Once a prosperous village, Ashford now stands as a decayed shadow of its former self. A year ago, it was a busy place; its streets and gardens echoing with the sounds of life, love and commerce. Then the stranger came and death followed upon his heels. Plague had come to Ashford. In his wake, he left the hacking coughs and pain-filled moans of the dying and the wails of the survivors mourning their dead. Over half the population died, and many of the survivors packed and fled.

A few folk yet dwell in Ashford among the abandoned, deserted homes of their friends and neighbours, but it is now a quiet, mournful place. Weeds choke its abandoned gardens and untilled fields. Wolves, foxes and other less natural predators gnaw at the weathered bones filling the village’s open plague pit. The surviving villagers are distrustful of strangers, shunning them whenever possible, and few find welcome, cheer or solace in Ashford.

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By day, Aubade’s cobblestone streets are eerily quiet and still, the village seemingly abandoned. At night, though, regularly spaced lampposts along the winding lanes blaze to life, the village shining like a land-bound star and illuminating residents hard at work as if it were the middle of the day.

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Beacon Promontory arose from the watery grave of Beacon Cove after a ferocious storm submerged the village. The handful of doughty survivors rebuilt their homes around Beacon Lighthouse, which lights the way for passing ships, many of which used to make the former village a port of call. Many consider the holdouts insane for staying, considering over half their neighbours left or were killed in the storm, but they feel they have a duty to seafarers who become stranded along the remote stretch of coast. However, the truly insane person may be the lighthouse keeper who believes the deluge that destroyed Beacon Cove was a precursor to an invasion from beneath the waves.

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The thriving village of Edgewood stands in the very shadow of the Shadetimer Forest. For a century, it has prospered. Wars, droughts and pestilence striking other nearby settlements never seem to affect the village, and yet tragedy mars life in Edgewood. For every year, terror stalks the village and its inhabitants die seemingly random, but horrible and gruesome, deaths. Thus, despite its prosperity, Edgewood remains a small place, and few travellers remain there for long.

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