The Winter Wound

“Ahhhh, so you want to ask about that eh? Seek to Know what it is? To fathom what the Winter Wound is? Well then, gimme a touch of Melucrum and take a seat. Soul first, and no guarantee it’ll be a story to your satisfaction.” the old grizzled fisherman said to his guest. And so, shortly after, the Craft was woven and seats were taken. Once the mood was right, the fisherman pulled the curtain of his window open, letting a thread of the cold fog that seeped through everything in Murkyloft into his home, chilling the place as he began to speak in a hushed almost religious tone.

“It was about...seventy, no hundred years ago. During that one big Kryat March into Sundevalda. You know the one. No, no not THAT one, the other one, the Clan of Sanjay was behind it. Yes yes. So it was during that time and one of the Kryat Warclan of Sanjay made its way to Yosthaven. And as they always do The House was there to stand against them. The First Wall of Defense they are. Ahh, so it was some nonsense left over from the battle right? That’s what you are thinking, right? Well Maybe, but it’s wrong. Isillideras pushed them back, bloodied and ragged as they always do. For every death, another fifteen fell. But that’s the obvious things you’d hear on the lips of those better off to do. Nay, you want real information. Why ask a crusty old bastard like me right? Cause I might know something. A sliver of truth, a nugget of insight.”

The old fisherman let out a cackle, certain he had hooked his audience with his story. And still the fog bled more and more into his little ramshackle cottage. “See, I can tell you EXACTLY where the Winter Wound comes from. The land itself. You see it was around that time...or was it during it….regardless, it was then that the House froze the very water to it’s core. Made it so cold just to touch it would be to invite death. Killed the plants, the fish, and many many people. And it stayed that way for a long long time. But then it began to melt and that’s when the Wound first arrived. Made sense. Fog shows up because of weather, and because it's Craft makes it special, right? Well, it has to go away sometime, right? No! The Water is fine, if a bit chilly. The fish are back, and what plants that did come back are now stronger for it. But the Wound is still here, creeping through everything, hiding things, making the land deadly to those who don’t know the Ol ways of the Murk. So what is it? Get to the point right? This is all stuff you’ve heard before and I’m wasting your time for coin because I’m an old pathetic sort, right?” he said, as if sensing his story had been heard or told plenty of times before hand.

“But really think about it. Murkyloft is healed as it’s ever gonna get. And those Kryat bastard spawn throw themselves at the Wall on occasion. And The House will still freeze them dead. But that’s nothing. The Wound is Old. And it’s never gone away since. So it had to serve some purpose right? Well, I think...it’s the House. It’s bleeding. Or the land its on is. Doesn’t the Fog always feel...Fresh? Alive? Murkloft is a swamp compared to the rest of Yosthaven. Any fool with eyes can see that and it’s old. And Blood eventually dries out...unless it’s still bleeding...Why do you think it’s called the Wound?”

By this point in his story, the fog had filled the room, hiding and obscuring the old Fisherman as he began to laugh and cackle madly. Then gradually it faded away from within the old ramshackle cottage. Leaving the Audience by their lonesome to ponder over the fisherman’s tale.