testing codes and posts and things

[ze_kraken]

Alfa Slab One
Eczar
Ramabhadra

THE HOLLOWS

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Spring

had not come early to the Hollows. Winter and its bitter cold had clung to the land long into the month of Aniel. When Aniel gave way to Selat, finally the thaw had come and with it a manner of curious and adventurous folk. Not that this was a new development for the inhabitants of the Hollows - every spring, as soon as the thaw came and the Crags were safe to traverse, so too came those with a proclivity for adventuring and treasure seeking.

With the adventurers, the sellswords, the merchants, and the brigands also came the bodies from the Crags, trailing from the west along the Fangtooth River. Another grim reminder that though winter had come and passed, the Crags were never welcoming nor warm. A whole manner of corpses had floated down this spring. Men, dwarf, orc - the Crags had taken them all. Just as varied as the folk that came through the Hollows seeking gold and treasure were the ways the Crags sent them back. Some had died of frostbite, their fingers black and hard as iron. Others were rent to pieces by spear and blade. The townsfolk referred to it in jest as the "Hero's Return", disposing of the bodies in an unmarked grave that served as a solemn reminder of the danger every would-be adventurer faced when venturing deep within the Crags.Not that such a reminder stopped new corpses when next the thaw came.

Life in the Hollows itself went on, however, without disturbance. People came and people went, and though a great deal of strangers had come to win their glory atop the Crags, none thought too much of it. It was just another spring thaw for the townsfolk of the Hollows, and another Hero's Return for the many unfortunate souls that had perished...

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Nathyen Rowe squinted at the mile marker in the misty morning from atop his pale grey destrier, the mount looking as beleaguered and travel-worn as its rider as it trotted in place to decelerate to a stop. Nathyen could just barely make out "the Hollows" scrawled into the wooden sign post, along with "25 miles" right beside it. The man sighed, patting his horse, leaning forward in his saddle with a creak of leather to pet the horse's cheek.

"Almost there, boy," he muttered softly. "Give me one more day, alright?"

As if to respond to its rider's reassurances, the horse flicked its tail and whinnied. Nathyen urged the horse into a trot once more, leaving the sign post to recede into the mist along the trail behind him. It would be another few hours still before the sun peeked its head over the edge of the mountains and burned the mist away.

Hours passed in silence as Nathyen rode along the trail into the Hollows, accompanied only by the soft trot trot trot of iron-shod horseshoes in damp earth and the trilling of birds in the woods alongside him. Nathyen wondered, how long had it been since he had heard a bird's call? They were rare in the mainland, and their chirps and squacks and caws put him at ease even if his empty stomach did not. It had haunted him along the road to the Hollows, gnawing at his patience and sapping his strength. Birds were pleasant, but hot stew would be better, Nathyen mused to himself.

Soon, he told himself. Soon, he would be in a warm bed with a full stomach and a belly full of mead.

Soon had not been a close approximation. By the time Nathyen had entered the main road to the Hollows, the sun had already set once more, leaving him only the lights of the stars to wander by. Night always left Nathyen feeling uneasy. They liked to prowl at night, that much was known. He had spotted some stalking him along the road into the Crags, wondering why they had never attacked. Perhaps one lone man dressed in plain mail and leather, carrying naught but a sword, shield, and pack was worth too much effort for so little payoff. Perhaps they had been waiting for him to lead them to a village or hideout. Yet when he went down to bed at the mouth of the Crags where the Fangtooth broke off into a myriad of streams and ponds, they had stopped.

No matter. He was here, and he was hungry. In short order, Nathyen left his horse with the town stable boy and followed the boy's instructions to the town inn. The Cat and Rooster it was called, a charming inn that towered over the other structures in the village and to which all roads within the village led. Nathyen trod inside and sat by the hearth after procuring an ale and a bowl of stew from a tavern girl, relishing in the crackling fire that began to eat away at a chill that Nathyen had not even felt build up within him along the road. The weight of stew in his stomach felt better than anything he had felt in months, and the taste of ale - piss-thin though it was - was sweeter than anything he had ever tasted.

All around Nathyen sat similar characters, a host of grizzled and travel-weary men and women, trading stories and tales. Some sang in low voices, others preferred to tend to their drinks in silence...

GM NOTES:

mention players here

WELCOME TO THE CURSED LANDS

There are a few things to note about the mechanics of this RP.

First, all GM posts were either do one of two things - 1) they will either present a new circumstance or advance the timeline in a meaningful way or 2) they will respond to a character's actions should they warrant, require, or want a response.

Below each in-character, prose-formatted post will be a number of interactive features in the scene as well as the outcome of your character interacting with that feature. The details of that interaction and the specific outcome, however, will be up to you as the player and writer of your character. Interactive elements marked in red are actions that are not guaranteed to be successful and will be settled with a GM post outlining the outcome. Otherwise, the degree of success or failure is determined by you.

INTERACTIVE ELEMENTS

Speaking with Nathyen:
Nathyen is seated by the hearth in the Cat and Rooster after the sun has set, willing to speak to any that approach him and speak amicably as well. He is curious in learning why others have come and will explain, if asked why he has come to the Hollows, that he seeks a weapon known as Scarnesbane, a legendary weapon forged in the Age of Heroes. Scarnesbane is described as a hammer of inexplicable power, having been used to slay the Mother of Drakes by the Dwarve hero Ormund.

Consulting the Bartender:
The bartender, Sigurnd, is a large, affable man with a thick gut and a bushy blonde beard. His head is shaved, arms docked with a number of scars. He will gladly speak with anyone that comes to the bar, and throw in a boast about his time as an adventurer himself. If asked about what to seek in the Crags, he will mention that of late raiders and brigands have come down from the Crags in the night to steal grains and other goods. Their leader, the orc Maud, has been said to wield a sword of unbelievable craftsmanship. They were last seen in the former dwarven watch tower overlooking the Fangtooth about fifteen miles north of the village.

Wandering the Fangtooth:
If you wander the Hollows long enough, you will learn that the townsfolk keep referring to those making the "Hero's Return" and how a number of bodies have been spotted floating down the river. Investigating this for yourself will lead you to discover the body of a human woman, possessing a number of slash wounds that have been burned closed. Trademark injuries inflicted by demons. Asking around town, either in the shops or the Cat and Rooster, will reveal that townsfolk have reported sightings of demons and worse creatures further up river to the west.

Additionally or alternatively, you may loot a number of gold coins, arrows, daggers, and so on from corpses that have washed up and have yet to be laid to rest.

Exploring the Hollows:
The town of the Hollows has a blacksmith, brewery, and a number of other shops. You may replenish your supplies, purchase any reasonable gear such as rope, candles, torches, and so on. The blacksmith specializes in tools for carpenters and farmers, but has a handful of arrows and a pair of crudely forged swords for sale as well. The stable is selling horses for a high price, though all the beasts look malnourished and weak even for a horse raised in the Cursed Lands.

Background Music

 

[ze_kraken]

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⚜THE KINGDOM OF VELVULIA⚜​

⚜Tread Lightly Here⚜

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DESCRIPTION CULTURE CREED GEOGRAPHY HISTORY ARMY CLIMATE DEMOGRAPHIC CONFLICT MONARCHY

• 
  The Kingdom of Velvulia is an island nation, spanning fourteen islands in total off of the western coast of Ellemar. The largest island, from which the kingdom takes its name, serves as the seat of power for the entire kingdom and houses nearly all of the kingdom's offices of state and administration in the city of Ardchester. The fourteen islands, known as the Serpent Isles, are arranged in the rough pattern of a serpent, for which the ruling house of the kingdom - House Valuoar - takes its sigil.
  
  As of the late king of Thornwild's demise, the current rulers of Velvulia - House Valuoar - has set its sights on the mainland. After having been scorned by the mainland for years as savage raiders and seafaring pirates, the Kingdom of Velvulia seeks to gain a foothold on the mainland in the chaos that is sure to follow as the other mainland lords squabble and raise armies to stake their claim.
  
  Only, the isles are not as unified as they may seem. The current self-proclaimed king of the isles, King Gerrart III, is a green lad of only 15 winters whose father was king of the Serpent Isles. On the surface, he projects an image of strength and unity but has lost the confidence and backing of his court. In times of peace, Gerrart III might have been a competent enough leader, but the boy is ill-suited to warfare. His bastard brother, Arthur Salt, has gathered supporters to stage a coup to overthrow King Gerrart III and bring Velvulia to the mainland behind a competent, battle-hardened leader and not some boy pretender that not only practices the values of the Serpent Isles but has brought a strange and foreign God from the mainland.
  
  Arthur Salt calls his followers the Sons of Velvulia, and has managed to gain the support of many members of the Valuoar family, rifting it in twain. He has raised banners from the isle capital of Crosham and seeks to march on Ardchester before turning his attention to the mainland to lay his claim and cement his rule.
  
  
• 
  The Kingdom of Velvulia is fierce and warlike, having spent large portions of its history embroiled in civil conflict. Its citizens are skilled fighters and seafarers, with every boy taught in the ways of fighting and maintaining ships. Girls are left to tend to domestic matters and work the fields, lending them a role that is viewed separate from men but not necessarily lesser. Women born in the Serpent Isles are held in high regard as the lifeblood of the isles, though the same cannot be said of the women that are captured in raids. Additionally, since strength is valued in the Serpent Isles, it is not unheard of for women of particularly notable physical capability to join raiding parties or even act as ship captains.
  
  Though much of the Kingdom of Velvulia is sustained on raiding and forays into the mainland to take supplies from its unsuspecting neighbors, the isles themselves are rich in iron, bronze, and copper and along the isle of Velvulia there is ample fertile land. Though it would be apt to say that much of the Kingdom of Velvulia is sustained and built upon that which has been stolen, thievery among islanders is a heinous crime. Life in the Serpent Isles is already difficult, and thievery is held on par with murder.
  
  Blood has special value in the Kingdom of Velvulia. Not only do the Nine - the deities of the islanders - value blood, be it human or otherwise, but so do the people. It is said that the first settlers of the Serpent Isles brought with them three things - blood, salt, and iron. Of these, blood is the most valued. It has become emblematic of fealty, loyalty, and service and it is not uncommon for particularly close bonds to be sealed in blood. Both parties mark themselves with the same knife along their palms, grip hands, and then move forward as Bloodsworn.
  
  Bloodsworn oaths among commoners are relatively harmless and usually signify marriage or other significant bonds, but when conducted among nobles or when conducted by nobles it is far more binding. Bloodsworn in made in this manner act as sworn shields to their liege lords, and though they themselves - unless they come from noble birth - cannot pass their title of Bloodsworn to their children, it is not uncommon for oaths of fealty to continue in such a manner from generation to generation when the bond is particularly long-lived or beneficial to both parties. Bloodsworn may add others to the collective bond if agreed upon, leading to bands of skilled warriors honor-bound to die for their fellows if called upon. Though nobility are often the instigator of such bonds, they too must answer the call and fight and die by their fellows - nobility is a looser term in Velvulia than perhaps elsewhere, even if birthright nobility has become commonplace.
  
  
• 
  The religion of the Kingdom of Velvulia is comprised of the Nine Deities, or simply the Nine. The Nine are believed to have been deity-like figures of the initial settlers of the islands. The Nine are faceless gods, mysterious and powerful ones who are believed to weave together the threads of fate itself, each of the Nine weaving their own threads of the universe together, creating chaos and confusion as weaves collide. The Nine are depicted as tall, gaunt figures clad in long flowing cloaks with faces obscured by cowls. It is believed that the Nine may be called upon to reweave a man's fate, and so grant him a second chance at life by burning the tainted threads - it is said that King Gerrart I was resurrected thrice during his conquest of the islands and that he had the scars to prove it, but none can be certain of fact over fiction now.
  
  The people of the Kingdom of Velvulia are a hardy, pragmatic folk - they are tough and resourceful, born out of frequent food and water shortages. They value strength of spirit above all and have no tolerance for weakness of flesh or spirit. Many of their rituals to the Nine involve blood tribute, typically the blood of livestock though some more emboldened priests may opt for human blood. It is said blood appeases the Nine, easing the frayed ends of a man's thread and ensuring a peaceful transition into the next weave. When weaves are repaired in such a way, it is believed they are made more resilient and less prone to random frays, snags, and tugs that accompany hardship in one's life.
  
  Priests of the Nine have an official organization and hold regular sermons, with groups of priests answering to Arch Priests who form a council that answers to the Son of the Nine. It is believed that the Son of the Nine is the chosen vassal of the Nine, and spends his time attempting to piece together the scraps of threads of fate he is permitted to see. When the Son of the Nine passes from this world, he is believed to be reborn into a new body and must be sought out by the council of Arch Priests so that he might be trained and prepared in the fashion of the Son of the Nine. The boy is trained in martial skills, seafaring, and the rituals and practices of faith of the Nine. When he comes of age, he drinks Milk of the Nightshade to begin to open his mind to images of the Nine.
  
  
• 
  The Serpent Isles are comprised of fourteen different islands, of which only six are inhabitable. The islands are arranged like a striking snake, with the isle of Velvulia forming the serpent's head and the islands of Shrewsway, Winterbour, and the Fang forming the bulk of the serpent's body. At the serpent's tail lay the isles of Autumnfall and Dorterre. In years past, each of these islands might have been a kingdom unto itself, but now all answer to the same call - that of the kingdom at large.
  
  Velvulia is by far the largest, comparing in size to small countries with wide expanses of flat land. The soil here is fertile and tenable, and Velvulia is large enough to have its own rivers crisscrossing the island. The capital city of Ardchester rests at the peak of the island, right at the tip of the serpent's mouth with the Bredever River delta making the tip of the island split into a yearning serpent's maw.
  
  Shrewsway houses the island capital of Crosham, and is heavily forested in oak and cedar like many of the smaller islands. Its soil is of poor quality, and few are able to maintain farms on Shrewsway. The high concentration of forests has led Shrewsway to become quite adept at crafting ships, and several households maintain themselves by fishing the seas as opposed to maintaining herds and crops.
  
  Winterbour is just south of Shrewsway, resting in the center of the serpent formation, and is hillier than all the other isles. In the center of Winterbour's hills rests the isle capital of Yuewood, a fortress city that, in years past, was founded to defend against the more adept seafarers from Shrewsway and the Fang. Winterbour rests atop a large underground aquifer, which it utilizes to maintain crops despite having rather poor soil quality. Through a combination of crops and fishing, denizens of Shrewsway are able to maintain themselves.
  
  The Fang is south of Winterbour, and is the last northern habitable island before the chain of the Serpent Isles narrows and becomes too rocky to sustain human settlement. The Fang shares similarities with Winterbour in that it is incredible hilly, and has relatively poor soil. It lacks Winterbour's underground aquifer, and so its inhabitants must sustain themselves on fish mostly. The Fang is closest to the mainland of the isles, and so its inhabitants enjoy a more productive raiding season though are at higher risk of foreign incursions due to its proximity. The Fang has no island capital, save for the lonely castle of Waernell Keep.
  
  Further south, once the central islands of the Serpent Isles widen out again, rest the isles of Autumnfall and Dorterre. These isles are frequently referred to as "the Twins" due to their proximity and cultural and physical similarities. Both isles are rocky, miserable places to live and share the capital city of Calford. The men and women bred on Autumnfall and Dorterre are tough due to the rough terrain, and like many of the other isles must sustain themselves on fish to survive. Whereas some crops might grow elsewhere in the Serpant Isles, none grow on Autumnfall and Dorterre, leaving its populace perpetually malnourished and liable to be slain or as emboldened and bitter survivors.
  
  
• 
  The earliest inhabitants of the Serpent Isles migrated from the mainland of Ellemar, fleeing religious prosecution for following a pagan god that has been lost to history. They were led by a prophet or a mythical hero, a figure who - like the religion he practiced - has been lost in the centuries since. After roughly a century of peace and cooperation among the inhabitants of Velvulia, infighting over scarce resources began and drove many islanders outward to the other inhabitable islands dotting the Serpent Isles.
  
  Isolated from their fellows, these pockets on differing isles became different tribes entirely, giving rise over the next century to city states. All the while, the isles engaged in bloody conflict with one another. The fighting was thickest around Velvulia and Winterbour for their natural resources, but several would-be island kings began looking outward to Ellemar's mainland for plunder. After roughly 50 years of near constant conflict, King Gerrart Valuoar I rose from the city-state of Ardchester and rallied his Bloodsworn to bring the other islands under one banner. Gerrart brought with him the faith of the Nine, which he had brought from his travels along the mainland as a boy, and began to purge heretics and all records of the pagan god that the early islanders prayed to.
  
  For a time, there was peace under King Gerrart I - the islands were allowed great flexibility and autonomy under his rule, and with the infighting over the islanders could unite and, as a united front, begin to plunder the mainland of Ellemar. Still, for all his strengths as a ruler, Gerrart was more of a conqueror than a king and grew more fond of leading his men into battle than keeping his bannermen and subordinates in line. Gerrart I was slain on a return voyage from the mainland, and his son Gerrart II burned the traitor's ship at port before allowing him to make landfall. Afterwards, Gerrart renewed his father's conquest and brought all of the isles to heel.
  
  Under Gerrart II, a rigid feudal caste was established and the former city-states were instilled as regional capitals, placed under the charge of families loyal to the crown. Though birthright nobility had been a defacto staple of power transitioning from one lord of chief to another, never had it been set in stone as it had under Gerrart II. Bloodsworn oaths became more or less permanent as well, with stricter rules about who could be added to "noble" Bloodsworn pacts.
  
  Gerrart II was a pragmatist as much as he was a conqueror like his father. Rather than strip the former city-state heads of their powers and leave them with all the reason in the world to hate him, Gerrart II gave each newly-minted regional capital an advisory position on the Council of the the Salt Throne, which would act as a soft check to the monarch's power and leave the newly displaced families in some position of authority. King Gerrart II, who took the throne at 16, ruled the Serpent Isles and led them to relative prosperity for over 50 years, and passed just 2 years ago, leaving his 13 year old son Gerrart III in command of the Kingdom at a pivotal moment in its history....
  
  
• 
  The Kingdom of Velvulia has the capacity to, at any time, have roughly 20,000-25,000 soldiers under its command. Though the islands only have a combined population of around 60,000, due to its warrior culture more may be called upon in times of need to rally and fight. Realistically, however, the military might be the Kingdom of Velvulia runs anywhere from 10,000 to 15,000 fighting men and women, of which about a half are needed just to maintain and operate its extensive fleet.
  
  Of the 5,000-7,500 men-at-arms forming the bulk of the Kingdom of Velvulia's ground troops, at any given time about 1,000-2,000 Bloodsworn can be called upon to fight. Bloodsworn are better trained and equipped than their counterparts, possessing steel arms and armor as well as years of training under various masters-at-arms. Bloodsworn are competent ground troops, and excel at fighting in looser formations as is befitting of their status as personal bodyguards and raiders.
  
  Meanwhile, the standard Velvulian footsoldier is equipped with an axe or sword, wooden shield, mail shirt, helm, and leather padded tunic and trousers. Spears are for those that fight in rank and file, which was a tactic that was never truly developed in the Serpent Isles. The fighting men and women from the Kingdom of Velvulia prefer to fight in loose formations, strike hard, and retreat to their ships before the fighting gets too hard. As a result, Velvulian marines are some of the best in the known world, and their seamen are more capable than most. Even the most basic man-at-arms is better pound for pound than their mainland counterparts since all in the Serpent Isles are trained to fight from an early age, but are usually less disciplined, less strategically capable, and less heavily armed.
  
  The remaining half of the military might of the Kingdom of Velvulia comes in the form of its sailors, which are all hardened and tested men and women. They have been seasoned by years on the open seas and many raiding seasons as well as plotting trade routes for other kingdoms. Like the fighters, the sailors have all been trained and instructed from an early age. Velvulian ships are some of the best crafted instruments of naval warfare in the known world, and can easily outclass their mainland counterparts in terms of quality of crew and construction.
  
  
• 
  The Serpent Isles are cold, misty places. It rains most days of the year, with a narrow harvesting season in late autumn. It is most temperate on Winterbour, with the weather becoming colder the further north or south one strays from the center of the islands. Seasons are a loose suggestion rather than a set reality in the islands - the summer raiding season is marked by calmer seas and less rain, autumn by fierce rains followed by a brief lapse, winter bitter cold and ice with ships often freezing in harbor, and lastly spring where the rain renews.
  
  Sunshine is infrequent, perhaps one hour in four might see a glimpse of the sun through grey, overcast skies. Still, this ample moisture has allowed the isles to sustain a fair number of trees and crops. Rust and wood rot are common, though, leaving many on the isles to become masters of maintaining their own equipment and dwellings.
  
  
• 
  Men and women from the Serpent Isles all look to be of the same stock. They are generally shorter and stouter than those on the mainland, with a propensity for developing muscle and storing fat to survive harsh periods of no food. The richest among those that inhabit the Serpent Isles can grow to be quite fat, though this is often seen as a sign of weakness - better a man with one chin and one sword than many chins and one sword, so the saying goes in the Kingdom of Velvulia.
  
  Those that live in the Serpent Isles tend to be fair of skin and fair of hair, the most common hair colors being blonde and ginger, with a small fraction (namely inhabitants of Velvulia proper) having darker hair. In the history of the Valuoar family, which has the greatest propensity for producing dark-haired heirs, one of the Valuoar lords had taken a fond liking to a handful of his concubines from the mainland and legitimized his bastards by them in a last-ditch effort to spare his family name, as he had produced only daughters by his true wife. As such, Valuoar heirs still run darker of skin and darker of hair than others.
  
  
• 
  The Salt Kings of the Valuoar family have a colored history of back stabbings and distrust, even before birthright nobility was standardized a half a century ago. Their line stretches back to the earliest days of settlement on Velvulia, and though Gerrart Valuoar I forbade the practice of the islander's first religion and destroyed all records of it, it is likely that his family descends from the very same prophet that Gerrart I demonized.
  
  When Munder Valouar legitimized his bastards upon his deathbed, he set a precedent of bastard children being able to lay claim to the Salt Throne. This problem persisted throughout the rest of the family's lineage, and resulted in many bastard children slaying brothers, sisters, fathers, or mothers to lay claim to the throne. As such, most Valuoars became remarkably virtuous in their marriages, tending to avoid taking women as concubines - be they spoils of war or otherwise.
  
  Still, King Gerrart II ignored the long, bloody history his family held with bastard children and sired four children by a woman not native to the Serpent Isles. Arthur Salt, the eldest of the four, grew up alongside Gerrart III. Whereas Gerrart was a small boy without a appetite for conflict, and Gerrart II's second son to boot, Arthur thrived on fighting. Gerrart II always cherished his bastard son more than his actual one, but died before he could legitimize the boy.
  
