The Blood River
Now Blood River is a right miserable place, and that ain’t no jokin’ matter. Meanderin’ through the rough patches of Pazunia like a snake that’s seen far too much of this life and just wants it all to end, the river carries the stench and wickedness of the Abyss in its flow like a thick scum of debris.
Now, it bursts forth from a spring hidden deep, I mean real deep, in the guts of the Plain of a Infinite Portals, in a part of the Badlands that no one in their right mind would want to traipse. This ain’t your ordinary watercourse, no. It drifts lazily, but with a malicious kinda purpose, you know? Like it knows just where to find the dark places, the spots where the worst of the worst happen. Breakin’ off into streams here and there, slitherin’ into the pits of Pazunia and disgorging itself into the horrific Lake Main before takin’ the final plunge into the dreadful Grand Abyss of the Blood Rift, a place even a hard-boiled basher like meself ain’t eager to visit a second time.
You’d think the crimson currents might beckon all manner of beings eager to explore its mystery but trust me, cutters with a hint of grey matter steer clear of the riverbank. It’s a place of hidden dangers, with dark and noisome secrets buried in its muddy banks, and unknown entities lurkin’ in its depths, ready to snatch the unwise, unwilling and unfortunate. The water’s just not right, ya know? Fetid, carryin’ a smell that turns even the strongest stomachs. A smell of death, decay, and things best left forgotten.
You need to cross it? Hah, you’d be a barmy to try it alone. The bashers who must cross tend to find them shallow fords, where the crimson currents ain’t as strong, and they go in groups, large groups, ’cause there’s safety in numbers, or so they say. But, and here’s the dark of it, there are those who work the river, demonic ferry operators with nothin’ to lose. I’ve seen ’em, piloting small boats and rafts, dancing with death as they navigate the turbulent surface of the river. It’s got to be a job that requires supernatural powers of navigation, because they say the River never takes the same course twice, and a repeat journey between two nasty locations on its shores will pass through different terrain each time.
Let me tell ya, ain’t nothin’ in the multiverse that’ll prepare you for the sight of those ferrymen, faces twisted with malice and bodies marked by the Abyss itself, carting lost souls across the dark waters. One glance and you’ll be wishin’ to head back to where you came from. It’s a merciless place, the Blood River, not for the faint of heart, I tell ya. It’s got a dark mind of its own, that river, and it ain’t no friend to the living, not by a long shot.
Source: Demonomicon [4e] p50, expanded by Jon Winter-Holt, mimir.net
