Deep in the virus-fens of the Nuffuk Brodds, cut off by sludge mires and the choking miasma that rolls in from Dogger Bank there is the Eye: a forsaken crease in the feral, overgrown wilderness into which the manifold sicknesses of the Before have poured, stagnated and festered (though not necessarily in that order). To anyone with half a brain the Eye is not a prime holidaying venue: ignoring the aforementioned stagnation/festering situation it is also said to be haunted – roving ghosts emerging from the forest in accordance to the ineffable will of the stars overhead. A steady stream of raving prophets, babbling seers and a third type of preacher have returned from wretched pilgrimages to the Eye over the decades bearing miraculous fragments of knowledge and wisdom of the Before.
A reclusive order – the Penitent Watchers – has grown up within a tiny sliver of habitable land within the Eye and tends to traveller and wayward spirit alike, studying the night sky and waiting for a sign. Now, such a sign has presented itself: the stars are right and the Oracle awakens.
And of course – wherever secrets and lost technology may be found half-vomited up, dripping with mystery, C.R.A.S.S is soon to follow. While the Clan’s motivations for an expedition to the Eye might vary from the mystical to the mundane, all have agreed: take the Pilgrim’s road, pack your wellies and don’t forget the quinine.