  When Gerrart III ascended, Arthur Salt fled the capital of Ardchester and began to build influence in Crosham. He founded the Sons of Velvulia, a secretive movement with the intention of placing Arthur on the throne over his comparatively diminutive brother. Arthur has promised to not only continue his father's legacy, but bring glory to the Salt Kings once more by laying claim to the mainland in the chaos and confusion following the death of the king of Thornwild.
  
  
• 
  Power transfers by birthright in the Kingdom of Velvulia, prioritizing sons over daughters. Serfs do not exist in theory, but do in practice. Men and women are free to farm the land as they wish and join ship crews as they see fit, but in practice many are trapped on the land they were born upon with few exceptions - even should a citizen of the Kingdom of Velvulia prove themselves in battle and become a Bloodsworn for a noble, it is unlikely they will ever become a noble themselves.
  
  Authority funnels through a feudal caste system, with heads of the city (Lords) swearing fealty to the Crown, Vassal Lords swearing fealty to Lords, and Counts swearing fealty to Vassal Lords. Particularly skilled or talented warriors are named Bloodsworn, and are tied by duty to the family that named them such. Particularly influential Bloodsworn may possess many of the same duties as counts, such as enforcing taxes and raising peasant armies in the event of an invasion. Additionally, Bloodsworn may themselves bring more notable warriors into their oaths of fealty if permitted by their associated families.
  
  The current monarch, Gerrart III, can trace his lineage back to the original Salt Kings of Velvulia. The Salt Kings themselves could only lay claim to Velvulia until Gerrart I's warpath through the isles, but still have a rich tradition of passing lineage down from father to son (and, in rare instances, daughter). Gerrart answers to the Council of the Salt Throne, a body of chosen representatives from each of the regional capitals that advise and support the king. Though they are largely powerless, they have served to ease the transitions experienced under Gerrart II and led to a stable enough government.
  
  

 

[ze_kraken]

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⚜MAJOR PLAYERS⚜ RORIUS MARKUS GERRART III SABETH ADRIANNA

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  Important names and faces
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  NAME || Rorius Valuoar, the Old Gull
  AGE || 43
  ROLE || Bloodsworn to King Gerrart III, Conspirator in the Sons of Velvulia
  CLASS || Bloodsworn, Noble
  
  
  
  
  DESCRIPTION​
  Rorius is a proud, regal figure. Abnormally tall for an islander, Rorius stands at 6' (180cm) with broad shoulders and a barrel chest. Even in his older years, the remnants of a warrior's silhouette remain. Though his hair has started to fade and become grey, and his back begin to hunch, Rorius is just as proud now as he was as a young man.
  
  Rorius' face is jagged and sharp, framed by a stern brow and a jaw that has only just begun to sag, casting his eyes in shadow. His left eye is milky white, a long scar running from the top of his forehead down over his left cheek. Long blonde hair, just now beginning to fade, runs to about his shoulders and he keeps a well-kept beard more than anything else. He dresses typically in leather and chainmail, wearing a tunic embossed with the crowned serpent of the Valuoar family.
  
  He carries with him a plain longsword sheathed at his side, unadorned with a steel cross guard and well-maintained, gleaming blade. He carries it with pride, and uses it well, but his old age is beginning to hamper his reflexes and rob his muscles of their fire and strength.​
  
  
  HISTORY​
  Rorius was the youngest male child of Gerrart I, born about 10 years after his older brother Gerrart II and just 2 years after his sister Eryen. He and Eryen were born to Gerrart I's 2nd wife, his first having died of a flux just after Gerrart II was born. Early in Rorius' childhood, Eryen died when the ship ferrying her from one of the other Serpent Isles was lost to a storm, leaving just him and Gerrart II. Rorius adored his brother, and the two grew close. Rorius served as Gerrart's bannerman during Gerrart II's campaign to bring the isles to heel, later swearing a Bloodsworn oath to protect his brother and his children.​

  
  When Gerrart II's concubine gave birth to Arthur Salt, Gerrart II instructed Rorius with taking care of the boy and training him to fight. Rorius and Arthur became inseparable just as he and the lad's father had, and when Gerrart II died suddenly in his sleep, Rorius took it upon himself to instill the proper heir upon the Salt Throne - not Gerrart III, whom he was still honor-bound to protect, but the prior king's beloved son and preferred heir Arthur.
  
  In attempting to see his chosen king upon the throne, Rorius served as the regent for Gerrart III until he came of age, allowing Arthur time to rally men to his cause undetected and unseen by the boy-pretender. He served well and true as regent, publicly supporting Gerrart III while all the while championing Arthur behind his back.
• 
  
  
  
  
  
  NAME || Markus Heidell, Serpent Slayer
  AGE || 38
  ROLE || Bloodsworn to Arthur Salt, Conspirator in the Sons of Velvulia
  CLASS || Bloodsworn
  
  
  
  
  DESCRIPTION​
  Markus Heidell looks nothing like those among the Serpent Isles. Whereas his fellows are shorter and stouter, Markus stands narrow and tall. His skin runs darker, his hair a dark brown so deep it's almost black though it is beginning to run through with streaks of grey. His face is ovular, hair beginning to recede despite his attempts to hide that fact by combing it back. His thin beard is almost entirely grey, and his green eyes are marred by crow's feet at their corners.
  
  Markus dresses in knightly attire - a steel breastplate, pauldrons, and greaves. He dresses in the olive green of his prior knightly household, and prefers to fight with a hand-and-a-half bastard sword he keeps sheathed at his side. Markus carries strapped to his back a wooden shield with the dual sigil of a crowned serpent and eagle, earning him the moniker "Serpent Slayer" as the eagle is the natural predator of the snake. ​
  
  
  HISTORY​
  In a past life, Markus Heidell was Sir Heidell of Monteagle. He served a lord and a lady, trained their male heirs in the ways of chivalry and swordplay, and otherwise was a model example of knightly valor. All changed when those from the Serpent Isles raided his holdfast, butchered his liege lords, and captured his wife. Markus vowed revenge, rallied bannermen to his cause, and when next the islanders came he was prepared. He clashed with Arthur Salt, and was taken captive by the boy.
  
  Rather than enslave or kill the knight, Arthur offered him a choice: die at the hands of those that had captured and made a concubine of his beloved wife, or aid him in claiming the mainland in exchange for the heads of the men who had killed his wife as well as his rights to the holdfast, only he would return a lord. Markus reluctantly accepted, and over the following year grew enamored with Arthur's cause. Not only had Arthur kept his oath - providing Markus with the slain men - but the would-be king promised a world in which the islanders would no longer need to raid, for they could sustain themselves. Markus swore a Bloodsworn oath to Arthur, pledging him his sword and shield.
  
  In response to this, Arthur granted him the right to use the sigil of the Valuoar family, to which Markus appended his own prior knightly sigil. After Markus' clash with Arthur in which he was captured, the islanders began, in jest, calling him "Sir Serpent Slayer" on account of the eagle-snake sigil and his prowess in combat.​
• 
  
  
  
  
  
  NAME || Gerrart Valuoar III
  AGE || 13
  ROLE || King of the Serpent Isles, Holder of the Salt Throne
  CLASS || King, Noble
  
  
  
  
  DESCRIPTION​
  Gerrart III is a slender boy, short even for islander standards. He is the spitting image of his mother, with long curly brown hair and pale green eyes. His skin is rich in tone, but has an unhealthy yellow tinge to it. His posture is uneasy and shy, and he has trouble speaking to those larger or in a position of authority.
  
  Normally, Gerrart III dresses in plain tunics and trousers. Finery is looked down upon in the isles unless it is a spoil of war - seeing as Gerrart III has yet to leave the Serpent Isles on a raid, he has yet to earn the right to gold and jewels. His crown is plain a plain and unadorned circlet of iron, which hangs heavy on his head. Though he has only been king proper for around a year, his neck has already begun to sag and his shoulders slump from its weight.
  
  Unlike most men in the Kingdom of Velvulia, Gerrart III does not wear a sword, complaining of its weight. Neither can he wield one well, and avoids using them altogether to avoid making a fool of himself. Instead, he has opted for a dagger which all mock him for, frequently jesting that the only thing that he is prepared to stab is buttered bread.​
  
  
  HISTORY​
  Gerrart III was not the first trueborn child of Gerrart II, but he was the first trueborn son. Though his father had already grown fond of his firstborn bastard son Arthur, he performed his duty as father well enough for Gerrart III. He instructed him in the ways of ship and sword, though the boy took no pleasure in it. He preferred to read and learn, and though the islanders do not protest such pursuits, in the absence of a strong-armed man as heir people grew nervous. It was not only that Gerrart III could not wield a sword or captain a ship, but that he had trouble speaking and frequently fell ill as a boy. As he grew older and his flaws became more and more evident, Gerrart III's father spent less and less time with the boy.
  
  Left largely unattended, Gerrart III began to find his father figure in faith. Specifically the faith of the mainland of Ellemar - that of one deity, and one God. One of his first acts as king was to begin to push his newly found faith to the islanders, and proclaiming himself the Godly King of the Isles. He employed missionaries from the mainland, and began to see about establishing a head of the church all in his first year of rule, much to the Council of the Sale Throne's surprise and disgust.​
• 
  
  
  
  
  
  NAME || Sabeth Three-Eyed, the Drowned Priestess
  AGE || 19
  ROLE || Priestess of the Nine, Conspirator in the Sons of Velvulia, Consort of the Bastard King
  CLASS || Commoner, Priestess
  
  
  
  
  DESCRIPTION​
  Sabeth is in many ways the ideal woman for inhabitants of the Serpent Isles. She is hard and lean, with long red hair and a stern brow. She carries herself with dignity, and is not afraid to speak her mind. She carries a sword, does not shirk away from armor, and speaks of killing men and laying with girls like any would-be soldier. Of the words to describe Sabeth, "Priestess" would not flow off the tongue. Though the Nine are not prudent gods, and care not what vices or virtues mortals may claim to have, the other priests of their order carry themselves with a note of severity that Sabeth simply lacks.
  
  Still, when Sabeth looks at you she appears not to be looking at skin and eyes and hair. She looks through those she examines, and not just through flesh and bone but straight to the soul. Her stare is renowned, granting her the surname of "Three-Eyed", uncommon for a commoner, let alone a surname so foreign. She dresses in flowing faded grey robes over plain leather armor, and brandishes a sword at her hip of tried and tested steel - it is no decorative weapon.​
  
  
  HISTORY​
  It is uncommon for any official clergy of the Nine to be women, let alone women who did not spend their childhood in the temples of the Nine. Sabeth began life as many do in the Serpent Isles, as a farmhand to a poor family on Shrewsway. When a fever claimed her father, and brigands murdered her mother, Sabeth left with her brother for Crosham were they both learned the ways of shipcrafting. She spent less than a season working before sneaking aboard a vessel of the crown fleet and beginning life as a crew member of the Serpentine where she spent 3 years. There she learned from the ship's captain to fight like a man, and she picked up the vernacular and habits of a sailor - cursing, fighting, fucking.
  
  On her third year in the service of the ship, her ship ran aground in a storm and she was hurled overboard. Rather than succumbing to the waves she emerged unscathed though all who had seen her claimed she had drowned. The local priest of the Nine had been prepared to ready the girl's death rites when she spluttered and awoke atop the table. The salt water had scrubbed her skin raw, her voice was hoarse, and she could barely see but she was alive. The priest believed it to be a miracle and a sign that the Nine had spared the girl for a great purpose, and she was made a priestess of the Nine.
  
  Once the "Godly King" became making proclamations that Athieos would become the God of the land, Sabeth ventured to one she had heard would oppose the boy-pretender and bring the isles back to glory. She sought out Arthur Salt, the two growing fond of one another. The two lay together, and Arthur declared the woman his consort and named her to his council of advisors. ​
• 
  
  
  
  
  
  NAME || Adrianna Valuoar
  AGE || 16
  ROLE || Princess of the Kingdom of Velvuia
  CLASS || Noble
  
  
  
  
  DESCRIPTION​
  Adrianna Valuoar looks like neither her mother or her father, with alabaster skin, piercing blue eyes, and fiery red hair. Though this has raised some questions about her true parentage - both her mother and father were known to be unfaithful in their marriage - she is still recognized as a true member of the Valuoar family. She carries herself regally and delicately, more like a mainland princess than one born in the Serpent Isles. She is viewed as a prized jewel of the family, her beauty described as beyond the capacity of words to do justice.
  
  Women of noble birth are more openly permitted to wear fine clothes, often provided by husbands and fathers. Gerrart II left his firstborn legitimate daughter many fine silks and dresses, which she is never seen without. Even when asked to visit with ship captains or tour the countryside, she is always clad in the finest clothes and usually adorns herself in one or two pieces of jewelry.​
  
  
  HISTORY​
  None are certain where Adrianna came from. The standing rumor is that Gerrart II's wife Elen lay with a noble from the mainland on one of her many trips out of Ellemar on the king's personal sloop and kept the child, though none can no for certain and there is no record of the queen ever being pregnant with Adrianna. Still, she grew up alongside Gerrarrt III and though she was certainly the more gifted of the two when it came to leadership and diplomacy, she was relegated to be married off to some other noble on the Serpent Isles to strengthen family ties.
  
  That was before her father had died. Gerrart III has become more preoccupied with faith than with leadership, leaving Adrianna to act as surrogate ruler of the isles in his stead. She has proven herself to be a competent administrator, though without the authority the title of king grants and a woman besides, her effectiveness has been several hampered. Coupled with a turbulent political state with the shift to an unprepared and inadequate leader, the removal of a centuries-old faith, and the shining opportunity to seize the mainland Adrianna's impact has been little.​

 

[ze_kraken]

.

⚜ARTHUR SALT - THE BASTARD KING⚜

---

⚜ARTHUR SALT⚜

AGE || 23 | ROLE || The Bastard King, Worthy Heir to the Salt Throne | CLASS || Bastard, Noble, King​

Arthur Salt - going by the self-given title of the Bastard King - believes himself to be the true and rightful heir to the Salt Throne. His late father, King Gerrart II, raised the boy, his firstborn son, as if he were his legitimate heir. He supped with lords, traveled the Serpent Isles, and learned the ways of sword and sail as was expected of the future king of the Kingdom of Velvulia. All that changed when his father died suddenly of illness while Arthur was away during raiding season. It was said Gerrart II could barely remember that he had a son named Arthur, and before Arthur could see to it - legitimately or otherwise - that he was granted the surname of Valuoar before his father died, leaving his younger, legitimately born brother Gerrart III on the throne.

Arthur has begun a movement to remove his brother Gerrart III from the Salt Throne alongside a number of conspirators calling themselves Sons of Velvulia running a number of noble families around the Serpent Isles. Their goal is simple: overthrow the boy-king and his supporters, instill Arthur upon the throne, and turn their attention to the mainland. With members of the Valuoar family, a renowned priestess of the Nine, and even a knight from the mainland of Ellemar by his side, Arthur is following in his father's footsteps and seeking once again to embroil the Serpent Isles in civil conflict to achieve what he believes to be proper justice.​

DETAILS

NICKNAME/ALIAS || The Bastard King
POLITICAL LEANINGS || Believer in might-makes-right political philosophy, less focused on the status of one's birth to dictate their lot in life and more on their willingness to take what is theirs
MOUNT|| None, horses are a luxury on the Serpent Isles
WEAPON|| A gleaming longsword from the best blacksmiths on the Serpent Isles, pattern-welded and lined with an iron core of enameled black steel

"Why is it we choose our captains with more care than our kings? No man is born a captain - they must earn it."

INTERNAL RELATIONSHIPS ||
Family:
King Gerrart II - Father, deceased | Good relationship
King Gerrart III - Brother | Poor relationship, political rival
Rorius Valuoar - Uncle | Good relationship, political supporter
Adrianna Valuoar - Sister | Good relationship, political rival
Elen Valuoar - Adoptive mother | Poor relationship, political rival
Joyce Wyney - Biological mother | Good relationship

Friends:
Markus Heidell - Advisor and sworn shield | Good relationship, political supporter
Sabeth Three-Eyed - Consort, lover, and advisor | Good relationship, political supporter
Vyncent Potte - Sworn shield | Good relationship, political supporter
Thiles Amet - Sworn shield | Good relationship, political supporter
Gylex Halley - Master of Fleet | Good relationship, political supporter


EXTERNAL RELATIONSHIPS || TBD

APPEARANCE

HAIR || Dark brown, almost black
EYES || Green/olive
BUILD || Slender, toned, athletic
MARKINGS || A jagged, wheeled scar below his collarbone and a shortened left index finger.

Severe is the first word many would use to describe Arthur Salt. He is a mirror image of his father in almost every regard - his hair is the trademark dark brown of the Valuoar family, his eyes the same shade of olive green, his build that of his father as a young man. Compared to the portraits of Gerrart II in his youth, Arthur bears a striking resemblance - only his pronounced cheekbones and slender face might cause onlookers to pause as his cheekbones and facial structure were inherited from his mother. His face is perpetually caught in a half-glower, half look of interest and his motions feel slow, deliberate, and paced.

Many among the inhabitants of the Serpent Isles might call Arthur too easterly, with his propensity to wear plated armor and carry a longsword and shield in the fashion of Ellemar knights. Arthur is a seasoned raid leader and fighter, having collected an assortment of some of the best equipment the mainland has to offer which he keeps in remarkable condition. His sword - which he calls Adder's Bite - is never far from reach, always sheathed at his side in a well-made, rugged sheath.

When not making a statement and wearing his handpicked assortment of stolen arms and armor, Arthur dresses in well-made, durable fabrics and leathers. He is most often seen in a tunic embossed with the crowned serpent of the Valuoar family, with a red snake as opposed to a green one to denote his independence and solidarity from the rest of his family.
​

PERSONALITY

Arthur takes himself seriously, carrying himself with a rigid, precisely calculated manner that speaks of great pride and a sense of self importance one might call arrogance. He is quick to temper, and quicker still to judgment - there are no second chances with the Bastard King. He is fair enough to his friends, but overtly cruel to his enemies as if to make a statement. He never laughs in public, and does so only sparingly with those he is close to. When he speaks, it is with selectively chosen words, spoken in a slow, deliberate manner that leaves little room for question.

Atop his overall image of severity, Arthur is one to defend himself personally against all attacks - physical or otherwise. He is a man of action when it comes to his integrity and honor, one likely to act first and think second when his virtue or competence is called into question. He struggles letting others take command, and prefers to be involved in every major decision that impacts him or his followers. He is want to remind others that he is the king, not anyone else.

MAJOR STRENGTH || Arthur has a tactician's mind, be it on the battlefield or the back rooms of politics. His instincts have been honed by years of experience, and his want is so great that he is often willing to do whatever it takes to achieve his vision.

GREATEST FLAW || Though he claims otherwise, Arthur carries the weight of not only being a bastard-born child but also one that has been overshadowed by his younger brother on the basis of birth alone. He feels a persistent need to prove himself and treats every attack as personal, regardless of its source. It is not sufficient that Arthur merely be good at something - he must be the best and everyone else must know it.

QUIRKS || Limited sense of humor - Arthur tends to miss the point of the jest entirely; superstitious - Arthur is a devout follower of the Nine, in part of his lover Sabeth, and so will act in accordance with signs and omens despite evidence to the contrary of what those might tell him; formal - Arthur constructs his sentences carefully, choosing his words with great care and deliberation and carrying himself with the mannerisms of a mainland noble on account of his mother Joyce's influence on him as a boy.

PROCLIVITIES || Reading - Arthur is of the belief that as a blade needs oiling, so does a mind needs books and he is often seen reading in his limited spare time; combative - not one to shy away from confrontation, Arthur can be quite an effective conflict resolver if the stakes are not high and his reputation is not at stake; confident and proud - like any would-be king, Arthur carries himself with an assured sense of purpose and dignity, lending him a natural sort of charisma and leadership quality that his severe personality might otherwise detract from.

SOFT SPOTS || Arthur's main allegiance is to himself, his cause, and the people of the Kingdom of Velvulia. Still, he is extremely fond of his consort Sabeth and his biological mother Joyce and would put himself at risk or great personal trouble to see to their needs. The same cannot be said of many in his life, as Arthur will always carry the damage caused by his low birth and lifetime of being put first but coming second.
​

 

[ze_kraken]

Roymar

​

The fires seemed to outnumber the stars. Roymar the Tall had tried to count them from atop the central turret of Dornam Keep each night when the sun fell behind the waves, but each night left him with more, or less, fires than the night before. They flickered and shimmered in the dark, forming an orange-yellow haze that pulsed slowly into the night sky and casting it in a dim glow. He could just spot the masts of his ships down at the harbor, white sails beaming back both the light of the moon and the yellow glow of the fires.

How many men could fit to each campfire, Roymar wondered as he came to rest a rough, calloused hand against the nearest parapet of the turret. The stone was cool to the touch, roughly hewn, sturdy. Roymar pressed another hand against the parapet and leaned over the edge to glance at the courtyard of the keep below. His own fires flickered down below, and ruefully Roymar compared his count to the host behind his gates.

Four and twenty, I think, he mused to himself. How many does that make beyond these walls? Two hundred by last count, might be more tonight.

Still, despite the army looming beyond his gates, Roymar noted that the night was still in a way it had never been still in Crosham. No ships had moved from the harbor, no horses' hooves echoed from down below - no hussle, no bustle, no traders and merchants and bakers and blacksmiths. Why had it taken him days of siege to notice it? Dornam Keep was a ways off from the main city, that much Roymar had known since he was but a boy, but still the quiet unnerved him. All he heard atop the walls of the keep was the flapping and cracking of his banners in the wind and hushed voices of soldiers trying to break the oppressive silence themselves.

Lost in his thoughts, Roymar barely noticed when the sounds of hooves shattered the terse silence. At first he thought it a figment of his idle mind, some trick to ease his nerves. Only, his men had noticed the sounds as well.

"Rider approaching the western gate!" Shouted a watchman down below up to the tower upon which Roymar stood.

"Archers at the ready," Roymar barked back. "Knock your arrows, but hold steady! What banner does he fly?"

"The red serpent of the Bastard King, and a brown eagle," came the watchman's reply.

Roymar grunted curses under his breath as he ventured down the central turret and to the western gate. Islanders were raiders and warriors - they ploughed the waves and took what was theirs by force. They did not cower behind castle walls with bow and arrow, and they did not treat with pretender knights of the mainland. The walk from the turret to the gate was short enough, but still by the time Roymar arrived his men had been waiting, bows at the ready, for some time.

Below, cast in the yellow light of torches, stood a trio of riders. Their faces were obscured in shadows, but their banners were clear as day in the glare of the flames. The lead rider sat in his saddle impatiently, gloved hand brushing through his salt-and-pepper beard while the other passed thumb and forefinger atop the pommel of his sword. The man to his right held aloft a banner with the crowned serpent of the Serpent Isles, only its snake was ruby red instead of the forest green of the Valuoar family. To his left crackled a banner of an eagle with its talons outstretched in a striking pose.

