#Grimshade

[silvertws]

Look at the boy. Look at him.

I love him (/p) your honor.

The bean. The baby ;-;

Zata when I catch you...

when I catch you...

[familiarscars]

Drive You Insane | Noah Sebastian 01

adult content | minors do NOT interact.

⋆ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. Noah Sebastian X psychiatrist!Reader.

⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. A mysterious new patient arrives at the Grimshade sanatorium and you have been tasked with taking care of his case.

⋆ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒). disturbing environment, violence, unconventional treatments, manipulation, questionable relationships, explicit sex and profanity.

It's okay to not agree with the characters' attitudes during the fic. It's good to remember that the story is fiction from the author's sick mind and of course they will make dubious decisions according to my fantasies. Nothing is done to be compared to reality.

Grimshade Sanatorium, an isolated island of Blackridge in southern Canada.

It had been six long hours by plane from your city, three hours by boat, and now an hour and a half crammed into a private car with closed windows, traveling along a bumpy road that bordered a cliff as it climbed the hill. Your heart threatened to leap out of your chest at any moment, and your hands were sweating so much that they alternated between hot and cold.

You adjusted your glasses on the bridge of your nose after checking the map for the eighth time, dividing your attention between the aged paper in your fingers and the fog outside that made it impossible to figure out where you were. From what you could decipher, Grimshade Sanatorium was at the top of a hill, while the rest of the island was shrouded in dark, untamed vegetation. There was a single small town miles away from your lodging, and reaching it seemed daunting given the path ahead.

At that moment, you hoped you wouldn’t need anything from it anytime soon.

When you chose psychiatry as your specialization, you never imagined how difficult it would be to find a job in the field, especially as a newly graduated professional. It was tough for reputable clinics to give you a vote of confidence, given your youth and limited experience beyond mandatory internships and extracurricular activities in college.

Everything changed when a letter from Grimshade Sanatorium arrived—a glimmer of hope. You had applied to so many places you’d forgotten about that one. They sent a notice on vintage paper, resembling a direct invitation from Hogwarts, which you found amusing yet intriguing due to the details.

They were looking for a psychiatrist for the ward housing inmates awaiting their final sentences—many of them serving their time as residents. It wasn’t exactly what you had envisioned, especially after researching Grimshade and discovering it functioned like a maximum-security prison for the most dangerous, mentally unstable criminals.

“This is where the road ends for cars, I’m afraid. You’ll have to continue on foot,” the driver said over his shoulder, turning to look at you in the back seat.

Your slightly wide-eyed gaze shifted between the dark dirt road ahead and his drooping eyes beneath his cap. You didn’t want to let on that you felt a faint shiver running up your spine.

“I don’t know how to get there alone,” you said, trying to mask the panic in your voice. “Okay, I have a map, but what are the chances it won’t confuse me? Is there somewhere I can get Wi-Fi or better cell service to use GPS?”

Rebert—that’s how he introduced himself—merely furrowed his brows and shook his head briefly, as if the words that had left your lips were absurd.

“With all due respect, miss, but a cellphone on Blackridge Island is the most useless device you could own. There’s no signal tower; we barely manage to watch TV or get news from the outside world,” he chuckled.

“What do you mean?” you asked, frowning as you adjusted yourself in the seat. “How do people communicate here?”

“You’ll figure it out.”

Probably through letters and carrier pigeons, like a century ago.

“I need to ask one more thing. If I need to go into town, how can I call a taxi or get transportation?”

“When you get to this very intersection, you’ll see cars like mine heading toward the town. Since you’re a Grimshade employee, you’ll have unrestricted access with your ID badge. Just pay attention to the schedules and days of the week; town visits are limited to avoid coinciding with the arrival of new inmates.”

“They seem very strict about security,” you said, flexing your lips in mild surprise.

“Given the abominable creatures they house there, perhaps their measures aren’t strict enough. Strict is how I chain my dog to a post to keep him from running away. Those killers shouldn’t even have the privilege of eating and sleeping in that place,” Rebert said with a tone of contempt that left you slightly uncomfortable.

You hated when people spoke about patients that way, no matter who they were. But your beliefs and values didn’t matter much now.

“Well...” You cleared your throat, grabbing your coat and bag from the seat beside you, slinging it over your shoulder. “Thanks for the ride and the tips, Rebert.”

“Not at all, miss.”

You hauled your suitcase out of the trunk, grunting at its weight, and dragged it toward the narrower stone path. In the distance, you heard Rebert’s car pulling away, its tires crunching against the gravel. Ahead, you could make out the mansion after a steep climb, with old tree branches and dry leaves forming an archway over the path.

The journey was silent, with nothing but the sounds of nature—the raspy chirping of birds—accompanied by the soft rush of water from the cracked concrete fountain decorating the front of the sanatorium as you crossed its gates. You walked slowly around it, grimacing as you noted the general state of neglect on the facade.

The circular driveway around the fountain had cracked and darkened tiles, and the mansion’s paint was as old as the building itself, appearing white under layers of creeping vines and cracks that altered its color. You couldn’t help wrinkling your nose at the sight, the chirping of birds replaced by the distant clang of heavy metal and muffled screams as you approached.

“You must be the new doctor!” A cheerful male voice addressed you from behind, startling you as you turned fully. “I’m Travis Rune, head psychiatrist of the custody ward. I’ve been assigned to welcome you to Grimshade!”

For a moment, you considered refusing the hand he extended toward you. He could’ve arrived a little earlier and helped you carry your heavy suitcase up the hill. On the other hand, the blond man with perfectly aligned hair and broad shoulders seemed far too pleasant to snub.

“Thank you! Have you been here long, Dr. Rune?” you asked, prompting a smile as Travis gestured with his chin for you to follow him inside.

“Please, call me Travis. We’re colleagues now.” He smiled, looking at you over his square glasses, winking one strikingly blue eye.

“That’s precisely why I prefer to keep things formal,” you said without intending to sound rude, though the words slipped out as you continued assessing the mansion’s interior.

A grand staircase led to the second floor, where nurses bustled about, and various patients were being moved from one place to another—some restrained, others not. Passing by a woman banging her head against the staircase railing, Travis led you upstairs, signaling to another staff member to take care of your suitcase.

“We’ve divided Grimshade into wings and levels. You’ll identify them by the bracelets on each patient’s wrist,” he explained as you moved down the corridor, ignoring the shouting coming from one of the consulting rooms. “Level One: green bracelet. Elderly patients abandoned by their families in our asylum. Their needs are managed by the nursing staff, so you won’t have contact with them.”

You absorbed the information, looking from side to side, thinking that abandoning a family member in a place like this was the ultimate proof of someone’s character.

