Character Knowledge (Clarion Quietus)

[Doomed Hero]

This thread is to give players insight on things their characters know. This is based on race, culture, personal background and skills.

Everyone will get one. Please don't read other people's. That's why they're in Spoilers.

[Doomed Hero]

What Dunkun Knows-

(click to show/hide)

Dwarf- Mountains are blessed because they are raised high to the presence of the father and mother. The higher the peak, the more sacred the place.

Stone: Dwarves have more names for stone than sarcosans have laws about horses. They classify it according to color, composite, density, age, texture and just about everything else you can imagine. They say every stone has a soul and a language, and if you know how to communicate, it will tell you what it wants to be. Stonecrafters are to dwarves what excellent animal trainers are to humans. Watching them work is often unfathomable and awe inspiring. Stonecarving is also called Soulbearing in Old Dwarven.

Metal: Metal has no soul of it's own, but working it skillfully can pull the spirits of the land into the new form. Metal is like lumber just waiting to be turned into a house.

Silver is the gift of the moon. Things that are not what they should be cannot abide it's touch. Dwarves with allergies to silver are said to be touched by the Dark One. In many clans they are killed. In some they are used as a sort of "evil barometer" by carefully observing their moods.

Gold is the gift of father sun. Creatures of shadow and darkness cannot abide it's touch. Black Blood dwarves are said to have allergies to gold.

Mithril is the union of Silver and Gold. It is the only metal with a soul of it's own. None in Dwarven society is as revered as the mastersmith who understands the secrets of refining mithril. In many clans it is a requirement of Thaneship.

Death: Dwarves do not bury their dead. They trap them under huge slabs of stone. The average slab is about 800 pounds, 8 inches thick, and about the size of a king sized bed. The dead are laid to rest inside a massive communal rest chamber called the Hall of the Dead. When a dwarf dies, they are laid on top of the slab of the last person in their line that died, then their slab is laid on top of them. The edges of the slab are carved with the tales of the dead dwarf's life by their friends and family, so that the tale of a line of dwarves continues in a spiral up from the ground with each one that falls. Even if a body cannot be recovered, due to war, or falling down a crevasse or some such, they are still given a slab in the hall. The only dwarves that don't are those judged unworthy of being remembered (the highest disgrace a dwarf can earn). It is considered poor form to carve your own tales into your slab before you die, but many have taken on the practice of carving a personal message to others that may read them in the future. On a Dwarf's coming of age day, they are blooded in combat (if they have not been already). Usually this just means being beaten and battered by an older more experienced warrior. Then that night they must sleep in the Hall of the Dead. Because of the penchant for the dead to rise as Fell, this can be a traumatizing experience. Slabs tremble and shake, mangled voices of loved ones cry for aid, pleading for release. Some warriors continue the practice, sleeping in the Hall atop their family or friend's tomb, their father or grandfather shaking and clawing the stone beneath them. They claim it is mentally strengthening and hardening. If done shortly after death, this can even give the loved ones a chance to speak with the fallen for a few days before their minds degenerate. As time passes, the corpses all dry out and are slowly crushed to dust, some of which spills out the cracks and litters the floor of the hall.

Grief: Dwarves are taught to show nothing of sadness, pain, loss, or any weaker emotion. Rage, joy and stoic resolve are the only emotions a dwarf is allowed. Being an emotional race, it is accepted that a dwarf will sometimes be overcome. When they do, they wear a mask. A dwarf wearing a mask is given a great deal extra social grace from the usually gruff and abrasive dwarves. Strange behaviors are often shrugged off as part of the intense emotional turmoil. These masks are called an "Eclipsed Face", evoking images of the sun and the moon, as well as something being powerful and overwhelming, blocking out the light of life. Each Eclipse is personally and painstakingly crafted out of polished metal. Most are images of the owner's face twisted into a mask of rage or hate, but others are animals, armored plates, etched images, or even simply blank and faceless.



Kurgun- Kurgun is not a clan, it is a title. It means Watcher.

Living on the surface is sort of like being an Arab in the Rainforest. It's possible, even easy once you get used to it, but there is always a slight nagging disconnect between what is and what should be.

The Kurgan are not a Clan that lives on the surface by choice. There is a purpose to them, a task entrusted to the Thanes and the Loremasters by the Council of Stone in ages past. All Kurgan know this. Most don't really understand the specifics. It has to do with Father Sun and Mother Moon. The Kurgan are supposed to be liaisons of a sort, communicating signs and omens to the clans below. In this age, much of their purpose has been lost, but their reverence for the heavens has not.



Clan Durgis-  Direct descendants of Thedron the First, legendary Thane of First Calador. Durgis was the name of his second sun, charged with joining the Kurgan, but instead of only watching the sky, he and his followers were charged with being the custodians of the mountains. They are trappers and ambushers par excellence. Their numbers have dwindled and their homes are too far apart even for the Peakfires to make easy communications, but they still do their job as best they can.



Survival: There are human refugees around Durgis Rock. Between 20 and 50, including at least 10 children. They move around a lot and hide thier camps well.

Goblins have been swarming the area lately. It's hard to set enough traps to deter them. The infestation has slowed but not enough to give Dirgis Rock any peace of mind.

This area is a honeycomb of ancient caves. You find a new one at least once a month. Many are collapsed, but almost as many manage to connect back to the network that you had already uncovered. You range fairly far and know the region well. It's likely you know more of these tunnels than anyone living in Durgis Rock today.

[Doomed Hero]

What Siobhan knows:

(click to show/hide)

Sarcosan-

The Plains: Life on the plains is difficult, but the seasons are beautiful. You remember little of it, but the important things stick out.

Spring is an ocean of color. Greens, blues, purples, reds, as the sword grass and wildflowers erupt in weeks, soon rising four to five feet in height. Life abounds and game is plentiful. Massive herds of wild boro cut great swaths through the grasses, herds of wild horses run free.  grass cats and wild dogs hunt small game hidden by the grasses.  Skies are clear during the day, but in the mornings and evenings thick fog rolls in from the north and south in thick patches. Sarcosans fear and loathe the fog, so trade and travel is extremely limited. This is the time when the tithe-takers and Judicators come to permeant settlements to see how they are doing. They take a portion of crops and ensure that the needed supplies are delivered. Shadow-guarded smiths travel to make repairs and forge new tools for the plowing season. Hobgoblin engineers and bugbear slavers move freely across the plains repairing roads and hunting for halflings. The eyes of the Powers That Be are numerous in spring.

Summer is sweltering, the way summer should be, but the open plains are full of pleasant breezes that keep back the worst of the heat. The wildflowers end their bloom, turning the landscape to a sea of green, listing like gentle waves in the constant breeze. Lines of thousands of orcs move down the old King's Roads traveling to the mountain passes to join the endless war against the dwarves, their hobnailed boots and marching rhythm audible for miles as they shake the ground with their passage.

Fall marks the turn of color, green to yellow, as the sword grass quickly dies and the winds pick up. Spreading from the south, the grasses quickly pale. This annual event is called the Amber Wave, and marks the beginning of stockpiling food and supplies for winter. The sword grass becomes incredibly brittle, breaking apart in the harsh winds and blowing off, scattering seeds and detritus to the north, and exposing the layer of grass behind it to the wind, continuing the cycle. Soon, the air is thick with dust and the plains are barren. With nothing to break against, the winds become very harsh indeed, creating dust and storm that lasts until winter covers the land. The Sarcosans call this the "Bleakness" and is the primary reason for the masks they wear. Protecting ones eyes and lungs against the dust is critical. The plains-dwellers use this time as a way to move about undetected. The land is barren, revealing hazards that would otherwise be hidden, and the dust obscures their movements at a distance. It is never so thick that it is blinding, but it is hazy enough that beyond about 50 feet, everything is simply a grey haze. The Fell are more active, ravenous and prevalent in Fall. Walls around villages are reinforced and bodies are buried separately from heads. This is said to curse the soul to a lonely wandering, but it is better that than having them raise as a flesh-hungry abomination.

Winter is marked by snow, covering the dusty plains in white. Traveled trails and roads quickly churn up the dust beneath, creating a black-and-white contrast that is striking to behold. Tracking the movement of anything becomes child's play. Footsteps leave black prints in the white landscape making trails that are visible from hundreds of feet away. Hunting is nearly impossible. Game is scarce and well hidden.