"Are you in command here, sir?" Asked the lead rider in a clear, rich tone.

"Fuck your sir," Roymar said, spitting over the wall at the rider. "Your king sends me his mainland dog and all it knows is how to bark out empty courtesies. He keep your cage comfy for your spoiled mainland ass, huh dog?"

"Better to serve a man as a dog then to serve a boy as much the same," the rider below countered, unfazed by Roymar's insults. "Though you might notice my sigil is an eagle, and not a dog."

"Oh is it? Mistook it for a pigeon," Roymar countered. "Now tell me why I shouldn't prick you full of holes and see what a mutt's head looks like from atop of one these spikes behind me."

"Aye, you could, but then who else would you demonize? Oh I suppose you could hurl insults at your own kin, but they might be less understanding than me. Besides, I was told you were Roymar the Tall - a man of honor," the rider paused, adding. "Might be the tales are wrong - you look quite short from down here, and a man of honor would not shoot a man that comes before you in such a peaceful manner."

"Honor's reserved for my own kind, dog," Roymar said. "I've got no respect for mainlanders that come knocking at my gates and leave my ships to rot at anchor."

The rider removed the glove from his right hand and bared it to the torch light, showcasing a long, clean scar along the length of his palm. He stretched his fingers before clenching his fist and stretching the glove back on.

"I am bloodsworn through and through, same as you," he said. "I take it you know who I am already, given the insults you so unceremoniously leveled against me."

"Aye, and I've plenty more for the cunt waving your banner around - what's a man do to be called Serpent Slayer? You slice off a man's prick? Oh, no, I bet you like them, that's why your king keeps you so close - only reason I could see for a so-called islander to keep some knightly bedswerver in his service. Bet you slay his serpent every night, that I do."

"Well, do you want to shoot me or hear what I have to say? I must admit an arrow to the chest sounds far preferable to continuing to listen to your lips smack together."

"Go ahead and speak your piece, no promises I won't make a quillpin of you and your fellows after you're done," Roymar said.

"My king comes with offers of peace in exchange for Dornam Keep," the rider declared. "You will be left in control of Ardchester and raised to the king's council, and you and the lives of your men will be spared for your cooperation in dethroning the Godly King Gerrart the Third before he can doom you and your people to an age of incompetency and mockery helmed by boy kings with wheezy voices and arms weaker than a washer woman's."

"Your king's letter he sent said much of the same, and yet here I am with arrows raised and swords rallied in resistance, so what makes you think I want anything to do with your whoreson bastard king?"

"Because before my king's army arrived and laid siege to your keep, it was naught but words on paper that had come to persuade you and I understand you to be a man of action. Now, faced with the reality of the situation, I thought perhaps your mind might have changed. I think you'll find, as I have, that words rarely make as convincing an argument as the thought of a sword through your belly."

"Aye, though I wonder what color your entrails will be when I rend open yours, dog," Roymar barked. "Your words did not frighten me then, and your swords do not frighten me now. All I need to do is wait until ships from the Twins arrive within the fortnight and you and your bastard's traitors will be swept aside."

"That is true," the rider admitted. "Which is why, with the option of a bloodless seizure of your fortress now impossible, I wish you fortune on the morrow. We march on your fortress at dawn, and I swear it by the Nine it will be your head atop these walls come nightfall, not mine."

With that, the rider raised one hand and he and his companions twirled about on their horses and strode off into the darkness. Roymar gnashed his teeth as the sounds of hooves receded and left him once again with the crushing weight of that damned silence. He gazed out over the western gate to the fires dotting the hillside approaching Dornam Keep. Dornam Keep could withstand a siege with just 50 men, and Roymar had double that. Though food was dwindling, and there was scarce enough ale to be troublesome on lonely nights such as this, soon loyalists from the Twins would arrive and cast aside the pretender knight and his host.

Let them bash their heads against these walls, Roymar thought with a chuckle. Bloody their noses, wet their swords. Come sunset tomorrow, these walls will stand and I will have fresh corpses to hang from them to scare off the rest of those traitors.

Roymar approached a sentry to his right, who was laying down his bow and seating himself on a pile of empty crates he had arranged into a makeshift seat. The man straightened to attention at his approach, and Roymar waved aside the formality with a nonchalant hand.

"I want you keeping an eye on the harbor, tell the man after you to do the same, and the same for the man after that. If they take those ships to the rear of the fortress, I want to know it or else we're buggered."

"Aye," the sentry replied. "You think he's right, you think they'll take Durnam in a day?"

"It's never been done before, even by a Gerrart," Roymar huffed, chest puffing out. "My grandfather battered the first Gerrart's host against these walls for a fortnight before the food ran out and the men opened the gates. Four times he tried, and four times he was repelled off these walls. We have plenty of food to see us through until men from the Twins come to relieve us."

"Aye, I've heard as much," the sentry replied, shrugging. "But I know before Arthur came and rallied his men and you let him wander about the keep unfettered, I heard he spent his time hounding the wisemen and priests for details about the fortress' construction. Might be he knows something we don't."

"You'd do best to get your truths from better sources than whorehouse gossip, lad," Roymar snapped, causing the sentry to flinch. "Do you know where Arthur is right now? Fucking that priestess of his on a boat to Cain'loren or Bastillos or some other pissant mainlander shitpile - not here ready to lead his men through some back sewer he read about in a book or heard from some greybeard in robes."

The sentry's eyes drifted to Roymar's own beard, itself almost white with age. Roymar noticed and shoved the sentry off from atop his makeshift seat with a stern laugh. The man struggled to his feet, joining Roymar in laughter.

"Alright fine, might be I'm old, too, but still, best not to worry lad. We won't be lost to some mainlander lapdog knight - we're better than that, aren't we boy?"

The sentry nodded, and Roymar's gaze once again drifted out to the fires glittering along the hill.

"Fetch me one of those greybeards," Roymar said abruptly to the sentry. "Have him meet me in my chambers, I need to send word to Lady Adrianna."

"Not the king?"

"Let my business be my business, boy, now go," Roymar ushered him off, sparing one last glance to the army beyond the gates before heading back in the direction of the central keep.

By the time Roymar reached his chambers he was winded, his aged muscles aching from the strain of the keep's stairs. Where once he might have strode through Dornam Keep with vigor, his older age had robbed him of his fire. Perhaps the sentry had been right, and he was little more than just another greybeard.
He poured himself a mug of watered-down ale and seated himself by the narrow window overlooking the courtyard as he waited, examining his bed chambers. Like all things in Keep Dornam it was plain and unadorned - one might have been forgiven for thinking it was not a lord's quarters. A plain, wide bed sat in the center of the chamber lined in undyed woolen sheets. A writing desk - never used, for Roymar knew now how to read and write - sat opposite the bed. The table where Roymar sat by the window was big enough for two, and Roymar glanced over at the empty chair where once he might have broken his fast with his wife years ago overlooking the castle yard.

Perhaps I will be joining her on the morrow, he thought, interrupted from his waking dreams of meals shared with his wife by a knock on the door.

"Enter," croaked Roymar.

Monder Hyne hobbled through the doorway, leaning heavily on his walking stick as he looked at Roymar with piercing, inquisitive green eyes. He limped to the writing desk and produced a parchment and quill from its drawers, examining Roymar intently.

"You know from one old man to another how important slumber is," Monder chided.

"Aye, but we'll both be sleeping forever soon enough, might as well steal a few more wakeful hours yet," Roymar quipped back. "I need you to draft up a letter to Lady Adrianna."

"And her brother?" Monder asked, popping open an inkwell and dipping his pen into it and brushing aside the excess ink.

The noise grated on Roymar's ears, scratchy and rough in a manner that sent gooseprickles up his arms.

"No, just Adrianna," Roymar confirmed. "Write her that Dornam Keep is at last besieged by her traitor brother Arthur and that his prick Markus Heidell commands. Tell her I've called for aid from the Twins, and expect to withstand a siege until such time that they might come to our aid. Tell her they will assault the walls tomorrow, and that though it is unlikely, the fortress might yet fall."

For a moment all that could be heard was the scratching of Monder's quill along the parchment, but even that was not sufficient to drive off the overbearing silence Roymar still noted beyond the keep's walls. He bit his lip as Monder scribbled away, tapping his foot impatiently. Without so much as a word, Monder stood and fetched a candle from another drawer in the desk and a ball of wax. He lit the candle from the fire of a torch resting just outside the chamber's door and melted the wax, pressing Roymar's sigil - a pair of crossed swords over a sailing ship - into the wax seal that bound the letter together.

"Thank you, Monder," Roymar said, casting his attention back to the fires outside.

"It is my duty, I recall trying to teach your children how to read, and if you were anything like they were when my predecessor attempted it with you, I can see why you still rely on an aged man's hands and eyes."

Monder headed for the door, and Roymar stammered.

"Wait," he finally said.

Monder turned to face Roymar.

"Did you want me to send a letter to the king after all?"

"No, not that boy. Tell me..." Roymar began, letting the statement trail for a moment as he collected his thoughts. "When Arthur was here, when his talk of overthrowing Gerrart was just talk, did he ever consult you about finding holes in the keep's defenses?"

"Aye, that he did," Monder acknowledged with a bob of his head. "Found some scrolls from the architects of this very keep, you know he is quite the reader."

"And what did he find?"

"Well, he found plans and details of the construction of the keep - nothing more," Monder said. "No sewage ports, no secret passages to sneak ladies in and out. Not a thing, he was rather disappointed, I must say. Perhaps I should have known then what he intended to do, but then, it was just talk."

"Just talk," Roymar agreed. "So I should not expect to have my throat slit in my sleep and a red snake replace our green one over these walls?"

"No more than usual," Monder replied. "If that's all?"

"Aye, that's all, good night," Roymar said curtly.

"Oh I reason I won't be able to sleep again tonight," Monder said wistfully.

And as the greybeard left the room, Roymar knew, deep down, neither would he.

Markus

​

The approach to Dornam Keep was a simple one, but that did not make it any less treacherous when under the rain of arrows and burning pitch. Markus Heidell gazed out from the base of the hill upon which the keep stood overlooking the city of Crosham behind him. It was a gentle enough slope on its front, but beyond it rested a rocky cliff that was nigh impossible for even the most talented climbers to scale when resisted. Arrows docked the grassy hill in ones and twos, leftovers from his first scouting parties sent to probe the fortress for weaknesses. He spotted a handful of corpses as well, arrows protruding from their limp forms.

Thiles Amet stepped out from his tent and came to stand beside Markus, breath fogging in the chill air of the morning. Thiles was a short, stout man like many islanders with ginger hair tied back in a bun and a cleanly shaven face; like many islanders, he remained clean shaven as a beard gave an enemy a hand hold. In his right hand was clutched an iron half helm, in his left his sheathed sword and belt. He wore a plain cotton tunic displaying the red crowned serpent of Arthur over chainmail and a leather gambeson.

"You really think we're going to take her in a day?" He asked, gazing out over the blocky outline of Dornam in the light of the rising sun.

"We don't have much choice," Markus responded. "The longer we tarry here, the more likely it is that reinforcements from the Twins further south will smash us with nowhere to go but back to the ships and our cause will be lost. When they speak of Arthur, they will speak of how he tucked tail and ran away, and I won't give Roymar that honor as the one to break him."

"We don't have the men," Thile said, scratching his chin.

"No," Markus agreed. "We have three thousand men, and they have to manage up that slope and over those walls manned by about one hundred. Might be we can send some to the ships to loop around the rear cliff - it would be suicide to have them try and scale the cliffs, but archers atop the decks might divert attention from the front gates."

"Still nothing from the greybeard that took a liking to Arthur, then?"

"I think he will come through," Markus replied. "Monder has no love for Roymar or the boy king - aye he is old, but he has had weeks to spread dissent among Roymar's defenders."

Markus cast a glance to Thiles.

"Go on then, grab the banner and get the men on their feet. Have them ready in an hour, and send word to the harbor that it's time - have any among them with skill with bow and arrow atop the decks and send them behind the cliffs to harass them. Tell them to stay just within range - they are not to attempt to scale the cliffs."

By the time the men had rallied behind Markus and Thiles, the sun had cleared the ocean and hung just behind Dornam Keep, sun beaming down across the hill and directly into the Bastard King's host. Dornam had been built on a rise that forced attackers to stare directly into the sun during morning assaults - those that chose to wait until sunset lost valuable time to break through its defenses.

Islanders did not believe in rank-and-file tactics, a fact of which was obvious as Markus gazed over his ragtag army of bloodsworn and warriors clutching a mixture of sword and axe and spear. They had formed a long line stretching the width of the base of the hill, two or three rows deep. Try as he might, Markus had been unable to instill the discipline he had been accustomed to when fighting on the mainland in the islanders. Still, he supposed that ranks mattered not when assailing a fortress.

He eyed Thiles staring back at him expectantly, red serpent banner trailing in the wind. Best not to have tales of the mainlander raising his banner for this fight, Markus had reasoned after concluding bringing his own banner the night before had been a mistake.

They are waiting for me to say something, he realized.

It had been some time since Markus had helmed an army, and the motions felt unfamiliar like a new pair of gloves. He knew the shape well enough, but the leather tugged in ways unexpected but familiar.

"You all are here because you chose your king," Markus bellowed, casting his voice over the gathering of men. "You chose not to follow some sickly, wheezing boy that seeks to take away your gods, keep you tilling the fields sick and hungry, and leaves you to sit by the fire and yearn for the days of kings of old as told to you by some old has-been. It is true I am not one of your kin, but that matters not - what matters is the choice. Until a fortnight ago, all of this was naught but verbal pledges and pieces of paper and yet here we stand, steel raised, to take what is ours so I ask you - do you choose to win today?"

He was greeted with a raucous cheer as men lifted their swords and banged spears against shields.

"Tread lightly!" Thiles shouted, and the men repeated, chanting as they began to march towards Dornam Keep.

As they pressed forward, Markus could hear the shouts and orders from the men atop the walls and arrows began to whistle overhead accompanied by the resounding thunks as they found their marks. Some landed before the row of attackers, others sunk deep into shields, but a few buried themselves in throats, arms, and bellies. Men began to scream out in pain as the column marched forward, snapping what arrows had fallen short beneath their boots.

"Hold it steady lads!" Thiles shouted as the front line began to hesitate. "Don't let a couple twigs frighten you!"

The line continued to advance, arrows sailing down, picking off men with each pass. Markus strode beside his men, wooden shield raised high to block the shafts as they came again and again. He looked out over the hill and fought back frustration - their pace had been glacial, and there was still a ways to go until they were at the gates. The incline began to burn his calf muscles, and Markus could feel the weight of his armor and sword beginning to drag as he forged onward. Whenever he attempted to look more than a few feet directly in front of him his eyes were met with the piercing glare of the sun, sending him cowering back behind his shield.

"Where's your greybeard friend now?" Thiles asked, shield likewise raised in conjunction with the banner to protect himself.

"He'll follow through," Markus insisted.

He had to, or else he and his men were doomed.

What felt like hours passed as Markus pressed on, shouting encouragement to his men as they continued to scale the hill. Up above the shouts of concerned and confused defenders rang out, and Markus knew the skiffs had arrived. Shortly after the rain of arrows began to lessen, and before long he and his men had come within twenty paces of the gate.

"Where's Monder's men?" Thiles questioned, shirking as an arrow clattered off his shield and fell harmlessly to the ground.

"Give it a moment," Markus responded, gazing hopefully up at the walls.

It would not be long before they were within range for stones and burning oil. Markus prayed to what gods there were that soon there would be confusion and clashing atop the walls. The pace of the line slowed to a crawl, those twenty paces dwindling into nineteen, then eighteen, then seventeen. Markus could hear men overhead calling to ready the pitch, and he readied his shield in the hopes to abate enough of the flow to keep the hot pitch from melting through the skin and bone of his face.

Then the shouts and orders to ready the pitch became screams and calls of alarm. Markus spared an unshielded look up to the walls to see men being tossed over, throats cut ruby red and trickling blood down below. They collapsed to the ground and he could hear the gates beginning to grind open. Thiles hooted with joy, and the men followed close behind, jeering and shouting their victory. As the gates opened just enough to let through a few men standing shoulder to shoulder, Markus cast aside his shield and drew his hand-and-a-half sword.

The wave surged forth, crashing through the gates with a series of shouts and roars and hoots of triumph. Markus and Thiles were first through the breach, cutting down what few soldiers stood in their way. In the confusion, the archers atop the walls had not yet wheeled about and Markus rushed alongside a handful of men up the walls to clear them. The clanging of steel rang out along the courtyard, interspersed with the shouts of the wounded and dying. Before long it was over: what survivors there were laying down their arms or otherwise turning on their comrades.

"See to the wounded," Markus instructed one of his lieutenants. "Start seizing the walls and organizing the men outside the walls, and get someone to call off the skiffs - you."

He turned to a survivor held at spearpoint, hands clasped to his head and resting on his knees.

"Where's Roymar?" Markus spat.

"He's in the keep," he replied. "Tended to the cliffs out back and then withdrew once some of the men turned cloak."

He spat at Markus' feet.

"Fuck you and your king," said the survivor.

"Mount this one's head on the walls first," Markus said, unamused. "We'll make sure to leave a spike empty next to his for Roymar. Thiles?"

His bloodsworn brother stepped forward, still holding aloft his red serpent banner with pride.

"Get that banner atop the keep, but follow me first - I need another good sword by me to take Roymar."

Thiles acknowledged and followed Markus into the keep and up its winding central staircase up to the lord's chambers. Markus could recall every detail from the keep during his time as Arthur's ward, and then his sworn shield in the following year. He found the doors to be barred from within. He waited for Thiles to return with more men, hefting heavy axes. They began to chip away at the door with methodical, heavy blows, sending the ringing and thunking of steel digging into wood. Minutes passed, Markus tapping his foot impatiently against the stone floor.

The doors collapsed in enough for Markus to spy Roymar gazing through the window that overlooked the castle's courtyard with steel in hand. A few more blows and it was done, the door and its splinters lining the hallway with their debris. The larger chunks of wood snapped and cracked underfoot as Markus and Thiles crossed the threshold brandishing their swords. Roymar turned to face them, hefting his two-handed axe that dripped crimson onto the floor. Along the writing desk flush with the left-hand wall sat Monder, his chest rent open and entrails spilling out against the stone floor.

"Suppose you're going to lecture me about honor, aren't you dog?" Roymar questioned, taking a lumbering step towards Markus.

Markus backpedaled, raising his sword to a readier stance, clutching it in both hands as Roymar approached.

"What? Afraid you might let an old man cleave you in half like I almost did him?" Roymar teased, nudging his axe towards Monder's corpse. "Thought you mainland lot were all knightly courage and virtue, guess you're nothing but a pissant, prick-sucking-"

Markus darted forward quick as a snake, steel flashing in the faint light of day filtering through the window. He was met with the clanging of steel and a tingling jolt up to his elbows as Roymar parried the blow. For a moment the two were thrown off balance, Markus by the parry and Roymar by the weight of his unwieldy weapon.

"They teach you that in fancy lad school, did they? Come on, hit me," Roymar taunted. "Show me why they call you Serpent Slayer."

Roymar was met with a glower and Markus shifted his weight to his left foot before lunging forward again to deliver a piercing thrust to Roymar's torso. Again the man cast aside the blow, knocking Markus' weapon and arms to the left before harnessing the motion to swing back with the biting edge of his axe. Sword came to meet axe in an instant as Markus collected himself, swinging about to face Roymar head-on again. Roymar grinned and with a quick flick of his wrist hooked Markus' blade with the curve of his axe and cast it aside, wrenching it from Markus' grip.

Left with little choice, Markus fished his dagger from its sheath at his side and charged Roymar, shouldering aside his left arm as he came to ready his axe for another swing. Now too close for the unwieldy length of Roymar's axe, Markus lashed out with his knife, slicing deep into the man's unarmored thighs. He felt the tug of leather and flesh give way as Roymar grunted in pain and collapsed to one knee. Markus seized the opportunity and fished his knife from the big man's thigh, free hand clenching the fingers wrapped around the axe hilt to keep it at bay as he delivered a swift cut to the man's now-exposed throat.

Roymar collapsed to the floor as blood sprayed out from his throat and came to fill his mouth, dripping from the corners of his mouth. He lay on the floor, coughing and spluttering as he looked up at Markus, looming over him with bloody knife in hand.

"Fuck...you…" Roymar managed to breath out before going limp, eyes glossing over and fading as blood continued to spill from his barely parted lips.

"Someone fetch a bird," Markus said, kicking aside Roymar's body as he went to fetch his sword. "Send word to every lord and every holdfast in the isles - Crosham is ours."

Arthur

​

Arthur could still remember the first time he left the isles. He had been no older than five, he recalled, and had excitedly hurried to his father's ship atop the shoulders of Rorius as his uncle explained everything about the ship from the stern to prow. It had not been a large ship, but to a boy of five it had been grander than any other vessel from the mightiest of capital ships to the more luxurious pleasure barges. As Arthur prowled the deck of Seawolf he gazed upwards to its mast, seeing the phantom image of his young self scaling the mast to act as lookout for his father, a role he took with pride. Not that they had any cause for worry, he had learned much later: the ship had departed on a routine voyage to visit with lords, and Arthur had not yet realized that when taking to the open seas it was the mainlanders that kept an eye out for any ship flying a serpent banner and not the other way around.

The sea mist sprayed up and over the deck with a familiar chill that brought to Arthur memories of his childhood and the excitement of that first voyage during raiding season. Only, he had not set sail to bring ruin and dismay to the mainland. Not this day. Seawolf carried with her not warriors but ambassadors and administrators, ones who had been purged from King Gerrart III's court and the lesser courts of loyalists to the crown. The true Sons of Velvulia, Arthur had called them. They would be the ones history favored - they would not only spare the soul of the Serpent Isles but reinstill the power and might of old.

But no man rules alone, Arthur mouthed the words silently to himself as he stood at the prow of Seawolf and admired the open sea. None more so than kings.

His father had been fond of the saying, chiding him as a boy when he dismissed the need for the aid of others. The habit had persisted into Arthur's adulthood, the boy-now-man preferring to leave all matters to himself but unusual circumstances had a habit themselves of yielding unusual behaviors. The Nine had a cruel sense of irony, Arthur supposed, for it was now Arthur - one for seizing unilateral and unquestioned command - who was forced to consult others. And not just in the mundane day to day sense of letting the bean counters count their beans in peace, no. Arthur set sail now to the mainland to ask for the support of mainlanders in what was an islander's problem.