"Level two: yellow wristbands. Patients of random age groups with mild mental disorders also abandoned by their families, or severe cases requiring institutionalization. They are monitored by the mental health team and have a monthly consultation with me for medication adjustments."

"So, they pay to be here?" Perhaps it was a naïve question, but you needed to know.

"Their families pay an annual fee and cover the costs of keeping them here. Unless it's a custody patient, we don’t treat anyone for free, if that’s what you’re wondering."

If they had so many patients and all of them paid to be here, why keep the sanatorium in the state of an ancient asylum? You wondered as you walked past a leak dripping water from the ceiling onto your hair.

"Understood, Dr. Rune."

He seemed quite young.

Okay, he was definitely good-looking and had a pleasant way of speaking. The age gap between you and him couldn’t have been more than two years. He was definitely the kind of guy you might have had a crush on in university, without the slightest reciprocation given the countless other, more interesting options he probably had. Not that you were particularly extroverted or social, especially when it came to interacting with men.

Locking yourself up at home with your face buried in books might not have been the best idea after all.

"Last but not least, level three: red wristbands. Custody patients awaiting trial or serving sentences at the sanatorium. We use treatment to extract information that can assist authorities and contribute to investigations."

He pointed toward a consultation room where a man in a dress shirt was speaking to a girl with her head down.

"Because these are highly dangerous criminals who can’t coexist with other patients, we keep them in a separate wing, which we call the Hidden."

Dr. Rune turned the next corner, and you followed him. As you passed through the doors and descended the stairs leading to the outside, the cold hit your face, and it was impossible not to cross your arms, trying to pull your sleeves further down.

You thought the scenery couldn’t get any worse, but with each step, it became darker. As you passed through gates and two guards, it felt like stepping into a TV prison show, walking along a corridor of iron cells.

A strong stench burned your nostrils, and the screams of patients mixed with the sound of something hitting the iron were enough to make your ears ring.

"This place is the reason you’re here. Our last professional resigned, and we urgently needed to fill the position before the next evaluation cycle started," Travis shrugged as he walked.

Your confidence dropped by a few percentage points upon realizing that your hiring was out of sheer desperation. Fine, you’d deal with that later.

"They resigned?" you asked, raising an eyebrow, dodging a stream of urine aimed in your direction by a patient. "Not exactly motivating to hear that on the first day."

"It’s a tough ward; it’s not for everyone." He smiled, and you hesitated immediately. "Besides the patient files you’ll handle, you’ll need to prepare for a new detainee arriving soon."

"A new detainee?" For the first time, your question sounded genuinely intrigued.

"He’s being tried for a brutal murder. There’s little information about the case, like his motivation or even confirmation that he did it. He hasn’t spoken a word since it happened, and the judge concluded he’s not mentally sound." Travis rolled his eyes. "They dump any trash here, and it’s up to us to sort through it. Along the way, we see if we can help at all."

He was definitely fed up with this job.

"So, let me guess... you think I can make him talk?" you asked, playing with a hint of innocence as you watched Travis stop in the corridor.

"I don’t think someone as inexperienced as you can go that far, no offense." He spoke with a touch of sarcasm. "We just want you to follow protocol with him, and I’ll handle the rest."

Something prickled at the back of your neck at the way he dismissed your years of study as absolutely nothing just because your resume wasn’t as extensive as his. Your hands curled into fists, your fingers pressing into your palms, and you took a deep breath before responding.

"Of course, Dr. Rune."

The tour of the Hidden was over, and you were exhausted. Travis left you at the door of your small room with its jammed window and dusty ceiling fan. Before leaving, he emphasized the importance of being well-rested to receive the new patient the next day. After your shower, you wanted to call your mother and let her know you had arrived safely on the island after hours of travel, but without any signal, no matter where you moved in the room, this mission was impossible. Tossing the phone onto your pillow, you promised yourself you’d give her an update as soon as you had a break and could visit the town.

With a tired sigh, you sat at the desk next to the bed, drying your hair with a towel while flipping through patient files. You weren’t sleepy yet, and without the entertainment of the internet, all you could do was work.

Patient File 1: Ash A., 39 years old - Admission: June 2019 Preliminary Diagnosis: Severe psychopathy; dissociative disorder.

History: Ash was admitted after being declared legally insane during the trial for a series of brutal murders. He worked as a taxidermist, and his obsession with preserving "human perfection" led him to conduct grotesque experiments on his victims, all meticulously chosen. He claimed he was "saving" their souls by preserving them in an "immortal" form. During initial sessions, he displayed a complete lack of remorse and a disturbingly detailed recounting of his actions. Current State: Apathetic during interactions, except when discussing his “art.” Shows no signs of rehabilitation or acknowledgment of the atrocities committed.

You raised your eyebrows and jotted down notes in your notebook before moving to the next file.

Patient File 2: Mariene G., 27 years old - Admission: October 2021 Preliminary Diagnosis: Schizoaffective disorder with violent tendencies.

History: Mariene was found in a state of shock next to the body of her older brother, stabbed 23 times. Apparently, she believed he was a demonic entity trying to steal her soul. According to family testimony, Mariene began exhibiting paranoid behavior months earlier, hearing voices instructing her to protect herself "at all costs." In one interview, she stated she "had no choice" and that "his eyes burned like embers."

Current State: Alternates between periods of lucidity and paranoia. Aggressive during confrontations, requiring constant supervision.

“Mariene is a pretty name…” you murmured, assessing the photo of the woman with blonde eyebrows.

Patient File 3: Brady P., 52 years old - Admission Date: January 2020

Preliminary Diagnosis: Antisocial personality disorder; extreme persecution mania.

History: Brady was a former financial executive who believed he was being pursued by a "secret society" responsible for monitoring his every move and manipulating his life. This paranoia culminated in a public attack at a shopping mall, where Brady set fire to three stores and stabbed two security guards, claiming they were "infiltrators." He maintains that each act was a measure of self-preservation against an invisible enemy.

Current State: Rarely sleeps, claiming that "they will find him" if he closes his eyes. Displays consistent delusions despite intensive medication.

With the third file finished, you exhaled sharply, letting your lips vibrate, imagining what could have driven the previous psychiatrist to resign, leaving this position open for you.

Patient File 4: Noah S., 24 years old - Admission Date: February 2024

Preliminary Diagnosis: Psychogenic catatonia associated with borderline personality disorder and severe dissociative episodes.

History: Noah was found at dawn in a grove near the university campus, kneeling beneath a large tree. Above him hung the mutilated body of his ex-girlfriend, Rachel E., 23 years old, suspended by her ankles and bearing signs of extreme violence: deep cuts marked her skin, symbols carved into her torso, and her frozen expression suggested a slow and painful death.