The Heavenly Host: The sarcosan "gods". They are not gods in the same way Izrador is. They are closer in nature to the greek panthon and the stories of the bible. They are many, and very human and flawed, and they do not exert their will over Erdane in any overt way. Only through their teachings in the Book of the Sahi and the signs in the stars do men know their wills. They do not want any one particular thing, they are legion, and diverse in purpose. Many Sarcosan families have a patron Rider that they offer prayers to, as well as numerous Riders that are the patrons of small, simple things like hearthfires, wind, luck, pregnancy, health, dinner, or any other important but minor aspects of life. (Feel free to make up your own Riders if your character is in anyway spiritual.) It is also common to invoke the entire Host in times where one particular Rider is not relevant or known (oaths such as "By the Host!" or "The Host take it!" are good examples of this.

Horses are reincarnated from the souls of men. They are gifts from the Heavenly Host, and also a means by which to measure personal worth. All Horses belong to the Sorshef (king), and the rights to care for them, train them, breed them and other tasks is divvied up to the Sorshef's Sworn Riders (nobles and honor guard), and then further designated from there. "Horse-rights" are the most important value a family or individual has. A Sarcosan without a horse, or the responsibility of caring for the horses of others, is a wretched thing indeed. Not all Sarcosans have a horse that they care for (no sarcosan but the Sorshef "owns" a horse), but *all* know how to ride. If a family does not have a horse, other members of the community will offer theirs to teach children with. Every sarcosan remembers and honors the horse they first learned to ride on. Sarcosan men do not become men until they have participated in the breaking of their first horse. Women break horses as well, but for men it is a right of passage. Sarcosans *never* eat horse meat. It is akin to cannibalism.

Plains Leopards: Massive cats who prey on wild horses. They range all over the plains, stealthy and slilent. They are huge, growing as large as 10 feet long and 900 pounds (slightly larger than a siberian tiger) Rather than being monsters of darkness to be feared and fought, they are revered. They take the weak, keeping the herds strong. Killing a leopard is punishable by death. The only exception to the rule is when the Sorshef or one of his council calls a Cat Hunt. This is essentially a culling of the leopard's numbers, and involves much boasting, feasting and celebration. The numbers of cats successfully killed is often very low *they are stealthy and wide ranging) but those warriors who do manage to bring one down are richly rewarded. Those who spot the cat have "first rights" to it, and engage alone (often being injured or killed in the attempt). If the cat escapes them, the rest of the hunting party is allowed to engage and run it down. Only those who have killed a leopard by themselves are allowed to wear it's pelt. These warriors are called "Felis Farai" or "Cat Warriors"  and are both feared and respected.

Fog: The most powerful and terrifying of the Sarcosan superstitions. Fog kills. Everything about it is anathema to the existance of the horse-nomads. It hampers visibility and sound, making families vulnerable to ambush. It hides the ground, making it likely that a horse will fall, injuring itself or it's rider, It's dampness infects the lungs and quickly saturates silks bringing cold and illness. It depresses the spirits, which in these dark times can be equally as deadly. Most importantly though, the sarcosans believe that the fog and mist can steal souls. Those that die under it's blanket are doomed never to join the Heavenly Host and instead become trapped spirits, wandering forever in patches of mist. Evil people who are taken by the fog can become powerful and terrible spirits called Fades, who learn to control and gather the fog and use it to wreak death and havok on the plainsfolk.

Sahi Blade: Every sarcosan is given a knife blade by the elder of their family when they turn 5 summers. Before the reach adulthood they are instructed to craft for themselves a handle for the blade. This is a test of the individual's artistic, economic, and social resourcefulness. The handle is supposed to make a statement about who the sarcosan is as a person, the more impressive the better. Some seek out exotic materials, others opulent gems. Some carve effigies of animals or objects in painstaking detail (or trade a skilled artist to do it for them). Each Sahi Blade is deeply personal and a strong symbol of social standing. Once the blade is complete and they have reached adulthood, they can begin earning tassels to attach to the handle. They are made out of horsehair, ribbon, leather, or braided cord and dyed or knotted in ways that represent a certain deed. They are given like medals for good works over the course of a person's life. The blades are never used for combat, except in the case of honor duels, in which case they are the only allowable weapon.

Masks: Riders wear them for practicality, but in the best traditions of the wild west and the ninja, the mask has become an important symbol to the free sarcosans. They tend to be made of formed leather and silk, even covering the eyes with thin mesh to protect from dust while in the saddle, the mask obscures the identity and adds a fierceness to the rider. Some riders decorate their masks with studs, etchings or bleached or dyed images, words or designs.

Orphan-

The village of Hornblower's Hill is small, out of the way, and mostely completely unbothered by the troubles of the world. Once a year a sarcosan tax collector comes, takes a share of the crops, tells the people what they should plant next season, places orders for things that need made, like baskets or cloth, and leaves. Grandfather is an old, bald, slight man of surprising spryness and clarity of wit. He is patient, thoughtful, careful, and observant. The other villagers look to him for advice, and he gives it gladly. Given the state of the world, he is a bastion of goodness in a rare secluded place. Life there is good. He has taught you read and write Courtier and Erenlander (which he has warned you never to reveal) [bonus Trait- Literate] Today you are an apprentice cook and baker for the village. You likely would be well out of your apprenticeship, but noone has brought up the fact that you should be moving into your own profession by now.

Your mother's name was Cara, and she was an Erenlander. Your father was Sarcosan and you favor his side, but she was tall, strong boned, buxom and blond, much more like a dorn. Her dark eyes and olive complexion revealed her mixed blood. She traveled with you, mostly alone. She knew many families, even staying with halfling tribes and on gnome raft-houses from time to time. She always seemed to be doing something important, but never where you could have overheard. You remember a man that she met with a few times a year, which was unique. He was an Erenlander named Garion, and you remember him being a good man, willing to talk and play with you. You overheard him once telling your mother that if anything ever happened to her or you, that she should find him in Swift Water. When the raid happened, she piled wet blankets on top of you and told you to hide until there was no more noise and no more heat. When you came out, there were a lot of bodies, badly burned. One of them might have been her, but you never knew for sure. You have burn scars on your left hand and arm where you fell into a pile of cinders while walking around dazed. You were trying to find out where Swift Water was when the halflings found you.

Halflings- Secretive, wary, savage, bloodthirsty and deeply magical people. They combine shamanism and amazing talent at stealth and earthlore to live right under the noses of the Traitor Prince's patrols. Their beasts, the Wogren, are smarter than any dog or horse, clearly understanding speech, and displaying deep love and protectiveness to their smallfolk families. It is no euphemism that halflings are raised by wolves.

[Doomed Hero]

You and all your goddamn skills...


What Amethyst knows:

(click to show/hide)

Background:

Erenlander: Once the kingdom was great. A shining bastion of reason and order. Might was used for right rather than to attempt to create it. The line of kings was unbroken and strong. Their sygil was the Golden Griffon on a white background. Today the line is broken, slaughtered and the great white tower of highwall destroyed. in it's place stand Theros Obsidia, where the False King, Jazhir rules. The great plains Griffon has been hunted nearly to extinction. Jazhir's crest is a black downward facing sword ringed by a black crown on a red background.

The Plains: Life on the plains is difficult, but the seasons are beautiful.

Spring is an ocean of color. Greens, blues, purples, reds, as the sword grass and wildflowers erupt in weeks, soon rising four to five feet in height. Life abounds and game is plentiful. Massive herds of wild boro cut great swaths through the grasses, herds of wild horses run free.  grass cats and wild dogs hunt small game hidden by the grasses.  Skies are clear during the day, but in the mornings and evenings thick fog rolls in from the north and south in thick patches. The sarcosans fear and loathe the fog, so trade and travel is extremely limited. This is the time when the tithe-takers and Judicators come to see how settlements are doing. They take a portion of crops and ensure that the needed supplies are delivered. Shadow-guarded smiths travel to make repairs and forge new tools for the plowing season. Hobgoblin engineers and bugbear slavers move freely across the plains repairing roads and hunting for halflings. The eyes of the Powers That Be are numerous in spring.

