top of page

Shroudfall Chronicles: What lies beyond?

The sun was beginning its descent, casting long shadows across the rolling fields. I leaned against the sturdy wooden fence that enclosed my farm, wiping the sweat from my brow with the back of my hand. It had been a long day tending to the crops, but the sight that unfolded before me made me forget my weariness.

A small group of people had gathered near the edge of the Shroud. I recognized some of them as fellow villagers, people I had known my entire life. But they were not acting like themselves.

Whispers had been circulating through the village for months about this secretive cult that had taken root among us. They called themselves the Seekers, claiming to possess knowledge that challenged the very foundations of our beliefs. Many dismissed them as lunatics, but their numbers were growing, and their determination seemed unwavering.

Curiosity got the better of me, and I decided to watch from a distance. I tucked a straw of wheat between my teeth and focused my gaze on the group. They stood in a huddle, their voices hushed but filled with a strange excitement. One by one, they stepped forward, their expressions a mix of fear and anticipation. The first cultist, a middle-aged man named Samuel, stepped confidently toward the Shroud. The moment he crossed its threshold, his figure shimmered and then vanished, swallowed by the enigmatic energy. A collective gasp escaped the onlookers, and a mix of awe and unease settled over the crowd.

One after another, the cultists followed suit. A young woman with fiery red hair, a weathered old man, a mother with a child in her arms—all disappeared into the unknown. Each time someone passed through the Shroud, it was as if a piece of our reality was being peeled away, leaving behind a void that left us all uneasy.

As the last cultist, a frail elderly woman, prepared to step forward, I felt a surge of adrenaline. What lay beyond the Shroud? Was it truly a gateway to a world untouched by the apocalypse, or were these brave souls simply marching to their demise?

I held my breath as the woman took her final steps and vanished, leaving behind only an empty space. The crowd fell silent, and a profound stillness settled over the land. The absence of the cultists hung heavily in the air, and the once vibrant field now seemed devoid of life.

Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, but they never returned. Skepticism turned to sorrow, and we mourned the loss of friends and family. The whispers that once spoke of the Seekers now echoed with regret, tinged with a sense of guilt for not heeding their warnings.

Life in Astira continued, but the memory of those who had passed through the Shroud lingered like a ghostly presence. Some dismissed them as fools, while others admired their courage and yearned for the truth they sought. The Shroud remained unchanged, impenetrable and enigmatic, guarding its secrets with an ironclad grip.

As for me, the sight of those cultists disappearing into the unknown left an indelible mark on my soul. It sparked a desire to understand, to seek answers beyond the safety of my farm. Perhaps one day, I too would find the courage to venture forth and unravel the mysteries that lay beyond the Shroud. Until then, I would tend to my crops, my mind forever haunted by the possibility of what lay just out of reach.


bottom of page