Richemulot

Richemulot is a grim and gothic domain within the Domains of Dread, defined by its ceaseless oscillation between hope and despair, life and death. At its heart lies the eponymous city of Richemulot, a sprawling fortress city surrounded by thick walls and ancient moats, forever poised between ruin and resilience.

Richemulot is cursed by the relentless arrival of the Gnawing Plague, a horrific contagion that descends suddenly and without warning. When the plague strikes:

• Streets fall silent as infected citizens collapse into agonizing fits, their flesh decayed and consumed from within.
• Panic spreads faster than the disease, driving neighbors to betray or abandon one another.
• The dead rise as ravenous, mindless ghouls and flesh-eaters, hunting the living through the narrow alleys and shadowed courtyards.

The plague’s origin remains a mystery—whispered to be the wrath of a forgotten god, a dark curse, or the work of sinister forces seeking to rend the city apart.

Following each devastating outbreak, the city’s massive gates are thrown open—an ancient ritual signaling the plague has run its course, and the city is “safe” once more. Traders, refugees, and adventurers swarm through, eager to rebuild and reclaim life from death’s clutch.

Yet this peace is always temporary. The plague’s inevitable return hangs like a dark cloud, casting shadows over every joyous festival and hopeful venture.

The City and Its People

• Richemulot’s architecture is a tapestry of towering stone fortifications, narrow winding streets, and gloomy spires that pierce the sky like skeletal fingers.
• Its citizens are a hardy and suspicious folk, forged by the repeated trauma of loss and renewal. Many cling desperately to superstition, ritual, and faith to stave off despair.
• Secret societies and cults thrive in the shadows, some seeking to harness the plague’s power, others desperate to end it—often by any means necessary.

Outside the city walls, the domain is a landscape of dark forests, misty marshes, and crumbling ruins—places where monsters and worse horrors lurk. The persistent mists that swirl at the edges of Richemulot seem to feed on the city’s turmoil, thickening with every passing cycle of hope and fear.

Richemulot is a domain caught in an eternal pendulum swing between the terror of the Gnawing Plague and fleeting moments of fragile peace. It is a city and land defined by survival, loss, and the stubborn refusal to surrender to despair—even as darkness gnaws ever closer.

“When the gates close, the city holds its breath. When they open, the dead take their leave—for now.”