Grim's Tale

Grim takes a long, slow drink from his mug, the bitter ale barely touching his lips before he slams it down on the table. His bloodshot eyes meet yours, filled with a mix of anger and sorrow that’s clearly been festering for years. He leans forward, lowering his voice, though the tavern around you feels almost empty, save for the crackle of the hearth.

"You want to know what happened here?" he asks, his voice gravelly and slow. "Why this place is a ghost town, why folks spit at the mention of the Citadel? Fine. I’ll tell you. But don’t expect it to be pretty."

He sighs, running a hand through his greasy, unkempt hair, and starts talking, his gaze distant, like he’s seeing it all again.

"This town... we were never rich, but we got by. Miners, mostly, scraping the veins for what we could. And the Citadel? They had a hand in all of it. We dug up the ores they needed for their signet rings, the alloys they prized so much. They bought up every last bit we could pull from the earth. Paid us scraps for it, but at least we could keep the lights on and food on the table. It was a hard life, but it was our life. And they swore they'd keep us safe. The Citadel had hunters — men and women trained to deal with the kind of things that crawl out of the deep when you dig too far. Aetherspawn, Aethertitans... things that’d rip a man apart without a second thought. We trusted 'em. We had to."

His eyes narrow, and his hands clench into fists as he continues.

"About four years ago, the mine started drying up. We were losing veins, pulling up nothing but dirt and rock where there used to be silver and iron. Some folks left, sure. Easier to pack up and go than stick around hoping for one last strike. But some of us… this was our home. Our blood was in that mine. We stayed, kept digging, praying we’d hit something, anything. And then… we found it."

He pauses, his voice dropping lower.

"A damn Aethertitan, sleeping down there in the deep. Big as a mountain, wrapped in all that strange energy that twists the world around 'em. We did what we always did when something like that happened — we collapsed the tunnels, sealed it in, and sent word to the Citadel. Asked for help. Begged for their hunters. But you know what we got back?"

Grim laughs bitterly, shaking his head.

"Nothing. Silence. They never came. The ore was gone, see? The mine was dry, and we weren’t worth their time anymore. A waste of their resources. So we were left alone."

He clenches his teeth, the anger rising in his voice as he tells the rest.

"The Titan found another way out. It tore through the earth beneath the Miner’s Guild Hall, like it was crawling up from the abyss itself. The ground just split open, swallowed half the hall, killed everyone inside. Then it rampaged. Houses crushed, people crushed — friends, family, all gone in a heartbeat. It was chaos. The screams, the dust, the fire… I still hear it sometimes, when it’s too quiet at night."

His eyes glisten, though he quickly blinks it away.

"We tried to fight. What was left of us, anyway. Miners with pickaxes, farmers with pitchforks, swinging at something too big to even understand. But we managed to drive it off. Didn’t kill it, but we made it leave. Pushed it north, into the forests. We thought maybe it was over. Maybe we could rebuild."

Grim’s expression hardens, his voice shaking with barely contained rage.

"And that’s when we heard the Citadel finally decided to act. Not for us, no. They didn’t come to bury our dead or rebuild our homes. No, they sent hunters up north, because that damn Titan started tearing up their logging operations. Profits were at risk, you see. So, they finally sent their heroes, their hunters, and they took the thing down. Not for us. Never for us."

He leans back, his face contorted with pain and disgust.

"No one came for us. Not a single person from the Citadel set foot in Miner’s Pass after the attack. They left us to bury our dead, to rebuild our town with nothing but the broken pieces left behind. And those of us that stayed… we made a vow. Never again. Never again will we look to the Citadel for help. They’re not protectors. They’re not heroes. They’re just… merchants. And we’re done paying their price."

Grim falls silent, staring into his empty mug. After a long moment, he mutters, "That’s the truth of it. So, now you know. Now you understand why this town spits at their name."