Allow me to tell you a little about myself. I am Professor Terrence Nydell, born and raised in the Amorynthian village of Middlewood on one fine Summer's Eve. My parents' only child, I was expected to stay in Middlewood and one day take over my father's humble whittling trade. But, being the imaginative child I was, young Terrence had greater things in mind. I was to slay dragons, earn riches and discover far-off lands unknown. And so one day, aged just fifteen, that's exactly what I set off to do.
I never looked back. You see, my dear Reader, I have always been an adventurer at heart. I was never able to sit still, constantly longing to be back on the road in search of discovery. Even now, on my deathbed, as I write this foreword for my life's work, my legs ache to once again walk the path untrodden.
In your hands lies a tome of knowledge unmatched in these realms. Through my adventures spanning more than half a century, I have collated a resource of information gathered from the furthest reaches of Tyrranian soil; and, in some cases, further still. This book is more than pages bound in leather; the product of sixty-three years of passionate exploration and discovery, this book is the essential tool for those with adventure in their hearts.
All adventures start somewhere, Reader. Yours starts here. And whilst my days of reconnoitre may be over, it would be my honour to guide you; to assist you; to be reliably by your side for one final quest.
In all my years of exploration, I was continuously surprised by how easily I fell in love with the new landscapes I discovered. Tyrrania is a world of such awe-inspiring beauty, from the vast mountains that burst holes in the clouds to the endless blankets of lush forest that caress the land; even the golden spread of poor Tumeken has a haunting emptiness that forces the heart to skip a beat.
I've been fortunate enough in my life to visit every opposing corner of Tyrrania, unearthing secrets a plenty and discovering the hidden treasures our fine land has to offer. Below, I detail my wealth of findings in the hopes that they will prove useful on your own travels. Attached overleaf is a map, illustrated beautifully under my own guidance by Amor's finest cartographer, Mr. R. Marnie. But remember, Reader; for every mystery I solved, a dozen more remain hidden, just waiting to be discovered.
· Amorynthia ·
Amorynthia is the largest and wealthiest kingdom in Tyrrania. Ruled by King Valdez III, the region has a reputation for being politically underhanded when it comes to monetary gains. The council stooped as low as to exploit Dwarven kind in order to gain the upperhand on the once-great nation of Tumeken. Amorynthia is the most diverse land in Tyrrania, with a wealth of races, terrains, religions and trades existing within King Valdez' rule.
Amor is one of Amorynthia’s two capital cities. Despite being the largest standing city in Tyrrania, it is known to Amorynthians as the ‘Second Capital’. It is built predominantly of tough grey stone with architecture that favours durability over adornment. Amor is a city of labour; its residents work hard to keep the city running and pay their taxes. Known for its roaring trade, the centrepiece of Amor is the marketplace, from which many of the cities greatest tradesman sell their wares. Surrounding the market lies a ring of independent stores and shops for more specific trades, such as armouries, apothecaries , tailors and carpentries. The city’s largest source of income is its thriving fishing trade, which is unmatched anywhere else in the region. Beyond the trade district lies the residential area; most people live in tall, stone tenements, but richer families may own their own houses. On the outskirts of the city lies the area known to locals as The Shambles; a ghetto-like slum that shows the worst effects of King Valdez’ high taxes.
Bellepoint is a large abbey dedicated to Carminda, goddess of beauty and song. The abbey is open to women only, and is run by the Sisters of St. Caroline; an early Carmindan prophet. The abbey is tall and ornate, made from white stone and decorated with gold and beautiful stained glass windows depicting various events of religious importance. The main feature is the tall bell tower, which the sisters ring every day at dawn to celebrate the beauty of life. The abbey is named as such because of the glorious views from the tower; facing North, one can see the lush land of Amorynthia and facing South reveals a sapphire ocean, with the golden sands of Tumeken on the horizon.
A small village, Blithfield is home to around thirty people. Once a popular stop for anyone heading west into the forests of Blith, nowadays most sane folk stay clear of those parts and so trade in Blith is relatively slow. Still, Emily Batt’s General Store manages to sell enough wares to sustain itself, and the Major Oak Inn is a popular spot for locals in the evenings, with rooms available for the rare visitor to the village. The latter establishment was rebuilt about burning down some forty years ago, which is probably the most exciting occurrence in the relatively uneventful history of Blithfield.
