meriesti: The elf with more poise and chill than an iceberg at a debutante ball. She’s got enough cursed knowledge to know how doomed they all are but keeps things classy by not saying the quiet part out loud. Oh, and she’s oozing an aura of vitality that makes people feel better—at the cost of her own soul juice. No biggie.

• Bashra: A seven-foot-tall walking tank of bone armor, rage, and philosophy. She sees fear as a friend, and if she stomps any harder, the cobblestones are going to unionize. Honestly, if you’re going to face eldritch horrors, it helps to bring a lizardfolk who’s built like a siege weapon.

• Willow: A gnoll who can shapeshift into a human because why not? She signed up to help but quickly realized that Shadowgrove makes normal gnoll dens look like a charming B&B. She bails, and honestly? Smart move.

• Leander Onerium: A plant-like, antlered alien with glowing eyes and teeth that scream, “I’m not from here, but I promise I won’t eat you. Maybe.” Leander smells like a garden exploded, which is nice—if you ignore the panic attacks he induces in passing townsfolk.

• Saith: A walking chaos engine disguised as a man in a straw hat. He’s either a genius, a lunatic, or both. Case in point: he turned into a cobblestone and howled at his own party, presumably because he wanted to see who’d wet themselves first.

• Rhys: The scribe with more mystery than a locked door in a dungeon. He’s got his own brand of snark and seems to be taking notes on everything, probably so he can publish a tell-all when this is over (assuming anyone survives).

To Lantern Street and Beyond!

The team sets out into Shadowgrove’s shadowy streets, which are somehow even less inviting than you’d expect. The air’s thick with despair, the cobblestones look like they’d rather be anywhere else, and the howls in the distance are definitely not dogs. Naeaia, ever the voice of reason and doom, shares her insights about the Wailing Blight, an eldritch horror that thrives on despair, rewrites reality, and makes the phrase “bad vibes” feel woefully inadequate. Her advice? Stop the summoning ritual by any means necessary, preferably before reality itself goes sideways.

But wait! Saith—bless his chaotic heart—decides to prank the party by howling from beneath their feet. The howl is so convincing that even the abyss probably paused to take notes. Everyone tenses up, Bashra stomps dramatically (because that’s how she processes fear), and Naeaia mutters something eldritch under her breath that’s probably not a blessing.

Willow’s Farewell and the Road Ahead

Willow, the gnoll-turned-human, decides she’s had enough of Shadowgrove’s delightful ambiance and announces her exit stage left. No one blames her. Even Naeaia and Bashra manage to muster some warm(ish) farewells, though Bashra’s sounds like it came from a warrior poet. The rest of the crew trudges on, undeterred by the oppressive air, distant howls, or the fact that the cobblestones are probably judging them.

With Raimund’s shop looming ahead, the group steels themselves for whatever eldritch nonsense awaits. Will they find the ritual site and stop the summoning? Will Saith turn into a door next? And will Shadowgrove ever get a proper streetlamp? Stay tuned!