Summer is sweltering, the way summer should be, but the open plains are full of pleasant breezes that keep back the worst of the heat. Living in the shadow of the Kaladruns means the sun only beats down the village for a few hours a day. The wildflowers end their bloom, turning the landscape to a sea of green, listing like gentle waves in the constant breeze. Lines of thousands of orcs move down the old King's Roads traveling to the mountain passes to join the endless war against the dwarves, their hobnailed boots and marching rhythm audible for miles as they shake the ground with their passage.

Fall marks the turn of color, green to yellow, as the sword grass quickly dies and the winds pick up. Spreading from the south, the grasses quickly pale. This annual event is called the Amber Wave, and marks the beginning of stockpiling food and supplies for winter. The sword grass becomes incredibly brittle, breaking apart in the harsh winds and blowing off, scattering seeds and detritus to the north, and exposing the layer of grass behind it to the wind, continuing the cycle. Soon, the air is thick with dust and the plains are barren. With nothing to break against, the winds become very harsh indeed, creating dust and storm that lasts until winter covers the land. The Sarcosans call this the "Bleakness" and is the primary reason for the masks they wear. Protecting ones eyes and lungs against the dust is critical. The plains-dwellers use this time as a way to move about undetected. The land is barren, revealing hazards that would otherwise be hidden, and the dust obscures their movements at a distance. It is never so thick that it is blinding, but it is hazy enough that beyond about 50 feet, everything is simply a grey haze. The Fell are more active, ravenous and prevalent in Fall. Walls around villages are reinforced and bodies are burned or beheaded before they are buried.

Winter is marked by snow, covering the dusty plains in white. Traveled trails and roads quickly churn up the dust beneath, creating a black-and-white contrast that is striking to behold. Tracking the movement of anything becomes child's play. Footsteps leave black prints in the white landscape making trails that are visible from hundreds of feet away. Hunting is nearly impossible. Game is scarce and well hidden.


Skills:

Knowledge: Arcana- There are five different types of common magic.

Spirit Magic, which can be learned people. Such practitioners are commonly called shamans. Spirit Magic channels energy from the the world through the spirits, and is detectable by agents of the shadow. Shamans use pacts and favors with the spirits of the land to store and manipulate magical energies. Practicing Spirit Magic is punishable by death.

Hermetic Magic, which can be learned by people. Such practitioners are commonly called wizards. Hermetic magic channels the energies of the world through a symbolic edifice, and is detectable by agents of the shadow. Wizards use the symbology of writing and language to store and manipulate magical energies. Practicing Hermetic magic is punishable by death.

Sorcerous Magic, which can be learned by people. Such pracitioners are commonly known as Sorcerers. Sorcerous magic channels the energies of the world through the mind and body of the sorcerer themselves, and is considered by magical scholars to be both the most difficult of the three arcane disciplines, as well as the most prevalent. Practicing Sorcerous magic is punishable by death.

Innate magic, which is said to be a vestige of ancient fae powers. It is common in races such as halflings and elves. Dorns and Gnomes are also occasionally born with strange powers. Each culture has their own theories and superstitions about them. Sarcosans believe redheads possess magical powers. Dorns attribute such things to the favor or curse of their ancestors, and are marked by such things as strange birthmarks or having eyes of two different colors. Dwarves, being pragmatists, simply accept these things as strange happenstance and use it as best they can to aid in their own defense. Goblins are strangely marked by such things, possessing bluish skins. Such individuals usually rise to high authority in their cultures. Innate magic is believed to be undetectable by the agents of the shadow, but being caught working such magic is ill advised. At the very least it will earn you the attention of the Order. At worst, death.

Divine magic, or Miracles. Such magic is not learned. it is bestowed by the dark god himself upon those he feels are worthy. All it takes is prayer and devotion, and you too could be gifted with great power. The dark god is known to be harsh and fickle, and his power is surely addictive. It is said that to push his followers further towards his ends he will withhold power, like putting a carrot on a string before a horse. Practicing such magic will earn you the favor of the Order and may even allow you to be inducted into their ranks as an apprentice Legate or a priest.


Knowledge: Geography: you know the basic layout of the world. The Kaladruns are east. The forest of Erathor is west. The sea of Pelluria is north, and above that is the Northlands where the Dorns fell, the orcs breed and the dark god lies broken. The Ardune sits at the center of the old kingdom of Erenland, and the Eren river bisects it north-south. In the south the sarcosan cities dot the lands and lead to the open, endless sea.

Knowledge History: A century ago, the army of the Dark God came easily into the land, sweeping away the once great kingdom of erenland. The king was slain, and King Jazhir succeeded him. Blessed with long life, Jazhir rules still.

Knowledge: Shadow: The doctrine of the Order teaches that the great god Izrador has been imprisoned by the jealous Old Gods, who abandoned the world to it's fate to punish their enemy. His body lies in the north attempting to gather enough strength to rise again. his spirit is free upon the world, watching, aiding, judging and empowering his followers.

He has four great agents. The King, Jazhir, the Sword of Shadow, general of his great armies. The First Legate, Sunulael, the Priest of Shadow, who speaks with the voice of god. The Dragon, Zardrix, the Wrath of Shadow, who is sworn to destroy the lord's enemies. and The Sorcerer of Shaow, who's name is not known, who seeks out and destroys those foolish enough to draw the energies of the world away from Izrador, who requires them to heal his broken body.

There is great power in blood, which is why sacrifices must be made, to release back to Izrador the power which is stolen from him when a creature is born. He is generous and willing to allow some to live, but too many could weaken him. Sacrifices are either those condemned by his judgement, or those to be rewarded by him for their service. A voluntary sacrifice is treated like a king for a month before they willingly and humbly lay themselves upon the alter. The needed blood is collected in a great basin, which slowly turns to a silvery black as the energies are drained from it and given to the great god. These basins are holy sites of great power and importance and must never be touched by mortal hands.

The Orders of Legates are the Keepers of Obsidian, who act as shepherds and advisors, and also tend the churches, The Sisters of Mercy, who judge and administer punishments to those who do not lead pious lives, The Witch Hunters, who seek out blasphemers, the Black Templar, who make war against the fae, adding the might of god to the armies, and the Umbral Catholicon, who administer to the sick and the wounded, granting mercy to those who need it most. There are other, smaller orders, but they are less well known.

Within each order of Legates there are a number of ranks- Neonate, Apprentice, Acolyte, Attendant, Legate, Bishop, and Greater Legate. Each order has it's own name for each of these ranks, but you have not learned them all.

The Black Guard are those sworn to protect the church. Not every church has them. Only the largest or most threatened. They are men of enormous stature and long training. They are bound by a vow of silence and are given great gifts by the Dark God. Their piety is legendary. Each one wears a suit of great and fearsome armor and carries terrible weapons.


Survival: The dangerous predators of the plains are-

the Plains Leopard, which hunts wild horses, but is known to take humans as well. They are massive creatures, growing up to 1000 pounds. Grey and gold in coloration, they would rather ambush than fight. The best defense if you spot one is to keep eye contact and move away slowly. Do not run, and do not move towards it.

The Buul, or landshark, which hunts Boro by burrowing underground and attacking as the herds pass over it. Ravenous and massive beasts, they will gladly take horses or men that are unfortunate enough to be caught near them. The best defense against them is to avoid the furrows they leave in their wake. they can feel tremors in the ground, so walk slowly and lightly if you believe one is near. Do not run.

The dangerous predators of the mountains are-

The Giant Spider, which can range in size from a medium sized dog to a Boro. They are a prime example of their species, encorperating the habits of the Trapdoor spider, the Wolf Spider and the Lariat Spider into one terrifying whole. Fire is effective against their webs, but weapons are not. Wear layers, so if you disturb a web you can shed the stuck clothing. Then wait. o not move. The spider will come to investigate, but they track motion and heat. If you stay calm and still, it may not notice you. Once it begins to leave, so should you.