Once part of the lush forests of Blith, Broadmarsh is the name now given to the putrid swamp which has overtaken much of the land. Very little is known of the swamp or why it appeared; but it continues to grow each year, and some fear it may spread and ruin Amorynthia, similarly to the Great Drought of Tumeken. Attempting to venture into Broadmarsh means near-certain death; if one is not lost in the rotting woodlands or swallowed by the thick pools of mud, then the various goblins, orks and other bog-dwellers are sure to finish off the unprepared adventurer.
Dray is a large town, bordered on each side by the forests of Ryth and the Amorynthian shore. Its coastal position and strong relationship with nearby Middlewood has caused the town to naturally direct itself towards shipbuilding; the Dray shipyard is considered the finest producers of sea vessels, at least by human standards. In recent years, a small population of Dwarves have settled in Dray and set up partnerships through which they pool talent and resources with human shipbuilders to create the most exquisite vessels in the land. The town’s dock is always busy, be it for repairing boats or sending out fresh vessels with their new owners, and thus it has a booming trade of markets and inns and attracts many sailor-folk.
An incredibly small hamlet, Drayling is home to only ten or so people. There is little to be found in Drayling by means of trade, with the locals sourcing most of their goods from the nearby markets of Dray. The residents all cooperate on running a farm; the produce of which they sell in Dray as well as eating themselves. The farming folk have been known to offer temporary accommodation in return for an extra pair of hands on the farm.
Dunnside is the most fortunate of the villages around the Great Lakes; home to around seventy people and situated right on the banks of Lake Dunn, the village is known all across Amorynthia for its successes fishing and selling the rainbow carp that inhabit the waters. The beauty of these fish brings many a tourist to the village, and so there are two successful inns to be found in the Shiny Scale and the Golden Rod. Even royalty have been recorded visiting the small settlement. However, it is not held in high regards by neighbouring Blithfield and Marshside, who feel Dunnside should have offered some aid when their trades were ruined by the Broadmarsh.
Gard is the only settlement in Amorynthia recognised as a city without being classed as a capital. Despite being one of the most efficient industry hubs in the kingdom, Amorynthia makes very little profit from it’s lucrative Dwarven-led mining and smithy industries. A primarily Dwarven settlement, Gard is perhaps the only place in Amorynthia where the Dwarven population outnumbers that of humans. Despite the Dwarven rebellion which led many Dwarves north into Vastoria, the race is still unfairly taxed by the palace and the only thing keeping many Dwarves this side of the mountains is the threat of Nosferytes and the embargo placed upon rebels ruining their trade. Gard’s poverty is apparent: its rough stone structures lie mostly in disrepair, crudely reinforced so that they are just-functional. There is a high-crime rate committed in the city’s outskirts, mostly by human hand, which does not aid the plight of the Dwarves. Despite its size, Gard offers little in the way of stores, though there is a plethora of the best smithies, armouries and weaponries in the land, that provide its people with enough to live on – and would make them very wealth, were they not so heavily taxed.
The Gardian Mines are the largest known mines in Amorynthia, an intricate network of tunnels dug by the Dwarves and heavily saturated with tens of various metals ores; both durable and precious. Deeper in the mines, it is not unusual to find rare gemstones. The mines are fitted with a cart system devised by the industrious Dwarves, which makes transport of goods and personnel throughout the cavernous system fairly easy and comfortable, if passengers can tolerate with a bumpy ride.
The Great Lakes are two bodies of water to the west of Amorynthia. Lake Dunn is famed for its crystal clear waters, which are said to be drinkable direct from the source. It is home to many rainbow carp, a large and colourful fish whose beauty is rivalled only by its taste. Lake Blith once shared these traits, but is now in the early stages of pollution by the nearby swamps. Its waters are cloudy and pale green in colour, and few dare to eat what little fish remain for fear of poisoning. Lake Blith has become known as The Once Great Lake by locals.
Bordering the cruel Vastorian mountains seemed like a strategic move to the early settlers of Hillan, believing it would protect them from any Northern aggression. But the trolls native to the mountains are much better climbers than humans, and the erection of a town at the base of their home was enough to lure them down from the cliffs in search of food. The townsfolk quickly assembled the Vastorguard; a group of their finest men dedicated to defending Hillan from the trolls. Aside from this on-going war, Hillan is a relatively peaceful town with a selection of stores, a small marketplace and a singular inn; The Slow Pace.
A lighthouse maintained for generations by the people of Tethersall, Iris Rock is relatively special if only for the rumours that swirl around it. Legend goes that, on a full moon, in the beam of the lighthouse one can view a large island out on the horizon; never otherwise visible. Whether the story holds any merit or not is unclear; the operators of the lighthouse are old and there is little else to attract visitors to Tethersall. It is largely considered to be an old wives’ tale.
