the world of rhymargg

As cults and civilizations rise and fall, so do the gods they honor. Bloodstained altars are broken and buried, burned and forgotten. The chants of the fanatic clergies and ardent worshippers die out, existing only in the echoes of ghosts in long abandoned galleries. Vast libraries of dark knowledge and baleful wisdom are destroyed, lost to the unrelenting erosion of time.

Or so civilizations would like to believe.

Sometimes, a seed of evil remains: a faint pulse of dark malice that squats , maundering in subterranean vaults or ivy-choked ruins. Rumors and hints of vast power remain in dusty archives and histories, ready to ensnare the greedy and tempt the weak-minded into plumbing secrets best left undisturbed.

When the rotted log is pushed aside and the fat grubs of forbidden knowledge and diabolical ambition wriggle into the wrong individual’s path, a new priest rises. And so a cult is reborn; and if the conditions are right, and the proper rituals observed, so too the dark gods themselves.

—Al Krombach, Knockspell #5


The World Of Rhymargg