Atmosphere of Malkovie


No one in this country will listen to me or hear me anymore. I pray that survivors elsewhere may receive this message and help us. The dark territories of this nation are peopled with wicked and malicious beings.
As for the simple peasants, they are not aware of reality or refuse to face it. No one to trust or trust. When one enters Malkovie, she immediately shows what she is capable of. The nights when the moon is full, the lycanthropes attack anyone who would be so reckless as to leave his house.

The caravans that pass from region to region live with the impression of going from nightmare to nightmare. The lords who run their domains are all perverted by malevolence. The most powerful of them reign over the largest territories and try to conquer those of their neighbors. The dukes overwhelm their tax subjects and even levy a tax on each birth.
Located in the land of the nation, Drogskol County is mostly populated by pathetic beast-men created in Dr. Wingenstein's laboratory. In the water, along the coasts, the inhabitants are continually tormented by spirits, and we must not expect any intervention from Duke von Kohlf to improve things.

It remains that the Malkovie is a magnificent nation of a breathtaking beauty. But a beauty that becomes oppressive when at the bend of a valley, looking up to the crests we discover a ruined castle whose inclined towers seem to watch travelers from their narrow windows. When night falls, you start to be scared and you feel lonely. But you are especially afraid of not being really alone.

Do you believe that nature is indifferent from human suffering? You are wrong. It must be considered as a hostile force. Forests hide unknown predators in their shadows. The storms delay you on the roads and leave you at the mercy of the creatures of the night. And to get off the road is to take the big risk of never being able to come back again.
Creatures from the distant lands of the Golden Empire sometimes make funeral procession on the roads and are always welcomed as special guests by local lords or the nation's greatest authorities. Who knows only why they roam the roads, where do they come from and what are their intentions for Malkovie?

Most of the Malkovians are rough people without the slightest bit of goodness in their hearts. They consider (probably rightly) that the gods have not abandoned them and their ruined temples do not serve only as a retreat for the rats that plague the area. Religious ceremonies remain and are not quiet burials, but public and open calls and gatherings in honor of the gods.
Living conditions are such that no one is surprised or worried about regular disappearances. To add to this distressing climate, a thick layer of fog regularly covers the lands of the nation. Some say that it is only a manifestation of the Princess Katarina who inspects in this form the lands of her vassals.
Caution would like us to be wary of everyone we meet, but it is impossible. Unfortunately, even after a few weeks of traveling with a pleasant companion, the moon or any event is there to remind you that it takes little for a bloody madman to appear in his place.

In many ways, Malkovie seems to have become a huge prison whose powers that control it are the guardians who revel in the sufferings of the captives. The mountains would then serve as walls and rivers impassable moats. However, the average person can keep a low hope of escape but the risk of being caught is enormous and to go where?

Some humans manage to live in these lands of nightmares by adapting their way of thinking to the chaos that reigns there. I could see that their logic is different from everyone. For them, the ”true” is synonymous with ”visible”; in other words, they consider that something no longer exists as soon as it leaves their visual field. It is at the price of this indifference of the other that some sedentary populations manage to survive willy-nilly.
Something in me forbids me to give up hope. I will find my way. But where do you turn, if not you, the strangers to find the answers to the questions that are gnawing at me? Only here, our caravan can do nothing and every day we are afraid of losing the little reason we have left, that the gods hear us.

Bjorn von Bistritz,
Boney of the Gray Wolf Caravan