Noah was covered in blood, both his own and Rachel’s. When approached by police, he remained motionless, staring blankly at her hanging body. Initial investigations revealed the two had been seen together the night before at a rival fraternity party where, according to witnesses, a heated argument occurred. The circumstances of the crime raised questions of premeditation and symbolic rituals, but Noah never provided an explanation. From the moment of his capture, Noah had not spoken a single word. Extensive psychiatric evaluations concluded that his muteness and apathy were not conscious choices but the result of a profound dissociative state combined with severe trauma. During the trial, his inert posture and lack of defense led to an insanity plea and his transfer to Grimshade Sanitarium.

Current State: Noah remains in complete silence, minimally interacting with his surroundings. Nurses’ reports mention he is often found staring into space for hours, particularly near windows or trees. His only movements thus far have been sudden bursts of rage when provoked.

Closing the file, the feeling lingered — a deep chill seemed to originate from the center of your chest, raising the hair on your arms. Noah’s face in the photograph seemed almost alive, his intense, furrowed gaze carrying something impossible to name. For a moment, you wondered what it would be like to stand face-to-face with someone harboring such silence and horror within.

But your curiosity wouldn’t have to last long — you would meet him tomorrow.

The day began with an unusual restlessness. The hot water from the shower didn’t dissipate the cold that seemed to settle in your nape, and Noah’s face from the photograph lingered like a shadow, even with your eyes closed. It was as though the intensity of his gaze was imprinted on your mind, and more than once, you caught yourself trying to divert your thoughts — unsuccessfully — while instinctively clutching your thighs.

The tattoos — intricate and dark — covering his neck and peeking from the collar of his shirt didn’t help, drawing attention to themselves. Something about that man disturbed you more than any other patient you had encountered, and the feeling only grew as you prepared, choosing an outfit that projected professionalism, though a hint of nervousness threatened to show.

Descending to reception, you found Dr. Rune waiting with a calm smile and a hot coffee. You thanked him, holding the cup with both hands, trying to savor the warmth as a fleeting comfort. Walking together toward the outside, he explained some logistical details, but his words soon faded as a growing noise filled the corridor.

Crossing the main entrance doors, you stopped abruptly, startled by the scene unfolding before you. Journalists crowded like a compact swarm, camera flashes firing in rapid succession, and visibly overwhelmed security guards struggling to contain the horde. It was a chaotic visual and auditory assault, intensifying with each passing second.

“I should’ve warned you,” Travis murmured beside you, noting your expression. “Not only is his case infamous, but Noah comes from a very influential family. The owners of Blackridge, basically. They have fortune, power... and apparently no hurry to help their precious son.”

“They’re not trying to prove his innocence?” you asked innocently.

“All signs point to them wanting to stay out of the case due to the exposure. We’re in the isolated area, but Blackridge’s noble district is so conservative it’s believed that land still exists in a time capsule that hasn’t evolved.”

“That sounds... complicated.”

“Just another piece of gossip about a random patient.”

The information landed heavily, given Travis’s mocking tone, and you tried to ignore him.

“They won’t back off anytime soon,” Rune commented, his eyes scanning the commotion with a weary expression. “Be prepared — this will complicate things inside as well. Friends of mine at the penitentiary said this guy has an ego to match.”

The chaos ahead seemed to swell with the arrival of the convoy. You barely had time to process everything — the blinding flashes, the cacophony of voices shouting questions — when the door of the central car opened. Two guards stepped out first, taking rigid positions, before pulling Noah out.

He emerged with a surprising posture. There was no resistance in his movements, but neither was there submission. With his chin raised, his face remained expressionless, his eyes fixed on an undefined point on the horizon, avoiding the cameras with a determination that seemed almost practiced. The tattoos, now more visible, climbed along the side of his neck and hinted beneath the collar of his gray shirt, creating an almost hypnotic contrast against his pale skin.

Noah seemed unperturbed, untouchable, as though the swarm of journalists and flashes were nothing more than a breeze around him. But then, something shifted. His firm steps faltered for an instant, almost imperceptibly, and he stopped abruptly.

That’s when you realized: he was looking directly at you.

The air around you seemed to freeze under the weight of his gaze, as overwhelming as in the photograph, but now there was something more — an intensity that seemed to pierce through you, as if examining something far beyond what others could see. His eyes were a blend of ice and fire, fixed on you with such deliberate focus that your stomach involuntarily tightened.

The moment lasted only seconds but felt like an eternity. One of the guards touched Noah’s shoulder impatiently, and he resumed walking as if nothing had happened. Yet, the impact of that brief exchange lingered.

“He usually doesn’t react to anything,” Travis remarked beside you, his voice low but tinged with curiosity. “That was... strange.”

Strange.

The word felt insufficient to describe what you had just experienced. As Noah was led inside, you remained frozen, trying to understand why that fleeting instant made your skin tingle, as though something inevitable was about to happen.

You were in the asylum’s forest, each step swallowed by the oppressive silence, broken only by the crunch of dry leaves beneath your feet. The air was dense, almost suffocating, and you knew you weren’t alone. Something—or someone—was behind you.

Your breaths were shallow and quick, every fiber of your being urging you to run, yet your legs felt rooted to the ground. Then, you heard it.

A whisper, far too close, as though it came from inside your mind:

“Run.”

The word was a command, and you obeyed without hesitation. Your body lunged forward, crashing through trees and brush with an urgency that felt primal. But the ground seemed to fight against you, each step more laborious than the last. Heat built between your thighs—confusing, strange—mixing with the adrenaline surging down your spine.

When the sound of footsteps behind you intensified, the adrenaline peaked. You could no longer think, only run, but you knew it was futile. He was too close.

Suddenly, something yanked your hair with brutal force, jerking you backward. A scream tore from your lips as your back collided with the rough surface of a tree. The pain of bark scraping against your exposed skin was eclipsed by his presence—a towering, menacing shadow.

His face was obscured, hidden in darkness, but the patterns on his neck were unmistakable. You recognized the intricate lines of tattoos that had haunted your thoughts all day. The broad shoulders and the strength with which he gripped your jaw confirmed your deepest fear.

It was Noah.

He tilted his head, studying you with a terrifying calm. The sound of his breathing was heavy, almost animalistic. Before you could react, he pressed his body against yours, pinning you between the tree and his overwhelming presence.

The heat pulsing between your thighs became unbearable, tangled in terror and tension. You tried to speak, but the words lodged in your throat as he gripped your neck with a possessive firmness, his fingers digging into your skin.

And then, like a violent wave, you woke up.

Your heart pounded against your ribs, breaths coming in ragged gasps, and cold sweat drenched your skin. The darkness of your room was suffocating, though not as much as the weight of that dream. It wasn’t merely fear—it was something deeply visceral, almost tangible, making your skin crawl and your entire body rebel against what you had just experienced.

That man was going to drive you insane.

