ABERRANT HOLLOWS
The Forbidden Rite is so dark, so unspeakable, that for centuries only the Provider has had any knowledge of its existence and how it could be successfully performed. It works much in the same way an ordinary manifestation ritual does, with one exception: the seed must be a living human being, alive when buried and alive when the transmutation begins. This is a ritual that not only sacrifices blood, but also sacrifices a soul.
This is the only way to manifest a curio that bleeds true blood and possesses a soul of its own–otherwise referred to as 'true sentience' by the Council. One caveat is that these characteristics are not manifested by default. An architect must evoke them the same way other characteristics are. It is possible for a human seed to bear a curio with neither true sentience nor true blood if an architect has not specifically declared them.
However, there is something that architects have no control over, and it is the simple fact that Hollows produced from the Forbidden Rite (also known as Aberrant Hollows) possess the ability to evolve beyond the creator's original vision. This typically manifests as subtle physical changes, but it is also possible for such Hollows to develop a sentience of their own and acquire the ability to bleed true blood.
Wraithbane
In the wooded depths, where no man has ever ventured and lived to tell the tale, the Hollows of the Roots were created.
They emerged from the womb of the earth drenched in blood that was not their own, possessing an instinct to speak a language never learned and an understanding of things never before encountered. Most strangely, they are haunted with memories of a former life–a life that had brutally perished before its time. But that is irrelevant. They are no longer the same person, nor even the same creature. For this familiar body comes with unfamiliar powers, as well as a nagging, ever-gnawing instinct for violence. It is an instinct that, when ignored, punishes them with headaches that worsen with time.
They are hunters masquerading as prey, slowly weaving a web of lies around the oblivious outsiders. Yet every moment spent with their unwitting victims awakens a conscience within them. Will they embrace their purpose, or reject it despite the consequences that await them should they do so?
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Roots of all Evil
Shortly after Grimsby was founded, a strange tree sprouted at the heart of the forest. It grew bigger and bigger, faster than any old tree could have feasibly grown. Its roots sucked all the life that had the misfortune to be within its reach. The grass underneath wilted. The ground dried up. The neighbouring trees began to weaken and rot. And all the birds that dared come too close would never fly again.
With every fresh kill, its roots became thicker and stronger. Further out it reached, spreading death wherever it went. It was a parasite on a mission, syphoning the power of the woods to keep itself alive. Except the woods would not let itself be defeated. While the residents of Grimsby carried on with their lives unaware, a silent war began between these two forces of nature. For so long, they grappled for control. At first it seemed there would be no clear winner. But with each day the Founding Families avoided the Roots was another day it spent starving and weak. It languished away in its small slice in the woods for years, waiting for someone–or something–foolish enough to finally fall into its trap.
Patience was all it took, for nearly two centuries later someone foolish did come. The roots seized its chance. With the flesh, blood, and soul of a human victim, its powers stirred anew, and the roots began to grow again, spreading themselves out in search for more. Unbeknownst to the Founding Families, it found a way into the labyrinth, where it lay in wait for its next prey…
The first outsider to set foot in that other dimension did not make it to the other end. For the roots had taken them back to its nest and buried them alive.
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Rebirth
From death comes forth life. Or at least, its closest imitation. The first Wraithbane, moulded from the flesh and soul of that unwitting victim from the outside world, emerged from the earth wet with blood that was not its own. It woke up violently, lying supine in a cradle of roots. Its first feeling? An insatiable hunger for violence. For this was its purpose: to seek out human victims and bring them to its maker.
The hunt commenced. One by one the outsiders, seized by this same inhuman foe, found themselves lost in this dead part of the woods. Here, the Roots buried them alive and transformed them anew. One by one, newborn Wraithbanes emerged from the earth, the same hunger burning in their eyes, the same fantastic power coursing through their freshly-moulded bodies. Their numbers grew. Their desires swelled. More blood. More violence. More death.
All for the Roots.
And yet, there is this strange new feeling, a sentience creeping up from the depths of their minds, awakened with every moment spent feigning ordinary lives. With it comes a growing fear: an understanding that, if the Roots catch on, they may just be its next victim.
They will have to keep this to themselves; ignore the nagging little voice and keep chasing that rush of pleasure when the roots take another innocent soul.
More violence. More blood. More death.
That's all there is to this cursed life.
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Memories From Another Life
The Wraithbanes are haunted by the memories of those that had been sacrificed to create them. More specifically, they remember the exact moments that transpired immediately before the ritual, as if they had experienced it for themselves. Often these appear in their nightmares and dreams, or in moments of quiet and stillness when nothing else could distract them.
They also experience memories from another source, the Roots. In these, they see themselves as a growing tree, an entity slowly spreading its roots across the forest, desperately sucking its power and life dry. They see centuries of isolation and survival, as well as a rising, ever-gnawing desire for revenge.
