Aethelgard Echoes of Decay

The air crackles with unseen energy. You feel it thrumming through the cobblestones beneath your worn leather boots, a silent hum resonating in the very marrow of your bones. This isn't the bustling port city of Aethelgard you remember. Gone are the jovial merchants hawking exotic wares, the boisterous laughter echoing from crowded taverns, the comforting clatter of the blacksmith's hammer. Now, a perpetual twilight hangs heavy, casting long, distorted shadows that dance with malevolent intent. The once vibrant colors of the city have been leeched away, replaced by a sickly pallor, a suffocating grey that bleeds into the soul. A strange, ethereal mist clings to the alleyways, whispering secrets best left unheard. You are Elara, a Weaver of Echoes. It's a rare and often feared gift, the ability to touch the remnants of past events, to glimpse the echoes of forgotten moments etched onto the fabric of reality. For years, you hid this ability, fearing the whispers of madness it could bring. But now, Aethelgard is screaming. Not literally, of course. But the echoes have become deafening. They're fragmented, chaotic, filled with terror and a chilling sense of…wrongness. Something has broken the delicate threads of time itself, unraveling the tapestry of Aethelgard's history. The Council, the city's governing body, have vanished without a trace. The City Guard, once a symbol of unwavering order, are now driven mad, their eyes vacant, their movements jerky and unnatural. They stalk the streets, muttering cryptic phrases and attacking anyone who crosses their path. You were summoned by a cryptic message slipped beneath your door, a message written in a language you thought long dead, a language only used by Weavers of old. It spoke of a coming cataclysm, of a tear in the Veil, and of a single, desperate hope: you. Your journey begins now. You must unravel the mystery of Aethelgard's decay, piece together the fragmented echoes, and discover what force has plunged this city into this terrifying nightmare. Time is running out, Elara. The fate of Aethelgard, and perhaps something far greater, rests upon your shoulders. But be warned, Weaver. Some echoes are best left undisturbed. Some truths are better left buried. And some nightmares…bleed into reality. What will you uncover?