It lurks on the edge of most maps/any map/every map, a festering sore/wound/gash on reality. They say laughter died in Grimsville long ago/recently/sometime. A creeping chill/sorrow/despair hangs over the place, making even the sun look sick/appear dull/seem to weep. The buildings are twisted/broken/bent, their windows like vacant eyes/staring into

Many claim to hear these whispers, faint manifestations of those who have passed. Some attribute them to an open mind, while others swear by that they are genuine communications from the spirit realm. These whispers {can be heard inwindswept halls, or felt as a sudden wave of coldness. Often, these spectral voices offer clues to past lives. Are the