[sleeps-au-bag]

it had been a long time since bryan was in this particular study. ever since his mother's passing, it had been left alone, only to be touched by time. it was evident too, with all the dust that covered every surface of it. he didn't really care for that now. he only cared about one thing.

he opened the bottom cabinet of the desk and took everything out of it. then he opened up the false bottom and brought out the coded books his mother left.

he never read them out of respect for her. he knew they brought her less than favorable memories and he wanted to keep them away from her, to keep her happy. she was gone now and these books were the only way to help solve a mystery going on in atlantide right now. he would beg her for her forgiveness when he reunites with her.

bryan's mother was. odd.

she was absolutely beautiful, stunning every man and woman who came across her. she'd entertain them with dates and when she got bored, she moved on to the next person who she attracted.

his mother was also insanely smart, making leaps of progress in the field of science. especially in thermodynamics. it was actually how she met his father, a half-fae who kept her academically challenged. they were rivals throughout their entire lives, even when married. his mother made sure he grew up with the right education and taught him everything she knew, not just science.

she and his uncle had some type of history together, he knew it. he didn't want to pry though. while he knew it was the reason for his uncle's shaking hands and his mother's missing eye, he never wanted to pry. he didn't like making them upset.

now he was about to uncover part of their shared past. he didn't want to but there was no other option. it was time for him to decode his mother's notes.

--

bryan felt sick. no one should have this power. this power his mother had... it would be a weapon of mass destruction in the wrong hands. it was a weapon of mass destruction, if he decoded his mother's notes correctly. he couldn't imagine the type of atrocities his mother was forced to commit. he didn't want to.

the circle in the book was mocking him. his only option to solve this mystery was a weapon of mass death.

at least he knew why his mother was so knowledgeable. why she insisted on teaching him everything to do with the science of fire the moment she found out he was a fire dragon slayer.

he looked at the pair of gloves hidden within one of the books. they were old and worn but the same circle from the book was still stitched on. he had on his own gloves, the same material as his late mother's. the circle was taunting him.

bryan knew what he had to do.

he took out his emergency sewing kit from a pocket and pulled out some red string. he carefully pulled off his white gloves and set them on the table. they were new. he also took out some spare flint from his pocket.

he made sure to thread the string and carefully look at the circle before he got to work. it needed to be perfect. it wouldn't work if it wasn't.

hours went by before bryan finished stitching the circles on the gloves. the flint was carefully stitched inside the fingers. he stared at the gloves before putting them on. thankfully the sleeves of his turtleneck were long enough to cover the design. no one would ever know.

except for two.

he made sure to put everything back into place before grabbing the decoded versions of his mother's notes and taking them to the fireplace. they served as good kindle while he grabbed his belongings and made sure everything was secure.

he needed to head to his uncle's bar before heading back to grimshade for training. he needed to tell his discoveries to acedia and majora. acedia couldn't really do anything with this knowledge, nor did she care to, but it already had a solid lead to what was happening. majora had already built a sizeable information network despite being new to atlantide, she could help him get more information with it.

bryan may be the weakest dragon slayer, but he was also the smartest one. like hell he was going to sit down while something's going on in his home.

he left his house with a purpose in his steps. he had work to do.

[sleepyburito]

Hey so I don't know if you still need more OC's for your FTO rewrite but I have another. You don't have to use her but here you go. I had the line art done months ago, but I had a lot of things to do for school and also procrastinating doing her armour.

Name: Brunhilde; Magic: Metal Make; Age: 20; Height: 5' 4". She isn't a very social person in large groups but once she starts talking it's hard to get her to stop. She uses her magic to make things like weapons and armor for herself, or piercings she likes those. She joined Grimshade because her family had just moved to Altantilde due to her father working in architecture, and the city is still rebuilding from damage it gained in season 4. So her family wanted her to do something and get out of the house more. She doesn't live in the main city though. Her family definitely underestimated how expensive living in atlantide would be. She joined Grimshade specifically because she had joined one of the first guilds she heard about, and she is too awkward to ask about other guilds. She didn't know the reputation that Grimshade had when she joined, she joined sometime after the new guild hall is built, maybe even her dad working on the guild hall was how she heard about the guild. One problem is that she will pass out when looking at injuries/blood at least on people. The first outfit is her everyday outfit, the second is her more combat focused one. She changed her outfit because without the underlayers under her armour it would cause chaffing and callouses. Fun thing about her outfit is that her skirt is made of 2 kinds of armor, the top is called brigandine, the bottom is cloth armor. She made the plate armor with her magic, but she has leather straps to keep it in place.

I love all of this!!!! It’s never too late to submit more oc’s I love how Brunhilde looks and she will definitely make a fun addition!!!

[merlinityart]

Artfight attack #5: GrimShade for Avery12345 on artfight!

[oakbruh]

The fire's found a home in me

The Moment Fotiás curse had fallen on the land, something overtook Grimshade. Something dark, and inherently evil.

[corvusavem]

Jericho scares me. I can’t handle the flirty!

[silvertws]

I was road down memory lane today so I drew the Protector's guild symbol on my hand using eyeliner. :DDD I think it looks good for a first attempt... Even though the quality of the picture sucks :'))) I wanna do all the other guilds as well even tho Grimshade is kinda complicated to draw on my body with one hand... Since my hands are shaky af.. I will draw them on paper next time and use them as a way to make the outlines better :3

[familiarscars]

Drive You Insane | Noah Sebastian 03

adult content | minors do NOT interact.

⋆ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. Noah Sebastian X psychiatrist!Reader.

⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. A mysterious new patient arrives at the Grimshade sanatorium and you have been tasked with taking care of his case.

⋆ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒). disturbing environment, violence, unconventional treatments, manipulation, questionable relationships, explicit sex and profanity.

It's okay to not agree with the characters' attitudes during the fic. It's good to remember that the story is fiction from the author's sick mind and of course they will make dubious decisions according to my fantasies. Nothing is done to be compared to reality.

Fortunately, the disturbing sound of screams could feel inspiring when used as a backdrop.

You had been buried in the files for so long that, for a moment, you wondered if you even remembered how to read. Your fingers rested on Noah’s case file, and your nails made an irritating sound against his photo as you strained to think. He was a patient who refused to speak, and you didn’t believe that would change anytime soon, making it all the harder to know him well enough to determine if he was guilty or not.

Innocence had already been discarded by everyone. His silence reinforced the majority’s verdict, but you were never one to follow the current. You preferred to tread carefully, trusting only what you saw with your own eyes and your professional intuition.

And it insisted, relentlessly, that something was wrong.

What if Noah wasn’t guilty?

You knew that specific reactions emerged from different patients under certain stimuli. Maybe he had developed post-traumatic stress after finding his girlfriend’s body displayed so brutally, causing him to withdraw, trapped in that final scene. He could simply be struggling to process the trauma, and his aggressive outbursts might be the result of associations between the crime and the real perpetrator. Maybe he even knew who the killer was. It could very well be a case of targeted vengeance against him.

