Kalina

"The academics of the White Tower might be surprised by the arcane power wielded by rural witches and secretive shamans." -Camille, Lightblessed Come, weary traveler. There's plenty room for one more by the fire, and more than enough ale to go around. Strange, isn't it, how dark it's grown outside? Soon as the sun sets, a shadow, colder than blackest ice, sweeps over the village. The streets become darker than sin, but even darker are the fates of those who dare step into the shadow. What you see is an unnatural curse; the work of the infamous Kalina, Witch of the Wastelands. It started as many cautionary tales are wont to, with a handful of greedy barons. They heard tale of a cove where the fish were bountiful and the hunting plentiful. Pooling their coin together, they were able to drive the trolls from this place with fire, and magic, and hired swords. The riches they made off the fishing, the hunting, and the fur made the men richer than any of us could ever dream of. A town grew out of the cove, and the story could've ended there. But alas, so great was this greed that it caught the eye of Kalina. When the barons began to bleed the land dry, a strange woman swathed in furs appeared. She demanded that the barons leave the land at once or suffer nature's wrath. But the barons ignored her. They dismissed her as a crazed woman of the wilds. Then, the fishing grew scarce. Next, the elk disappeared. The barons worried, but they had a plan. Money can fix everything. Or so they thought, but coin's not so effective against witches. Their sellswords succumbed to madness and sickness. A pox spread through town, thought to be spread from the corpses of fish that'd wash ashore bloated and turned inside out. As their coffers grew light, the barons offered impossible riches to anyone who could find and slay the witch. But soon they had little more left to offer than the rags rotting on their backs. Aye, the town endures, and we're able to make a meager living, but the witch's curse looms large. No matter the offerings we make or the oaths we swear, a shadow hangs heavy over all our heads—retribution for nature's suffering.