Raiders and pillagers we might be, but why is it so? Arthur had reasoned. Ours is a piss-poor land, and our ancestors spent centuries killing one another and decided that killing and stealing was all there is. Aye, the raiding season is prosperous, but our people starve in the autumn and winter months and dream of spring and summer's arrival, famished arms holding aloft crude iron swords for the quest for a belly full of ale and grain from some farmer's land out east.

There needed to be more voyages like Arthur's first one as a boy - ones that ended in peaceful talks and competent administration, not blood and fire. Islanders and mainlanders, the label made no difference - the simple truth was they had food and metals and land and his people did not. Let the old gulls squabble and squawk and conjure stories of the Salt Kings of old, Arthur knew, as his father and grandfather had, that it was time the islanders changed their ways.

Change our ways, but not in the way the boy king wants, Arthur corrected himself. In a way that inspires respect and a strong culture, not washes away history and leaves us mocked.

"Land ahoy!"

Arthur snapped to attention and scanned the horizon, spotting the hazy outline of land off the starboard side well off in the distance. Cain'loren. More than Thornwild, when islanders spoke of mainlanders in generalization it was the likes of those in Cain'loren they stereotyped. Haughty, weak-willed, and small. All of those words would need to change if Arthur was to be successful in seeking an audience with the nobility of Cain'loren, many of which had nothing but reason to hate him and his kin. Athur himself had raided the countryside of the country, a fact he was sure would not be lost on any noble he was like to encounter.

Around Arthur, the ship began to bustle with new life. Crew manned their stations and Arthur felt the ship begin to turn towards the land, the arc of the turn almost imperceptible to all but the trained eye and foot. It was a gentle tug to the right, a suggestion of movement.

"Oie! Vincent!" Arthur called out as he spotted his Bloodsworn coming up from below deck.

"Oie Arthur!" He returned, approaching the king in plain tunic and trousers, his sword at his side and his blonde hair rippling freely in the sea breeze.

"We're approaching land," Arthur said. "Might be a day's voyage more before we arrive on the mainland - how are the food stores? It might be some time before we arrive in Cain'loren proper and I want enough provisions to see us through."

"Might be we have a week of provisions left," Vincent said. "We brought enough gold in the coffers to replenish in Cain'loren."

"Ah, paying for goods with stolen gold," Arthur cocked an eyebrow. "I wonder how they'll take that."

Vincent shrugged.

"Then I suppose they'll be happy to have it back," Vincent said with a wry smile.

"Aye, might be so," Arthur agreed. "Have you seen Sabeth?"

"Still in the captain's quarters, says she wishes not to be disturbed, something about some ritual or reading," Vincent replied. "Seemed important, but then, she has a habit of making everything seem important."

"That she does - I'll see you in a moment," Arthur said, leaving Vincent to help prepare the ship for landfall and heading to the captain's quarters above deck. "Remind the helm we're headed for Lydel, and make sure that below the crowned serpent flag is a white one as well. I don't want a garrison rallied to meet us at port if I can help it."

"What a way to go," Vincent mused aloud. "Butchered at port during perhaps the only time an islander landed in Cain'loren without a sword in his hand."

Arthur gently pushed the door to the quarters open. Inside it was dark, save the light of day protruding from the rear portholes. It shone through in narrow beams, casting circular patches of light along the floor and highlighting loose-floating dust in the air. A lone table rested before a bench fixed into the wall by the portholes upon which Sabeth sat, texts splayed out before her along the table.

Hers was a harsh figure, all sinew and barely a trace of softness about her. Her cheeks were framed by high cheekbones, and her jaw seemed to be chiseled from stone. Piercing blue eyes, an otherworldly icy gaze that might have come to life from the fishwife tales of draugrs, met Arthur before softening at their corners as thin red lips upturned into a wide smile that spread its warmth along the hard edges of the woman's face.

"I was wondering when you might spare me a visit, it's been so long," Sabeth said, tone low and rich, her lips curling with a slight lisp.

"Said as if we have not been bound together at the hip upon a ship with nowhere else to go," Arthur countered, seating himself upon the bed and unbuckling his sword.

"I suppose we have been bound by our hips after a fashion, that much is true," Sabeth replied with a twinkle of mischief flashing across her eyes. "I've been reading some texts from Cain'loren about this god your little brother has come to love so much."

"Why waste time with the ramblings of a mainland god that a sickly little boy has come to love?" Arthur asked, giving Sabeth an inquisitive stare. "Might not it also be heresy for a priestess of the Nine to read such?"

"Tell me, when you draft battle plans, do you do so blindly because to know of your enemy would be dishonorable?" Sabeth asked, eyes hardening to steely points.

Arthur hesitated.

"I thought not," she huffed. "That'd make you a fucking dolt, so let me learn a thing or two so you don't insult your new highborn friends."

"You'd do well to remember I'm still your king," Arthur quipped back, lips tugging up in a rare smirk.

"Hah!" Sabeth let out a raspy bark of laughter. "On last recollection it's that little runt Gerrart that still sits atop the Salt Throne and not you, though you make for a dashing figure in a crown. I bet all the mainland ladies will swoon over you - you've even started dressing like their lords."

She gestured to Arthur's garb. He wore a well-spun tunic of wool and cotton, his sigil stitched into the emblem of a shield at its center. His cream-colored trousers were tucked into fine leather boots, and though he wore no sword, his belt rested comfortably along his waist and was tinged in gold detailing.

It was a stark contrast to Sabeth, herself in a plain woolen tunic and roughspun trousers over which she wore her usual undyed robe, the hood resting beneath her red locks of hair that lay in a mass of tumbled curls along the sides of her face. Arthur was not sure how, but it seemed that her hair simultaneously retained its curls while always looking as if Sabeth had just emerged from the sea. Her hair was not so much ginger as it was a dark amber brown, and the strands of hair always looked to be thin and halfway limp as if weighed down by water. Despite that fact, Sabeth somehow retained her hair's volume and it was light and soft to the touch.

"We'll be making landfall in Lydel soon, likely on the morrow," Arthur said, abruptly changing subject.

"Oh, welcome news, I must say," Sabeth said, closing the books atop the table as she spoke. "It has been some time since I stepped upon the mainland."

"You've been to the mainland before?" Arthur asked, perking up with interest.

"When I was sixteen I went round about Taog," she said. "The swamp devils make for easy pickings, if they aren't lurking about in the bogs. One shot me through with an arrow."

"I was wondering where that scar had come from," Arthur remarked, envisioning the wound - just below her left breast, through her side. "It was a glancing shot, was it not?"

"Aye, and I'm lucky they didn't smear shit or anything else in it, else I might have died twice."

The way in which she said it sent chills down Arthur's spine - her words carried with them the weight of fate and prophecy.

"Twice?" He asked. "Surely you don't mean you actually died when your ship went aground."

"I do," Sabeth said. "First it was the waves that claimed me - I'm different than I was before, the waves whisper to me even now and I hear the thrumming of the chords of the Nine as clear as I might a lyre by the hearth of a tavern. Sabeth the farmer's girl was living half a life, and it took her death to make me. To send me to my destiny."

"And what might that be?" Arthur asked intently.
"The waves usher me towards it as we speak, and I hear their instructions as might the man at the helm of a ship heeds your orders," Sabeth said.

"And tell me, what do these waves impart on you?" Arthur questioned.

"What they've always told me." Her eyes came to rest upon Arthur's, and he swore he saw them flicker and glow as she spoke. "The man I lay with, born of bastard blood and salt, shall be king and the child I bear him will unite not just the isles but the known world as well."

"Seems we should see to making that happen, then," Arthur said, with a smile breaking through his stoney face. "Put those tomes aside and come tell me exactly what those waves have whispered in your ear…"

Adrianna

​

It felt good to once again lay feet upon solid ground, Adrianna thought as she disembarked from the Tynwald and watched as Sir Robert and a handful of her other Bloodsworn followed behind. Old though he was, Robert walked deftly down the gangplank clutching the reins of two horses in his right hand. Her Bloodsworn were likewise encumbered, hefting aside their own mounts. She had wondered where Robert had managed to find so many horses with such little notice, but the thought of riding on horseback through the mainland excited her too much to care.

If only it were under better circumstances, she thought bitterly. Fleeing would-be assassins or your war-hungry bastard brother do not make for good adventures.

"How are you faring, my lady?" Robert asked.

My lady. Even after knowing Robert her whole life, Adrianna relished the way those two words rang upon her ears. Formalities were scarce on the Serpent Isles; not even her father had been called "my king" or "your grace", but yet here Robert was with all the chivalry of mainland knights Adrianna had read about as a girl. Adrianna supposed it might make her less of an islander to delight in being called "my lady" by a knight, but then when one brother seemed totally unequipped to rule and the other had embroiled the islands into civil war trivial matters like what she preferred to be called seemed unimportant by comparison.

Besides, I'm no longer on the isles, she reminded herself.

"Better now," she said. "I'm afraid I don't fare well aboard ships for too long - I suppose it's because I was left with the seamstresses while Arthur was taught how to handle a ship and Gerrart ran around the yard with a wooden sword losing to the bigger boys."

"Ah well if it's any consolation," Robert said with a wink. "I imagine you might still be able to best Gerrart with a wooden sword."

"I trust you to know, sir," Adrianna giggled.

Robert aided Adrianna atop her horse - a chestnut-colored mare, well-tempered and well-groomed. It snorted and shuffled its mane as Adrianna settled herself into the saddle. They had dressed her in commoner's garb, the same with Sir Robert though his armor had been stowed away in the packs the last horse to leave the gangplank hefted. The trousers she wore felt oddly freeing, and she was thankful to have full control of her legs without fear of embarrassment but she longed to put on one of her gowns they had hidden among their other supplies. When they had left, there was no mistaking Adrianna for a noble - trousers and tunic or otherwise - but now she was dirty from her travel aboard the Tynwald and her hair was matted and tied back into a bun to keep it out of her face.

"Do you still remember how to ride?" Robert asked, keeping a steady hand on the reins as Adrianna grew accustomed to the horse.

"I haven't forgotten your lessons, sir," she said with a small smile.

"Good, give me a moment, I won't be long," the aged knight replied, striding back up the gangplank with remarkable gusto for a man of over 50 years and to the deckhands waiting expectantly atop the ship.

Waiting to be paid, Adrianna realized. Though I suppose that makes sense, they are a merchant ship from the mainland.

Fleeing Ardchester aboard a vessel maintained by the royal fleet, or otherwise in the employ of the Valuoar family would have been too suspicious, Robert had said. Instead they had taken the horses from Ardchester down to the port of Barrowtown and chartered a merchant to ferry them to the northern shore of Thornwild on his return voyage. Usually merchants feared the islanders, renouncing them as pirates and thieves, but every so often one braved the isles to sell off their wares from the mainland to the often starving and desperate laborers along the coast. Fate had smiled upon them, it seemed. At least, Robert had said as much.

Robert returned from paying the merchants their fee for their safe arrival and mounted the horse beside Adrianna. She owed the old knight so much, she thought as she examined him. Even dressed as a common soldier he carried with him an air of nobility and poise. He had been the first to say Adrianna should leave after receiving Roymar's letter from Crosham. The fortress was doomed, he said. Too many were conspiring with Arthur to know for sure who were loyalists and who were not, and he had doubted even the intentions of Rorius. Adrianna had gone along with his plan to ferry her to safety, having no reason to doubt him, but she was feeling rather lost now that the threat of imminent death was gone for the time being.

"So where to, sir?" She asked, trailing her horse by Robert's as he ushered it into a trot.

"There is a holdfast not so far from here," Robert said, waving for the other Bloodsworn to follow behind. "At most half a day's ride - the family there is bound to mine by marriage. My sister, as it so happens. With the king of Thornwild dead, and no guarantees to the continuation of political ties in this country, it's doubtful we can rely on much other than her and her own. We will be safe there, for a time. But it likely is no longer a secret that the princess of the Valuoar family has fled, so doubtless Arthur will seek you."

"Why would he do that?" Adrianna asked, perplexed. "Arthur and I have always gotten along, whatever his qualms with Gerrart are."

"Because you are a threat. Gerrart is as good as dead, I'm afraid, but you - the people love you," Robert explained. "The ones that matter, anyways. It was you, my lady, ruling the kingdom in the midst of Gerrart's incompetence. Why is it, you think, that Roymar the Tall sent news of Corsham to you and not to Gerrart? So long as you draw breath, and are a legitimate heir, you will be a threat to Arthur and Arthur takes no half measures."

"Would I were born a man..." Adrianna huffed. "Gerrart never would have been crowned king, or otherwise I would have been able to stand up to Arthur. It would have been me in the castle yard drilling with a wooden sword first, not Gerrart."

"There is still time to learn to use a blade, if it please my lady," Robert said, halfway amused at Adrianna's remark. "I may be old but I have a little fight left in me still."

"Perhaps," Adrianna said flatly. "Though it seems now I am best suited to find some mainlander to wed and live out my days bringing his children into the world. The time of my life to rule has long faded."

The group veered off from the coast and on to a flattened dirt trail that led into a light forest, sunshine sinking down through the canopies. For a moment the only sounds to break the silence were the tromping of horses' hooves on tamped, dry earth and the chirping of birds overhead among the branches of the trees. They were verdant and lush, Adrianna noted. Not like any tree she had seen in the isles - they had all been stunted and pale. These were a bright, bold green that spoke of ample rain and sunshine and the soil below looked to be rich and fertile.

Perhaps being some lord's wife here would not be so bad, she mused just as Robert cleared his throat. The trees are so green, and the warmth of the sun is a welcome change from the grey.

"I would not be so sure - you are still young," he said as they took a turn down the forest trail, the coastline receding behind them. "And though it is true that men here value women for their ability to make heirs and tend to the household, your name holds value. You are a Valouar, a legitimate heir to the Serpent Isles. It is also true that your lands are not rich in resources, but they are rich in people and are strategically important in controlling trade along the coast of Ellemar. You may find a lord or king or prince on the mainland willing to take you on and help you reclaim what should be yours."

"I'm no queen, and I don't think I'm even a princess anymore," Adrianna retorted, laughing off the suggestion that she retake the islands. "I have no army, and my father always loved Arthur more - he wanted him to be king."

"True as that may be, your father is dead and Arthur might yet still drive your lands into ruin. Arthur is true steel, aye, like his grandfather - but steel is only good for one thing: fighting. Leave it to hang upon a wall and it will rust. He has rallied the lords in fear of Gerrart and his sickly body and strange new god. Let him batter himself on the islands subduing the lords and weaken his host. Let him even start to venture into the mainland if he likes - once he saps himself of his strength, it will leave you all the more able to dispose of him and return the isles to stability after a fashion."

Adrianna gnawed at her lower lip uneasily as she considered it. Was she truly willing to put herself through such hardship at the mere chance that she, a deposed ruler and a girl besides, might one day rule? The thought had tempted her, and she had fond memories of her time at court in Ardchester but there had always been the security that if all else failed there was Gerrart to rest final blame upon. Being the sole leader, the lone actor upon the stage, unnerved her.

"Think on it, my lady," Robert said, noticing her palpable hesitation. "I only say it because I know you to be an honest and true leader, and one with the proper name to rule. My sword is yours regardless if you decide to retire to a life of peace on the mainland or choose to take back what should by rights be yours."

The two fell silent, and remained so for much of their journey. By the time the holdfast Robert had described had come into view, the sun was beginning to set in the west. Their way had been largely forested, but had given way to softly rolling hills, atop which a lonely holdfast overlooking a narrow curving river that glittered yellow-orange in the fading sunlight. Never before had Adrianna seen such a wide expanse of lush green grass, or felt the breeze tinged with warmth like she did as the trees parted. She took in a deep, longing breath of the warm air and smiled. Already she was loving the mainland in a way she had never expected to just days before - she had dreaded her coming, and though the weight of Robert's words earlier hung heavy across her shoulders the joy of sitting atop a horse in such a climate eased her troubled mind if even for the briefest of instants.

It is beautiful, but it will never be mine, she thought as they rode through the hilly trail to the holdfast. It is warm, but it is an unfamiliar warmth. I am an islander, and that means salt, iron, and cold no matter where I might be or what title I go by.

"Sir Robert," Adrianna said abruptly, halting her horse.

As if to protest, the animal whinnied and flicked its tail as Robert urged his horse to a halt as well, her other Bloodsworn ceasing without command.

"What is it, my lady? Are you tired? The way is not too much longer, and there awaits proper beds."

"As delightful as that sounds, no, I am fine," Adrianna said. "Tell me - does your sister have birds with which to send messages?"

Light flickered behind Robert's eyes, and Adrianna knew he anticipated what she had to say next.

"Aye, should be she does," he replied.

"Good," Adrianna said. "On the morrow we shall use them all to send to as many lords, princes, kings, and rulers by any other titles we can find - I wish to take my home back from those who would try to despoil it."

"Then it shall be so, my lady, come - let us not tarry long here."

 

[ze_kraken]

SCHWERPUNKT '89

The Balloon Went Up in '85...

After Mikhail Gorbachev lost the internal party race to become general secretary of the Communist Party of the USSR in 1985 to a Stalinist hardliner Danya Vasilievich the world held its breath. Vasilievich, a long proponent of seizing the production facilities of West Germany to extend the life of the in-decline Soviet Union, had his eyes on seizing the economic assets of the West to keep the dream of a Socialist Workers Paradise alive for a few more decades so that the USSR might endure past the foolhardy arms race it had entered with NATO - one that was steadily running its coffers dry.

The war was anything but unexpected. A series of aggressive Soviet actions stoked the flames of distrust in the West, prompting rapid deployment of British, West German, French, and American forces along the "Iron Curtain" splitting Germany in twain. The lines were drawn, and the world waited on bated breath for what was to come.

Hostilities began on September 3rd, 1985 - just six months after Vasilievich's rise to power. Soviet tanks rolled across the Fulda Gap, pouring into West Germany and blowing apart resistance with ease in the first days of the conflict. But casualties mounted, and in an act of desperation a series of Soviet bombers opted to utilize tactical nuclear weapons to clear a West German armor division threatening to end their offensive.

The West followed, and the world was never the same.

Atomic bombs were exchanged first in the European theater along the front lines, and ICBMs were then more broadly launched in the United States and the USSR as the bombs continued to rain in Europe. The conventional war continued in Europe for some time after the annihilation of much of the United States, USSR, and European powers but to little cause other than to sustain a cycle of revenge. Once New Years Day came on January 1, 1986 the fighting stopped as supplies became too scarce to continue to wage a war that amounted to nothing worth fighting for anymore.

Soldiers fighting on both sides, still equipped with what remained of their military assets, formed into fiefdoms and gangs that began to pick through the scraps. Though the desolation in the United States and USSR was the peak of the violence and desolation, the use of relatively less destructive bombs on the mainland had preserved enough infrastructure and resources to continue their operation in the short-term at least.

These societies formed all around the mainland, taking in both military and civilian survivors alike. Some went underground, taking shelter from the fierce nuclear winters in the former metro tunnels below. Others stayed above-ground, clustering around spots where crops were able to grow in sufficient quantity to minimalist communities.

Others resorted to pillaging and raiding, taking what they could from the countryside for themselves. Often these raiders were those who still had access to tanks and infantry fighting vehicles from the War and able to, with relative impunity, take what they wanted from weaker rivals. For the first year, these sorts of conflicts were conducted between former NATO and Soviet units with some semblance of a command structure, but these conflicts were short-lived as gas, ammunition, and bodies were used at an alarming rate in fighting equally-competent opponents: it was simply more economical to prey on the weak, so many did.

Now, in the year 1989, life has stabilized as much as it is likely to just 3 short years after the end of everything. The worst of the nuclear fallout has claimed what victims it will in the short term, but many have begun to die from cancers in the radioactive hellscape of Europe. Military conflicts between the former NATO and Soviet powers have ceased in their formal capacity, but old animosities and rivalries have proven difficult to stamp out; rarely will the two allegiances be seen working together, even if infighting in the West and the East is equally common. Military-grade small arms are still in good working order with plenty of ammunition, but tanks and other vehicles are growing rarer by the month as the resources to keep them operational dwindle into nothingness. Rumors of a "Project Reclamation" keep the hope that some kind of government or rebirth of human society is coming, but since reports of mass devastation outside of Europe have begun to reach the mainland in force, hope too has died for any sort of phoenix-like ascension from the ashes...

American "Team Yankee" - 3rd Company of the 1st Armored Division

"Team Yankee" was deployed to the Fulda Gap alongside its compatriots in the 1st Armored Division in the lead-up to hostilities in 1985 and was comprised of both armored and mechanized elements. It fought extensively on the front lines and spearheaded a counter push into East Germany, placing it in relative safety when the bombs fell since the bulk of the Soviet strikes targeted West German hard points.

In the months that followed, Team Yankee - cut off from supplies and in hostile territory well past what had been friendly lines - fought a fierce war of attrition with Soviet forces until being forced to withdraw back into the West at great cost of both equipment and human life. Of the roughly 200 soldiers of Team Yankee that were deployed, only about 40 of them made it to the relative safety of West Germany.

There, they regrouped with other NATO forces for a time, but as the world became harsher and the outlook bleaker, desertion became all too common. By the end of 1987, Team Yankee was an American military unit in name only, having lost much of its military capability to wear and tear, desertion, and casualties. Now, only about a quarter of the inhabitants pledging fealty to the former American military unit were previously involved in direct combat during the war, with the rest coming from the civilian population. Though it still has a handful of M113 personnel carriers in working order, as well as a Leopard 1 and M60 tank in decent condition, they are hardly in dire straits but are outclassed by several militias and marauders that wander the wastes of postwar Europe.

Presently, Team Yankee operates along the former border between West and East Germany around the former city of Hanover. Roughly 150 occupants exist in the city center of what has been dubbed New Hanover, which has been reconstructed into a livable - if not comfortable - town in the center of the city ruins. The inhabitants of New Hanover enjoy a comparatively good life to others around the mainland, with consistent access to food and water on account of the core of Team Yankees former soldiers proving to be especially competent fighters. Still, gas is running out and scouting missions to forage for supplies are taking teams further and further away from the safety of New Hanover as the months go by...

Survivors of the War - Europeans, Americans, and Soviets Alike

Civilian populations were arguably the most devastated by the atomic strikes that heralded the end of any meaningful conflict between NATO and the USSR. Though armed forces were the direct targets, at least of the initial exchange of nuclear weapons, it was the civilian population that paid the brunt of the price in blood and ruined infrastructure that perpetuated a cycle of violence and decline. Millions perished in the first year - those that survived did so at great cost to themselves, and many joined up with whatever regional power had laid claim to their scraps.

