I have only two ‘regrets’ when it comes for Grim Dawn.
1st: I bought it on sale. It’s easily worth the full prize
2nd: It was under my radar far too long
With that said, let’s dive into what made me fell into love even more… decades ago (yes, I’m a little older than the average player, hehe) I loved writing. In school, in private, you name it.
I came up with the idea to write something about Grim Dawn while playing through the story yet again with a class I never played in any ARPG. I rolled a necromancer; lotsa beasts, minions, skellies… I thought about writing down what the necromancer experienced during her journey. Without further ado, let’s get into chapter 1 of Elaris Voidgrace, the necromancer that will become The Reaper Queen, and ‘Drangsal’, the raven which is not the raven it seems to be…
THE RAVEN WATCHES.
THE BONES REMEMBER.
Elaris is the song that echoes after the battlefield falls silent. She is the quill, the myth, the spark that turns victory into story.
Chapter I — The Gallows Raven
They hanged her at dusk.
Not for heroism, nor betrayal, nor any crime she remembered doing.
Just another body for the crows beyond Devil’s Crossing.
She swung there for hours — bruised, starving, fading —
until the world blurred and sound became nothing but heartbeat and wind.
Then she felt it.
Not magic.
Not power.
Just… beak and feather.
A raven alighted on her shoulder, black as moonless water.
It pecked the rope once, twice — three times —
threads fraying with each strike.
The guards were gone.
The night was deep.
The bird worked relentlessly, as if it had nowhere else in the world to be.
The rope snapped.
She fell like a corpse, breath knocked from her lungs,
body broken but alive enough to crawl.
She did not rise with power in her veins.
She rose because she refused to die.
The raven hopped beside her as she dragged herself toward the fort lights.
It did not leave — not even when she collapsed at the gate stones,
half-conscious, fingers clawing at the earth for warmth.
That raven still follows her.
On posts. On branches. On cold moonlit beams.
A silent witness — or an omen.
Perhaps it saved her by chance.
Perhaps something darker guided its beak.
Elaris does not know.
But she owes her life to that bird, not to magic or will.
And debts must be paid.