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The Abyss of Kolossil

Over a thousand years ago,

a mysterious sorcerer known as Maerion Silts emerged from the farthest reaches of the western seas, seemingly summoned by destiny's own whisper. Tales of his origin are contradictory some speak of lost Erithane, a once glorious cradle of arcane enlightenment, while others claim he rose from the ruins of the drowned continent Sireth or wandered from the obsidian shores of the Twilight Expanse. Regardless of whence he came, all legends agree on this: Maerion arrived at the foot of Mount Velcryn with eight devoted proteges.

Together with his Octagon of Eight, Maerion conjured forces from beyond the stars to help him construct a singular tower of sorcery. Yet as the years passed, the presence of the archmage among his followers dwindled. While the spire grew heavenward, Maerion delved ever deeper into the earth, forging pacts with chthonic entities to hollow out a hidden sanctum far beneath his home. He offered no answers to his apprentices, his true motives remained cloaked in secrecy.

Eventually, Maerion's descent breached the ancient vaults of Durgarhal, a forgotten dwarven city built around a thread of starsteel deep below Mount Velcryn. The builders of House Bronzevein had long since perished in civil war, and in their place had come grimlock raiders and exiled shadow elves. Maerion launched a ruthless crusade against both, wielding eldritch beasts as his vanguard. The grimlocks resisted until the veins ran dry, then retreated. The shadow elves, too proud to yield, were shattered. Some Maerion enslaved, others he reshaped into monstrous servitors. Those whose minds he could not twist, he consumed for their essence.

His hunger for the deep never ceased. Vault after vault was carved, shaped by the will of madness itself. What became known as the Abyss of Kolossil was a subterranean dominion of paradoxes filled with creatures unbound by natural law, drawn from forgotten planes to dwell, serve, or simply exist. In time, Maerion's brilliance decayed into obsession, and his legend became myth: the Void Architect.

His followers, too, succumbed. Some disappeared into the abyss, returning years later speaking in tongues. Others stayed, slowly unraveling under the weight of knowledge too vast to bear. Sanity, within Maerion's realm, became an affliction rarely preserved.

As the Archmage receded into the deepest chambers of Kolossil, his tower above collapsed. Centuries later, a bustling city—Raven's Watch grew along the mountainside, unaware of the cursed world beneath their feet. That changed when rumors of the Abyss resurfaced, and condemned criminals were cast into its depths as penance.

Everything shifted when a daring vagabond named Corwin Thale descended and returned clutching relics and stories of terror. With his fortune, Corwin demolished the last stones of Maerion's tower and built a tavern above the abyssal shaft through which he had entered. He called it The Shattered Gate. Since then, Corwin remains its keeper, challenging others to brave the Abyss of Kolossil and its lingering madness.

The Knot of Shadows

Before humans ever tread Mount Velcryn, the high elves of Elarindor ruled the region. Their radiant capital, Vey'thalas, stood where Raven's Watch now sprawls. When the elves withdrew, they invoked a potent ritual to erase their imprint but the magic left behind a scar: a tangle in the Thread, the very fabric of magic.
Buried deep beneath the earth, this Knot of Shadows remains untouched, but it murmurs into the minds of those who draw near. The closer one gets to Kolossil's heart, the more thoughts fray, desires twist into compulsions, and madness blooms. Maerion, his acolytes, the Bronzevein dwarves, and even Corwin Thale fell under its sway. Some resist. Many do not realize they're ensnared.

The Shattered Gate

Built on Mount Velcryn's eastern rise, The Shattered Gate is a famed inn perched above a cobblestone shaft that descends into Kolossil. The center of the main hall holds a circular well—forty feet across—lined with ancient stone from Maerion's fallen spire.

A weathered winch system sits nearby, operated by Corwin himself. He lowers bound and blindfolded prisoners/adventurers into the depths accompanied by a single guard one at a time, a 140 foot descent into darkness that takes a full hour. The rope is old, crimson streaked, and frayed, though still functional.

One gold coin for the way down. Another coin to come back up, that is if they survived, must be paid in advance. Corwin fuels the tavern's revelry with wagers, shouting odds on each new descent.

"Fifteen crowns they'll be back in five days, if they don't die of starvation!" is a common toast echoed in drunken merriment.

The shaft walls are cracked. You are bound and blindfolded. Most are never seen again.
You feel dizzy as you start your decent and pass out...