But... what if he was guilty?

Noah could be hiding his own guilt behind a mask of arrogance. He knew what he had done. He showed no remorse, as the diagnosis confirmed, and perhaps his silence was a calculated provocation to the authorities, a way to manipulate the media spectacle that had grown around the tragedy.

The possibilities felt endless.

“Fuck!” you muttered, slamming your fist against the desk.

Solving a case like that would be a major feat on your résumé. It would guarantee your career and bring enough recognition that Grimshade would become nothing more than a brief chapter. That case hadn’t landed in your lap by mere coincidence. It was the perfect opportunity to unlock the future you had always wanted.

Of course, if that damned man would just talk.

Your first and only patient of the day was about to enter, and a sharp wave of nausea coursed through you as soon as you realized who it was.

Tom Harrow.

You read the name on the clipboard, drawing a deep breath before allowing him into the room. Your body still carried traces of fatigue, but you straightened your posture, forcing professionalism to smother any distractions. At Grimshade Sanatorium, every encounter was a psychological game more dangerous than the last.

When the door opened, the cold, dull light revealed a gaunt figure with broad shoulders and skin marred by fine scars and burns like knife marks. Tom sat on a metal chair bolted to the floor, his arms restrained by leather straps binding his wrists to the armrests. He smiled as you entered, revealing teeth white and sharp like a trap.

“Doctor...” His voice slid out like warm syrup—slow and sticky. “I didn’t think you’d want to see me.”

He always pushed sarcasm to its limit, every interaction dripping with malice, which he carried not only in his gaze but in every calculated word. Tom was a sexual predator accused of killing more than 35 women over three decades without raising a single suspicion. Mistaken for a respectable citizen, he went to church on Sundays and hosted neighborhood dinners where he was adored.

At night, he scoured the internet for vulnerable women, lonely for one reason or another, luring them to a secluded cabin where he abused, tortured them with depraved fetishes, and kept them captive until their bodies were deemed disposable after the skin began to rot. Harrow was only caught because he allowed himself to be caught, leaving a trace of a kidnapped neighbor in his home while the authorities did the rest.

But if not for that... he would still be free, you thought.

“Good morning, Mr. Harrow.” You closed the door with a firm click, trying to ignore the metallic scent in the air—a mix of disinfectant and sour sweat. “How are you feeling today? I heard a patient complained about being harassed by you in the lunch line. Is that why your hands are restrained?”

He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, his eyes slowly traveled over you, stripping away each layer of fabric, then skin. The silence stretched a second too long, making the air feel heavier.

You walk to the chair across from him and sit, positioning the clipboard on your lap like a shield.

"That’s not exactly how it happened," he said with confidence.

"Then tell me how it was," you allowed, activating the timer at the center of the table. "We have plenty of time today to talk about whatever you’d like."

"She provoked me, and I gave her exactly what she wanted with that attitude. You women are all the same—tease us, then can’t handle the reaction."

You remained expressionless.

"What do you feel when you have these impulses, Tom?" Your voice came out steady, though inside, a warning bell had already begun to ring.

His smile widened. He tilted his head to the side, his eyes gleaming with a malice.

"Impulses? You mean my... passion?" He stretched the word, letting it ricochet through the air. "Oh, doctor, you should know. Everyone has desires. It’s not wrong... to want. It’s not wrong to love women so much that you build an altar from the outer layer of their skin."

You kept your composure, but the knot in your stomach tightened.

"And what exactly do you want from all this, Tom?"

"Depends..." He leaned as far forward as the straps allowed, his tongue sliding slowly over his teeth. "Have you ever wanted something so badly it hurt? Felt heat under your skin, like a fire waiting to break free?"

Your eyes remained fixed on his, but your grip on the clipboard grew tighter. Your desires were none of his concern, and how you dealt with them even less so.

"Do you think that justifies your actions?"

He laughed softly—a low, rough sound filled with something that crawled along your spine.

"Who said I’m trying to justify anything? You think you understand me?" His gaze drifted downward, settling on your blouse where the top button had come undone without your notice.

"This conversation is to understand you—through your own eyes."

"Then what do you think I see when I look at you, doctor?" He leaned forward over his thighs, casting a look so dark it seemed to scratch beneath your skin.

Your body chilled, but your face stayed stone still.

"This session is over."

"Ah, don’t end it so soon... Sitting here... tied up like this... Isn’t it a bit insane? How they keep me bound while you... so free? Don’t you want to see through my eyes? How about I bind your arms and tear apart that sweet little cunt, doctor?"

You stood, the blood rushing too fast through your veins.

"We’ll speak again soon, Tom."

He only laughed again as you left, his chuckling reverberating down the corridor like a stain that wouldn’t wash away.

"Are you alright?" Travis’s voice broke the silence as his hand touched your shoulder suddenly, making you jump. You pressed a hand to your chest to steady your breathing.

"Got it," he said with a small smile. "Rough session?"

"Tom Harrow," you replied flatly, resuming your pace beside him.

"Shit. Was he... restrained?"

You nodded, and he exhaled in relief.

"Sorry."

"It’s over." You didn’t want to linger on it. "Since you’re here, I need a favor. I want to study Noah’s case more deeply. I could do it alone, but without internet or TV... it’s tricky."

If the case was as well-known on the island as people suggested, local news archives shouldn’t be hard to find. At least, that’s what you assumed.

"Hm. Old-school methods, then," he said with a chuckle, navigating the stairs with ease, greeting colleagues and signing prescriptions without breaking stride. "Old newspapers, interviews with people who knew him... that kind of thing."

"And where would I find all that?"

"In town, definitely. The university he attended still has plenty of stories about him. He was pretty well-known there. You know, because of the family name. It shouldn’t be hard to find someone willing to talk." He paused, eyeing you with renewed curiosity. "Are you really this determined to prove his innocence?"

You kept your tone professional. “I want to understand what really happened. The more information I have, the better my arguments will be during our sessions.”

“And you think that’ll make him open up.”

His sarcasm cut like a hidden blade. You lifted your chin, the heat of irritation rising slowly.

“I don’t appreciate your tone, Dr. Rune. I know Noah has the charm of a predator, and I’m sorry if giving up the case left you without an excuse to admire those…” You paused, your gaze sharp. “...incredible arms.”

The laugh that burst from Travis was genuine, full, and shook his shoulders before he shook his head in surrender.

“You’ve got a unique sense of humor, darling.” He winked, his blue eyes glimmering with amusement. “I don’t care about things like that, but when I started my career, I also thought my first problematic case would be my breakthrough moment.”

