The Rot Beneath WinterbrookSomething doesn't smell right Civilisations rise and fall and the bones of heroes turn to dust. In a time before written words, when power was the only currency, something wretched was killed on the banks of the river. It sank into the mud and festered. Even the most cautious of travellers seek to rest their weary heads from time to time. Their sore, tired feet enter the cold, quiet riverside village expecting to find rustic hospitality but are left