The Wyvern, which rarely come down to the plains level. They are said to be descended from Dragons. They are fast, clever, armored, savage, poisonous, and worst of all, they travel in packs. A group of Wyverns is called a Scourge. The best defense against a Wyvern is to lay on your back, or get into a small hole, and brandish a spear. they prefer to snatch their prey, but are inelegant fliers. The lower to the ground you are, the harder it will be for them to grab you. If you manage to stab it before it grabs you, it will realize you are not worth the effort and go seek easier prey. You may need to repeat this a few times, as once the Alpha leaves you, the Wyverns next in line will likely investigate.

[Doomed Hero]

Sheesh. And I thought Amethyst's info sheet was bad. Way to play a character with the most complicated Path in the game, from the most complicated city in Erenland. Ugh.

What Eirik Knows

(click to show/hide)

Background

Erenlander: Once the kingdom was great. A shining bastion of reason and order. Might was used for right rather than to attempt to create it. The line of kings was unbroken and strong. Their sygil was the Golden Griffon on a white background. Today the line is broken, slaughtered and the great white tower of highwall destroyed. in it's place stand Theros Obsidia, where the False King, Jazhir rules. The great plains Griffon has been hunted nearly to extinction. Jazhir's crest is a black downward facing sword ringed by a black crown on a red background.

Baden's Bluff is built on a seaside limestone cliff. Imagine an enormous, rounded aztec step pyramid, with buildings built along each level, set into the side of a cliff. At the bottom, near the waterline, canals are cut into the stone, and are the city's primary mode of transportation (think like venice). They even become tunnels once they hit the limestone, leading into the immense network of underground pathways that lead inside the enormous underground cove called the Maw. The maw can hold dozens of ships at a time, though only has room for one to go in and out of at a time. Only the most skilled captains enter the maw, because it's mouth is narrow and many a ship has been breached on the walls by an unexpected lurching of the water. Captains not skilled enough, or with too large a ship, have to arrange for their goods to be ferried in from the docks, which can be steep. The most successful captains are the ones who have the skill to pilot the largest ship possible through the Maw and into the Heart (the inner area of the cove. Once in the Heart, the ships can be unloaded via the massive pulley and crane system that takes goods strait to the channel that runs straight up and out of the Heart, cutting through the limestone and exiting right in the middle of the merchant district. Life for workers in the Well (called Welfare Boys, or Bottom Dwellers) is harsh. Hours are long and conditions are dangerous. There is little light, everything is cold and wet, moss grows on the stone, and ropes rot and break. Men die almost daily. The waters of the Maw are filled with half submerged corpses. Boats moor themselves to the walls so as not to drop anchor and invite the Drowned Fell, who swarm on the bottom of the water like piraña,  to climb the chains. Most of the time, if someone ends up in the water, they are simply left. Eventually the screams die and life goes on.

Around the Heart is the sewers, which are not so much sewers as they are another city. Once a dwarven hold, the circular, maze-like passages and aqueducts are nearly impossible to navigate without a guide. Passaged are dug out, blocked off, collapsed or sealed on a weekly basis, changing the landscape and keeping the eternal game of cat-and-mouse between the agents of the Hidden Court and the agents of the Crown continually new.

Legates in Baden's Bluff are surprisingly helpful, willing to do nearly anything to help their flock. All they ask is to be kept abreast of what is happening in the lives of the people so they may best figure out how to serve the greatest number. Information is the currency here, from the lowliest drunken dockworker to the highest courtier.

At the top of the hill the cliffs turn into, called the Crown, is the noble district. The change from squalor to opulence is obvious and striking. The most amazing characteristic of the Crown is the tall, twisting tower called the Spire. Atop it sits the Guardian of the Bluff, called and given to the Order by the First Legate himself, the great Beast of the Spire, Zaindal. It's wings can shade an entire district and it's cry chills the blood of all who hear it. It spends most of it's time curled up around the great tower, but when enemies of the Order are at large on land or sea, the great beast soars, bringing ruin to the poor souls it hunts.

The Bluff is ruled by Helrion Baden, the tall and powerful heir to the Baden throne. He is advised by Werner Dalamark, the hereditary protector of the Baden line. In the spire is the High Legate of the Bluffs, Cerano, a pious and personable man who refuses any and all titles. he is greatly blessed by Izrador and spends most of his time out in the city proper, doing work along side his subordinates. The chief enforcer of the Court is a man known only a Gorse. If the world of midnight ever had a Bogeyman, it is him. He is legendary in his efficiency and his prowess. None know who he is or where he came from, but he is rumored to be able to disappear into shadows, change his appearance, paralyze with a look, sense fear and lies, and turn blades on his skin. Agents are careful never to do anything that catches the attention of anyone with authority. When Gorse comes for you, you simply vanish.

The Hidden Court is what the resistance of the Bluff calls itself. They are led by the legendary and illusive Thomas Baden, the true heir to the throne, he is said to have the gall to live right under the nose of the Crown, work firmly against them, and never get caught. Agents of Baden may go their entire careers without ever meeting anyone who has ever actually met the man they are sworn to, or even any other true agents. The cells that they operate in are close, small and paranoid.

The Avenging Knives. The third faction in the city. Also, ostensibly, a part of the Resistance, they endanger everyone by fighting the shadow much more openly, carrying out assassinations and vandalism to try to loosen the yoke of tyranny or take revenge. They try as best they can to disrupt the flow of information and supplies coming out of the Bluff, which is drawing more attention than either court would like. The Crown is beginning to lose patience and now that one of the higher legates has been killed, Theros Obsidia has taken notice. Thusfar no action has been taken, but rumors of martial law being declared is making both courts sweat.

Money: The only city in the north that uses it. Imagine all the evils that come along with it, increased exponentially by desperation, greed and nothing to lose.

Slaves: Are common in the Bluff. Lives are bought and sold. People who fall into debt to the government are taken as slaves. Those who fall into debt with moneylenders become indentured servants, which is little better. Collars are the mark of a slave, and the symbol of the district their master lives in is marked plainly on it. Slaves roam freely, but cannot leave their district without the accompaniment of their owner. Slaves caught outside their district are viciously and publicly punished.


Class:

Thomas made sure you were prepared. He had teachers show you how to navigate tunnels, move through streets, follow and be unfollowed. he had you taken out at sea, where you learned to sail. The boats would land in some inlet somewhere and you would be taught how to survive off the land. Teachers were often harsh, never named, and many had a habit of remaining masked or hooded. You took to it all like a duck to water, your insight often allowing you the chance to finally try something you'd been doing in your visions for years. To call you a prodigy would be an understatement. There is, however, a vast difference between an experience in a vision, which is akin to watching someone else do something, and real life, which is immediate. Because you are so used to watching from afar, sometimes the immediacy unnerves you. Despite all your training, you are still a babe in the woods until you are able to get used to your surroundings.


Skills

Knowledge: Geography: you know the basic layout of the world. The Kaladruns are east. The forest of Erathor is west. The sea of Pelluria is north, and above that is the Northlands where the Dorns fell, the orcs breed and the dark god lies broken. The Ardune sits at the center of the old kingdom of Erenland, and the Eren river bisects it north-south. In the south the sarcosan cities dot the lands and lead to the open, endless sea.

Knowledge: Local, Northern Erenland: Either in person, or in your visions, you've probably been there. You don't know everything, but you know enough landmarks and signs to know how to get around. you know how to avoid most patrols and you know how to appear as if you're supposed to be wherever you are. Knowledge like that goes a long ways towards keeping you alive.


Path:

The future isn't always set. Your visions are not always accurate, nor do they reveal everything. Sometimes they happen to close to an event to be able to change anything, sometimes they happen to far removed to be able to predict the chain of events that lead to the,. Sometimes the very act of figthing fate is what causes it to happen. it is hard to say what you know for sure, or why, but here are a few of the things you have seen.

The man you have always known as Thomas Baden, is not the real Thomas Baden.

Fire will come four times. First in hatred born, second in war unleashed, third in destruction long awaited, fourth in righteousness pure.

The heart of the Dragon is the key to it all.

The Angel and the Demon have a common cause. If they do not destroy each other, they may find they are two sides of the same coin.

The River of Stones marks the way.

The darkness always gets deeper. Even once you return to the light, you will bring it with you.

Trust the Lady.

Blood calls to Blood. It draws to itself, and becomes greater. Enough of it will form the heart of a new world.