Most of the time, this meant military units led by some commanding officer with sufficient equipment leftover to subdue the inferior-armed civilian populace. Many went willingly, seeing the armed forces as a source of stability and protection, and at the beginning of 1989 many once-civilians have been indoctrinated into their military culture. Several of the survivors survived on their strength, cunning, and will alone and so made excellent additions to the more rigid hierarchy of fighting units that led to the eventual consolidation and merging of both military organization and more guerrilla-oriented tactics.

In the case of Team Yankee, over three quarters of its force is made up of former civilians of various nationalities and descent. Several are the wives, widows, and children of soldiers who were deployed in Germany before the fighting. Others still hail from European countries ranging from Spain to West Germany. There is a plethora of military-grade small arms to go around, from a myriad of sources from the American M16s to British FALs. No two civilian fighters in Team Yankee are quite equipped the same, but all of them - even children as young as 10 - know how to fight when called upon.

Welcome to Postwar Europe - Good Luck

Schwerpunkt '89 is a post-apocalyptic survival RP set in the aftermath of both a conventional and subsequent nuclear war between the Warsaw Pact forces and NATO in 1985, drawing inspiration from novels such as Team Yankee and Red Storm Rising as well as a number of tabletop RPGs of the 1980s and 1990s that captured the imagination by detailing a world in the wake of World War III. You will play as members of the former American military unit designated Team Yankee as well as the civilian survivors that have fallen under its domain.

More specifically, you are part of Ranger Team 1, a small squad of civilian and ex-military scouts who scour the wasteland for supplies, keep an eye out for potential dangers, and escort more dedicated offenses into enemy territory on the rare occasion that conflicts emerge that are more than small, quick skirmishes. Though ex-military front line soldiers are exclusively men per the restrictions of the 1980s, both men and women are equally expected to pull their weight and contribute, and as such Ranger Team 1 is comprised of both men and women.

This is a largely player-driven RP in that I will not necessarily be providing you with an overarching plot, but will instead be giving you situations that you will need to respond to as you struggle to survive in postwar life. You will discover story threads that, if left unexplored, will remain secrets. Though I will prompt you with story threads in my GM posts that your characters may explore and then subsequently add as a form of "quests", nothing will be forced upon the group. Though Ranger Team 1 is still beholden to the pseudo-governmental or military hierarchy of New Hanover, unlike its main defense force, Ranger Team 1 is allowed to undertake missions of its own accord provided there is a suspected material benefit to the mission. All this means that active engagement in the process is expected, and a high standard of writing should be maintained throughout. Collaborative posts are encouraged, and often chat roleplaying or using Google Docs or other collaborative platforms for combat/dialogue heavy posts is expected.

Additionally, resource management and realistic portrayals of maintenance are core components of this RP. As outlined below under character creation, you will begin play with a set amount of ammunition, number of rations, iodine tablets, etc. that will be consumed throughout the course of your adventures. You will have to scavenge, trade, or produce that which you use - I will keep track of supplies and be transparent about how many supplies are used in any given encounter, be it a firefight or a long trip along the wastes but part of the responsibility to track and account for supplies will fall on you. The goal is not to be pedantic about it and turn this RP into a game of spreadsheets, but rather to create the feeling that the post nuclear war elements remain integral to the story and do not fade into background aesthetics. Equipment must be maintained - and your characters must be the ones to maintain it, or it might fail. Ammunition must be used carefully. Creativity in problem solving and creating scrap gear is encouraged, as it will preserve your scarce resources for when you truly need them.

Character Creation - Building Your Survivor

Here is the outline for your character sheet. You are free, and encourage, to format it and way you see fit, but it must have the following information:

Name:
Age: (Minimum age of 18; underage individuals are not allowed in Ranger Force 1)
Sex: (Reminder both men and women are welcome within Ranger Force 1)
Nationality: (All non-Warsaw Pact nationalities are allowed)
Appearance: (Written Required, Photo Optional)

Brief Backstory: (Who they were, where they were when the bombs fell, what they do now, nothing extensive or all-encompassing)
Skills: (What is your character particularly effective at? All Ranger Force 1 members are drilled in basic firearms, close combat, navigational, and maintenance skills so these should be reserved for those talents that make your character particularly unique or different)
Relationships: (New Hanover is a tight-knit community, and reliance on others is integral to survival - what friendships, romantic relationships, familial bonds, etc. are important to your character?)
Equipment:
Equipment and its maintenance and consumption is an integral part of Schwerpunkt '89 and is a large part of your character creation. Each character is allowed a primary and secondary weapon as well as up to 2 personalizations/attachments for those weapons (either ones listed or ones that, within reason, could be added to the weapon). Your remaining equipment is standardized, and will be outlined here as well. The rest of your equipment - either personal in nature, or useful to missions - is up to you.

Weapon Attachments -
Scope, Bipod, Suppressor, Underbarrel Grenade Launcher, Foregrip, Extended Capacity Magazine, Sawn-off Stock, Fortified Stock, Shortened Barrel, Extended Barrel

All weapons begin play with ammunition for one full reload equipped as well as two reloads in spare. This means an assault rifle with a magazine capacity of 30 would begin with 90 rounds, a machine gun with a belt of 100 would begin with 300, a non-disposable rocket or missile would begin with 3, and a shotgun with a tube capacity of 6 with 18.

As a general disclaimer - I reserve the right to approve or deny any characters before admission into the RP. At this time I am accepting up to 6 players, which may increase should there be sufficient interest and interesting enough characters. These characters will be listed here:

1.
2.
3.
4.
5.
6.

Lastly, though it is not required to participate in this RP, a Discord server will be created to engage with your fellow players, plan collabs, share memes, and ask questions in a more readily accessible fashion than a forum post. The link for that Discord is [link]. If you have any other questions, ideas, or comments feel free to shoot me a PM here or on Discord or leave a post below!

Look forward to scouring the wastes with you!

 

[ze_kraken]

ELWYN
Marband | 20 | Verlendia, Stavinburg

Name:

Elwyn, Daughter of the Faith, Dawn Maiden

Nicknames:

Ellie (close friend only)

Race:

Marbrand

Age:

20

Home Territory:

Verlendia, Stavinburg

Profession:

Warrior Chaplain of the Faith of Orestra

Description:

The first thing one would note about Elwyn is her posture - it speaks of confidence and composure tempered by a patience that belies her age. Somber, perceptive eyes rest beneath a proud but soft brow that extends out into a round nose above plump lips. Her hair, a deep red hue that is almost mahogany, lays in strands about her face and ends about the small of her back when left down. Elwyn's build is robust, if leaning a bit lean - powerful arms sprout from wide shoulders, and she is supported by muscular legs thick at the calf and thigh.

Elwyn's air of confidence is boosted by the plate she wears. Though it is mismatched, with pieces seemingly having come from a handful of suits of armor with Elwyn having kept what fit, it is well-kept and shines with a splendor that speaks of a loving hand in its maintenance. She wears two swords, a short blade along her back and an arming sword at her hip. Both are practical and functional, with chips and scrapes to speak to their use in battle, though the steel is as resplendent as that found on her armor. When not clad in her typical steel and leather, Elwyn wears modest tunics and trousers embossed with iconography of the faith of Orestra.

History:

Elwyn, Daughter of the Faith, was left at the steps of the temple or Orestra when she was but a babe. She bore no markings, was left with no note nor sigil that might hint at her parentage. Though she had been surrendered to the Faith, it was clear she was no street rat's ilk - the wraps she had been left in were of fine down, and the child herself had been bathed and smelled of richly scented perfumes. There she was taken and raised within the Faith of the Goddess Orestra.

The young orphan grew quick and strong, with a propensity to pick fights with the other initiates and acolytes of her age that had been similarly surrendered to the Faith. Rather than waste a girl of her talents, her matron instead enlisted her in the Faith Militant of Orestra. There she learned to fight with sword, spear, and axe. She grew accustomed to the weight of a mail shirt, not the constrictive tightness of a bodice. As part of her education she was instructed in both the lores of Metal and Fire magic, the former to aid in her studies of the scripture, the latter to improve her skills as a warrior.

When she came of age at 16, Orestra was made apprentice to another Chaplain of Orestra and was assigned to a regiment of Stavinburg's army. In her first battle, Elwyn fought alongside her brothers and sisters and held aloft the banner of the Goddess Orestra even as the courage of those around her faltered. She returned to camp covered in grime and mud with the dawn sunlight, carrying aloft the banner and her blade, granting her the title of "Dawn Maiden" and raising her to the rank of Chaplain proper. She was assigned to another regiment and placed in command of a company of other warriors of the Faith, one of the youngest in the history of the Faith to win such an honor at just 18. She proved herself to be a competent officer and Chaplain, and by her 20th birthday had come to garner the respect of those within the church of Orestra and the city of Stavinburg alike.

Strengths and Skills:

• Strength of Spirit - Elwyn's will and patience are tried and tested and she is slow to anger, giving her a sense of otherworldly endurance and fortitude.
• Warm and Genuine - As befitting of her station as not only a leader on the battlefield but a conduit of the Faith, Elwyn is warm and approachable despite her initially intimidating demeanor.
• Confident and Composed - Rarely is Elwyn caught entirely flat-footed, and usually she carries herself with a confidence that is laced with a healthy dose of humility and self awareness.
• Fierce Warrior - Elwyn has been trained since the age of 8 to fight, with particular skill in combat with a single blade though she is also known to wield a short sword and arming sword simultaneously in particularly fierce melees.
• Ambidextrous - Elwyn's skills with the blade are roughly equal regardless of which hand she uses, though she still has a preference for her right.
• Fiery Orator - Still a chaplain at heart, Elwyn is capable of stirring and passionate speeches and dictations that inspire those around her to greater feats of courage and skill than thought possible.
• Magically Inclined - Elwyn was schooled in both the lores of Fire and Metal elemental magic, which she uses largely in their more passive forms; she does not wield fireballs or bend metal, but rather uses them for their self-enhancing properties with which she fights better and learns faster.
• Disciple of Faith - Though not learned in more academic matters, Elwyn is a student of history and faith, having studied it since she was a young girl at the temple of Orestra in Stavinburg.

Ideals:

• Faith First - The Faith is the sole reason for Elwyn's existence and prominence, and she holds its ideals of strength of character and goodness dearest.
• A Good Commander Leads - Elwyn has little patience for talkers and prefers leaders to take responsibility and ownership of their actions, leading rather than dictating.
• Service Above All - Having come from almost nothing, Elwyn has a soft spot for the poor, destitute, and least of these and believes all should live to serve their fellow Man as best they can.

Weaknesses and Vices:

• Stubborn and Obstinate - Elwyn's rigorous upbringing in the teachings of the Faith of Orestra has left her with little patience for contrary opinions and beliefs; she is slow to adopt views contrary to those she was indoctrinated into, if she does at all.
• Savior Complex - Perhaps as a result of her actions that led to her prominence, the teachings of the Faith, or both Elywn has placed upon herself what some would call an unnecessary obligation to inject herself into any perceived injustice she comes across.
• Compulsive Honesty - Deceit and lying do not come naturally to Elwyn, and she is unlikely to ever willingly tell a mistruth or lie and if required to practice deceit is only ever agreeable to lying by omission.
• Oblivious - Elwyn was socialized and normalized within the Faith, and struggles outside of its social norms and expectations with societal trappings typically flying right over her head.
• Hidebound - Creativity and independent thought do not come quickly to Elwyn, and she struggles with self-motivated thought and action after a lifetime of servitude and institutionalization under the Faith.

Bonds and Banes:

• Chastity - Though not strictly required of those in the service of the Faith Militant of Orestra, Elwyn views herself more as a battle priestess than merely a warrior and has taken a vow of chastity.
• Never Harm Innocents - Elwyn always respects a surrender, and will never intentionally harm others without cause per the traditions of a Chaplain of Orestra as well as a personal desire to avoid unnecessary suffering.
• Disciples of Faith - As a member of the Faith of Orestra, Elwyn has surrendered herself to the traditions, observances, and other restrictions to daily life such a life in service of the Faith entails.
• Inferiority - As want as she is to claim otherwise, Elwyn still holds lingering doubts as to the exact reasons behind her abandonment as a girl; despite having grown up comfortably and confidently with purpose in the service of Orestra, in times of reflection that question haunts her and pushes her to amend for whatever that initial slight might have been.

Motivation, Personal Goal, and Defining Act:

• MOTIVATION: Serve Orestra with the honor and dedication the Goddess deserves, maintaining her position in the Faith and using her position to positively impact those least able to defend themselves.
• PERSONAL GOAL: Discover the truth of her lineage and the reasoning behind her abandonment as an infant.
• PERSONAL GOAL: Achieve the rank of Head Chaplain of the Faith of Orestra in order to better serve those with nowhere to turn.
• DEFINING ACT: Her defense of the banner of the Faith of Orestra, and subsequent status of reverence within the Faith and her community, put Elwyn on a path to achieve the kinds of power and authority necessary to enact her visions.

 

[ze_kraken]

ORCS​

---

Orcs were among the first races to live upon the continent which would eventually be split into the Cursed Lands and the South Lands. If the elves are correct, then orcs were created sometime after the elves but before the humans and dwarves. They were used largely as a slave class by the dwarves and elves in what came to be known as the Cursed Lands, and welcomed the arrival of humans to their land as the humans came proclaiming freedom for all who would fight to secure a human birthright.

Orcs are larger than humans, though stand shorter than the believed height of elves. They are more muscular, their senses sharper. They retain pointed ears - a remnant of some common creation with the elves - and have skin that ranges from mint green to deep olive hues. Orcish magic is unlike other magic in that orcs are incapable of accessing the Essence directly, but through its manipulation store their own bodily essence in materials in the physical plane, drawing upon it later to bolster their physical performance. Gemstones are the most effective for this purpose.

HUMANS​

---

Humans arrived last on the continent, and are believed to have been created after orcs but before dwarves. Humans mythologized their own, comparatively shorter, lifespans as a strength of their species, for humans are among the most prolific and powerful species throughout history. They were capable of conquering the Cursed Lands before they were the Cursed Lands, and dislodged the most powerful civilization in the known world: the elves. Whatever the humans fled when they came across the sea has been lost to history, but their remnants upon this continent have been etched into its very fabric.

Humans come in all shapes, sizes, and colors in the Cursed Lands. Their magic is one similar to the elves, in that humans can more readily access the Essence but must do so with a modicum of their own energy. The Essence expediates tasks, makes them more efficient, but whereas elves were capable of creation from Essence and nothing else, humans must manipulate what physical objects exist in their own reality. Human magic users specialize in one of four general schools: water, air, earth, or fire.

​

​

DWARVES​

---

Dwarves were the last race to be created according to the elves, and are the longest-lived of the mortal species. They existed in harmony with the elves in what would come to be the Cursed Lands, but were divided into clans and rival households at the coming of the humans. Some pledged for the humans, joining their kingdom. Others remained loyal to the elves. Some outright separated from all known factions, forming independent dwarven kingdoms. The dwarves' legacy can be seen clearly in the mountains encapsulating the Cursed Lands, where their holds still stand.

Dwarves are short compared to humans, but only by about a head or so. They are stocky - wide in the chest, and generally well-built in the arm and leg. Whereas elves, orcs, and humans all are capable of some form of magical manipulation, dwarves are something of a magical oddity. They project a zone which makes accessing the Essence difficult for many spellcasters, and they themselves tend not to be terribly impacted by the Essence.

ELVES​

---

The elves were first to rule the physical world after a great conflict in their recorded history between the Essence and the infernal realm of the Other. They enjoyed their rule unchallenged until the Essence gave birth to the orcs, with whom they clashed until they were bested and made to serve the elves. Then came humans, which elven history oft neglects, followed by the dwarves who enjoyed a great friendship with the elves until the coming of the humans. Elvish society was at its height until Piersym the Spellbinder not only was capable of besting the elves, but later would kill them to the last with his demonic army.

Elves were believed to be the tallest of the races, standing a good head above orcs. Their features were lithe, almost cat-like, with pointed ears and angled eyes. Their skin was pale, their hair silver or golden. Their magic was the most potent of all races, capable of fabrication from the Essence into the physical plane, a feat no other species or individual has managed since the last elvish spell-weaver perished.

​

​

 

[ze_kraken]

Marcellus;Quicksand;LB;

CURSED EARTH

PLOT

After delving deep into the dwarven hold of Gol Badhir in the mountain range known as the Crags, a group of adventurers discovered that the treasure they were after - the hammer Scarnesbane of Ormund the Nine-Fingered - was, in actuality, a weapon of mythical power known as "Oathsworn". They were not the only ones seeking such a weapon. After dispatching a rogue knight known as Maud, and the army of a powerful demonic entity known as a Hollow Knight, the adventurers are set for the last vestige of old civilization left in the Cursed Lands: the Shroud. There they hope to discover what exactly they have stumbled upon, and accomplish their own personal goals in the meantime...

In this player-driven RP, you will play as an adventurer in the Cursed Lands bound for glory or an early demise in a cruel, desolate world full of dangers, both demonic and mortal. As you and your fellows wander the land in search of answers about the Oathsworn weapons, you will grow, change, and overcome not only your personal obstacles but the perilous landscape itself as you contend with bandits, monsters, and the ever-present threat of demons.

HISTORY

There was once relative peace in the realm north of the Raven's Pass. There the mighty kingdom of the elves ruled, alongside their slave caste of orcs and the isolationist dwarves. All changed when, as foreseen by elven prophecy, humans arrived on shores south of the Pass and began to rise to prominence. Only, the southlands were mediocre when compared to the excess and abundance of the north, so when the humans inevitable tired of competing amongst one another for resources, they turned their attention northward. Piersym the Spellbinder mastered the arcane arts, learning techniques thought impossible for humans, and led a great army of humans, orcs, and dwarves north. He achieved the impossible and unseated the elven rulers of that promised land, declaring himself king of all north of the Raven's Pass.

Only, his rule was not as assured as first thought. The orcs, long friends of the humans for they were the ones who brought freedom to their species, began to grow jealous of the human prosperity in the north. The orcs had paid the heaviest price in securing the promised land, and were now left with none of the fruits of their labor. They revolted, invading through the Raven's Pass and rallying their kin in the north wherever they went. With no elven friends to call upon, and with many dwarven allies swearing neutrality, Piersym was left exposed and vulnerable. Rather than let his hard-earned victory be squandered so shortly after achieving it, he did the unthinkable once more.

Piersym opened a rift to the Other, an infernal realm where demons lurk. Only, the demons were too powerful for Piersym to control and he was overwhelmed, becoming the Demon King. Though the orcs were driven back, the true horror of what had transpired was lost on the inhabitants of the north until the Demon King descended upon the land, ruining all in his wake. The conquest was brutal and short, much of it lost to history, leaving many to wonder why exactly there aren't demons teeming everywhere...

OOC

As a disclaimer upfront - this is an RP already in-progress, which means that you will be thrust into an existing character dynamic which you will have to navigate your character through in addition to contributing to the overall plot and pace of the story. There is no expectation that you read through all that has come before your character joined the RP. Of course, if you are willing and able to then feel free, but you will be joining the story at a natural jumping-in point which will require no elaborate shoehorning to fit your character in.

Since there is a well-established and functional dynamic and plot structure already in place, I am going to be a bit more particular in choosing which players or characters are allowed to join this RP. A few notes to consider if you will be accepted are:

• OOC communication is a must: be it updates about your ability to post or general banter in the Discord and general excitement about the RP
• Open to collaborative posts: as this is largely a player-driven RP, and lots of solo posts cover less ground than a few collaborative posts, I expect you to be able and willing to write with your fellow players
• Characters must have a clear motivation that is separate from the overarching plot: this gives me more to play with as a GM to add and mix with the main story, and just makes for more interesting characters down the line in general
• Willing to share the spotlight: every character has their own strengths and weaknesses, and this means your character might not always be in the spotlight or have the best skills for the job and you need to be able to work within the limitations of your character to allow others a chance to shine as well

For now I'll be accepting no more than 2 additional characters to join the group, with 1 of 2 starting locations. You can either join up with the group in the small town known as Molestown along the Fangtooth River and join them on their way to the Shroud, or meet up with them directly in the Shroud. Meeting in Molestown will have you start sooner, the Shroud later (anywhere from 2-3 weeks from the publish date of this post). If you wish to join sooner rather than later, try to get me your CS no later than (9/18). Should you be accepted, I'll provide you the Discord link at that time.

If you are curious here is the IC thread link: LINK. Here is also an example of a properly constructed CS - you are free to format it however you wish, but it must include this information: LINK. Lastly, below find information regarding the different races.

If you have any questions or ideas, please shoot me a PM and I'll be happy to talk things through with you!

 

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THE STATE EMPIRE

YU JING - THE STATE EMPIRE

Yu Jing is one of the dynamo of dominant powers in the Human Sphere, sharing a fierce rivalry with the Hyperpower PanOceania. Reeling from the aftermath of a PanOceania-backed Japanese secession movement, the State Empire Yu Jing has tightened its grip on its citizens, utilizing the terror of its Imperial Service to surveil and oppress its own people. Political dissent is a death sentence, and though the citizens of the State Empire live prosperous enough lives, theirs in an existence of constant surveillance and threat of violence looming over their heads.

The State Empire's military arm, the Invincible Army, is outfitted in top-of-the-line power armor and boasts significant support from the State Empire. Currently deployed quelling Japanese secessionists still within Yu Jing's borders, and deployed on Paradiso fighting the existential threat of the Combined Army, the Invincible Army looks to quell external threats to the State Empire. This leaves the Imperial Service, the secretive and highly politically intertwined police of the Emperor, to secure the home front.

Agents of varying degrees of deadliness and ruthlessness remain ever-vigilant in their policing of the Yu Jing population, looking both inward for domestic sources of unrest as well as outward for sources of Shasvastii infiltration and foreign powers interfering with Yu Jing's affairs. They serve at the pleasure of the Emperor, and have their own rigid, and often byzantine, internal organization to navigate as they conduct their work. Of all of Yu Jing's organizations, the Imperial Service is the most rooted in traditionalism and the culture of its Asian roots back on Earth.

TECHNOLOGY

Yu Jing's capacity for surveillance is unparalleled in the Human Sphere, save for by ALEPH and perhaps O-12. Fierce subroutines and programs on its net constantly monitor all activity, reporting any note of suspicion to the most readily available agents of the Imperial Service. Information is likewise heavily censored heading into and out of the State Empire's domain. This level of oppression is routinely tolerated by its populace, as it has helped maintain a strong economic system and kept Yu Jing politically relevant both in the fight against the Combined Army and in matters of state when dealing with foreign powers and O-12.

Upon the fields of battle, Yu Jing's preference tend towards sophisticated power armor systems. The troops of the Invincible Army are almost exclusively clad in 'Terracotta' Yu Jing-produced power armor, which can be manufactured cheaply and in abundance to equip its soldiers. Members of the Imperial Service are granted access to luxury power armor that rivals any in the Human Sphere, often decorated in fringes and spines and other fringes that denote the agent's rank.

