Warmachine Grymkin Slaughterhouse

At the edge of the forest where crooked paths meet, there stands a ramshackle building with a porch light that never goes out. The Slaughterhouse creaks and groans as it lurches forward, a nightmarish parody of hearth and home dragged straight from a tale that should never have been told. Those who stray too close soon discover the truth behind the lantern’s glow. Twisted limbs lash out from its sagging frame, dragging the unwary toward its waiting doorway as though the house itself hungers for…

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