Originally called Greenside, the villagers of this small settlement felt compelled to rebrand themselves when their namesake became a filthy bog. Fortunately, they are far enough away from Broadmarsh for it to not affect their fishing or farming industries, and the village makes a fair trade selling goods to the Northern settlements, offering a highly desirable delivery service through the Gardian Hills. It attracts few visitors and is a largely self-sustaining community of around fifty residents.
Middlewood is a small village with a population of roughly 50 people. Located in the middle of the lush forests of Ryth, Middlewood has made a name for itself through using the resource they are surrounded by: wood. A village of skilled lumberjacks and carpenters, the best woodwork in Amorynthia is said to come from Middlewood. Of course, some of the more business-savvy tradesmen have moved their craft and set up shops in Amor, but enough master craftsmen remain in Middlewood to attract custom from all over Amorynthia. The people of Middlewood are environmentally conservative and replant several trees for each one they fell; they are particularly concerned with protecting the faerie folk who call the surrounding forests their home. They frequently build small wooden houses for the faeries and attach them to trees in the dense woodland.
Rat’s Nest is a barren island of stone lying off the coast of Gard. Its isolation and strategic placement have made it the unofficial home of pirates and other criminals of the sea, with various primitive moorings dotted around the small island’s shores, along with an assortment of wooden shacks and halls that host the seafarers during their time on land. It is rumoured that a large cavern exists beneath the island, within which the pirate’s treasure trove can be found – though few are foolish enough to risk the pirate’s greedy wrath and find out.
The ‘First Capital’, Ryth is a relatively small city in comparison to its sister. Named as such for being the city where the royal family resides, Ryth is situated on the outskirts of the lush Amorynthian forests. It incorporates a lot of its green surroundings into the city itself; there are many trees and gardens amongst the marble courseways. Much of the city is crafted from thick marble and adorned with gold leaf ornamentations and details. It is a lavish city, and anyone looking for where the bulk of Valdez’ taxing ends up can look no further than the city of Ryth. Little trade operates from with Ryth itself; it is mostly a home for the soldiers and noblemen of Amorynthia; those employed by the King are subsidised in order to afford to live in the First Capital, under the premise that they should be close to his palace.
Sitting at the foot of the Gardian Hills, the busy town of Silvermoor is a popular point of passage between the North and South regions of Amorynthia. Famed for its friendly hospitality, Silvermoor is often a mixing pot of various types of people; from Dwarves moving South to sell their wares, to fools heading North in search of adventure, there are always interesting folk to be found here in one of the town’s five inns: The Black Ferret, The Jug & Glass, The One-Eyed Badger, The North Star and The Fellow’s Rest. Unfortunately, Silvermoor’s welcome does not extend to everyone: the town is inherently fearful of magic-users, following a feud with the nearby Wizard’s Tower that goes back many generations. The townsfolk live in fear that one day the wizards will seek revenge over an act the people of Silvermoor claim no responsibility for.
A large manor house surrounded by many acre of game land, the estate was once home to the illustrious Sinclair family. Lord Sinclair’s immense wealth earned him many favours from the King, and his family seemed exempt from most laws of the land in return ‘charitable donations’. One such example of Sinclair’s influence over the King includes having a stream redirected towards the estate, to give the Sinclairs their own personal water supply. However, around the time that Broadmarsh began to form, tragedy hit when the family, their staff and even their livestock were found dead. Nothing in the house remained alive; even their house plants had mysteriously withered. It later transpired that their water supply had been poisoned; whether by the Broadmarsh or some other means is still up for debate. One thing is for certain; no one dares to go near the Sinclair Estate even to this day, for fear that the poison lingers… And for the eerie screams that are said to come from the empty house.
A small village on the Southern coast, Tethersall is relatively nondescript. Couple this with the fact that it is buried deep within the forests of Ryth, it is easy to see why it attracts so few visitors. Most of Tethersall’s residents are elderly retired folk, and the village boasts no real industry or trade. The community hall is a small communal space that hosts the events of The Tethersall Men’s Club and the Women of Tethersall Committee; social clubs that all but one of Tethersall’s residents are subscribed to. This lone spinster is largely ostracised by her neighbours. The Tethersall Men’s Club works on a voluntary basis to operate and maintain the lighthouse on Iris Rock.
The village of Valeview sits on a cliff edge on the very border of Amorynthia and Tumeken, though it falls under the territory of the former. Named for its impressive views of the Lesobi Valley and Fool’s Mistake, Valeview makes most of its business by selling supplies to adventurers crossing the border. There a several rooms available at the Rising Sun Inn, where travellers might spend the night before continuing their journeys.
