@caprikuhl.bsky.social

The Tatzulwurm. A large beast with the body of a serpent and the head and forearms of a feline. They do not emerge from their dens often, only to hunt prey, which will keep them satiated for up to a month. Design: Winter Art: me ^^ Find out more at darkbog . com #osr #ttrpg #indygame #darfantasy

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Perynn Silverblaze, a Gyldenfolk jackalope from the great Inn, Amberplate in Midlyte, though he is a native of the Gyldenbend. Like many of his kind who live in dangerous kingdoms, he has never left the protective roads of the Golden Emperor's Highway. #ttrpg #osr #OC

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Located at the convergence of three Gyldenbend roads, travelers from distant kingdoms visit Midlyte solely to dine at the gormand Gyldhall of Amberplate. The hall serves elaborate communal buffets each day that honor the Dwimmer of each season. #ttrpg #osr #darkfantasy

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Where the forest parts, the serpentine wetland of Rivermarsh spreads like a glittering belt of jewels around Brambalund. While far above, the countless lanterns of Midlyte shine like stars in the unbroken canopy. #ttrpg #osr

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Silverblossum. A colossal Tower Tree whose bark has split open to reveal vast fungal blooms spreading through her trunk. At her pinnacle burns Elun, a black star. The light of Elun once brought healing and growth, now it’s light petrifies all life it touches. #ttrpg #osr

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Schloss Unther. The great Brambalund fortress sealing the primary route into Underoot. Massive chains lower gate platforms into the deep while toll collectors, inquisitors and soldiers inspect every caravan entering or leaving the caverns. #ttrpg #osr #fantasyart

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Sooton, a sprawling industrial town on the banks of a dark subterranean lake, tar black from foundry runoff. Rivers of molten metal pour through channels carved into the stone while laborers hammer endlessly to stock Brambalund’s armories. #ttrpg #osr #fantasyart

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At the center of a vast crater stands Mushroot Monastery, carved into the living flesh of a colossal mushroom. Pilgrims flock here every year to dream in the place where Lyric and Ember first communed with the Dwimmer, where the First Dream was dreamt. #ttrpg #osr #fantasyart

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In a remote valley, surrounded by a labyrinthine tangle of blackberry thickets is a verdant clearing, the Hexen coven of Greengallows. It is a place of reckoning where bounties are settled and fates are foretold.

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Chapter three shows one of our first adventuring parties in the beta: Eni, the Dwimmerlayk, Wren Redtooth, a fungalmancer exiled from Brambalund, Clover, a Tower Guardian from the cursed sky's of Hyennvy, Sleefur the Gormand of the group and Gunguir the Traveler.

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One of the shattered Tower Trees whose interior chambers descend for miles into darkness. Old dwimmerbound elevators and spiral stairways once connected the canopy to the lands below, but now the halls are broken and haunted, yet it remains the most effective route out of Midlyte for smugglers.

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The first writing of the Dwimmerlings. In the First Age, they marked places and trails. In the Second Age, they became the sigil of great clans, and as war scattered the folk, the trailmarks became associated with a people, not a place. By the Third Age, they used as little more then a signature.

Trail marks are the oldest form of writing known among the Dwimmerling. Signs from the First Age were simple pictograms cut into bark, stone, or bone to guide travelers through the forest. Mark of a bent thorn near a bramble ticket, a scratched spiral near a deep cave, a forked line beside a branching stream. Each mark carried a small kenning known to those who walked the paths. Each are unique, but all are contained with a cartouche. bounding the character within a ring, as Dwimmer are bound with a talisman. A mark might mean “water beneath the roots.”, “safe hollow ahead.” or “follow the star that never moves.” In those early days the trails themselves were laid with the guidance of the heavens. Wanderers steered their journeys by the fixed stars and the slow wheeling of the once brilliant star Sonn, placing marks where the sky’s path met the land. The signs named places rather than people.

In the Second Age the marks grew more elaborate. Settlements formed, clans took root and the old trail signs were claimed as emblems of lineage. A thorny circle might mark the lands of one house, a split spiral another. As war shifted boarders and folk were displaced by plague or fire, they carried the signs with them, divorcing them from their original context. These signs were now carved above doorways, stamped into trade goods and worn as charms. As dreams and legends of folk bearing these marks grew, Dwimmer were kindled within and took the marks as their sigils, making them potent devices in spirit summoning. 

In our time, the Third Age, much of this meaning has faded. Trail marks endure as monograms used for binding oaths, sealing letters, and marking property. Hexen still harbor an oral tradition of their older forms, but most Dwimmerling know them only as personal names. Few now recall the kennings or the star paths they once followed. Even so, when a Dwimmerling sets their mark to a document or carves it upon a stone, the Dwimmer remember, even if they do not.

A Traveler and smuggler, Malachite is well equipped when leaving the unpolluted waters of Rivermarsh into the dark bog of Murfen.

A salamander rogue with a lanturn, thorn dagger and floppy hat.  His torchbug lantern is a self contained ecosystem, needing little to produce light in the gloom. His hat and rebreather seal together, allowing for vision through a transparent hull of a crawler larva.