“And now you’re here, still stuck at Grimshade. Doesn’t seem like it worked out too well.”

The challenge in his gaze met yours, and for a brief, rare moment, you felt camaraderie—an honesty he didn’t bother to mask.

“I didn’t have enough time.”

“What happened?”

His expression darkened slightly, but he shrugged as if it were a trivial detail. “He killed himself.”

“I’m sorry...”

“It’s just another file in the trash. Don’t be silly.” Rune dismissed it and shifted his attention to a nurse calling him from down the hall. With a brief nod, he took off, his lab coat billowing as he hurried toward the masculine voice.

You understood why his apathy lingered like a cloud—it was a constant companion in this place, no matter how unsettling. Over time, nothing stayed surprising or shocking; it became just another day’s work.

Outside, the sky was a dull gray, making no effort to inspire anyone. You walked through the wide yard where patients had a designated hour of sunlight. Hidden Ward inmates came at separate times, under heavier supervision, for reasons that didn’t need explanation.

The trees were bare and poorly trimmed, and patches of grass fought for space amid wide circles of mud. The landscape was so devoid of color that when you held your arm up to the light, your skin looked as pale as your bedroom walls. The island’s low saturation was eerie, like the backdrop of a horror film.

You passed a minor commotion where a patient had lost control and harmed herself with a thread of fabric. Three orderlies wrestled her to the ground, dragging her back toward Hidden as she screamed.

“Prepare the hole!” one of them yelled to the nurse by the gate.

The hole? You didn’t know what they meant, a reminder of how incomplete your tour had been.

A few steps further, you stopped abruptly, noticing a figure crouched ahead. Almost instinctively, you adjusted your glasses on your nose and smoothed your coat before proceeding.

Noah, as always, was alone and silent, poking at the dirt with a plastic trowel, seemingly focused on a small garden plot.

The scene was bleak: dark brown, brittle saplings lay lifeless as he methodically pulled them up, tossing the dead roots into a bucket before covering the soil with fresh seeds.

“Keeping your mind busy with a hobby is healthy, Noah,” you said, your voice breaking the silence as your hands clasped behind your back, fingers twisting nervously.

He didn’t turn, didn’t acknowledge your words. He remained engrossed with the soil, as if the voice didn’t exist.

“If you don’t figure out what’s wrong with the ground, the next crop will die, too.” You circled slowly, stopping in front of him and crouching until your eyes met his. Sifting the dirt between your fingers, you let it fall softly. “First, you identify the problem. Then you treat the cause before planting again. If you just cover it up, the rot stays underneath.”

His eyes—cold, empty—rose to meet yours, the disinterest in your metaphor as obvious as the tension in his shoulders. From the dark look on his face, it was clear he wished you would simply disappear.

“This is your hobby, isn’t it?” You arched a brow, a hint of a smile tugging at your lips. “Does working with plants bring you comfort?”

Utter silence. Of course.

“Well, at least now I know what you like!” Your tone grew almost playful, the smile breaking free. “We’re about to become great friends. Don’t you think?”

He remained unmoving, but something in his gaze held too firmly, cut too deeply—like roots refusing to be unearthed. Your body reacted to each layer his brown eyes pierced as though they reached beneath your skin with every silent exchange.

“You may be good at this game, but I’ve always been very competitive,” you murmured, leaning closer to narrow the distance. His posture stiffened, a warning, but you pressed on, ignoring the cold that slithered down your spine at the visible fury brewing within him. “I will make you talk, Noah Sebastian.”

Visibly tired of the forced social interaction, Noah threw the bucket and trowel at your feet with a sudden, sharp motion. The plastic clattered against the ground like a full-stop punctuation. Without sparing you a second glance, he turned and walked away, heading back toward the building with a confidence so disarming it required no escort of orderlies. He never caused enough of a stir to warrant physical restraints—the fragile peace of the sanitarium seemed to hinge on one unspoken rule: leave Noah alone.

Staff and patients alike followed that law as if it were an instinct for survival. Eye contact with him never lasted beyond two seconds, as if any longer would invite consequence. He was a lone wolf in the heart of the Hidden Ward, indifferent even to the most hardened criminals. No bonds, no conversations, no trace of connection to anyone.

Noah didn’t share space in the dining hall, either. While others sat together, murmuring or staring vacantly, he preferred the meticulous solitude of his meals, delivered and consumed alone, a routine as unwavering as it was unsettling.

And then, there was his appearance. Day after day, while others withered beneath the weight of confinement, Noah thrived. His uniform remained impeccably clean, fabric fitted to a solid frame that betrayed no sign of frailty. His hair—straight and brown like the smooth surface of a moonlit lake—fell effortlessly across his face, and his skin seemed untouched by exhaustion or sleepless nights. His eyes burned with a sharp, simmering fury.

Noah appeared more like a figure from dark fantasy than the specter of a bloody past—a twisted fairytale prince where the wolf owned the plot.

You had been watching him since the day he arrived.

“Hey, girl!”

Sloan’s voice pulled you back to reality. She tugged you down to earth with her usual flair, and you dragged yourself away from your thoughts, making your way to the back of the estate. You sank into one of the lounge chairs as she plopped down beside you, offering a cigarette that you declined.

“Hiding in a hole? Haven’t seen you around lately.”

“I…” What could you say? Oh, I’ve been far too busy obsessing over a patient, picturing him while I sleep with someone else, consumed by his case to the point of madness, driven by a twisted need to be near him just to hear his voice in a game where silence reigns supreme. “I’ve been working too much.”

Sloan shook her head, letting smoke curl lazily between her teeth. Her dark curls tumbled free as she let her hair down, her breasts pressing against her neckline as she stretched.

“Boring.” She rolled her eyeliner-framed eyes. Sloan was striking. “I was dying to see you after happy hour at the tavern. I saw you and Rune leave together. Damn, girl, you don’t hold back.”

She nudged your arm with a teasing grin, and you smiled.

“It wasn’t a big deal. We were drunk…” You trailed off, unable to recall the night with him—because your mind had been tangled up with someone else entirely.

“Lucky you! I’ve been trying for years to get that man’s dick between my tits, but he’s so uptight I’ve developed a kink for just seeing him shut up.”

“Definitely more attractive when he’s quiet.” You nodded with certainty, and her eyes widened before she burst out laughing.

“Been after him for a while?”

In just a few days, Sloan had proven herself more than a stellar professional—she was a living compendium of gossip. Nurses, doctors, even patients—none escaped her scrutiny. Nothing escaped her cat-like gaze, and there were no limits—gender, danger, status, or intellect—her reach was boundless.

You couldn’t deny how intriguing that was. Sloan was an endless source of untapped knowledge.

“When I started, he was already here. Just another psychiatrist—like you,” she pointed out with a smirk, not bothering to sugarcoat the insult.

You smiled.