Named by the villagers of nearby Blithfield, it is said that men who venture beyond Widow’s Pass seldom return. The pass itself is relatively pleasant, and serves as an entry point to the forests of Blith and the Broadmarsh that threatens to destroy them.
Witchaven made a name for itself as one of the most prosperous farming villages this side of Ryth, but its business was ruined by the appearance of Broadmarsh, which rendered their ground infertile. Whilst many neighbouring villages and towns were swallowed up by the swamp, the people of Witchaven are unique in that they stayed put, determined not to leave their heritage. They built new homes, raised on stilts and connected by bridges, that protected them from the poison swamplands below. Growing produce from large allotments with imported soil, the villagers of Witchaven make enough money to sustain the simplistic lifestyle they have been forced to adopt.
The Wizard’s Tower is one of the oldest institutions in Amorynthia, with the original tower said to have been built when Amor was a mere village. Here, those versed in the magical arts pass down their knowledge to the next generation of spellcasters. The Tower had a petty feud with the nearby town of Silvermoor, which continued to escalate until the centuries-old tower was burned to the ground one summer’s eve. Most of the wizards used their knowledge to fight off the flames, but few did perish in the tragedy. Fortunately, the centuries of magical research in the Grand Library were protected with enchantments that saved them from the blaze. Now, the tower has been restored; but the wizards are angry, and there are whispers that Archmage Tripaldi has plans of revenge for the people of Silvermoor.
Woodsend is a town just on the outskirts of Greenwood. Woodsend is relatively well-off, situated close to the First Capital of Ryth. It has its own market where various tradesmen sell their wares; though Woodsend has a particular reputation for jewellery imported from the North. Whilst the precious items available here are indeed exquisite; they are pale in comparison to those offered in the Gardian Hills. Woodsend has a poor reputation with the Sisters of St. Caroline, originating from when jewels stolen from the abbey suspiciously ended up on the town’s marketplace.
A small town and a once-thriving fishing community, Wraithtown is the westernmost settlement in Amorynthia. It made a name for itself through the trade of various fish native only to the waters in the far west; out of reach to other fishermen. The town has been especially unlucky over the last century and stands now as a ghost of its former self. After the town was cursed by a woman scorned, each night the surviving townsfolk became wild, wolf-like beasts with no self-control. In this form, they murdered the surrounding towns and villages and lost most of their trade. Many years later, the residents of Wraithtown live in isolation in order to protect outsiders from the monsters they become. This solitude has been aided by the appearance of the Broadmarsh, and Wraithtown has been largely forgotten about.
· Tumeken ·
Once as lush as Amorynthia and twice as wealthy, Tumeken was ruined centuries ago by a freak drought that ravaged their cities and reduced to land to barren dunes of sand. Ruled by the Pharaoh King Setsiput, the Tumek people have retreated South in search of a new life. This new beginning for the kingdom is rooted in servitude to the Elder God, Tum, whom they believe will bring water back to the land. In the meantime, they are accepting favours from Amorynthia; but no gesture from King Valdez comes without a price...
Asphodel is a town that has existed long before the newly erected city of New Tum. A group of religious fanatics existing in self-exile, the Asphodites believe that Tum is punishing the Tumeks for lack of faith. Some from their order moved to the neighbouring island and established the Salutem settlement. The Asphodites are unwelcoming to the Tumeks and have not provided them with any aid, believing that to do so would be against the wishes of their Goddess.
Duat Point is a large, ornate gate that sits on the coastline of Asphodel. Through the vast archway, viewers can see the island of Salutem directly in the centre, leading to the belief that it was built to guide people towards the island. The Asphodites refute claims that they themselves constructed Duat Point, claiming that it existed long before they arrived. The lack of significant damage through wears suggests these claims are untrue. Duat Point is used as the metaphoric entry point to Salutem, where one passes through the gate and boards a small boat to take them to the isle.
A short ravine, Fool’s Mistake is the most practical and comfortable route into Tumeken. At least, it would be without the presence of the desert bandits who recognise the opportunities a presumed safe-pass brings them. The bandits target those foolish enough to take the easier path; robbing, raping and usually murdering those who fall prey to their livelihood.
A huge temple in the centre of Salutem, the Grand Temple of Tum is one of the largest and grandest sites of worship in the whole of Tyrrania. It is believed to sit atop some site of religious importance; the nature of which is unclear, but taken very seriously by the Asphodites.