[Doomed Hero]

What Nefario Knows

(click to show/hide)

Race:

The Plains: Life on the plains is difficult, but the seasons are beautiful.

Spring is an ocean of color. Greens, blues, purples, reds, as the sword grass and wildflowers erupt in weeks, soon rising four to five feet in height, perfect for the small folk to hide in. Life abounds and game is plentiful. Massive herds of wild boro cut great swaths through the grasses, herds of wild horses run free, grass cats and wild dogs hunt small game hidden by the grasses.  Skies are clear during the day, but in the mornings and evenings thick fog rolls in from the north and south in thick patches. The sarcosans fear and loathe the fog, so trade and travel is extremely limited. This is the time when the tithe-takers and Judicators come to see how human settlements are doing. They take a portion of crops and ensure that the needed supplies are delivered. Shadow-guarded smiths travel to make repairs and forge new tools for the plowing season. Hobgoblin engineers and bugbear slavers move freely across the plains repairing roads and hunting for halflings. The eyes of the Powers That Be are numerous in spring.

Summer is sweltering, the way summer should be, but the open plains are full of pleasant breezes that keep back the worst of the heat. The wildflowers end their bloom, turning the landscape to a sea of green, listing like gentle waves in the constant breeze. Lines of thousands of orcs move down the old King's Roads traveling to the mountain passes to join the endless war against the dwarves, their hobnailed boots and marching rhythm audible for miles as they shake the ground with their passage.

Fall marks the turn of color, green to yellow, as the sword grass quickly dies and the winds pick up. Spreading from the south, the grasses quickly pale. This annual event is called the Amber Wave, and marks the beginning of stockpiling food and supplies for winter. The sword grass becomes incredibly brittle, breaking apart in the harsh winds and blowing off, scattering seeds and detritus to the north, and exposing the layer of grass behind it to the wind, continuing the cycle. Soon, the air is thick with dust and the plains are barren. With nothing to break against, the winds become very harsh indeed, creating dust and storm that lasts until winter covers the land. The Sarcosans call this the "Bleakness" and is the primary reason for the masks they wear. Protecting ones eyes and lungs against the dust is critical. Halflings are small enough that the worst of it simply passes over them, but Wogren riders often adopt the habit of wearing masks, at least during fall. The plains-dwellers use this time as a way to move about undetected. The land is barren, revealing hazards that would otherwise be hidden, and the dust obscures their movements at a distance. It is never so thick that it is blinding, but it is hazy enough that beyond about 50 feet, everything is simply a grey haze. The Fell are more active, ravenous and prevalent in Fall. Walls around villages are reinforced and bodies are burned or beheaded before they are buried. For the smallfolk, this is the time to move fast and far towards larger water sources. Fall is the time when splintered families gather back together at larger lagoons and ponds. It is also the time when it is easiest to smuggle escaped slaves away from the human lands.

Winter is marked by snow, covering the dusty plains in white. Traveled trails and roads quickly churn up the dust beneath, creating a black-and-white contrast that is striking to behold. Tracking the movement of anything becomes child's play. Footsteps leave black prints in the white landscape making trails that are visible from hundreds of feet away. Hunting is nearly impossible. Game is scarce and well hidden. The small folk spend most of the winter in warrens, relying on thier Wogren for heat when smoke from fires would be too dangerous. It is not uncommon for a family of halflings to stockpile food in a hole somewhere and spend the entire winter inside.


Wogren are far more than just big wolves. They are smart, able to learn and understand language and complex ideas. They simply lack the vocal cords for complex communication. They are also nearly silent. The bark of a Wogren is a mystic thing that is said to drive away evil spirits and reveal hidden things. Some Wogren go their entire lives without making more noise than an occasional whine or low growl.

They are creatures of powerful spirit magic, seemingly able to cross back and forth between the real world and the spirit world. Legends say that halflings with particularly powerful bond to their Wogren can be pulled along with them, though none have witnessed it.

The bond between wogren and halflings is strong, ancient and deeply sacred. Generally, if one dies, the bonded other does not take long to follow. It is for this reason that halflings do not marry. Though they take mates, their relationships tend to be passionate and short, dissolving with the seasons as families part ways. No other partnership could ever come close to the bond between the halflings and their beasts. Becuase there are so few Worgen left, many halflings never find theirs. Such unfortunates are known as half-souls, and as looked upon with sadness and pity.


Slavery is a fact of life to the small folk. Poison Spear Orc and Black Eye Bugbear slavers roam the plains, as well as cut throat men looking to make quick trade value. Many halflings are born into slavery and know no other life. Some even think it's the natural way of things and learn to think that the longing in their hearts is due to their own natural inferiority. The Broken Road is the name given to the collections of tunnels, basements, smugglers wagons, and people who devote themselves to trying to free halfling slaves. The halflings have a close and powerful friendship with the Gnomes, who while still looking out for themselves, make much of the Broken Road possible.


The Danisil are undeniably related distantly to the small flok. They are small for elves, making them able to breed with halflings, which does happen sometimes. It is believed that they were once one people, and diverged when one group went into the jungles and the other remained on the plains. The Danisil have no Wogren, but are known to enter similar bond-pacts with dire animals or spirits. Halflings believe that the other elven peoples are descended from the Danisil, and that the Small folk are in fact the parent race of the elves. The elves, of course, believe the reverse.


Background:

Your mother is an Elfling, once trained in the jungles to combat demons. If it wasn't for your skin condition, you'd probably be noticably darker than most of your kind. Your mother made a terrible bargain to save her family. It worked, but she now harbors one of the Trapped within her. A powerful and dangerous demon-spirit named Khaz'Datch. Ever since, your family has been one of the safest and most prosperous tribes around, even taking in refugees and former slaves. Everything is generally fine, so long as they don't cross your mother.

You bear the same blood, and a portion of the same curse. Lucky for you, it comes with some nice perks, if you can ignore the hot, slightly scaly skin. The agents of the shadow love you. It's easy to tell who the bad guys are, because they're the ones who are the most nice.

You spend about 1/2 the year posing as a slave to a "Legate" (played to perfection by a man named Garion) The other 1/2 of the year is spent traveling back to the plains, usually by moving down the Eren to the Ardune, finding the Ghost Raft, picking up a group of fomer slaves and refugees and leading them back out to freedom. You've had 4 successful seasons since you were sent out on your own. Two more and you'll be one of the record-holders. When you first got started you were working with one of the old hats. A Halfling named Reggie Gale. He was working with a striking Erenlander woman named Cara. Reggie was taken. They must have broke him because they came after you and Cara. You found out and tried to make it to warn her, but you were too late. The Sarcosan village she had been staying with was a blazing ruin. No recognizable bodies, all hacked and burned. You did find her child, however. A small, wide-eyed girl named Siobhan.

With no other options, you took her home. She lived with you and your family for nearly a year. You took that year off to care for the child, but she grew too fast, moved to slow, tired too quickly and ate too much. She also had an unfortunate habit of playing with fire. Your mother, in typical harsh, realistic fashion, told you the child had to go. The closest human settlement was a small village called Hornblower's Hill. Your mother had dealt with the people there before and said they were trustworthy, especially the old man that acted as a sort of patriarch there. You brought her, and the old man gladly took her in. You have tried to look in on her once a year from afar, but you are not sure if she remembers you.

A few months ago it came to your attention that a Legate in Swiftwater known by the locals as the Fleshcrafter has been performing strange experiments. A slave rescued from him mentioned the collection of captives he keeps in the basement of the complex he rules. The slave described them well and named two of them "Cara" and "Reggie". They are alive. After 15 years. You and Garion and a handful of others are planning a jailbreak. It will be the most overt mission you have ever undertaken, and if you survive, you will need to get away from the plains for a while. A smuggler you know named Wendle has agreed to get you to the mountains when you are done. (Your intro will start during the jailbreak)


Skills:

Use Magic Device: There's a trick to it, every time. Magic has a will of it's own, and just like people, if you tell it the right thing, it'll trust you and give over everything it has. If you pay attention you can always feel it, like people, magic lays it out if you know how to read it, and can get awful mad if it realizes it was tricked. Respect it, and never forget that just because it's a stick or a scroll, doesn't mean it doesn't have a soul, and doesn't mean it can't make your life miserable.