“He was a total suck-up to the director. That’s how he climbed the ladder. But, with all his rich-kid vibes, winning isn’t exactly hard.”

“Working here is winning?” you deadpanned, shaking your head. “He’s definitely screwed.”

“Oh, you just killed my crush.” Sloan sighed, stubbing her cigarette against the wall.

You both laughed, and she hooked her arm through yours as you walked back toward the sanitarium together.

“You know I’ve taken over that patient’s case… Noah, right?”

Your question lingered in the air, and Sloan merely confirmed with a brief nod, waiting for you to continue.

“I need more information about him,” you pressed, your voice firm, laced with a touch of urgency. “The records are practically empty, and without internet access, I can’t search for old articles or any other data related to the case. I feel like if I only had the right pieces, I could get closer to him. Maybe even understand why this case feels so inconsistent, with such a huge gap between one point and the next.”

Sloan frowned, thinking carefully before biting her lip as though weighing her words.

“Look,” she began hesitantly, “I think there’s something wrong with this case too. But I can’t tell if I’m analyzing the facts clearly... or if I’m just falling for some kind of Stockholm syndrome, because, let’s face it, he is a hell of a looker, isn’t he?”

You sighed in disbelief, bringing a hand to your forehead.

“For God’s sake, Sloan!”

“Kidding aside…” She pulled you closer, lowering her voice. “There are a lot of rumors about how he ended up in Grimshade, and one of them is that his diagnosis was bought.”

“Bought?”

Suddenly, you were even more intrigued by Sloan’s friendship as she seemed to strike precisely at the point that had been gnawing at your suspicions. One of the things that most fueled your doubts about Noah’s case was his diagnosis — it just didn’t seem to fit.

“Remember, it’s just a rumor… but his family is insanely rich, and as you might already know, they own this island. They maintain an impeccable reputation; no one’s ever heard a bad word about them — just those glossy magazine articles about rich people’s successes. They say that when they found out what happened, they bought a diagnosis to get him placed here. That’s why his record is full of gaps. They knew Noah probably wouldn’t last long in prison, especially if the other inmates found out what he did. Here… well, here he’s just another killer.”

She shrugged, and you couldn’t hide how much the information impressed you.

“I thought his parents didn’t care about him after the incident,” you remarked.

“They don’t. He doesn’t get any visitors. But they fund absolutely everything for him here. Supposedly, Grimshade receives a good sum to keep him here and keep things running as they are. They don’t want him deemed competent — if that happened, he’d end up on death row, you know? And Noah being a stubborn jerk who won’t speak just helps.”

Rumor or not, every word aligned with your own suspicions. His file lacked the traits expected of his diagnosis, and you viewed all his behavior during therapy as a rebellious act. Was he part of his parents' scheme? You doubted it, not after how he reacted to seeing his family photo.

It was all about protecting their image.

“I appreciate the honest update,” you said with a smile as you both stopped by the coffee machine. Sloan ordered a cappuccino, and you went for a latte, though you had no real desire to drink it. “I considered asking Travis about these things, but he always seems so prickly when it comes to Noah.”

“Doctor Rune was his first psychiatrist. The big boss upstairs,” she gestured toward the administrative wing with a nod. “He referred Noah during the trial. But Travis has a temper. He’s got rigid opinions on certain methods and zero patience. When he realized the kid wasn’t going to talk, he blew up.”

“They argued?”

“Not sure you could call it an argument, since one side wasn’t talking, right?” She chuckled. “But yeah, the tension was thick, and they decided to bring someone else in, since the Hidden Wing was being neglected too.”

Dr. Rune clearly had no intention of sharing this part of the story with you. It was no wonder he sent you off with a suggestion to look into town for answers.

“Now I’m even more curious…” you admitted, biting your lip and watching the steam rise from your cup. “If it’s more than just a rumor, if the diagnosis really is wrong… he could be innocent.”

“Sounds like one of those dramas,” Sloan said, draining her cappuccino.

“Rune mentioned the city would be the best place to dig up more,” you added, folding your arms. “His family’s well-known there, so it shouldn’t be hard to find something useful.”

“Perfect!” Sloan grinned conspiratorially and winked. “On our day off, we’ll go investigate Noah’s life in town!”

A flicker of relief passed through you. Slowly but surely, you were getting to know your colleagues better, and the way they welcomed you made the environment less toxic and lonely. Now you had information that made things feel a bit more concrete, even if it was just hearsay. Still, you were determined to go deeper.

Getting Noah to talk seemed like a promising plan to boost your career and leave the asylum behind, but turning the tables with a proper diagnosis — and possibly solving his case — would be even better.

From the corridor window, you had a clear view of the grounds outside. Well, clear might be an exaggeration — the exterior was a tangled mess of chaos — but you could still spot patients moving about, including him.

“The Hidden Wing’s outdoor time ended already,” you noted to Sloan, checking the wall clock. “But he’s still out there.”

Noah had returned to the same spot where you had found him earlier. Crouched, he sifted through brittle branches, pulling up rotting roots and planting new seeds. As always, he was alone. You tried — and failed — to look away from the way his shirt clung to his chest, soaked with sweat, and the arms that seemed ready to tear through the fabric. In a fleeting moment, he lifted his eyes from the garden and squinted toward the window.

A wave of heat surged up your neck. You rubbed the back of it, but the gesture did little to douse the flames his furtive gaze ignited within you. You weren’t sure if he hated you, despised your presence, or wanted to add you to his list of victims. But one thing was clear: he felt something.

“He’s allowed to roam Grimshade freely,” Sloan said, following your gaze. “Privileges, right?”

Your body went rigid, eyes widening instantly. Your reaction was so obvious that even from afar, Noah allowed himself a sly, wicked grin.

“Free?” you repeated, your voice tight. “At any time?”

“That’s what they say.”

Breathing suddenly became a challenge. Your gaze remained locked on his dark, provocative smile. Your heart thudded wildly, threatening to leap from your chest as heat crawled up your face.

It wasn’t your imagination. He really had been watching you through the window that night.

[uniprimo]

A project I’ve been working on since last january has launched the kickstarter campaign. ⠀ Finally I can show you some of my creatures’ design for the “Grimshade” project.

Kickstarter: www.kickstarter.com/projects/talerock/grimshade

[sleepyburito]

Hey so remember when I sent in Malo and said that I was working on their friend, well I finally finished her. Sorry it took so long. This was a scrapped idea for a DND character.

Name: Anne Howards; Age: 46; Magic: Animal Whisper; Rank: A.

