Crimson Hollow

Introduction

Crimson Hollow stands as one of the last flickering lights of humanity in the cursed, undead-infested lands of Myltery. Life here is neither easy nor kind, but its people endure, bound by defiance, and an unyielding will to survive. A handful of souls- children who have never known safety, elders who whisper old tales of glory, and warriors who stand against the dark- fill the village’s modest homes. And yet, for nearly five centuries, Crimson Hollow has stood. Not through fortune, nor divine grace, but through sheer defiance. Here, the living simply refuse to be forgotten.

Geography

Crimson Hollow lies on the westernmost edge of Myltery, near the borders of what remains of the once-mighty human Empire. The land here is treacherous- damp, decayed, and slowly being swallowed by the encroaching marsh. Fog clings to the earth like a death shroud, rolling in from the south where The Wailing Woods stretch into a haunted abyss. Few dare to enter, for the trees whisper with the voices of the lost, and those who stray too far rarely return.

The soil around the hamlet is stubborn but not barren. A handful of fields, nurtured through tradition and toil, yield swamp crops- rice, reeds, and bitter roots that sustain the village. But beyond this fragile ring of fertility, the land is cursed. Nothing thrives in the shadow of Ashenfall. The ruined road that once led to Merdia is now a broken scar upon the land, a path of sundered stone winding toward the forsaken city. Those who walk it do not walk back.

Every night, the land itself seems to turn against the village. The air grows thick with an unnatural stillness before the horrors emerge from the gloom- restless dead, spectral echoes, and things with hollow eyes that watch from the dark. In Crimson Hollow, the land is both a prison and a sanctuary. The villagers know its dangers well, but they also know the truth: there is no safer place left.

Goverment

When Crimson Hollow was founded, it was a desperate refuge for the last survivors of Merdia. With the legendary city lost to the dead, they needed order to survive. From this need, a system was forged; an Elder to guide them, Wardens to defend them, and the Gathering Hall to keep the people united. For generations, this structure held, a fragile bastion of law in a lawless land.

But time erodes all things, and Crimson Hollow is no exception.

Now, the village is falling apart, its numbers diminised, its leaders aging, its warriors dwindling, and its once-sturdy walls sagging into rot. The old system still exists in name, but in practice, it is little more than a shadow of the past. The dead press closer every night, and the village drifts toward ruin. The bitter truth is, no one rules Crimson Hollow anymore.

Daily Life

Life in Crimson Hollow is a slow, grinding struggle. Every day is spent either preparing for the night or recovering from it. The village is small, barely two hundred souls, and each person carries the weight of survival.

At dawn, the few able-bodied laborers tend to the fields, coaxing what little life they can from the swampy soil. The crops are meager, but enough to keep the village from starving. Hunters venture into the marsh, setting traps for small game or fishing in the murky waters. The risks are high. The land does not forgive carelessness, and many have vanished into the mist, never to return.

As dusk approaches, the mood shifts. Doors are bolted shut, windows covered, and prayers murmured under breath. The few remaining Wardens take their positions along the crumbling walls, knowing they are too few to hold them forever. The dead will come, as they always do. Some nights are just worse than others.

There is no luxury in Crimson Hollow, no room for softness. Hope is a distant thing, spoken of only in hushed voices. Here, survival is not a right- it is a battle fought each day, one that fewer and fewer seem willing to fight.

Traditions & Customs

Many of Crimson Hollow’s old traditions have faded with time, lost to hardship. What remains are rituals of necessity- practices meant to ward off the dead, honor the fallen, and cling to what little humanity the villagers have left.

The Passing

No one in Crimson Hollow is buried without a watchful eye. When a villager dies, their body is kept under guard for an entire night, a candle burning at their side. The dead must be seen, their name spoken, their passing acknowledged lest they rise again, hollow-eyed and hungry. At dawn, if the body remains still, it is burned, and its ashes scattered beyond the walls. Graves are not dug in Crimson Hollow. The land does not keep the dead.

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Sundown Mark

Before nightfall, villagers mark their doors with a smear of ash mixed with salt, a ward against spirits and the restless dead. It is an old superstition, but few dare to ignore it. Some say the dead respect the mark. Others say it only makes the living feel safer.

Naming the Lost

Each new moon, the villagers gather in the Gathering Hall and speak the names of those who have vanished into the cursed land beyond. They do not call them dead- not until a body is found- but they know the truth. This is the closest thing to a funeral that the missing will ever receive.

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People of Crimson Hollow

The people of Crimson Hollow are defined not just by their resilience, but by the scars of their history; of lives lost, of horrors survived, and of families broken by the endless war against the undead. Among them is one family- the Almara- whose story resonates throughout the village, a tale of sacrifice, survival, and the heavy burden of legacy.

The Almara Family

1. Gareth Almara: The previous Warden, a man of immense strength and unwavering resolve. He was one of Crimson Hollow’s last true defenders until he was claimed by the undead shortly after the birth of his third child. His death shattered his family, but his name remains a whispered legend, a symbol of both protection and loss.

2. Arda Almara: Gareth’s widow, now raising their children in the shadow of grief. Hardened by loss, she speaks little of the past, carrying the weight of Gareth’s death alone. The years have not broken her, but they have left her brittle, a woman who endures because she has no other choice.

3. Eryan Almara: The eldest son has devoted himself to protecting what remains of his family. He is no warrior like his father, no leader like his uncle, but he stands between his loved ones and the horrors that lurk beyond the village walls. Whether out of love or obligation, he has chosen to be their shield.
4. Ondrea Almara: The middle child of the family, a striking aasimar whose celestial bloodline sets her apart. Unlike the grim weight that hangs over the village, Ondrea is bright, full of warmth and restless energy. She laughs easily, seeks joy where she can, and refuses to let the darkness of Crimson Hollow consume her. But beneath her lighthearted nature lies frustration- an unspoken resentment toward the protection that smothers her. Her mother and Torin watch over her like a fragile thing, but she does not feel fragile. She longs to carve her own path, to be more than someone sheltered from the horrors of the world.

5. Lira Almara: The youngest, still a child in spirit, though the horrors of the world have already left their mark. She dreams of escape, of leaving the land behind and finding somewhere untouched by death. But her hopes are small, as small as the village itself.
6. Torin Almara: The brother of the late Gareth Almara, who stepped into the role of Warden after his brother’s death. Torin’s taking of the mantle was not just an act of survival, but a promise made to his fallen brother. He had long been known as a man of compassion and strategy, but the weight of his new responsibilities has made him a harder, more distant figure.

Other Notable Figures

1. Ilvena: The village Elder, once a leader of strength, now a frail woman consumed by apathy. In her youth, she guided Crimson Hollow through some of its darkest days. Now, she rarely speaks, rarely leaves her home- except to stand at the village’s edge, staring into the cursed land as if waiting for the end. Some still seek her wisdom, but few believe she has any left to give.
2. 
   Kaltor: The village’s body burner, a man whose presence is as unsettling as his work. He handles the dead with grim efficiency, but there is something off about him- something in his lingering touch, his too-eager smile, the way he listens to the silence as if waiting for something to speak back. He never seems bothered by the stench of rotting flesh or the whispers that sometimes follow him. Some say he has lost part of his soul to the flames. Others whisper darker rumors about what he does when no one is watching.

Founding Date

493 ADA

Type

Hamlet

Population

200

Gareth Almara, Past Warden

"They’ll need you now... Don’t let them break. Don’t let her break. You keep them safe, brother. No matter what it takes."

— Garreth's last words to his brother Torin

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