Craft: Leatherworking is in your blood. You were learning how to tan and oil before you learned how not to crap your pants. Your mother is one of the best. her leatherworks are so good that their patterns and lines draw magic into them, without so much as a spell or ritual. This tells you that any craftsman of sufficient skill can do the same. Makes you wonder what counts as a "craft".

[Doomed Hero]

What Marakal Knows

(click to show/hide)

Race:

Erenlander: Once the kingdom was great. A shining bastion of reason and order. Might was used for right rather than to attempt to create it. The line of kings was unbroken and strong. Their sygil was the Golden Griffon on a white background. Today the line is broken, slaughtered and the great white tower of highwall destroyed. in it's place stands Theros Obsidia, where the False King, Jazhir rules. The great plains Griffon has been hunted nearly to extinction. Jazhir's crest is a black downward facing sword ringed by a black crown on a red background.

Background:

Your mother, Lidia, had been a member of the Resistance movement known as the Broken Road. She paid a heavy price for her idealism. When the legate came seeking an elven spy she was not actually harboring any fugitives, but he learned that she once had. His interrogation techniques were brutal and culminated in your conception. She told you the entire story. She tried to fight back, and even bit your father, but he simply drew a dagger and stabbed her straight through the front of her breastbone. He left it there and used the handle of the knife as a grip for leverage while he finished his deed. When he was done he left her there to die. One of her partners a striking blond erenlander woman named Cara found her and managed to save her life with magic. The group went to Swift Water to regroup and recover, and there they stayed for a while. Your mother became a prostitute and reluctantly gathered information for Cara and her group. They tried as best they could to care for you when you were born, but your mother's rages, verbal abuse and neglect left wounds too great to heal. One day when you were five summers old,  Cara asked you to help clean the safe house, which you despised, so instead of helping, you ran away. You told one of the Judicators about the group and watched as Cara and three of her friends were captured and hauled away.

After that life got hard. Your mother took you and ran, moving all over the place, fearful of being discovered by those who had captured Cara, eventually settling in Erenhead because of it's business and high population of transients. No one was around to help your mother, so she became even angrier about your existence, having to miss opportunities to earn food and shelter because of your needs. You mostly raised yourself, on the streets. Violence was a daily occurrence. You killed another child who threatened you when you were eight. You were kicked in the ribs by an orc so hard that your bones broke when you were nine.

You were nearly killed trying to assault two brawny dockworkers who had beaten your mother near to death when you were ten. They left you a broken arm and a mouthful of splintered teeth. Every time they saw you after that, they jeered and laughed. You simply avoided the docks whenever possible, but they were your mother's regulars. They still came to her once or twice a month, and she had no choice but to let them. They called it "working off what she had stolen". They even had a Judicator's Writ, making everything they made her do completely legal. They made it a point to seek you out and "remind" you of it, and your beating, as often as possible. For two years, you took it.

When you were 12 your mother's past caught up with her. She was hung in the square while you watched from an alleyway. You returned home and took what little she had, and discovered in her small chest of clothes a strange, heavy black knife. She had kept the blade. You hated it instantly, but for some reason, you took it.

Three days later you saw one of the two dockworkers relieving himself in an alley outside a tavern. He died by your father's knife across his throat. That is when you discovered how easy murder was. The other one died with the knife through his back a few dozen times, twitching against the wall of a stable in the dark.

After that, all the fear and rage you'd lived with was lifted. No more mother, no more threatening dock hands. You were free. The only thing you didn't have was food. Lucky for you, there were a pair of brand new slots open in the dock crew, and you were pretty big for your age. That became your life for nearly six years. Long hours of hard work, and long nights of alcohol-fueled violence. You supplemented your earnings by fighting in the taverns and learned an appreciation for your mother's old profession. The woman who had run the whore house your mother had worked at ended up offering you a job as an enforcer at her house after seeing you fight. For a while life was good.

Then you discovered that the matron of the whore house was harboring fugitives. You didn't care in the slightest, even helping a few of them, until the day the elf arrived. You killed it. When the matron came to speak with it, she was horrified. There was a lot of yelling. You killed her as well. Hobgoblin Judicators came to investigate. They caught you in a lie. Somehow they knew. They tried to arrest you, so you killed them as well, and left, lighting the building on hire before you disappeared into the night.

You headed south, back to Swift Water and found work again as an enforcer. You had only been there a week when a young neonate Soldier Legate, mistaking you for a patron, mentioned your father. You took him by surprise, driving the dagger into his lungs to keep him from screaming, and slamming the door on his hands to break them. After ripping away his holy symbol and putting the blade deep in his mouth, all his great and mighty divine powers were useless. Talking carefully around the blade he told you your father was a soldier legate who had been charged with the eradication of fugitives, but that his methods had been deemed too zealous. He had been sent to the mountains where his zeal could be better used.  He was Sarcosan nobility and his brother and son were here, running the small church and living in an opulent complex on the outskirts of town.

You didn't care about them. You cared about finding the man who had given you life, and also destroyed it.

You were not ready for the mountains. You were found on the brink of death by a Dwarf named Dunkin. He brought you to an ancient fortress called Durgis Rock.

Your story will start in a series of very short montage style scenes detailing this arc of events. Now that you know how things should work out, you can help me write it.

Erenhead: You know it well. Go ahead and read all the information you can on the place. In short it is a heavily occupied shipping port. Think like Mos Isley. The place is a heavily regulated wretched hive of scum and villainy. The place is run by Hobgoblins, who are dedicated, orderly and ruthlessly efficient.

Swift Water. Basically the opposite of Erenhead. The gnomes are left alone because they are good at their job. Security here is lazy and corrupt, run by old Sarcosan nobility, who don't care what goes on as long as quotas are met and things stay quiet.

Durgis Rock: You haven't been here long, but you've learned that the guy in charge is named Woden and people think he's crazy. You think all dwarves are crazy. The entire area is a honeycomb of passages and tunnels, but damned if you can ever spot them. They don't really trust you, but you're fairly free to wander around. They asked you to help care for the dogs, but hey hate you, so now they have you help dress game for the stew pots. You're feeling back to full strength after a month or so with them, and you're thinking about trying to slip away.

[Doomed Hero]

What Dorin Knows

(click to show/hide)

Race:

The Fortress Wall: Your people's legacy. Failure and death. Charged with holding back the drakness, in the Last Battle, the forces of the shadow swept south, largely unopposed, because of your people's petty infighting and rivalries. Each broken tower that dots the northlands is a monument to the downfall of your people.

Head-Shaving: A sign of shame. This means that a Dorn recognizes and takes responsibility for actions that led to the demise or hardship of a loved one. These days, most dorns shave thier heads, a reminder and penance for the failure of thier people.

Nalford: The Dornish Mecca. Called the Black Tower (sister tot he White Tower of Highwall)once upon a time, it was to Dorns what Highwall was to Erenlanders and Sharuun is to Sarcosans. It was the Erenland war collage. Highwall was the intillectual hub, Sharuun was the social hub. Nalford was the military hub. The dornish Clan Councils were held there, and the best and brightest learned their trades there. To be selected to train at Nalford was once the highest honor a Dornish youth could receive. When the Shadow came, malford was destroyed in one night, without a battle. Those within went mad and killed each other to a man. Every soul that died there is cursed to remain, reliving that night over and over again, until the end of the world.

Sarcosans: Honored enemies. They defeated you in the great war. This is a contentious point of pride for many Dorns, but as a culture you are taught to admire and respect those who defeat you in combat. Strength of arms is the greatest measure of worth to Dorns, and while they are proud to have been defeated by a worthy adversary , many of them don't really understand how it could have happened that the great Dornish empire could have been driven out of their own lands, and followed across the seas only to be defeated again by such small and weak a people.

Swords: Weapons gain life and history of their own as they are used in combat. Swords are the only weapon that has no other function than death. Because of this they are held as the pinnacle of the warrior's tools. When a sword is drawn, there is only one possible action to be taken with it. A sword with enough history can become as important as the hero that carries it.