These are only fragments of memories, not the complete picture. At the end of the day, a Wraithbane is a completely separate individual and will not know everything about their victims or the Roots. There is little hope of discovering beyond what they already know.
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A Wraithbane's Addiction
It is only when a Wraithbane ignores its instinctual purpose that it experiences physical pain. It begins with a mild headache: a warning sign. If the Wraithbane persists, the pain will worsen, turning into head-splitting migraines or worse, spreading throughout their entire body. Beyond this the pain may evolve further, adjusting to a Wraithbane's strengths and weaknesses until it becomes too agonising, too unbearable to ignore: the sensation of being burned alive, of being drowned, of being consumed by maggots… The torture will intensify in brutally creative ways until a sacrifice is finally made.
The moment the Roots are satiated, the torture will cease, and the Wraithbanes will feel an instant rush of pleasure nothing else could possibly replicate. Then, and only then, are they rewarded with some semblance of blissful human normalcy… until the cycle begins once more, and the pain makes its unwanted return.
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Abilities & Limitations
Invincibility, Fatal Flaw(s)
It is clear that the Wraithbanes, despite appearing entirely human, are anything but. For one, the concept of blood is foreign to them. No matter how deep the cut, the scarlet river will not pour. Within them is only the intricate imitation of muscle and bone and all the things that to men are invaluable but to Wraithbanes are not. They can survive the most brutal of mutilations without feeling a twinge of pain. They can have their lifeless hearts torn from their ligaments and still remain standing. The only thing that can kill them is their fatal flaw, whatever that may be.
A fatal flaw may be a mole on one's hand, the lick of a flame, a string of spoken words, or something else entirely. This, along with its effects, are unique to each Wraithbane. They do not themselves know what their fatal flaws are, or how these will affect them.
Regeneration
Bone marrow gives Wraithbanes the ability to regenerate. Adult human bone marrow is the most effective. It can regrow a single limb in mere days, while one sourced from a different animal is likely to take twice the amount of time or longer. Depending on the severity of their injuries, they may need multiple sources to heal completely.
Other Abilities
Wraithbanes also possess 1-2 unique abilities. This is up to the player to decide.
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Appearance
Appearance-wise, the Wraithbanes are the clones of those that had been sacrificed to manifest them. This means they have no choice but to assume the already established identities of their victims. On one hand, this is a good thing, as it enables them to assimilate easily among the people of Grimsby. Instead of hiding in the shadows, they can operate in plain sight. On the other, because they do not have the memories of the original, it would be very easy to get caught in a lie and incite suspicion. For this reason, the Wraithbanes primarily target the outsiders, especially the new arrivals, as they have not been in Grimsby long enough to form meaningful relationships.
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The Castle Has Eyes
Once in a blue moon, they may find an unsigned letter tucked underneath their portal in the woods. These letters typically reveal key information that aids the Wraithbanes in their purpose.
One of these letters mentions this: "The castle has eyes". Sure enough, every part of the castle is adorned with various statues–whether it be the baleful gargoyles or the classic innocuous bust. This, as well as the castle's clear signs of intelligence, means that the Wraithbanes must take great care to keep a low profile and avoid discovery. If they are otherwise detected, the castle's ability to move walls and stairs could hamper their objectives, or worse, imprison them in an unending maze.
Luckily, the Roots have spread into the castle. Like termites, it crawls between the walls and floors unseen, only to burst through the eyes of the statues like a blooming flower of veins. A quarter of the castle's statues have been blinded and restricted in this way, leading to multiple dark spots prime for scheming and abducting and traversing through portals unnoticed.
Villager
The farmer villagers are some of the oldest creatures in Grimsby, supposedly manifested by the First Founders themselves. It is said that they are nothing more than ordinary Hollows: mere mimicries of human form and intelligence, incapable of true depth.
This is a lie, for the villagers are not only one of the oldest creatures, they are among the earliest Aberrant Hollows, capable of thought and complexity and evolution. They are a people. A civilisation. A secret to which only the Provider is privy. To this day, the villagers' sacrificial sources are unknown.
Change, that terrible word. These Aberrant Hollows are the embodiment of what the Founding Families fear; and should the truth come to light, it is bound to cause panic. The villagers are seen as a threat, an insidious tumour that the Provider has ignored for far too long. But purging these Aberrants would not be an easy task. Not only are they immortal with no known fatal flaw, they guard Grimsby's precious resources and hold dangerous abilities. Worse still, they can be aggressive and fiercely territorial over their space.
It is lucky that the villagers do not ask for much. In return for their services, they only require small comforts here and there: better clothes, better homes, a share of the crops they reap. For the moment, they are infertile, bloodless, and perfectly content with their lives. But who is to say this will last? There is always change–that terrible word–and Aberrants are ever-prone to changing.
Relationship with Grimsworth
Like the Founding Families, the villagers consider Grimsworth a deity. So deep is their respect that they have erected an altar in his honour.
