It looks like you’re referencing a specific piece of content—possibly a mod, a fan fiction, a game level, or a community-created story—titled “Rain + Degrey + Curse of Dullkight Part 1”.
Since this is not a widely known mainstream title (e.g., not a published novel or major game), but rather seems like a custom scenario (likely from Minecraft, Terraria, a ROBLOX horror game, or a fan-made RPG), I’ll provide a general useful guide based on common patterns in such titles.
Rain runs. She doesn’t stop until she reaches the Weeping Bridge, the only structure that spans Brackenwell’s central chasm. Below, the water isn’t water—it’s a slow-moving mirror that shows not reflections, but possibilities. In one ripple, she sees Dullkight vibrant and dry. In another, she sees a featureless grey plain where the city used to be.
The First Rain doesn’t chase her. He doesn’t need to. He simply waits, because he knows what Rain now realizes: she is the last person in Dullkight who still remembers the old wards, the sigils, the name “Aldric.” If she forgets, the city forgets everything.
But she has a choice—the same choice every Rain-Reader before her has faced.
Option one: Flee. Leave Dullkight. The curse only affects those within the rain’s reach. She could be on a southbound coach by midnight, dry by dawn, free.
Option two: Jump. Not to her death, but into the chasm’s mirror-water. To dive into the memory-rain and confront Aldric Dullkight’s ghost in the one place he is weakest: the moment before the curse was cast.
Rain looks at her hydro-cursor. It’s cracked. Her coat is soaked. She has no guild backup, no allies, no grand destiny—just a knack for reading dirty water and a stubborn refusal to let a dead sorcerer erase a city’s soul.
She steps onto the bridge’s edge.
“Part 1 ends here,” she whispers, “because I’m about to do something very stupid.”
And she jumps.
It is said that Degrey was not born under a cloudy sky. As a young mage of the Solarium Order, he commanded light itself—weaving sunbeams into barriers, refracting dawn into weapons. But power invites envy, and envy invites curses.
Degrey’s sin was pride. He sought to rival the old gods by building a lighthouse so brilliant it could pierce the fabric of the Otherworld. The structure, named The Needle of Noon, stood in the town of Dullkight for seven glorious days. On the eighth, the sky answered.
A rain began to fall—not of water, but of numbing. Each droplet carried a dormant hex: the Hex of Sorrowed Memory. Those caught in it forgot the faces of their children. The color drained from their eyes. The rain did not stop. Weeks passed. Months. Then years.
Degrey, horrified by his creation’s consequence, did not flee. He stood at the base of his broken lighthouse, raised a warding staff, and spoke the vow that would define him:
“Let my name be cursed. Let my blood be rain-soaked. But let this storm end before I draw my last breath.”
He failed. But he did not die—not entirely. rain+degrey+curse+of+dullkight+part+1
That night, the Church of the Dried Lantern held its first war council in decades. The 19 survivors sat in a loose circle—some so far gone that they dripped water even indoors, their skin like river stones. The Rain-walker stood in the center, vial raised.
She explained:
The Needle of Noon had not failed. Degrey’s lighthouse did not cause the rain—it merely punctured a membrane between worlds. On the other side lies a realm known in forbidden texts as the Grey Deep, a dimension of stagnant sorrow. The rain is not a punishment. It is an invasion. Each droplet is a living thought from the Grey Deep, seeking to replace human memory with formless despair.
Degrey, in his pride, had tried to seal the breach with his own soul. But doing so trapped him halfway—neither living nor dead, his left hand now the only key that can turn the lock.
“His hand contains the last untainted command he ever spoke,” the Rain-walker said. “If we take it to the breach at the Needle’s peak and speak that command again, the door will close.”
“And Degrey?” Morwen asked quietly.
The Rain-walker’s silence was answer enough.
What exactly is the Curse of Dullkight? Scholars have debated for generations. The common folk have a simpler answer: it is rain that remembers. It looks like you’re referencing a specific piece
Unlike natural storms, the Dullkight rain does not obey seasons or wind patterns. It falls only within a precise circle—three miles in diameter, centered on the ruins of The Needle of Noon. Outside that circle, the sun shines. Inside, perpetual twilight. The rain feels warm, almost bodily, and carries a faint metallic taste. When it touches bare skin, the victim hears a whisper—always the same three words, in a language older than Thornwell:
“Forgive yourself nothing.”
The effects are cumulative:
Degrey reached his first year on the 437th day. By then, he was no longer fully human. But he retained one impossible thing: a single, screaming shard of consciousness lodged in his left hand—the hand that had once built the lighthouse.
Here’s what the guild archives don’t tell you: rain has a memory. Each drop that falls carries an echo of every surface it has touched. Most aquamancers can’t read it—it’s like hearing a million whispers at once. But Rain DeGrey has a secret she hides behind her sarcasm: she is a Rain-Reader, a rare empath who can taste the emotional residue in precipitation.
When she cups her hand and lets the Brackenwell rain fill her palm, she doesn’t see water. She sees layers.
But curses need anchors. And Rain realizes, with a cold drip down her spine, that the anchor is the rain itself. Every storm refreshes the spell. Every drizzle tightens the knot.