Names: are earned. A name given by parents is only a "child-name" or a "given name". On a Dorn's naming day (15 summers), their name is given to them by the oldest man of their family or town. Usually it's the same name as the one they have been called their whole lives, but sometimes a surname, description or change is added. As a Dorn ages, they can earn more names, which are only ever bestowed by superiors. To be named by someone is always an honor, bestowed with that intent. Dishonorable or insulting names are never given (such people are not worth naming), though sometimes humorous names are, so long as the humor is well-intended and respectful. It is considered highly insulting to forget someone's name.

Wyrd: Fate, which all things have. It is the tapestry of life.  The Woof, or long threads (which run across time horizontally), cross over the Warp, or tall thread, which are moments in time running vertically. how a persons Woof crosses the Warp and tangles with the Woof of others details the story of their lives. Each person in the Wyrd is a single thread woven by the Wyrdas (the Three Fates)

Maegen: Half karma, half spiritual strength. If a person's Wyrd is the path of thier thread, then Maegen is it's strength. Honorable and dishonorable actions as Scylds (meaning knots, pronounced shields). Honorable Scylds are like braids or reinforcing knots. Dishonorable ones are like frayed knots or tangles which weaken the thread. The only way to get rid of a dishonorable Scyld is restitution to the wronged party, or their descendants. Restitution is always decided by the person who carries the debt, but the wronged party can say enough is enough at any time, and the debt is considered repaid.

Promises carry great Maegan, and are not given lightly by Dorns. It is essentially like taking on a great karmic debt which grows as time passes without the promise being fulfilled. Life-long or open ended promises are almost never made. Most marriages and oaths of allegiance  don't even hold such weight.

Fetch: A guardian spirit, usually an animal of the opposite sex. Everyone has one. They are a combination of a spirit-guide, a conscience and a personal totem. Stories of beastmasters, shapeshifters and talking animals abound in Dornish folklore, and representative animal art is very prevalent in dornish craftsmanship.

Ancestor Worship: Lineage is critically important to Dorns. Every son and daughter dreams of brining honor to their line and earning the respect of their ancestors. Spirit-speakers are some of the most respected members of Dornish society, for they deliver the messages and lessons of the past to the living. Dorns revere ghosts, but abhor the walking dead. The only exception to this is the Midgaardi Vigdir.

The Vigdir: Guardians of the dead. They come in 4 types.

The Tadulos, or Wolf-spirit, which guards the body of the fallen, usually taking payment in their flesh, consuming them and making their bodies one.

The Meruros, or Raven-spirit, which claim and guide the souls of the fallen to the spirit world. Dorns believe Fell are souls who ignored or lost their Meruros.

The Midgaardi, or Berserker-spirit, which are the hordes of the angry dead who rise to avenge great wrongs. They are usually portrayed as hulking, white-eyed hulking deathless warriors.

Valkyr, or Battle-Maiden-spirits, which inspire heroes, observe great battles, usher the spirits of great warriors into the ranks of the Ancestral Army, and grant great favor to the mighty, and hide and protect powerful weapons until the right hero comes across them. They are usually portrayed as beautiful and terrible women of statuesque proportions and unearthly grace, armed and armored with legendary artifacts. Mighty weapons that go missing are said to have been "claimed by the Valkyr".


Background:

You were born on a boat. Your father is Ricard Redguard, a warrior who fell for a daughter of Norfall and forsook land to woo his bride-to-be. She died in childbirth, but he had developed a love of the sea, and though he tried to return back to his own clan, he was always drawn back. Today he is Bosun on the Downfall, Jaden Norfall's own ship. Your father is the best bare-knuckle brawler in the fleet, and keeps order with a heavy fist. he was always stern, but loving and spared nothing in teaching you everything he knew. When you were a teenager, he had you apprenticed on another vessal, which was almost immediately compromised. You spent a year and a half in the Bluff, and then came back to the Downfall nearly grown. You hadn't yet proven yourself as a sailor, but your ties to both Redgard and Baden made you a valuable asset. You became a courier and spent the next few years moving from vessel to vessel delivering information. You have always had an exceptional memory, so no documents are ever needed.

Strangely, many of the messages you delivered had to do with events that had not yet transpired. Warning of things to come. Strange prophecies.

 Returning to the Downfall, your ship was boarded. The shadow had apparently learned of a brawny sailor who had been ferrying information about the Pelluria. To save you, Captain High Cloud destroyed the shadow vessel, put you in a dingy, pushed you off towards the bluffs and went to dismantle and disband his ship. He told you to lay low for at least a year.

Once in the Bluff things didn't get much better. You simply stood out too much to be anything but a liability to the Hidden Court.

You've been trying to lay low as cargo-loader at the mouth of the Well for a few months now, but they even found you here. Word is that bounty hunters are looking for large men in connection with a burned shadow vessel. You've been in hiding for a few weeks while they decide what to do with you.

Redguard: Roland, the legend. A young and charismatic horseman of unparalleled skill. He is your second cousin. You have met twice, and are sent to deliver messages to his agents every year or two.

Norfall: Captain Jaden is a sailor of unearthly skill and a tactician of great cunning. He seems to be able to predict both the weather and the movement of the shadow's ships.

The Hidden Court: Allies of the pirate princes. Regularly take in and hide sailors. Favors are owed back and forth, and you are both expendable and dependable. Congratulations, you are the coin they trade to each other with.

Dragon Island: A terrible place where the sea shelf is shallow. Fell from all over the Pelluria end up there by virtue of the currents and the ease they can simply walk to the shore from the sea floor.

Baden's Bluff is built on a seaside limestone cliff. Imagine an enormous, rounded aztec step pyramid, with buildings built along each level, set into the side of a cliff. At the bottom, near the waterline, canals are cut into the stone, and are the city's primary mode of transportation (think like venice). They even become tunnels once they hit the limestone, leading into the immense network of underground pathways that lead inside the enormous underground cove called the Maw. The maw can hold dozens of ships at a time, though only has room for one to go in and out of at a time. Only the most skilled captains enter the maw, because it's mouth is narrow and many a ship has been breached on the walls by an unexpected lurching of the water. Captains not skilled enough, or with too large a ship, have to arrange for their goods to be ferried in from the docks, which can be steep. The most successful captains are the ones who have the skill to pilot the largest ship possible through the Maw and into the Heart (the inner area of the cove. Once in the Heart, the ships can be unloaded via the massive pulley and crane system that takes goods strait to the channel that runs straight up and out of the Heart, cutting through the limestone and exiting right in the middle of the merchant district. Life for workers in the Well (called Welfare Boys, or Bottom Dwellers) is harsh. Hours are long and conditions are dangerous. There is little light, everything is cold and wet, moss grows on the stone, and ropes rot and break. Men die almost daily. The waters of the Maw are filled with half submerged corpses. Boats moor themselves to the walls so as not to drop anchor and invite the Drowned Fell, who swarm on the bottom of the water like piraña,  to climb the chains. Most of the time, if someone ends up in the water, they are simply left. Eventually the screams die and life goes on.

Around the Heart is the sewers, which are not so much sewers as they are another city. Once a dwarven hold, the circular, maze-like passages and aqueducts are nearly impossible to navigate without a guide. Passaged are dug out, blocked off, collapsed or sealed on a weekly basis, changing the landscape and keeping the eternal game of cat-and-mouse between the agents of the Hidden Court and the agents of the Crown continually new.

Legates in Baden's Bluff are surprisingly helpful, willing to do nearly anything to help their flock. All they ask is to be kept abreast of what is happening in the lives of the people so they may best figure out how to serve the greatest number. Information is the currency here, from the lowliest drunken dockworker to the highest courtier.

At the top of the hill the cliffs turn into, called the Crown, is the noble district. The change from squalor to opulence is obvious and striking. The most amazing characteristic of the Crown is the tall, twisting tower called the Spire. Atop it sits the Guardian of the Bluff, called and given to the Order by the First Legate himself, the great Beast of the Spire, Zaindal. It's wings can shade an entire district and it's cry chills the blood of all who hear it. It spends most of it's time curled up around the great tower, but when enemies of the Order are at large on land or sea, the great beast soars, bringing ruin to the poor souls it hunts.