Yu Jing-produced firearms are similar to their PanOceanian counterparts, utilizing a liquid metal ammunition that is fired via a magnetic particle accelerator that stretches the metal in the barrel into a stream of solidified metal with a scorching-hot tip. This makes Yu Jing firearms particularly deadly and accurate, its ammunition reservoirs both versatile and lightweight. This leaves Yu Jing weapons at a disadvantage when matters of maintenance are concerned, and often private contractors and mercenaries will often opt for caseless ammunition as a matter of cost effectiveness.

Like all other major powers, save Haqqislam and Ariadna, Cubes are commonplace in the State Empire as an added layer of surveillance and control. Through Cubes, the regime of the State Empire is able to better track its citizens, control their medical status, and gently nudge its populace towards more acceptable behaviors. Similarly to other parts of the Sphere, Cube restoration is highly uncommon save for military personnel and occasionally agents of the Imperial Service.

CHARACTERS FROM YU JING

Yu Jing does not send anyone short of an Imperial Service or decorated soldier from the Invincible Army into the service of O-12. Though service to the State Empire through direct means is a valued and socially envious position, those sent to O-12 are still viewed generally positively by both the political elite and common citizenry. It helps, of course, that such a position grants Yu Jing an in to an organization that is connected to all the other powers in the Human Sphere, and can wield its propaganda machine to twist and morph the view of O-12 to its wishes any time it sees fit...

Still, no matter what way the winds of public opinion shift in the State Empire, Yu Jing is pragmatic. Service to O-12 not only eases regulations and enforcement of certain O-12 policies that discourage the kinds of wanton human rights abuses Yu Jing regularly conducts, but also ensures that Yu Jing agents are more readily able to intercept and communicate valuable intel from their counterparts in the organization hailing from different nationalities. Such agents in the employ of Yu Jing should be fiercely loyal to the cause, harboring a strong love of the State Empire. Additionally, all operatives hailing from Yu Jing in the agencies of O-12 are not only extremely competent but eager to take orders from their handlers and ruthless in their pursuance of both their O-12 given tasks and assignments given from their handlers. Their key strengths are espionage, indirect sabotage, and political savvy coupled with the kind of elite training standard in the Imperial Service or Invincible Army.

No person is free from the reach of the State Empire, and this is no less true even when serving under O-12. Zealous Yu Jing-based handlers keep a tight leash on the operatives they send to O-12's various agencies, demanding frequent reports and handing down sensitive information and missions. Most of these target the political maneuvering of Yu Jing's top rival - PanOceania - but recently the State Empire has turned its attention to quelling internal resistance from the Japanese secessionists and, given Yu Jing recently violating several international treaties by engaging in direct fleet contact over PanOceania's support of the Japanese secessionist movement, it is playing it safe as to avoid using too much of its already dried-up goodwill.

 

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THE HYPERPOWER

PANOCEANIA - THE HYPERPOWER

After a series of military conflicts ravaged Earth in the latter portion of the 21st century and early 22nd century, with much of the old existing global powerhouses left in shambles, it was the PanOceanic regions of Earth comprising of Australia, New Zealand, and portions of southeastern Asia that picked up the ashes and carried humanity into its era of space exploration. After the first failed colonial mission sent out of Europe into the stars, PanOceania opened the potential for stable wormhole travel and settled several planets around the galaxy, including the mighty Neoterra, the politically contested Svarlheim, the ocean-covered Varuna, and the swampy Acontecimento. And, perhaps most importantly culturally, Earth.

In modern times, PanOceania is the most powerful single political entity in the Human Sphere, holding the largest economy and largest number of planets. PanOceanic society is hyper-democratic, where representation is capable of being reflected in its governing structures down almost to the individual level. In practice, this structure has lent an extraordinary amount of power to niche special interest groups and corporate bodies, which in turn has created a corporate-run state across many of PanOceania's planets with one a semblance of its former democratic roots.

The average PanOceanian citizen enjoys a great deal of personal political and economic freedom, and the highest standard of living in the Human Sphere. Its army is well-equipped with the much of the best technology available to humanity, and is able to pull from the specialties of several planets. Catholicism is the predominant religion practiced, though religious freedom is fully realized in PanOceania territory. The bulk of PanOceania's resources and capabilities stem from their ability to leverage their diverse populace and cut through much of the beuracratic red tape on the fly when efficiency is needed, and though they are at the top, it is a delicate position for once at the top everyone else will be gunning to topple you...

TECHNOLOGY

PanOceania boasts the best Tactical Armored Gear (TAG) in the Human Sphere, able to mount intricate targeting and thermoptic camouflage systems on each of these mechanized war machines. Tesseum and Nesseum rich, both minerals vital to the success of electronics, space travel, and heavy munitions and armor, PanOceania is able to utilize its strategic access to such resources very efficiently, granting it and its citizenry a great deal of material comforts and top-of-the-line electronics. This infrastructure is supported by both the government and the citizenry, for the standard of living provided by this abundance of top-tier electronic equipment is unparalleled.

Secondarily to its access to the raw inputs necessary for the modern world, PanOceania's industrial complex is unrivaled throughout the Human Sphere. Their production facilities are immensely productive and efficient, capable of running largely automatedly and cleanly with little to no waste products left to the environment. These production facilities are operated entirely by automated additive manufacturing in factories about a tenth of the size of ones in the beginning of the 21st century.

On the battlefield, PanOceania soldiers are equipped with the same sort of peak technology their citizens enjoy (though perhaps to the detriment of their training). Advanced targeting systems improve the accuracy of all PanOceania soldiers, and weapons produced by the Hyperpower can be scaled to the exact size and preferences of its operator - rarely will two rifles by the exact same size and makeup as another. Additionally, though powered armor is frequent and advanced in PanOceania, its strengths lie in its core of well-equipped, unpowered armored soldiers and troops equipped with various thermoptic camouflage suits.

Cube resurrection is as difficult in PanOceania as elsewhere in the Sphere, complicated further by the prominent role religion still plays in society after a series of terrorist attacks on Earth in the latter half of the 21st century led to the institutionalization of the Catholic Church into PanOceanic society. Though culturally PanOceania is quite secular, and religion is nowhere near taken to the same degree as it was late into the 19th and 20th centuries of human existence, religious doctrines rarely endorse Cube resurrections though all PanOceania citizens own them for their relative ease in expediating government paperwork, boosting lifespans, and lowering the overall cost of medicine.

CHARACTERS FROM PANOCEANIA

Agents sent by the Hyperpower in service of O-12 hail from a wide variety of backgrounds, though most commonly are operatives sent from the Hexahedron Intelligence Services. This secretive intelligence agency boasts a number of highly trained operatives skilled in black ops, assassination, infiltration, and other facets of espionage, making them natural deep-cover agents in O-12 to help guide the invisible hand of the system-spanning governmental system that O-12 has become.

Alternatively, soldiers enter into service of O-12 after leading decorated military careers. Such soldiers are those who are loyal to the Hyperpower, and possess great track records of success and initiative taken in service of the Hyperpower. In particular, soldiers from the Varuna Immediate Reactionary Division are valued for their status as the Sphere's best anti-terrorist task force. Additionally, members of the various medium infantry corps of PanOceania (NeoTerran Bolts, Acontecimento Bagh Mari, and Varuna Kamau) are highly prized since these soldiers are well-trained and competent, and usually are occupational veterans with a strong sense of loyalty to the Hyperpower.

When choosing which operatives or soldiers to send to O-12, much like its rival Yu Jing, PanOceania will prioritize those that will complete the mission O-12 assigns while keeping the interest of PanOceania at heart. The Hexahedron manages many of the PanOceanian O-12 operatives, and feeds this data back into the overall intelligence system that keeps the Hyperpower at the top. For PanOceania, O-12 is just a tool it can wield politically to bully the policies of the Human Sphere in the direction it wants, and then utilize its agents buried deep within it to feed the more tactical control if can exercise through its intelligence service.

 

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THE LOST COLONY

ARIADNA - THE LOST COLONY

The first manned colony mission to leave Earth ended in disaster. Massive generation ships left Earth, utilizing a prototype of the now-ubiquitous wormhole technology, and were immediately lost without a trace on the other side. Years were spent attempting to track down where these ships might have gone, to no avail and the settlement effort was regarded as the worst disaster of human space travel to ever occur, ushering in an era of space travel pessimism that was compounded for years during the brutal wars in the latter half of the 21st century.

Those colony ships, packed largely with American and European settlers, was not entirely lost, however. The ships emerged from the other end of the wormhole above Dawn, a hostile but earth-like planet covered in dense forests and rugged mountains. There it touched down, and over the ensuing century and a half the colonists made a life for themselves in the harsh wilderness.

The colonists, now calling themselves Ariadnans, were not alone. Fierce humanod wolf-like creatures dubbed Antipodes, with their own tribal society, were the dominant species on Dawn. The conflict between Ariadnans and Antipodes was, and continues to be, fierce though the rifles and advanced technology of the colonists eventually won out over melee weapons and bows used by the Antipodes. In the aftermath of the conflict with the Antipodes, the settlers of Dawn began to develop their society in earnest, dominated largely by the Cossack Russians who settled on the highest concentration of highly-valuable Tesseum on the planet.

When Dawn was rediscovered by the Human Sphere, it was the Cossacks that the Human Sphere first engaged in diplomatic relations with, and it was the Cossacks given a status of prominence and protection by PanOceania on account of profitable avenues to Tesseum facilitated by a strong relationship with the old-Earth Russians. The other dominant Ariadnan groups include the warrior-like Caledonians, rugged Americans, professionally maintained French, and unified Ariadnan Expeditionary Force (AEF) which conducts operations outside of Dawn with the assistance of O-12.

TECHNOLOGY

Ariadna is technologically inferior to all other major factions in the Human Sphere. Their power armor is rudimentary and limited in capability, offering minimal protection and mobility in comparison to their more developed counterparts elsewhere. Additionally, Ariadnans universally do not have Cubes, meaning an average Ariadnan lives a shorter, less healthy life than elsewhere in the Human Sphere. Visiting Ariadna is like stepping back nearly a full century in human progress, full of rudimentary vehicles, computers, electronics, and other systems.

Ariadna's key strategic resource is Tesseum, which is harnessed in very advanced electronic systems but for which Ariadnans used most predominantly in the manufacture of arms and armor. Tesseum bullets can take down more advanced opponents, and armor made from the substance, though extremely heavy, can compete with the powered armor found elsewhere. Though it is a shameless waste of such a valuable resource, Ariadnans were predominantly focused with survival and their own civil conflicts for the past 180 years, leading to a lopsided preference of defensive and offensive technology while civil technologies suffered.

With limited trade with the Human Sphere on account of the Sphere's desire to keep Ariadnans uncompetitive and Ariadna's own self-reliant, stubborn insistence to avoid foreign intervention in its affairs, Ariadna has just recently begun the process to modernizing. Most of this developmental progress has been enjoyed by the Cossack Russians above the rest, for they are the official head of the loosely bound together Ariadnan coalition of nations as far as the galaxy at large is concerned. As such, a Cossack's existence is just now beginning to catch up, lagging behind the standards of living enjoyed elsewhere but leagues improved over the rest of Ariadna.

CHARACTERS FROM ARIADNA

Ariadna has enjoyed a good deal of support and trust from O-12, in part for their absence from the ingrained politics of the Human Sphere and equally due to Ariadna's readiness to combat the Combined Army on the warzone planet Paradiso. Though Ariadna does not possess its own fleet of space-capable vessels, O-12 has provided willing Ariadnan mercenaries, delegates, and task forces use of an O-12 transports and combat craft. This support has led to a large number of O-12-affiliated operates hailing from Ariadna, though as an overall percentage they are still heavily outnumbered by their counterparts from the rest of the more-developed Human Sphere.

An Ariadnan agent in service of O-12 can hail from any of the nations or respective agencies or task forces(Russian, French, American, Caledonian, or the AEF). There is a slight preference given to the AEF, since their operations leave their soldiers and agents familiar with O-12 behavior and processes. Secondarily, Cossacks are often able to leverage their political power with other members of the Human Sphere and O-12 to ensure that their interests are better represented by loading O-12 requests for agents with members loyal to the Cossacks first, Ariadna second, and O-12 third.

For the most part, however, Ariadnan operatives in service of O-12 are seen as the most altruistic of the lot, for Dawn's political interest in general are not so vitriolic and destructive as the other powers in the Human Sphere. They are entrusted with more militant operations and duties, given their people's resilience and hardiness. Equipped either with equipment from their home world or top-of-the-line weapons from O-12, Ariadnans are more than competent soldiers and fighters.

 

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THE HUMANIST POWER

HAQQISLAM - THE HUMANIST POWER

TECHNOLOGY

CHARACTERS FROM HAQQISLAM

 

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THE CITY BELERNO

A DEN OF THIEVES AND CORRUPTION
Overview -

The city-states of the Principality of Biranchini are at their best a haven for those with a penchant for politics and a flexible code of ethics, drawing a pragmatic and brutal caste of political elites and criminals. None, not even the Crown City of Rafiano, are quite so corrupt as Belerno. If the other cities of the Principality are as filthy as the contents of a butcher's stall, then Belerno is what remains after the prime cuts have been taken: a bloody, diseased carcass of a city overrun by violent gangs and power-hungry nobles. Thieves are strung up daily in their dozens in front of the Palace of Giustizia and the city watch are as potent a tool for the politically powerful as they are the dozens of capos leading their gangs.

But Belerno's position as an underbelly of crime and graft is founded in its long history as one of the most prosperous trade cities in the Principality, drawing in sums of tens of thousands of golden solaros a month. At first the city was operated by the merchants who founded it, but merchants by the inevitable draw of power became statesmen and statesmen became career politicians. Though the ports and canals of Belerno still ran yellow with gold, it had become everything it had originally attempted to stray from: corrupt, bureaucratic, and rotted to the core. The city-state joined the Principality to better protect its trade interests and protect itself from the erosion of its own weakening currency, marking the end of the Merchant's Paradise and ushering in the current era of violence and oppression of the masses.

Situated along the Golden Coast, as an ideal resting point between the northern most reaches of the Principality of Biranchini and the mainland of Ethol, Belerno is sustained almost entirely by the influx of industry to and from the north and south. Its Banca offer insurance services and financing for thousands of merchants and trade companies in addition to storing and lending money for a fee. With such a concentration of wealth within its walls at any given minute, it is inevitable some solaros goes missing. A pickpocket here, a con artist there. A tariff here, a predatory loan shark there. Still, for all its vile and rotten tendencies, Belerno is something of an institution precisely because of its habit of scum and villainy. As the main port of entry to the Principality, merchants must pay tithe to the nobles of the city (a tithe so infamous as to warrant its own word 'Decimoto' since often the cut is around ten percent) should they wish to bring their goods further south. The markets further south conceal a great many riches, and though many a merchant prince has tried to surpass the Decimoto often their ships are seized by privateers and pirates and brought back to be sold by Biranchini merchants instead.

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Architecture and Layout -

In its early days, Belerno was built to maximize the breadth of movements of ships throughout the city to better facilitate trade and movement of ships laden with goods. To facilitate this movement of ships, the three Grand Canals were carved from earth and stone running north-south, west-east, and northwest-southeast wide enough to accommodate two galleons sailing abreast in two separate traffic flows. Once the Grand Canals were created, bridges were built over them with enough space for a vessel to pass underneath one at a time, a bottleneck that once troubled those responsible for controlling the inflow of traffic but trade vessels have not passed through the Grand Canals in over a century. They now instead park at the various ports and docks built at the edges of the city and utilize smaller vessels to ferry goods into and throughout the city.

From the Grand Canals jut smaller waterways as sprawling and interwoven as a man's veins, carrying the lifeblood of goods and information throughout the city. Gondolas make up the bulk of traffic along these smaller routes, ferrying nobles and merchants from place to place in the exclusive Pesce Nero while more standard, unadorned gondolas carry the working class about the city. Smaller pleasure vessels and a handful of canal barges also lurk about the canals, often with heavily armed escort for fear of canal-borne piracy and thievery, carrying their goods to the various water markets and high streets of Belerno.

The streets and bridges of the city are thousands time more dense, hectic, and confused as the canals. At some points they are so narrow as to only allow two men to jostle by one another crammed shoulder to shoulder, and at others wide enough to allow carts to move freely alongside foot traffic. Alleyways crisscross the streets of Belerno, leading to the backdoors of businesses or elsewise serving as a prime repository for human excrement. Bridges over the lesser canals serve as high streets no matter their size or position, connecting the disparate islands of urban development and acting as points of reference for the city's inhabitants.

Belerno is dotted with architecture not seen anywhere else in the world, out of necessity more than a desire to be unique though its architecture has since been copied and adopted by several costal cities throughout southern Eloth. Structures in Belerno generally are not built for defense as in other parts of the world, with the palaces of the rich and noble often sharing the same street space as other domiciles. Their ground floors serve as offices of businesses, their upper floors reserved for the household and its staff. Crowded, cramped city centers encourage building tall, with sunward-facing facades serving as the main source of light for many buildings throughout the city, meaning that Belernese houses often contain a great deal more windows than most.

Arches and stylized columns are common decorations for any structure in Belerno, and most structures of important boast domed rooves. Terraces and exposed walkways are common along the upper floors of palaces and domiciles, often behind a screen of decorative columns. Most structures also include porticos which grant access from the structure in question directly to the canal below. The more common the access, the larger and more impressive these porticos are ranging from simple anchoring points and staircases to miniature ports designed to house multiple vessels or larger canal barges complete with ramps and service doors for the inflow and outflow of goods en masse.

In recent years, as foreign travel into and out of Belerno has risen alongside its prominence upon the world stage, so too has the architecture and style of Belernese architectural minds. More northern styles have become common along the city's fringes, where the canals are less frequent and access to the land more readily available. And as Belerno has now fully assimilated into the Principality of Berenchini , many of its architectural styles have come to adopt the trappings of more southern thinkers, including gothic fixtures that have meshed nicely with the existing Belerno architecture, accentuating its unique mixture of styles.

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Belernese Fashion -

Dress is, as is common around the known world, informed by class and wealth as much in Belerno as in the rest of the world. Strict gender-oriented dress is expected of the societal elite, but has been informed largely by a manner of practicality among the lower rungs of society even if it still remains largely gendered. Working men dress in plain, often undyed or minimally dyed, clothing that is loose-fitting and adorned with ruffled sleeves at the top. Trousers are often tucked into leggings at the shins that themselves are tucked into flat shoes, and tunics are often left open at the chest or bound with leather laces. Caps are common, as removing one and bowing is viewed as a sign of respect and caps protect from the risk of having a waste bucket dumped directly on one's head.

Common women dress in plain shifts and shoes, adorned similarly with ruffled sleeves if the gown in question if of particularly good quality or in the style of Belernese nobility. Their shoes are likewise flat and unadorned, and their tops are often worn over their shifts in a crude approximation of a bodice tied tight with leather laces at their front like men's tunics. Hair is expected to be worn back, and any braids or flats are viewed as a reflection of a loose character often associated with prostitutes and courtesans.

The merchant and working class of Belerno dress similarly to their lower class counterparts, but can afford to do so in more vibrant colors. Reds, blues, and yellows are among the most fashionable with purple reserved almost exclusively for the nobility and household of the Sindacio. Trousers worn by middleclass men are tighter fitting than others, accentuated at the groin and often worn below fine tunics. These tunics are sashed at the biceps and often very modest in their exposure of their wearers. Other adornments include laced details, ties, and finer caps occasionally adorned with feathers or other trappings.

Women, likewise, dress in brighter colors though the garments remain comparatively humble to the elite of Belerno. The conventions of hair stylings remain the same, though more intricate stylings are made available to those with the means to pay for them. Middleclass women will also often be able to afford cosmetics such as makeup and other beauty enhancers to accompany their finer clothes. Regardless, such clothing tends to be made from wool and cotton almost exclusively.

In the upper rungs of society, fashion becomes more experimental and grand. Women wear platformed shoes, men dress in ornate costumers and cloaks. What is practical and what is stylistic often get lost in one another, though the garments of statecraft and negotiation still tend to run relatively plain though often make use of the royal shade of purple reserved for the elite of Belerno. Such stylings are provided by richly paid tailors and seamstresses, often working exclusively for this family or that in order to preserve a sense of independence and individuality that comes to inform the perception and status of any given noble household.

THE NOBLE FAMILIES AND GANGS OF BELERNO

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Power in the Principality is a loose concept, since there exists no central government and the individual city-states are offered a great deal of independence and flexibility provided they pay their taxes and do not engage in open war with one another. Such a structure has rewarded ruthless, cutthroat behavior in a strong-beat-weak world whereby the noble families of note and prominence are the ones without the moral trappings of lesser houses to engage in questionable and vicious actions to preserve and bolster their influence. Belerno is no exception to this rule, and even though officially the Sindacio of the city is set by the Principality's weak executive body, Sindacios come and go quickly when a critical mass of the nobility find the current Sindacio to be weak or counterproductive to the interests of the nobility at large.

The Sindacio of a city is free to structure his or her administration how he or she sees fit, often rewarding particularly loyal or competent noble families with a lofty position in the city's offices. Such offices range from Master of the Treasury to Master-at-Arms, encompassing such duties as collecting taxes, enforcing laws, managing the city watch, or taking on new constructions. The most valued positions in the Sindacio's court in Belerno are the Master of the Port and the Master of the Canal, who comprise the agencies responsible for policing and taxing the inflow and outflow of goods throughout the city with a focus on goods bound for other city-states or within the city itself.

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Row 1 - the Notable Families of the Court

The Nicoli Family - Sindacio of Belerno
Presently, the city answers to the Nicoli family, helmed by Clemenzia Nicoli, the first female Sindacio of the city in nearly 80 years. The family sigil is comprised of two winged pegasi holding aloft a blue and white shield with a sunburst at its center, wreathed in blue nightshade flowers, a nod to the Nicoli family's poisoning of the Council of the Thirteen, the original merchant princes of Belerno in the days of the city as a haven for the rich merchants of southern Ethol.

In the years since the Nicoli family has been a political powerhouse in the city of Belerno with strong ties to the political elite of the other cities comprising the Principality. It has leveraged these connections to greater political relevance within Belerno proper, accepting external aid in political squabbles and negotiating trade deals with other nobles that favor the Nicoli family's key trade goods: wine, cheese, and spices.

Though not new to the position as Sindacio of Belerno, the Nicoli family has nonetheless not been so powerful in well over a century, and changes in the Sindacio are frequent, occurring almost parallel to the death of the previous ruler. Sindacio Clemenzia has proven herself to be a competent ruler, beloved by the masses and fiercely desired by the male heirs of the other noble households, granting her an immunity otherwise not common to nobles as the other houses wish to keep the consideration of a strategic marriage on the table.