Relationship with the Council
Council Members are the select few authorised to enter the Village, and only for the sole purpose of collecting provisions. Inevitably, it is during these trips that they sense something amiss about the villagers, some strange secret long withheld. But it remains an unspoken hunch, a suspicion they choose to ignore. Only a fool would dare question the Provider's integrity, after all.
Abilities & Limitations
Unique to each character; player choice
Leafling
Like many creatures of Grimwood, the Leaflings are difficult to classify. There is no telling who or what brought them into existence: are they natural beasts of the forest? Are they Aberrant Hollows? They lived relatively peaceful lives, caring for the trees and the little plants and manifesting their own dreamlike creatures into existence. But when they were discovered in 1858, the Provider deemed them Aberrants and sent the Council Members to exterminate them. The creatures were so harmless they did not think to fight back.
The mission was thought a success, for no more of the Leaflings could be found. Little did the Council know, the Leaflings simply evolved, becoming adept at concealing themselves. They haunt the trees of Grimwood to this day; but with their dwindling numbers, they have become a fractured people on the brink of extinction.
Fear has ruled the Leaflings since then. They have withdrawn into the womb of the woods, making their home among the canopies. No longer do they venture out of their territory. No longer do they truly live. In sleep and in waking life, they are plagued with nightmares, so that their manifestations come out as wretched creatures of disease and rot and despair. Now they are forced to rely on their old curios to keep them safe; for greater, evil threats have made themselves known.
Grimwood is not what it used to be, but the Leaflings have changed too. Once ethereal woodland beings adorned with sweet flowers and sturdy branches, they are now frail and wilting away. Rot seeps from their scabbed, woody skin–an inky, viscous substance with no discernible source.
Abilities & Limitations
Camouflaging, Manifestation Magic (Corrupted)
Witherwight
The Founding Family Scripture warns of the notorious Witherwights, the wretched victims of the Scourging that are said to return from the Beyond without their Ambulators.
(See: Founding Families > Notable Events > The Scourging) Stuck between life and death, they wander the woods aimlessly in a perpetual state of decay, seeking memories of a life that is forever lost to them. It is a story told to children to scare them away from the woods, though many grow up believing it is nothing more than a simple fable.
But those with frequent errands in Grimwood would know that the Witherwights are very much real. Every year, they seem to increase in number, with each one looking more intact and more alive than the last. Some of them even remember fragments of their past. Some of them don't look much like a Witherwight at all.
The Architects and the Council do not know what to make of this phenomenon, but the Provider merely tells them this: to set every Witherwight on fire–to burn them, burn them, until only their bones are left behind.
Abilities & Limitations
Manifestation Magic
No One Lives Forever
Oingo Boingo
Shadowkin
The Shadowkin are people descended from the Founding Families. For reasons now lost to time, they had forsaken their people, hoping to start a civilisation of their own. Little did they know, this would be to their detriment; for the Council had dispatched dangerous Hollows to track them down, forcing the deserters to seek refuge in the mountains.
Deeper and deeper into the mountains they delved, darkness pressing in on them, illusions haunting them. They starved. They grew desperate. Madness crept into their minds and their hearts. Some of them started to consume each other. Others consumed themselves. But when one Shadowkin ate a curio for the first time, something quite unexpected happened.
They gained power.
Soon, all of the Shadowkin were consuming curios. Only, this didn't always lead to great abilities. At times, they caused death. At others, they caused great ailments, resulting in as much weakness as they did power. It was an unpredictable art, but it was a risk they were willing to make.
The hunted became the hunters. With their new mutations, they sought out Hollows and tore them apart, limb by limb, and consumed them. They gorged themselves and mutated, again and again and again, until they could scarcely be called human. They stopped bleeding. They stopped creating. Now they only knew destruction.
The Council came up with a strategy they believed would abolish these abominations once and for all. Hollows were dispatched to the mountains for the last time, but these were unlike the ones that came before. As usual, the Shadowkin consumed them. Unusually, the Hollows set them aflame from within. Screaming, the Shadowkin retreated to the dark depths of the mountains, whereupon the Council presumed them dead. Too soon.
With time, the Shadowkin regained their strength, though their many wounds have yet to forget the scorching lick of flame. Nowadays, they hide from the sun and run from the sight of fire. They travel in packs under the cover of night, hunting for the curios they no longer remember how to make.
And though they are not Aberrant Hollows in the strictest sense, they may as well be, for the Shadowkin are certainly not human anymore.
Appearance
No two Shadowkin are alike in terms of appearance. They exhibit only the qualities of the curios they consume, which may occasionally extend to their physical traits. This also means that they change with every new curio eaten.
Shadowkin children, on the other hand, come out of the womb looking indistinguishable from regular humans. It is only when they start consuming curios that their appearance begins to change.
Abilities & Limitations
Unique to each character; player choice.
1-2 abilities only, paired with a similar amount of highly debilitating weakness/consequence/fatal flaw. Newly consumed curios override previous ability/abilities.
