Queen Amanita Muscaria XXVI Rules de Myconid Realm 🍄 <3

Action Battlemap with @forgotten_adventures free assets and CC3+.

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Drul’Kaz – The Cave of Bones

Many years ago, the winter that claimed the Drul’Kaz family was the cruelest the plains of Brukon had ever seen. It came swiftly and without warning, a storm like no other where the winds cut like a butcher’s knife and the snow piled up like never before, swallowing the paths and silencing the forests. No game roamed the fields. The rivers froze to their beds and even the hungry wolves that prowled the camps were found dead, petrified by the relentless cold.

It was in this season of death that a large orc family, 61 souls in all, found refuge in a deep cavern hidden among hills of black stone. They were on the move, fleeing the cold, trying to reach milder lands before the worst of winter reached them. But the storm surprised them. The wind howled like a hungry beast, blinding them with snow and biting ice. The elders stumbled, the children cried, and the strongest warriors barely made their way.

Their leader, Urgor, a seasoned hunter, knew they could not go on. If they tried to advance, they would die one by one, buried in the snow. Then they found the cave—a dark cleft between the rocks, just wide enough to shelter them. Here, they thought, they could survive until spring came. They lit fires, cooked the last bits of dried meat, and waited.

But spring never came for them.

Days passed, and the flames began to fade. The wood was brought in, and the cave grew cold as a tomb. The air grew heavier each night. The voices became whispers. Then, one by one, they began to disappear.

The children were the first. Alone in the darkness, their eyes open but their bodies still. Then came the elders. Urgor ordered that no one should sleep alone, but it was useless—every day, fewer orcs remained to watch over the living. Some tried to escape, but the storm outside seemed more cruel than what awaited them inside. Others begged the spirits, but their prayers went unanswered.

When winter finally gave way and the snows began to melt, a group of hunters found the entrance to Drul’Kaz. The smell of death did not greet them. Only silence. They entered the cave expecting to find scattered bones, remains of a tragedy like so many others in the cold of Brukon.

What they saw probably haunted them for the rest of their lives.

The 61 orcs were still there. Their bodies were perfectly preserved, as if they had just gone to sleep. Their eyes were open, fixed on the ceiling of the cave, their expressions frozen in a mixture of surprise and horror. No sign of struggle, no apparent illness. Just an entire family, eternally trapped between life and death.

News like this soon spread, and so the stories began. Some shamans said that Drul’Kaz was a sacred tomb, a portal between the living and the dead. Others say that those who died there were not truly dead—that they could still see, hear, and feel the passing of the years, but were unable to move. Some swore they saw the eyes of the dead blinking as they entered the cave.

Since then, Drul’Kaz has become a place of fear and reverence. No tribe approaches without need. The boldest shamans sometimes go to its entrance to seek visions, but few dare enter. For the orcs, the fate of warriors must be to return to the earth to be covered once more by snow. But those who died there never returned. They never left. And if they are still there, waiting, no one cares.

On a lonely and forgotten path, between the Lonely Lighthouse and the enigmatic village of Salt Gatherers, lies Wagon Stop, a place shrouded in mystery and a sinister attraction for the few travelers who dare to pass through it. Over several generations, the Vice family has put down roots in this wilderness, transforming it into a dark refuge where the winds whisper secrets that they keep hidden from the world.

Don Johnson, the enigmatic patriarch, observes the world with eyes that have accumulated more knowledge than they could possibly share. He lives with his wives, two cousins ​​from Lonely Hamlet, whose blood ties weave an oppressive air around them. His children, Philip Michael and Saundra Santi, live in adjacent houses, like shadows of a legacy that oscillates between fear and fascination.

Wagon Stop is more than just a stopover; it is a land of ancient and forbidden pacts. Behind the strange and almost oppressive hospitality lies a dark deal with underworld beings. In exchange for protection and wealth, the Vice family hands over the life energy of the unwary travelers who stop there. As the travelers make their way, few escape without feeling as though they have been touched by a secret they wish they had never known.

Hey @Royal Scribe Beautiful work! Note that in the first image, the waterfall is not in the foreground.

In the second drawing, very beautiful by the way, you can improve it even further by using the trees or other symbols to "hide" the junctions of image with screen, or image with image. Note the points below.

Also, if you want to show an apparent "use" of the magic circle of stones, you can leave it without grass and create a special sheet, above all, to use a hill background or mountain background and give the appearance of a ground "trampled".

Congratulations!

I tried to create a dark forest environment, or "that dark movie theater environment", this time without using clouds :) and at the same time keeping the design simple without many icon options. I used only the 3 Mesas symbols by Herwin Wielink, plus the pine tree icons, the cave and the crystal, varying their positions, colors and directions of the symbol (mirror).

At the foot of steep cliffs where the waves crash furiously, there once stood the coastal village of Spotted Elm. It was once known for the majestic elm tree that grew peculiarly close to the sea, its roots woven into both the land and the villagers’ stories.

The tree was not only a symbol of beauty but also of protection, offering shelter from fierce storms and attracting abundant fish to the surrounding waters. The villagers performed rituals at the solstice, thanking the elm for its benevolence and asking for favors from the sea gods.

Over time, however, the leadership changed. A new chief, skeptical of the traditions, persuaded the villagers to set aside their customs, dismissing them as ancient follies. The elm tree was no longer cared for, and spots began to appear on its bark, reflecting sadness and loss of power.

Without the protection of the elm tree, the village was exposed to storms and creatures of the deep, which on a stormy moonlit night brought destruction and fear. The sea, once an ally, was now a constant threat. The survivors fled, leaving behind only wreckage and legends.

Today, the ruins of Spotted Elm lie forgotten, bathed in the eternal lament of the waves. It is said that, in the stillness, one can hear the sigh of the elm, the sole guardian of the memories of a time when land and sea danced in harmony. The few who venture to the site dream of obtaining its legendary leaves that can rekindle the ancestral connection with nature.