Gloom

Where do the things that go bump in the night live during the day? In Gloom. All living things fear for when they will come to an end, except perhaps the inhabitants of this Verse, and it is from this fear that Gloom derives its essence. Whether they can truly be said to be “living” is a matter of individual case, as well as debate. The landscape is dreary, dark, or even unfathomable.

Some say that a part of Gloom even exists outside of time and space, and that to glimpse it would drive a mortal mad instantly. The power of this Verse is invoked by warlocks, necromancers, and cursed kings, who would bargain with malevolent entities in desperate attempts to stave off their own demise. Demons and phantoms, brutal insectoid killers, and even worse are the denizens of the threatening place that takes purchase in our world’s collective unconscious.

The black of Gloom is cold and hungry, its greens and blues nauseatingly virulent or shockingly offensive, and its red is the iron red of spilled blood. The silence of space in our world is but a tiny approximation of this Verse’s deafening void. Magic and technology both exist in Gloom, but only as means to sinister ends. Threat—and making good on it—can be said to be its guiding principle.

Where do the things that go bump in the night live during the day? In Gloom. All living things fear for when they will come to an end, except perhaps the inhabitants of this Verse, and it is from this fear that Gloom derives its essence. Whether they can truly be said to be “living” is a matter of individual case, as well as debate. The landscape is dreary, dark, or even unfathomable.

Some say that a part of Gloom even exists outside of time and space, and that to glimpse it would drive a mortal mad instantly. The power of this Verse is invoked by warlocks, necromancers, and cursed kings, who would bargain with malevolent entities in desperate attempts to stave off their own demise. Demons and phantoms, brutal insectoid killers, and even worse are the denizens of the threatening place that takes purchase in our world’s collective unconscious.

The black of Gloom is cold and hungry, its greens and blues nauseatingly virulent or shockingly offensive, and its red is the iron red of spilled blood. The silence of space in our world is but a tiny approximation of this Verse’s deafening void. Magic and technology both exist in Gloom, but only as means to sinister ends. Threat—and making good on it—can be said to be its guiding principle.

Gloom

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