A well-schooled woman of 23 years, uncommon for the women of Belerno regardless of station, Clemenzia practices realpolitik as taught by the universities of the rest of the Principality, combining the preservation of self interest with pragmatism to great effect. Despite her relatively old age and unmarried status, she remains a sought-after piece in the political game of Belerno on account of her skill and position, though nothing is more valuable than her network of advisors. Comprised of ranking nobility and merchants from several of the lower houses of Belerno, Sindacio Clemenzia's network has spies and courtiers everywhere that inform her every move.

The Castaldo Family - Master of the Port
The Castaldo family has served as the Master of the Port since the assimilation of Belerno into the Principality, with ties to the Council of the Thirteen of old. Its sigil pays homage to the nautical roots of the city, portraying a seagull with wings outstretched over a shield with a red sunrise over blue and red waters. The red waters represent the blood spilled at the Final Feast, wherein every ranking member of the Council of the Thirteen was poisoned and their underlings killed and tossed into the canals.

Since that day, the Castaldo family has harbored deep-seeded resentment for the Nicoli family, but has served faithfully as the Master of the Port regardless of which house bears the title of Sindacio. The Castaldo family has even refused the title of Sindacio in years past, believing it most true to its mercantile roots dealing with the merchants. The real reason for this refusal is far less idealistic, for the Castaldo family is the richest family in the city by far , able to tax the incoming and outgoing merchants however they please. These taxes inevitable trickle up to the Sindacio's house, but the Castaldo family has long maintained a reputation for cooking its books and pocketing the change, which it uses to sabotage and interfere with the political manuevers of its rivals throughout the city.

Laviano Castaldo III currently rules as the household's patriarch, an aged man nearing his 70th name day. His grandfather was Laviano Castaldo I, richest of the Council of the Thirteen before he was poisoned and subsequently had his throat cut by a Nicoli thug at dinner, his body left to grow rotten and waterlogged in the canals. Though older than most in the city, he bears with him a pride and strength not seen in men half his age, carrying himself with the nobility of a lion.

The Marinaccio Family - Master of the Canal
The Marinaccio family is the youngest noble family to set upon the Sindacio's court, having earned its keep in its support of the Nicoli's family rise to prominence by its official recommendation of Clemenzia's nomination to the office of Sindacio. For this favor, it was given sway over the canals of the city, raking in tax revenue from internal trade of the city. In its prior life, the Marinaccio family made its fortune consolidating control over the budding fishmonger business of Belerno before setting its gaze upon acquiring fishing vessels of all stripes that dotted the Golden Coast. Its sigil reflects its fish-bound roots, portraying a golden fishing spear with two bent prongs upon a rich purple field.

Since its appointment to a seat upon the Sindacio's court, the Marinaccio family has served the Nicoli family blindly, and is one of its most powerful informants. Since the Pesce Nero has historically been owned and operated by the Master of the Canal, none can know for certain if the gondolier ferrying this noble or that to his or her destination is a Marinaccio spy, who will gladly pass the information he learns up through the ranks and right into the ears of Sindacio Clemenzia.

The current patriarch of the family, Telchide Marinaccio, is a fellow graduate alongside Clemenzia Nicoli, and the two share a common appreciation for politics as a science. Their bond is forged through joint studying and hardship, and though the familial bonds are strong, they are dwarfed in comparison to the personal binds between the two families' rulers.

The Stavrakos Family - Master of the Interior
Though rare, there comes once in a generation a family from the other city-states of the Principality in search of a new venture, often helmed by a young upstart with little shot at the family inheritance. Such young pups often marry rich, and leverage their new or adopted family name to grow their personal wealth and power. Such is the story of Lazaros Stavrakos, a man now approaching his 50th year who began life as the 5th son of 5 in the branch of the Stavrakos family in Vallavonia. He brought with him his family sigil - a pale purple shield decorated in white cloth and bearing a white grape leaf, for which Lazaros has grown known for dabbling in alongside a handful of other luxury foodstuffs.

The Stavrakos family serves the court of the Sindacio in the capacity of the Master of the Interior, responsible for auditing the trade records of merchants and the finances of the other noble houses to ensure they are honestly paying their taxes to the Sindacio for the privilege of being allowed to continue their rule in the city. It is a thankless job, one suited for one with nothing to lose. Though Lazaros runs the risk of daily being shaken down or killed for his insistence that the nobility of Belerno play by the rules (or, more specifically, bend to the wishes of the Sindacio), it is a niche he can fill that keeps him and his family relevant.

Lazaros met the current Sindacio while visiting the city, and had a marriage arranged with one of the families within Clemenzia's inner circle to both bolster that family's commitment to the Nicoli family and ensured Lazaros' loyalty since the Nicoli family secured his position within one of the richest cities in the Principality.

The Garbarino Family - Master of the Watch
In the early days of Belerno the City Watch was less of an organized entity, and comprised mostly of the Council of the Thirteen's private sellswords and household guard enforcing laws within the borders of their respective territories in what is charmingly similar to the ways the gangs of the city operate today. Laws, and more importantly their enforcement, varied wildly from district to district until the assassination of the Thirteen and the assimilation of the city into the Principality. Once the SIndacio system was put into place, the Watch became a part of the central administration of the city. Presently, the Garbarino family holds that honor, controlling much of the city's regulated and funded watchmen.

The Garbarino family's history stretches back to the time of the Council of the Thirteen, where it made its fortune consolidating and offering sellsword services to the wealthy merchants that dotted the city. Today it still operates the Blackfin Company, a company of mercenaries who are just as skilled navigating the sprawling alleyways of Belerno as they are fighting ship to ship. Beholden to their fierce and warlike routes, the Garbarino family sigil sports a sea serpent wrapped around a golden trident on a field of deep blue often fringed at the ends with waves.

Though the Master of the Watch has changed hands frequently, none have quite so solid a reputation holding the office as does the Garbarino family. It is believed that the family will often flood the ranks of the Watch with especially loyal members of the Blackfin Company upon hearing the news they are to be replaced, and find themselves back on top through what outsiders refer to a level of bullying and butchery not seen even among the street gangs of Belerno.

Damiano Garbarino presently resides as head of the family and is a veteran of the Blackfin Company, as is often the tradition of male heirs to the family's head. He is ruthless and cunning, and the 2nd son of 4, the oldest having perished in a pirate raid off the Golden Coast just a few months after ascending to the position of family head. Damiano is loyal to the Nicoli family to a point, since most often the Master of the Watch is the most integral in replacing the sitting Sindacio none tend to be too friendly towards the ruling family should a better offer arise from powers from outside the Sindacio's court.

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Row 2 - Minor Households and Households of Prior Renown

The Primevera Family - Ruler of the Banca Bianca District
The Primevera Family rules the financial district of the city, which itself does not land it on the Sindacio's court but gives it prominence nonetheless. Though interest rates and terms of finance are often handed down by the office of the SIndacio or Master of the Interior, the family in charges of the Banca are afforded a level of prominence and renown and often maintain a solid share of the taxes they collect from the financing of merchants and foreign powers. Their coat of arms portrays a stag's side profile gazing westward towards the easterly winds upon which the ships enter Belerno and bring with them wealth in abundance for the Banca. Often the sigil is wreathed in laurels and adorned with a pair of swords, owning to the family's prior position of prominence in the Principality's long-disbanded standing army as ranking members of the admiralty.

The Corradetti Family - Previous Master of the Canal
Before the Nicoli family was appointed to the position of Sindacio the Corradetti family held the position of Master of the Canal, serving the previously instated Di Paola family in what can only be described as a lackluster way. Canal tithe revenues to the Sindacio were cut nearly in half under the tenure of the Corradetti family, due almost entirely to a failure to collect fees in a timely manner. Additionally, the family was so wantonly corrupt and indebted that a severe conflict of interest presented itself in the form of fee skimming, leading to the disgrace and eventual replacement of the family. Now, the Corradetti family has collapsed almost entirely to pay back its debts, its few remaining enriched members scrambling to cling to what they still own. Its sigil still bears the crowned bear of old, a homage to the family's service as Sindacio back in the early days of the city's assimilation into the Principality but seemingly gone are the days of the sigil's weight and import in any regard.

The Vardaro Family - Sponsors of the Naval Academy of Nine Princes
The Principality of Biranchini is largely a naval power, scattered along the Golden Coast and the handful of islands that dot it. Its navy, when it so chooses to call its sailors to arms to serve under a unified banner and not under the banners of the city-states that encompass the Principality, is one of the most proficient and skilled in the world. Belerno was chosen as the place for the Principality's naval academy, where it trains the sailors of the city-states' respective navies and some affluent officers from around the world. The Vardaro family has operated this academy, and is a house otherwise of little regard otherwise save for a long track record elsewhere in the Principality of brilliant admirals and naval officers. Its house sigil is a ship upon a black and white field overtop a sea serpent looking downward clutching a silver star, from which the navy of the Principality derives its highest honor badge.

The Del Duca Family - Ruler of the Temple District
The Temple District houses the temples that are erected in honor of the 11 deities of the south of Ethol and is nestled far away from many of the poorer districts in the city. It is here that the Del Duca family resides, and has served as the stewards of the Temple District since its creation. It is believed that the early founders of the family were not one family but several, comprising high ranking officials and priests from each of the 11 deities who bound themselves together to bolster their bargaining power and increase the odds that one of the children of the joint family would rise to prominence politically. In the years since, the Del Duca family has drifted increasingly from its religious roots, and has invested heavily in the food supply and shipment of the Principality, for which it takes its sigil. Still, the children of the family are expected to study theology and partake in a year long apprenticeship of one of the temples to honor their heritage.

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Row 3 - External Powers and Institutions

The Megherbi Sultanate
East of Cethol resides the Megherbi Sultanate, a relatively small player upon the world stage but rich in gold, silver, and spices from the far east. Its inhabitants frequent Belerno and comprise its largest non-native group, surpassing even others from the continent of Ethol. The Sultanate's diplomatic arm, the Sons of Uthmaa, interacts extensively with the rest of the world under its golden shield crossed with the Sword of Knowledge and Scroll of Faith. The Scions of Uthmaa spread the Faith of Uthmaa around the world, and there is talk of adding Uthmaa to the 11 deities paid homage to in Belerno.

The Kingdom of Athad
In its prior life, the Kingdom of Athad was a power which dominated much of Ethol north of the Golden Coast. In recent years its power has waned, and much of its control over its domain has faltered, leaving only the territory it held at the beginning of its conquest. Slow to adopt the new Cultural Awakening, the Kingdom of Athad has just only recently begun to reinstate trade with the Principality at large for fear that it will decline further into irrelevance. Its kingdom flag mirrors the coat of arms of its ruling family, the Ladztbergs of Stonehill, which is decorated in green and purple featuring symbols of prominence in the mythology and theology of the Kingdom.

The Church of the Eleven
Eleven deities makeup the pantheon of gods in much of Ethol, but nowhere more devoutly worshipped are the Eleven than in the Principality, which in olden times was the birthplace of the faith. The Church of the Eleven's is headquartered in the Crown City of Rafiano in the Cathedral of the Eleven Graceful Sacraments, wherein each of the eleven deities are praised jointly. Elsewhere in the Principality, the Eleven are worshipped in their own separate temples.

The Principality of Biranchini
The Principality of Biranchini represents 11 city-states across the Golden Coast and its surrounding isles, formed as a loose confederacy with a weak central government operating out of the Crown City of Rafiano where resides the Council of Princes, formed of the 10 Sindacio from the other cities with the Sindacio of the Crown City serving to break ties when matters of state are addressed in the Council's annual meeting. The sigil of the Principality is purple and blue diamond dotted with 10 stars on either flank, one for each city-state, with one at its center beneath a crescent moon representing the Crown City and is connected to the heavens. This detail is a relic from a time when the Principality was the seat of a great holy empire that dotted much of Ethol, from the last ruler of which the Crown City takes its name. Beneath the main Principality's sigil rests the white flower and blue leaves of the current Principe de Principe of the city.

The Holy Empire of Ethol
Though the Golden Coast is perhaps the most profitable and prosperous country on the continent of Ethol, the Holy Empire of Ethol is the largest. Comprising much of the northern mainland of the continent, the Holy Empire began its life as a religious state worshipping the True God Sommos. Being a monotheistic religion, the faith of Sommos spread rapidly in the early days of Ethol, though its influenced was resisted along the Golden Coast to the south and other reaches further east and west. After a series of civil wars and successions that have left the Holy Empire in disarray and at risk of collapse into several warring nations, the current ruling family under the sigil of the Vine of Sommos (a symbol of everlasting and eternal life) have launched an inquisition to purge nonbelievers and dissenters from the Holy Empire.

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The Gangs of Belerno

Gangs take on an identity not too dissimilar from the noble families of Belerno - each gang's leader, or capo, owns a territory within the city stretching from a few blocks to sometimes an entire district. All criminal activity in that territory, be it petty pickpocketing or the trafficking of contraband, is subject to taxation by the territory's capo as a form of homage and gratitude for the ability to commit crime without the potential for retaliation or violence. So long as this sort of trade exists, gangers can operate more or less unimpeded in the territory of others, though like any business enterprise some gangs cannot stand competition in their field of expertise. Violence in the streets is common, especially when conflicting business interests are concerned. Petty thieves crossing gang lines is one matter, smuggling contraband through territory unannounced is another entirely.

The gangs of Belerno frequently tip off the City Watch or utilize corrupt watchmen to stamp out rivals, or else utilize their own armed bruisers to enforce their will. The streets of Belerno are constantly abuzz with violence between the gangs, lending the city a reputation for constantly being at war with itself for the City Watch round up and bludgeon or brutalize all those they can in the city if they are not already in the pockets of this capo or that.

The nobility of Belerno for the most part are blissfully ignorant to the gangs which benefit them and downright ruthless to those who harm their interests. Meetings between nobles and capos are not uncommon, and often deals are struck whereby capos are granted clemency or immunity within a certain district of the city or otherwise given the favors of the nobility in exchange for favors of a more discrete kind. These sorts of arrangements are usually made with the noose hanging over the head of the capos, for rarely does a noble ever casually approach a capo with such a proposition and expect to return unscathed or with their coin purses at all full.

Gangs are organized in a loose sort of hierarchy. At the top rest the capos, who tend to view their authority in their territory as absolute and are constantly vying to steal the territory of other capos to expand their business interests and influence. Beneath the capos are the tenentes who lead the actual crews that do most of the actual work. The specialty of individual tenentes differs wildly - some are excellent second story burglars, others talented smugglers, and a select few dare the world of politically motivated jobs. Persona rank below the tenentes and are the individual crew members who swear fealty up the chain, paying a cut of their earnings to the tenentes who in turn pay up to the capos.

Infighting between tenentes is somewhat commonplace, and is usually left undisturbed unless it threatens key crews or the stability of any capo's regime. The turnover of capos is high in such squabbles that reach a critical mass - like any Sindacio, a capo must be prepared for a coup attempt at any time from his underlings. Most choose to project strength above all, punishing infractions with a seemingly random zeal in order to appear more omniscient and oppressively present than they truly are. Others, the more paranoid sort, simply keep tabs on all their tenentes and comings and goings in their territory.

LANDMARKS AND DISTRICTS

The Grand Canals
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There run three Grand Canals through the city of Belerno. The Patane Canal runs north-south, cutting the city into its western and eastern halves. The Patane is wide enough to service proper shipping galleons, though it has not done so in years. It instead is filled aplenty with small gondolas and canal barges ferrying goods and people about the city in what has come to be the city of Belerno's main road. Wealthy households and offices of particularly influential and rich merchants rest along the flanks of the Patane, which meets with the Argiro and D'Ambra Canals in the city center, where the Grand Canals are their widest and most congested with traffic before splintering off into the capillaries of the city. Argiro and D'Ambra run west-east and northwest-southeast respectively, forming their own cross sections of the city in kind.

Palace of Giustizia
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Towards the city center rests the Palace of Giustizia, the official state household of the Sindacio that once stood as the meeting grounds for the Council of the Thirteen of old Belerno. Beautifully wrought with fine architecture and columns formed of statues of each of the original Thirteen Families of Old Belerno, the Palace of Giustizia is as imposing for thieves as it is inspiring for upstart nobles. Just off of the central intersection of the Grand Canals in the laureled Distritto de Diritto, the Palace of Giustizia is often lined with the hanging corpses of thieves and murderers as a projection of the Sindacio's justice and a reminder to thieves of the fate of those who would rob the city of its wealth. All the nobles in Belerno dream of one day residing within the historical halls of the Palace, and the gardens are both a lovely place to walk as much as they are a breeding ground for gossips and rumors that often fall upon the unintended ears of many a court spy.

The Banca Bianca District
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The Banca Bianca District comprises a small corner of the city's northeastern corridor, along one of the main canals that branches off of the Patane Canal and is accessible by seafaring vessel on its northern most point. Its structures are a mostly pristine ivory white and decorated with statues and architectural flourishes designed by some of the chief contemporary minds of the Cultural Awakening. Bountiful and verdantly green gardens dot the district, and many of the city's wealthiest moneylenders, accountants, actuaries, and other bookkeepers reside here, conducting their business largely with foreign traders and merchants. Goods are counted and insured, loan meetings are held, and the fortunes of the rich and powerful stored. So much wealth resides in the Banca Bianca District that it contains its own contingent of the City Watch of equal size to half that which covers the rest of the city for fear of elaborate heists and civil unrest sparking into a rush upon the banks.

The Warrens
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The Warrens is a district of the city renowned for its concentration of gangers, thieves, and brigands that comprises much of the southwestern corridor of Belerno. The key canal streets of the district are respectable enough, but often what looks to be harmless shopfronts and domiciles are instead fronts for many of the districts capos and tenentes when discretion and a clean source of revenue are needed. By no means the poorest district of Belerno, the Warrens is instead viewed as a den of crime and safe haven for those of less than pure intentions. Many a ruthless and renowned capo has gotten his or her start in the Warrens, and for many criminals in the city operating in and about the Warrens is viewed as the highlight of one's career and a proving grounds for many gangers who will eventually wind up elsewhere in the city. The City Watch in the Warrens swings wildly from brutally oppressive to hilariously corrupt with few good, honest watchmen left in between.

The Temple District & Gods of the Eleven
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Nestled by the Distritto de Diritto, the Temple District of Belerno is one of the newest additions to the city, dating back only about 120 years, about the time of the assimilation of the city-state into the Principality. What came before it was a series of cathedrals which paid honor to a plethora of gods, but as part of the few requirements of the Principality is an official recognition of the Eleven and so the older District of the Martyred was instead replaced with the Temple District in a construction effort which took the better part of a century to complete with some temples still in-progress to this day. Its canals are well-kept for the most part, and the architecture varies wildly from temple to temple, creating an interesting fusion of architectural styles common within the Principality. All are welcome within the Temple District to pay their respects to the Eleven, though there are lesser churches in their honor about the city.

Delaphina | Goddess of Fate, Destiny, and Luck​

Delaphina is depicted as a two-faced woman clad in a billowing white and black cloak, carrying aloft a merchant's scale in one hand and a scroll in the other. One eye remains shut to corrupting influence, the other open to scrutinize the souls of mortals. She judges the character of mortals'' souls with her scales, inscribes their name upon her scroll, and casts them to eternal bliss or damnation. She is also portrayed as a being of great and potent foresight, able to open her shut eye to gaze into the future and down the many branching paths of the fate of mortals. The priests of Delaphina often forfeit one eye to mimic the Lady of Fate, believing it to grant them a fraction of her foresight and perception.

Mildarante | God of Death, Decay, and Disease​

Few dare utter the name of Mildarante, for fear that his cold touch is lurking about a corner. Though Delaphina holds the keys to the afterlife, it is Mildarante who collects the souls of the deceased and ferries them to the feet of Delaphina. Mildarante is depicted as a dark and sinister figure, pallid of skin and sickly of complexion. His face is cast in shadows so intense as to make it impossible to make out anything among his gaunt features. Mildarante is accredited with the creation and spread of disease as a way of reaping the souls of those deemed unfit or unworthy to live, spreading his ill humors wherever he walks. There are few priests of Mildarante, who often employ workers to clear the dead and will themselves pray to ward off sickness. Rarely do such prayers do much, leaving the Sindacio to have to resort to more brutal means to quell disease.

Typros | God of Shadows, Thieves, and Crookedness​

While few enough dare to speak the name of the God of Death, fewer still in good company ever dare mention Typros. Typros is the patron saint of thieves, assassins, and other criminals, and one would be hard-pressed to find a single capo or tenente who does not have some idol or shrine in honor of Typros. When a watchman becomes distracted on his watch, when a teller of the banca forgets to lock the doors to the vault behind him, or when a noble neglects to tighten his purse strings before heading to the Warrens, the followers of Typros smile and thank their patron. Typros is depicted as a shaded outline in most art and statues, and mentioning him within earshot of the City Watch or any self-declared decent, working folk is a swift way to end up swinging about the neck on a rope on the approach to the Palace of Giustiza. Influential capos and tenentes often serve as priests of Typros proper, serving as influential figureheads in the criminal underground.

Iraura | Goddess of Family, Legacy, and Parenthood​

Iraura's place among the Eleven is that of guiding the wisdom and respect of prior generations to the next. Her domain is that of familial bonds, family legacy, and fertility and she is often portrayed as a woman of middling years ferrying about a handful of diminutive children ranging from babes to grown adults that come to about her knees. Recently in Belerno especially, Iraura has added those widowed and orphaned to those within her domain on account of increased civil unrest in the form of gang violence and disease, encompassing those with or without a living family. When family members grieve the passing of a loved one, it is to Iraura they pray for guidance in the afterlife and for her to sway Delaphina's hand in her final judgment.

Paruna | God of Seas, Weather, and Voyages​

Paruna is among the oldest of the deities of the Eleven, dating back to the early days of settlement along the Golden Coast. The oldest ruins of temples and shrines depict Paruna as a being as both man and fish, covered in scales and possessing gills while clutching a trident. Later renditions, in compliance with more stringent and strict church guidelines, have instead portrayed the god in the armor of the Eurymosdion, ancient seafarers of the Golden Coast of old who dressed in scaled armor, wore faceless helmets, and brandished rounds shields alongside long spears. His shrines and places of worship can be seen in every port, and often adorn the entryways from the canals to residences. Ship captains will pay tribute to Paruna before and after a voyage by tossing a bit of hard tack and jerky into the water once in the wide ocean and once again within sight of land for good fortune and guidance.