The Bluff is ruled by Helrion Baden, the tall and powerful heir to the Baden throne. He is advised by Werner Dalamark, the hereditary protector of the Baden line. In the spire is the High Legate of the Bluffs, Cerano, a pious and personable man who refuses any and all titles. he is greatly blessed by Izrador and spends most of his time out in the city proper, doing work along side his subordinates. The chief enforcer of the Court is a man known only a Gorse. If the world of Aryth ever had a Bogeyman, it is him. He is legendary in his efficiency and his prowess. None know who he is or where he came from, but he is rumored to be able to disappear into shadows, change his appearance, paralyze with a look, sense fear and lies, and turn blades on his skin. Agents are careful never to do anything that catches the attention of anyone with authority. When Gorse comes for you, you simply vanish.

[Doomed Hero]

What Ivy Knows

(click to show/hide)

Race:

The Plains: Life on the plains is difficult, but the seasons are beautiful.

Spring is an ocean of color. Greens, blues, purples, reds, as the sword grass and wildflowers erupt in weeks, soon rising four to five feet in height, perfect for the small folk to hide in. Life abounds and game is plentiful. Massive herds of wild boro cut great swaths through the grasses, herds of wild horses run free, grass cats and wild dogs hunt small game hidden by the grasses.  Skies are clear during the day, but in the mornings and evenings thick fog rolls in from the north and south in thick patches. The sarcosans fear and loathe the fog, so trade and travel is extremely limited. This is the time when the tithe-takers and Judicators come to see how human settlements are doing. They take a portion of crops and ensure that the needed supplies are delivered. Shadow-guarded smiths travel to make repairs and forge new tools for the plowing season. Hobgoblin engineers and bugbear slavers move freely across the plains repairing roads and hunting for halflings. The eyes of the Powers That Be are numerous in spring.

Summer is sweltering, the way summer should be, but the open plains are full of pleasant breezes that keep back the worst of the heat. The wildflowers end their bloom, turning the landscape to a sea of green, listing like gentle waves in the constant breeze. Lines of thousands of orcs move down the old King's Roads traveling to the mountain passes to join the endless war against the dwarves, their hobnailed boots and marching rhythm audible for miles as they shake the ground with their passage.

Fall marks the turn of color, green to yellow, as the sword grass quickly dies and the winds pick up. Spreading from the south, the grasses quickly pale. This annual event is called the Amber Wave, and marks the beginning of stockpiling food and supplies for winter. The sword grass becomes incredibly brittle, breaking apart in the harsh winds and blowing off, scattering seeds and detritus to the north, and exposing the layer of grass behind it to the wind, continuing the cycle. Soon, the air is thick with dust and the plains are barren. With nothing to break against, the winds become very harsh indeed, creating dust and storm that lasts until winter covers the land. The Sarcosans call this the "Bleakness" and is the primary reason for the masks they wear. Protecting ones eyes and lungs against the dust is critical. Halflings are small enough that the worst of it simply passes over them, but Wogren riders often adopt the habit of wearing masks, at least during fall. The plains-dwellers use this time as a way to move about undetected. The land is barren, revealing hazards that would otherwise be hidden, and the dust obscures their movements at a distance. It is never so thick that it is blinding, but it is hazy enough that beyond about 50 feet, everything is simply a grey haze. The Fell are more active, ravenous and prevalent in Fall. Walls around villages are reinforced and bodies are burned or beheaded before they are buried. For the smallfolk, this is the time to move fast and far towards larger water sources. Fall is the time when splintered families gather back together at larger lagoons and ponds. It is also the time when it is easiest to smuggle escaped slaves away from the human lands.

Winter is marked by snow, covering the dusty plains in white. Traveled trails and roads quickly churn up the dust beneath, creating a black-and-white contrast that is striking to behold. Tracking the movement of anything becomes child's play. Footsteps leave black prints in the white landscape making trails that are visible from hundreds of feet away. Hunting is nearly impossible. Game is scarce and well hidden. The small folk spend most of the winter in warrens, relying on thier Wogren for heat when smoke from fires would be too dangerous. It is not uncommon for a family of halflings to stockpile food in a hole somewhere and spend the entire winter inside.


Wogren are far more than just big wolves. They are smart, able to learn and understand language and complex ideas. They simply lack the vocal cords for complex communication. They are also nearly silent. The bark of a Wogren is a mystic thing that is said to drive away evil spirits and reveal hidden things. Some Wogren go their entire lives without making more noise than an occasional whine or low growl.

They are creatures of powerful spirit magic, seemingly able to cross back and forth between the real world and the spirit world. Legends say that halflings with particularly powerful bond to their Wogren can be pulled along with them, though none have witnessed it.

The bond between wogren and halflings is strong, ancient and deeply sacred. Generally, if one dies, the bonded other does not take long to follow. It is for this reason that halflings do not marry. Though they take mates, their relationships tend to be passionate and short, dissolving with the seasons as families part ways. No other partnership could ever come close to the bond between the halflings and their beasts. Becuase there are so few Worgen left, many halflings never find theirs. Such unfortunates are known as half-souls, and as looked upon with sadness and pity.


Slavery is a fact of life to the small folk. Poison Spear Orc and Black Eye Bugbear slavers roam the plains, as well as cut throat men looking to make quick trade value. Many halflings are born into slavery and know no other life. Some even think it's the natural way of things and learn to think that the longing in their hearts is due to their own natural inferiority. The Broken Road is the name given to the collections of tunnels, basements, smugglers wagons, and people who devote themselves to trying to free halfling slaves. The halflings have a close and powerful friendship with the Gnomes, who while still looking out for themselves, make much of the Broken Road possible.


The Danisil are undeniably related distantly to the small flok. They are small for elves, making them able to breed with halflings, which does happen sometimes. It is believed that they were once one people, and diverged when one group went into the jungles and the other remained on the plains. The Danisil have no Wogren, but are known to enter similar bond-pacts with dire animals or spirits. Halflings believe that the other elven peoples are descended from the Danisil, and that the Small folk are in fact the parent race of the elves. The elves, of course, believe the reverse.


Background:

You and your distant cousin Nefario have spent quite a while bringing escaped slaves back to the traditional halfling way of life. You teach them the ways of your people. Almost half of the Ghost Fang Tribe are, or are the children of, freed slaves. Constance, the tribe matriarch is a harsh woman, but a firm believer in the freedom of her people. Her methods are sometimes ruthless, but her results are hard to argue with.

Your tribe has more folk than most, but fewer wogren. Because of that, you move around less. The deltas and marshes near the Ardune are your primary home, moving around in that area a few times a year.

Nearly twenty years ago the tribe was much more traditional, but discovered that their goal of liberation drew attention to them in ways that the traditional way of life was not equipped to handle. The massacre left the family scattered an decimated, with only two Wogren surviving. Many of the family believed it was Constance and her pact with the river folk and their human allies that brought the attention of the shadow upon them, and when Constance made it known that she would continue her efforts to free her people, nearly half the survivors left. The Ghost Fang has gone from a nearly lost tribe to a fairly large on in the span of less than two decades. This is a testament not only to Constance's dedication, but also to the skill and effectiveness of Otter and Star, the leaders of the resistance group called the Outriggers who rescue and transport the slaves back to thier homeland.

Your former human partner, Cara, had a child who survived the massacre. That child, Siobahn, was rescued from the fire by Nefario while you were north on a mission. The child was raised for a time with the Ghost Fang until she turned about 5 years old, at which point she became too big to care for properly. She was trusted into the care of a man in a nearby village. For respect of Cara's memory, you or Nefario would make a trek once a year to look in on her, though you never made yourselves known. You just watched from a distance and thanked the spirits that she was growing up safely.

The outriggers themselves, at least the ones you knew, were Otter and Star, who you met only a few brief times, and Garion and Cara, the two human smugglers who did most of the traveling. They were very much in love despite the time they had to spend apart. Every once in a while they would find an opportunity to visit the Ghost Fang together and stay for a few weeks. They never seemed happier. When Cara died Garion was a wreck for a long time, and even after he managed to put himself back together and continue his work, he was never the same and it showed in the number of slaves that made it to the Ghost Fang. It is still impressive, but nothing compared to what it was before the massacre.