The Pale Maw

The Pale Maw (near Green Creek)

Green Creek was once just a quiet stream feeding the Silver River, but lately, folks give it wide berth. About a half‑day’s ride upstream, where the limestone banks crumble into a ravine, there yawns a cave the locals call the Pale Maw. The name fits: its entrance looks like a jaw gaping from the earth, the rock around it streaked white by some powdery residue that glows faintly under moonlight.

Those who’ve ventured too near claim to hear soft chanting—or worse, laughter—from the dark. Hunters report seeing ogres painted stark white standing guard among the rocks, unmoving as statues until intruders pass. At night, firelight sometimes flickers deep within, pale and cold like frostbite flame.

The story goes that the Pale Queen herself makes her throne there, weaving her dominion in whispers. Her monsters—ogres first, now goblins—come and go as though obeying silent commands. Folks fear she’s gathering more under her sway, that soon even beasts and darker things will crawl from the woods wearing that same bone‑white mark.