Istarr | God of Arts, Sciences, and Knowledge​

Istarr's legacy is one of mixed reception throughout the history of the Eleven, drifting from bearer of forbidden knowledge to idol of praise and worship in the span of a few generations. His earliest renditions along the Golden Coast portrayed him as a corrupting figure whose influence would cause those of righteous and noble intent to stray off into the realms of dark and evil knowledge. Intellectual pursuits until the Cultural Awakening were viewed as unnecessary by much of the population, save for the select few wisemen of the courts of the Kings of Etholamere, which was the old name for southern Ethol. In the days since, with a rekindled interest in the arts and sciences, Istarr has found a home among the intelligencier of the Principality, with statues and temples erected in universities and workshops of known artists and thinkers. Istarr himself is often displayed as a scholarly persona dressed in flowing robes carrying with him a quill and a sextant.

Rordos | God of War, Strategy, and Valor​

Warfare along the Golden Coast was a common phenomenon up until the establishment of the Principality of Biranchini and its subsequent domination of Etholamere. The kings of old waged near-constant war with one another for resources, and when there armies went to battle, it was with prayers to Rordos upon their lips. Rordos' depiction varies the most about the Principality, drifting from his more historical roots as an inhumanely large brute of a man to his more modern interpretation as a member of the warrior nobility dressed in elaborate plate armor. No matter his origins, Rordos is believed to answer the calls of mortal men destined for the field of battle with insight, skill, and strength to defeat their foes and many of the schools teaching martial arts about the Principality house a shrine honoring the god with regular offerings made of small infantry daggers, which are planted or stabbed into a soft, malleable material at the base of each shrine as a token of good faith for Rordos giving one the skill and strength needed to slay his foes.

Rameriaye | Goddess of Commerce, Trade, and Merchants​

The sister of Paruna, Rameriaye is believed to safeguard the goods aboard vessels by conferring with her godly brother of the seas and then ensuring safe passage over and under land. Additionally, Rameriaye is said to oversee all trades for fairness and value, carrying a merchant's scale and quill and parchment full of sums. Marketplaces will frequently be centered about statues of Rameriaye, who is believed to keep a watchful eye for conmen and thieves and bad traders. Rarely does her baleful gaze do anything, for pickpockets are at their more successful and plentiful in the markets of the Principality, but tradition dictates that such thieves are handed to the followers of Rameriaye for branding should they be caught stealing within the confines of a marketplace.

Kavlios | God of Labor, Sacrifice, and Martyrs​

Throughout the history of the Golden Coast, Kavlios has been the symbol of the peasantry and serfs. His was an approachable visage - humbly downtrodden, shouldering a massive plough atop broad shoulders, Kavlios was made in the image of the ideal worker. His temples were built in every farming and fishing village about Etholamere as a tribute both to the god and to the workers who toiled under the sun and in the bitter cold of winter to till the fields and harvest the crops. His worship is less pronounced in cities, though often priests of Kavlios will pray over food and works of physical labor to fortify it and ward off any bad humors that might be lingering.

Emphy | Goddess of Beauty, Love, and Emotion​

Emphy is an unusual outlier in the Eleven in that her priesthood is comprised entirely of women, ironically concealed in long flowing robes of ivory white trimmed with gold. Emphy herself reflects the image of a perfect women along the Golden Coast - curved at the bust and hips, of pale complexion, and golden hair. She is the patron saint of brothels of particular renown, the sorts that only nobles can afford, and often her priestesses will themselves partake in the act as a sort of faithful observance of the mortal pleasures Emphy is believed to encourage. Elsewise, Emphy's followers and teachings encourage the mutual support of women, leading to vibrant social circles often among the higher class.

Aarae | Goddess of Nature, Beasts, and Stone​

The sister of Kavlio, Aarae is the warden of the natural and is rarely worshipped within the cities of the Principality save for in the gardens of the nobility. She works alongside her brother to protect the natural world, granting the crops the strength they need to grow strong and the cattle the wisdom to flee from the wolf. Aarae is often depicted as a nude woman bedecked in rolling vines, a floral crown about her head, her skin supposedly as tough as bark but as splendid to look upon as marble. There are no official priests of Aarae, and her temples are often viewed as storage houses for seeds and saplings, even in the cities of the Golden Coast.

The Golden Row
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The Golden Row is a stretch of canals veering off of the Grand Canals due east that connects to the open Castellan Sea and is one of the few points of direct access from the city to the sea that does not cut through one of Belerno's many ports. The houses here are well-maintained, but not elaborate. The streets are clean, but not pristine. The citizens are well-dressed, but practical. Along the Golden Row reside the city's burgeoning middle mercantile class and their businesses, protected from a great deal of the city's usual crime by virtue of being wedged between two well-to-do noble sectors of the city. Still, petty thieves - lockpicks, pickpockets, and the like - are a common occurrence, and the City Watch here serves its role admirably enough free of corruption.

Pozzo Dell'Inferno
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The Pozzo Dell'Inferno rests at the southern underbelly of the city, far away from the banca and merchants and houses of nobility. Here the water runs a murky green and brown, and the dwellings are crammed one on top of the other. They sag and creak in places they should not, and are infested with mold and rats. It is here the modern-day peasants and serfs of the city reside in infested dwellings ravaged by gang violence, disease, and brutal City Watch patrols. Though every district has its equivalent few blocks of equal ill-renown as the Pozzo Dell'Inferno, none are quite so large or institutional. It is said the best thieves are raised in the Pozzo, with a great many going on to rise to the ranks of capos of particular infamy.

The Duke's District
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In the early days of Belerno, the Duke's District was named such for the concentration of affluent foreign dignitaries and diplomats sent to negotiate with the Council of the Thirteen. Such nobility would be given temporary quarters within the Duke's District, for the Thirteen feared that any permanent establishment of foreign nobility would lead to the eventual corruption of the Merchant's Paradise (a reality that would eventually come to pass with the Nicoli family arrived from the Crown City). In the years that followed the downfall of the Thirteen and the assimilation of Belerno into the Principality, the Duke's Distract fell rapidly from the height of grandeur seconded only by the palaces of the merchant kings to shabbiness and disrepair. It now houses much of the working class of the city, though has avoided much of the decline seen in the Pozzo if only because there still resides a shred of its former glory in the aged and decaying structures, and it happens to still border some of the richer districts of the city.

Distritto de Diritto
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When matters of state and law are discussed and debated by the rulers of the city, it is most often within the Distritto de Diritto. Towards the center of the city, the Distritto de Diritto houses all of the various heads and offices necessary to run the city of Belerno and every infleuntial family owns at least one office space there. Residential structures are uncommon here, and instead there are intricately wrought and beautifully designed structures of pale stone with domed rooves. Statues of statesmen and generals and other heroes adorn the Distritto de Diritto, along with the street known as Hangman's Row. Here criminals are hanged and left to serve as a reminder of transgression against the city and the Sindacio.

The Prendere Fuoco District
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Near the Distritto de Diritto resides the universities and colleges of Belerno, for which the city is not particularly renowned. Its universities are third rate to other cities within the Principality, though its schools teaching statecraft and practical schools of money counting and sums are second to none. The Prendere Fuoco is bedecked in plain, uninspired architecture so unremarkable one would be forgiven for thinking they were instead in one of the several other residential districts about the city. Only the colleges themselves boast any architectural majesty, the other structures comprising the district being largely for student and instructor lodging and whatever businesses are needed to support them.

The District of Ash
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The District of Ash was once a district full of life and commerce in the northwestern sector of Belerno, frequented by the political elite and considered generally safe to reside in while being affordable for the city's working class. With the coming of the ongoing epidemic of the Yellow Panic, named so for its propensity to create yellow pustules, the district was the first to come down with the illness. In the years since the Sindacio's office has created its Quarantine Guard to prevent the kind of desolation seen in the District of Ash. A dozen cases came from the district's docks from traders bound north and spread through the district's poorer streets like wildfire, dropping hundreds in its wake. Riots sparked, the City Watch came down hard on dissenters, and before the year was up the formerly known Gilded District became the District of Ash. It still remains largely abandoned, like many other plague-ridden districts since, which has made it a choice meeting spot for all sorts of illegal activity.

The Aradia District
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The Aradia District is perhaps the exemplar of a standard city district in Belerno, with a mixture of working class, merchants, and political elite all interwoven in a central district. With access to the Great Canals, the Aradia District is perhaps ever so more prosperous than other districts about the city, but is still of middling wealth. Craftsmen, thieves, guards, nobles, merchants all reside within a few blocks of one another and the architecture and layout will shift from the crammed narrow alleys and canals of poor homes to the wide streets and lavish cleanliness of the manors of the rich and powerful.

The Houses of the Swordfin, Shark, and Crab
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The nobility of Belerno still root themselves in a martial tradition hailing from the city state's martial history during the feudal wars of succession that disrupted the Ethol continent after the collapse of the grand Gilded Empire of ages past. When Belerno was adopted into the Principality, many of its schools practicing and teaching the martial arts of the Golden Coast were made redundant by their counterparts elsewhere in the Principality and either faded due to mundane budgetary shortcomings or merged with their cousins in the other city states.

Still three arts of martial combat remain in Belerno, named after various fish for which the city state is renowned: the Swordfin, Shark, and Crab. Each art has its own house in turn that dedicates itself to teaching that art, and though they all rely on core tenets common along the Golden Coast, the three arts themselves can vary wildly in their applications. Those schooled in the art of the Swordfin typically rely upon swift movements with fencing blades - the long sword, rapier, and dagger are their tools of choice. The Shark favors heavier armaments such as hatchets, halberds, and other polearms. Lastly, the Crab teaches methods of fighting meant to disarm and incapacitate opponents through a combination of weapons meant to catch opponents' blades and the old art of unarmed combat of the feudal times of the Golden Coast.

 

[ze_kraken]

Background Music

Alfa Slab One
Eczar
Ramabhadra

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THE WORWOOD BRIDGE

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Thunder rolled over the horizon and lightning crackled.

It was the sort of storm born of spring's warm embrace meeting the harsh bite of winter as the month of Selat reached its end and Gess took its place. The second of the world's twin moons was visible by day now, the ghostly pale green visage of Linsinius casting its pallid, sickly glow in the hours of dawn and twilight. Halevar could have sworn he could just barely detect the faintest green tinge from Linsinius' light framing the roiling grey storm clouds, but then it was just as likely the lightning left traces of its flashing brilliance etched on his eyes, for when he blinked hazy green flashes danced behind his eyelids.

Halevar's horse whinnied as another clap of thunder boomed and the wind picked up, violently surging into his face from the north. There was something different about the wind - it was not laced with the pleasant smell of a spring day's rain, nor did it carry with it the subtlest tinge of blooming life. His horse had noticed it too, its whinnies of concern at the booming thunder replaced with a sudden cautious whimper. Its head swiveled about, nostrils flaring as it attempted to discern the scent. Halevar likewise lifted his head and sniffed at the air, catching the same whiff of unpleasantness borne upon the wind as another gust battered him and his steed.

Then he recognized it. It was a scent all men dreaded, and one he had grown accustomed to over his years patrolling the base of the Shroud. It was the scent of iron, blood, and sulfur. It was the smell of the Other. Halevar shuddered and glanced about the trail lining what had once been the moat that lined the lowest ring of the Shroud, now little more than a barely flowing creek. Ahead was the Worwood Bridge, majesty almost amplified by its ruined state that shouldered the weight of centuries of trade and commerce that had once flowed through this very valley like blood through veins.

And it was Halevar's best hope.

Urging his horse into a gallop, Halevar guided the beast in the direction of the bridge, veering down into the ankle-high water below the trail. Thunder continued to boom in the distance, and another gust of wind brought once more the scent of the Other careening down the valley. His horse whinnied in fear, for it was a scent it knew, as well as any man, meant danger. The storm was growing closer now, and Halevar could almost drown out his own beating heart and the rush of the foul-scented wind as the frantic tromping of his horse's hooves met the damp and water-clogged earth of the river basin.

As he neared the base of the Worwood Bridge he could see them now, like blotches of ink upon a piece of parchment. First there were two, then three, then four, all rounding the horizon with a casual, nonchalant air. Were it not for the unnatural hue of black that clung to their armor like a thick fog laced in crackling red energies, they might have been mistaken for mere men, or perhaps even the thin bodies of trees yet told of winter's passing. In their hands they brandished swords of the same otherworldly hue, and for a moment Halevar was lost in the beauty of the figures against the backdrop of the coming storm beyond them.

His horse arrived at the base of the bridge, and he left it there, picketing it to a fallen log and retrieving Lament from its saddlebags. The sword gleamed in a myriad of colors at its edge, pulsing a faint blue hue at its core as Halevar unsheathed it. He muttered a quick prayer to the Raven for guidance and courage, and for a painless death should he be taken into her embrace upon this eve.

With his last rights still fresh upon his tongue, Halevar scaled the rocky hill to the lone remaining turret that adorned the Worwood Bridge and peered out over the riverbed below. They were almost upon him now, walking in unison, red eyes fixated on their prey. They made no move to hasten their pace, letting fear take its toll upon their quarry as they advanced, leaving not even the faintest traces of footprints in the mud below. Halevar knew better than to shout insults and beat his chest against such foes and retreated towards the turret to his back, overlooking the flank upon which he knew they would stage their assault.

Minutes passed before the first of the foe made itself known, alabaster skull-like face peering over the rocks to spy Halevar awaiting it with sword at the ready. It hastened into a light jog, its black-edged sword coming into view not a moment later. Halevar stepped back towards the turret as the first advanced towards him, sword flashing in an arc with inhuman speed. Halevar's blade caught the creature's in a ringing clang that reverberated with all the force of a tower bell struck upon the hour. Before the creature could recover from the blow, Halevar's sword separated its head from its body with deadly ease and the foe crumpled into a pile of ash at his feet, heightening the foul scent of blood and sulfur upon the wind.

Thunder continued to boom and lightning flashed, briefly illuminating the bridge in its brilliant white and blue light. It framed the oncoming foes' flesh, but left hardly a dot of color upon their black armor. These three advanced as one, stepping over the fallen ash of their comrade as Halevar retreated towards the doorway of the turret. Then, sudden as the flashes of lightning overhead, they surged forth in unison, blades flashing. Halevar barely had time to duck into the turret as their swords skidded and sparked against the aged stone, sending chunks of it spraying in a fine rubble that clouded the air with dust.

Forced into a narrow column, the foes pressed the attack up the spiraling staircase of the turret, driving Halevar back with flurries of blows with their fiendishly long limbs. Halevar managed to catch the head of the column with a blow that cleaved its forearm off at the elbow, and it collapsed into ash a moment later only to be replaced by the second in line. This one too he dispatched as it overextended and lunged forward, but even as it reduced to nothingness its blade pierced the man's shoulder. He cried out in pain and stumbled backwards, feet slipping and threatening to send him careening into the awaiting kiss of the last one's blade.

Halevar collected himself and rushed up the stairs as the last of the four flew into a frenzy of lashing arms and sword swings, sending red sparks flying furiously about itself in its enraged attempt to slay the man before it. Before long the two stood atop the turret, thunder and lightning resuming their song overhead accompanied by the taps of a growing rainstorm. Halevar was exhausted - his blade seemed to weight thrice what it had before, his lungs pleaded for air, and his legs burned with equal pain and severity as the angry red burn in his shoulder. The scent of charred flesh intermixed with that of blood, sulfur, and spring air in a putrid blend that threatened to loosen the contents of his stomach.

He parried the first blow, stumbling on unsteady feet at the sudden contact of the blow. His mind was blank, driven by the burning need to survive, but that too was beginning to tire as he and the foe exchanged blow after blow. The rain was coming down harder now, drenching them both in its cold embrace. Only, where rain clung to Halevar's skin, it struck and hissed in puffs of steam off the creature's as it drove Halevar back until his back met the parapets of the tower.

In a last ditch effort to stay alive if only for one more moment, Halevar lifted his sword, clutching it by the flat and the hilt parallel to his shoulders to catch the creature's killing stroke. Their blades met. Halevar felt it snag. Felt the pressure and weight that took the creature off balance. With a sudden burst of energy, Halevar lurched forward and struck the creature's chin with his elbow, shrieking in pain as its flaming-hot body burned him even through his cloth armor. It staggered backward, and even as it rushed back to meet Halevar it found only volcite steel in its torso. Its own blade struck true, effortlessly slicing through flesh, skin, and bone, leaving the man it had maimed howling in pain and clutching the cauterized stump of his severed arm. It cackled in that crackling mockery of laughter before fading away, and Halevar blacked out atop the stone turret in pain even as the storm raged overhead...

 

[ze_kraken]

NATALIA PATITACCI
Marband | 18 | Verlendia, Atheno

Name:

Natalia Patitacci

Nicknames:

Nat (close friends only)

Race:

Marband

Age:

18

Home Territory:

Verlendia, Atheno

Profession:

Crown Princess, Noblewoman

Description:

Natalia has been described as an acquired taste by other Marband suitors, whose ideal woman is made of little more than curves and a brainless head with plump lips. Natalia, by contrast to this idealized notion of noble womanhood, is lanky and bears the scars of a sickly childhood: skinny at the arms and legs, and, charitably, flat as a washerwoman's board. Wide-set green eyes and lips seemingly perpetually parted to bare wide, but pleasantly white, teeth coupled with a slender grace to her face lend her a feminine air that might have made her among the great beauties of her time were it not for a childhood dominated by disease. Honey-brown hair is kept short about her face in loose curls, and she wears her hair loose as befitting of a maiden.

Rarely is Natalia seen in garments outside of the dress of statecraft and politics. She wears conservatively cut dresses, gowns, and cloaks of subdued colors ranging from forest greens to deep maroons, with a personal preference for rich purples with white details. She is rarely seen without her mother's wedding band tucked beneath her bodice or displayed about her neck upon a chain, which is inlaid with a fiery ruby, a gem with close connections to her family's heritage.

History:

The Patitacci family's line stretches back into the very history of Verlandia's formation. The Patitaccis are migrants from Taz'Dien's Range of Lore, from which they mined precious gems - chief among them the ruby, for which the family took its household's colors. A dark maroon tinged with elements of amber and yellow form the core of the Patitacci family's heraldry. Their sigil has been adapted to Verlandia's stylizations, depicting a mining pick clutched in the talons of a hawk along a field of maroon and purple after their marriage into Verlandia's noble families generations ago.

In the background of many notable events throughout Verlandia's history, the Patitacci family is often there in part. This comes as no surprise, as with its wealth still dug from the ground in the Range of Lore and several estates to its name, the Patitaccis enjoy a level of wealth influence not common even among the nobility. Chief among their accomplishments, however, is a seat at the Gilded Court, granting them unparalleled soft power in shaping the politics of Verlandia.

Natalia was born into a powerful family name, but name alone did not spare her from the ravages of nature. She spent much of her early childhood bed-ridden and sick, and did not fully recover until she was twelve, by which time she had taken on a gaunt appearance, one only just now beginning to widen out into something passing as healthy. Left immobile as she was, Natalia absorbed herself into books and stories, and relished at the tales of war her older brother told her, filtered of course for a child's ears. She grew up with ideas of escaping her prescribed life, full of its rules and expectations, to be free and adventure like her brother.

But, as the eldest girl in the family, she was left to play at court and entertain suitors. As is custom, by her 16th year, Natalia was set to be wed to another Crown Prince in the Gilded Court, adding another family to the collection the Patitaccis had established over the years and perhaps serving as another greater merger between noble households. For Natalia's part, she was invested in the courtship and engagement, only to be met with indifference by her future husband. Thus it was she was both thankful and disappointed when the wedding plans were delayed upon the announcement of the Dragon Egg Ceremony in Stavinburg, and both her family and her betrothed departed together to attend and further cement the bond between the households.

Strengths and Skills:

• Scholarship - Natalia is well-versed in the history and workings of the world, having spent much of her childhood with little to do but read and learn, much to her father's chagrin
• Socially Gifted - As befitting of her station as a woman at court, if not practiced in the fires of a real court then at least schooled in formal tutoring sessions, Natalis is well-versed and rather gifted at speaking kindly and avoiding social pitfalls
• Wealth and Connections - The Patitaccis are a powerful family, with several lesser houses under their control in Verlandia as well. A great many people owe her family favors, and their operation of several successful enterprises means that Natalia shall never be short for coin or favors
• Unassuming - There is nothing particularly noteworthy about Natalia at first glance when among equals, something she has learned to wield as gracefully as her brother might wield his sword
• Dexterous - Though Natalia could not muster the strength for much beyond walking about her chambers and the family library as a child, she adored dance lessons, and has remained nimble-footed and quick in her early adulthood as well

Ideals:

• Noble Womanhood - Natalia holds herself to a strict code of noble conduct, which at times can read as condescending but she acts with honor and intention, and is loathe to break from noble traditions
• "There is no life sweeter than the one I choose" - Natalia has lived her life romanticizing the image of a free spirit, viewing independence as the first component necessary in a full, complete life
• Romanticism - Though certainly extending to her romantic relationships, more generally, having grown up with several stories and books, Natalia generally views events through rose-tinted glasses she can't quite seem to forgo

Weaknesses and Vices:

• Naive - Natalia fancies herself a well-studied noblewoman, and though that may be true, she has very little practical experience with the world and a skewed view of how it works
• Scars of Sickness - Besides her talent at dancing, Natalia is frail and skinny, unable to put on much muscle or weight despite her best attempts to, leaving her out of shape
• Spoiled and Impatient - Natalia has never wanted for much, leaving her with an attitude of "I want it, and I want it now" - her patience is thinner than she is
• Expensive Tastes - Natalia will naturally default to the most expensive luxuries and items, even when unnecessary or improbable to be available, making her irritable to work with for those not accustomed to her wealth

Bonds and Banes:

• Familial Bonds - Natalia has as good a relationship with her parents as a noblewoman with great expectations on her shoulders can, and her relationship with her brother is stronger than steel, and she has even made a good impression on her betrothed's family in spite of her physical shortcomings
• Independent Streak - Whenever possible, Natalia will attempt to exert her independence to often destructive ends when not left in check by a commanding presence such as her father or brother
• Betrothed - Natalia's betrothed, Joshea Docecil, is well-connected to the military of Atheno and was raised as an officer in the Pale Guard with a decorated twelve years of service, from the time he was sixteen to the present day where he has been made a general of a regiment of foot soldiers instead

Motivation, Personal Goal, and Defining Act:

• MOTIVATION: Break free from a life whose path has been laid before her and discover herself through achieving her independence
• PERSONAL GOAL: Marry for love, not for politics to assert her status as an individual with claims to independence and self-motivation
• PERSONAL GOAL: Be raised to nobility beyond that of her current status of Crown Princess, placing her in charge of a city, kingdom, etc.
• DEFINING ACT: To be determined; her status as a rider will open Natalia to the life she has always wanted.