Anne was a sheep herder in a small village. She came from a village that was surrounded by stories of the fae, and along with that came superstition and a fear of magic. So when her town found out she had magic they ended up chasing her out, so ended up wandering until she came to an area that didn't mind magic. This was fine but it was difficult to get work, so she would eventually move to Atlantide and join Grimshade

She was chased out at 26, and moved to Atlantide at 30. Which means she was in the guild for 16 years by the time of season 5. (Just realized she would have seen little Michael and Devin/Eden)

I feel like she would do quests that would deal with beasts/wild animals getting too close to villages/towns. In season 4 I think due to her age she would be a B rank, but I put A as her rank due to Allumos raising Collin's rank since he didn't quit the guild. Or in her younger years she would have been an A rank and possibly done some mercenary work with the help of some animals. I feel like her magic would allow her to speak with/ and to an extent control animals/beasts, it would be more challenging the more complex an order or how sentient the beast is.

In season 4 I feel like she would have started to do less quests due to her age, but she was still surprisingly active(she was a farmer this is to be expected). This is when she would have made friends with Malo. She is responsible, and is willing to work hard towards an end goal. She is not afraid to call people out on their bullshit, she too old to be dealing with that, due to her experience this usually works, how well it works depends on the person. She knows how to cook. She is a mom friend, and does like to look out for the younger members of the guild. She isn't a mother herself nor does she want to be, when she decides to retire from guild work she would like to have a small ranch by herself with her beast friends, of course she allows her friends to visit. She also likes to embroider her and her friends clothes.

When the guild started to fall apart post season 4 she took Malo, with her as she left, due to the fact she didn't want to leave him in that mess, especially since he didn't actually have anywhere to go. She had thought Collin would have left as well, and feels a bit bad that he was living in the ruins of the guild for months. She and Malo rejoined the guild in season 5 only once the guild gets reinstated, since the guild has a leader and members again.

Despite first meeting Michael when he was very young, she respected him as her guild leader. She doesn't respect Allumos because he is a wack job, she doesn't try to get in his way or undermine him though, he does know what he is doing(she hopes). She does judge him for trying to date one of his guild members, that is a big power imbalance.

She doesn't change her outfit from season 4 to 5, she doesn't see much of a reason to. She does have a cloak for when it is cold, or for doing quests.

OOOOOOOH!!!!!

I love the way you've written her and her design is so comforting to look at (am biased one of my gave colours it green)

I have never mentioned I love how you draw hair and idk why because you always draw it so damn good

[niche-gamer]

First Major Patch Released for Tactical RPG Grimshade https://nichegamer.com/2019/05/02/first-major-patch-released-for-tactical-rpg-grimshade/

[madmanwonder]

Ragna: Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kiss your a*s out of my house.

Blake: 1: Yang stole my clothes. 2: If people see a woman stepping out of your apartment without clothes on, they’ll assume. 3: Do you really want to kick me out while I dress like this?

Ragna:…Fair enough. You can stay…for now…

[oakbruh]

Grimshade | Firclan Warrior | Mate of Thornstar

His Pelt is a mutation, which also caused him to be sterile, tired 24/7, and deaf in his left ear. He often suffers from stiff bones, headaches and trouble with his balance, but has gotten used to that more or less.

[gamingreviews]

[linuxgamenews]

Grimshade developer looking for Linux support

Grimshade turn based tactical RPG games developer is looking for Linux community support. Since the Windows release is now live on Steam. Talented Russian developer TaleRock, considers support. According to their email reply. Grimshade is the creation of 21 gaming specialists. Who now open up the world of Ree'fah. While presenting their work in this weeks release. A party-based, tactical adventure RPG. Which also includes an eye catching and beautifully turn based game. The Steam launch follows a successful Kickstarter campaign. Since the team create a unique twist of the RPG genre.

Linux Support:

"Grimshade is made on Unity. Don't know what to tell you more about it, just asked. We will port Grimshade to Mac a little bit later after the release and hotfixes. But not sure about a Linux now. Our tech lead doesn't have enough expertise to do it quickly. With the Mac version. And needs some research on this subject. I asked him about Linux but got nervous giggling back."

So this is the reply the Linux port on March 11th. But the community also show encouragement on Steam. With some positive news:

"Now we're gathering the information on how many people are interested in it. The initial decision will take place after the release. And strongly depends on its results. If there will be enough wishes [Wishlisting]. And some enthusiasts ready to help us with testing. We'll definitely engage the Linux port."

Since this the reply on March 13th. And definitely some interesting news. So I waited until the full launch, hoping for a Linux release. But that did not happen. Although I have personally tested Grimshade. The game works well via Proton. However, a native Linux build would be far better. Since this is again, a Unity 3D game. So the share some community Tux Love on Steam or Wishlist via Steam.

Grimshade - Launch Trailer (Linux, Mac, Windows)

Grimshade tells the story of the company of heroes, by a twist of fate, involved in the cycle of events unfolding in the world of Ree'fah. Numerous dreadful monsters infest the forest around the city of Brann and the high walls can no longer protect its residents from the attacks. The menacing army of the neighbouring kingdom have suddenly landed on the outskirts of the city, wreaking havoc. There is no hope for salvation. The strength of the city defenders is failing, and the King and his loyal Champions have vanished. Also, Grimshade comes with a not to be missed or skipped tutorial. Since this will introduce the player to the seven unique members. Along with their weapons and tactical skills. Each of the cast has five slots. All to equip different pieces of equipment. Since this pairs with a unique ability; melee/ranged attacks. As well as defensive boosts, utility or special boosts. So make sure to adjust the equipment before the battle. Selecting the squad and the skill set for each hero. Setting up the combat is just a small part of what is on offer. While the innate nature of progression in Grimshade is the key. Since this ensures a great level of ongoing immersion. As well as continuing challenges.

Features:

No meaningless grinding

Fully narrated tutorial to set players on the right path

A rich and varied artistic style

A deep but understandable system of equipment-based skill and character role development

A world brimming with discoveries and exciting adventure

Seven special characters in Grimshade

A game to master, not win

2D & 3D presentation

Find, trade, or craft new equipment to improve your characters and make them versatile and adaptable

Subtle tactical combat reinvention

And much, much more to be discovered

Explore the fantastic and sometimes frightening world of Ree'fah. With deep and intriguing dialogue. And visual detail complemented by the strong and compelling storyline. One that unfolds as you meet and interact with characters. Battling and becoming embroiled in ongoing conflict. Forge your own path. Make decisions in numerous side activities. Or head out and explore the world. You’ll find new special equipment to expand your toolset. While diving head first into the plot. And uncover facts about the world's history and its people. Search far and wide. Maybe even discovering hidden easter eggs. Which so much to do, and many decisions ahead. You’ll develop friendships between heroes. Unlocking a variety of possible endings. Grimshade tactical RPG is available on Steam. Priced at $19.99 USD | £15.99 | €16.99. Releasing on Windows. But with enough community support we can have a Linux build. And yes, the games also coming to GOG as well.