A fragment of parchment was recovered from the Ancestor's Altar. The paper is brittle, handwriting careful to be clear, but obviously strained by time. "The Ancestors no longer answers prayer. The bells frost over before they can ring. When struck or shaken they sway, but not a sound follows no matter how vigorous. Somehow, the chime lingers somewhere else beyond our senses. We held vigil through the night, thinking the quiet was perhaps a test sent upon us. But the frost gat

A letter was left behind on the table of a tavern called the Wayfayer's Rest, or just 'The Rest' to locals. Each letter was made with ink, which bristles with shards of frost that blur some of the writing of the unsigned paper. "I’ve locked the inn. I can still manage to light the hearth, but it does little good. It offers no warmth to these tired fingers. The guests sat closer and closer together as the frost crept in, speaking less with every hour. Laughter fell short and h

A piece of parchment was found nailed to the mill door in Ragne. The paper has erratic handwriting throughout, and is signed with three paw prints at the bottom of the page. "To anyone looking for us, The mill is closed until further notice. The wheel still turns when the river swells, but it turns without sound now. It began the other day, we awoke to an errie silence in place of the sound of waters we had become used to as the backdrop of our day. We tried to work through t

This letter was found in a cottage in a state of disarray on the edge of Ragne. The writer was vacant from the property when searched. "Mother, You told me the old stories were meant to keep little children from wandering too far into Blackwood Grove in winter. I believed you back then. But I saw it last night, by the graves beyond the silver birches. The frost had already taken the stones, turning the names dull and unreadable. I tried to brush it away, but my fingers burned

A journal page was found caught by the wind, it had clearly been torn cleanly down the spine. Elegant, but shaky handwriting denotes the following message. "I thought the stories were just nerves about the season turning, or perhaps fear of famine that often returns this time of year. Then last night, when the mists rolled in just off the ridge, the frost on my window moved. It had not melted. Not fading. No. Moved. Patterns shifting like breath on glass, forming a shape I al

Tonight we will journey to Arcvelt, the long-time home of Lithoterria’s most imaginative and innovative people, the Humans.

Found near Ragne, soiled with dark mud. "Don’t camp near the Blackwood after dark. I mean it, not even a mile from the path is far...

A small passage of parchment was found on the streets of New Ashen attached to the leg of a wood phoenix, a bird typically found in the...

There is a rule in Driftwood Inn, spoken quietly and never questioned. "Do not remove the mask." Once a year, on the cusp of autumn and on the eve of the first frost, an unusual patron arrives before the tavern doors have even been creaked open. No one sees them enter when they come. No one ever quite remembers the spot in which they sat the year before.

The orchard wasn't found on any map. It never had been. It appeared once a month, on the final night of the waning moon before giving into blackness, when the air grew thick and the stars seemed crammed against one another in the vast sky.

Marie the innkeeper found it tucked between the hot coals just after morning's first light, nestled within the embers like it had always been there. She furrowed brow as little Amelie clutched curiously to her cotton gown.