The Tumeks have long revered their rulers, moreso than in other kingdoms, believing their kings to have a direct connection to the Gods. When their leaders fall, the bodies are mummified and receive ceremonial burials here in the Great Pyramid, which is believed to direct their spirits to the Gods. Traditionally, huge crowds of people would gather at the pyramid for a king’s burial. Now that Tumeken has fallen to a more desert climate, it is customary for a group of nobles and skilled workers to lead the sarcophagus on a pilgrimage through the desert to the Great Pyramid. The journey is notoriously dangerous, with at least half of those dispatched failing to return.
The Hall of the Pharaoh is the royal residency of Tumeken, home to King Setsiput. It is ornate by most standards, but relatively humble compared to the old palace, that now lies in ruin in Old Tumek.
Lesobi is a large valley that serves as an entry point to Tumeken from the neighbouring kingdom of Amorynthia. Whilst it is a much longer and less forgiving path than Fool’s Mistake, it is generally considered the safer route in the Tumek province due to the protection that the cliffs either side provide from hostile forces.
New Tumek is the beginning of the Tumek’s return to glory; still in its very early stages, the small city is pale in comparison to those grand ones before it that now lie in ruin. Forced to flee their homes by the drought, those families who survived the journey began to rebuild their lives here, where the land is not quite so unforgiving. The buildings here are largely made of wood, though the wealthier families may have managed to secure stone.
The Ruins of Tumeken refers to the remains of the great cities of Tumeken; Nobuti, Hep and Tumek. Abandoned in panic when the lands were ravaged by drought, much of the vast sandstone cityscapes still remain, albeit dilapidated and weathered by neglect and the harsh conditions of the Tumek Desert. It is said that one could visit any of the houses in these ruins and find things exactly as they had been left all those years ago; albeit now in decay and disrepair.
Known as the ‘Promised Land’, Salutem is a large, lush forest island lying east of the Tumeken coast. When one looks through Duat Point, Salutem is visible in the direct centre. For this reason, the Asphodites believe the island to be holy and blessed by Tum herself. The Asphodites have gradually begun populating the island since the Great Drought hit, turning it into a religious community where every home doubles as a chapel in Tum’s honour. The lives of those who live on Salutem revolve entirely around worship, which is symbolically represented by the Grand Temple of Tum in the centre of Salutem. Only those deemed ‘Holy Enough’ by the Asphodite priests are permitted to cross the water to Salutem.
One of the few ornate buildings constructed since the Great Drought, the Temple of Thanks was erected in Tum’s Promise as a symbol of gratitude to the Goddess Tum. It is home to a small group of religious folk who maintain the church as well as running sermons in which sacrifices are made to Tum in hopes of reward.
Tum’s Promise refers to a small plane of land that is moist and fertile enough to produce grass. Though it is far from lush, the weak foliage is considered a sign of hope to the people of Tumeken, reminding them that not all is lost. They consider this a deliberate message from Tum herself, and so the land is considered holy.
Previously known as Lake Tumeku, the vast lake once brought fresh and pure water to the lush land of Tumeken. Following the Great Drought, it now lays bone-dry like the rest of the region, leaving behind only a deep crater, blistered and cracked by the desert climate. It is debatable whether it is quicker for travellers to detour around the crater, or scale down its edges and pass straight though it.
· Vastoria ·
For the longest time, the mountainous region north of the Amorytes lay unoccupied due to its unforgiving terrain. However, during the Dwarven Revolution at the end of the Exploitation Era, a large party of Dwarven rebels moved North and settled independent of Amorynthia, in the land they named Vastoria. Unfortunately for the Dwarves, the rocky region was already home to some particularly territorial creatures, forcing them underground to live a subterranean existence.
Lying on the North-West coast, Gravesend Bay is a fierce inlet that drags in the most aggressive currents from the cold North Sea. With its ferocious temper and jagged rocky outcrops, it is no wonder that so many ships have met their end in Gravesend Bay; their broken masts and ruined hulls litter the area, snagged on the sharp cliffside. Most of these vessels originate from Rotsanger; where tradition dictates that those Nosferytes who turn feral be deported from Port Rot, more often than not washing up on the shores of Gravesend Bay. Those Nosferytes who survive the journey must then scale the harsh rock if they are to stand any chance of survival in the long-run.
The very same opening from which the Dwarven rebels first entered Vastoria, Kelda Tor has a lot of cultural and historical signficiance for Dwarvenkind. As it is the same hole they retreated through when fleeing the Nosferytes, Kelda Tor can also be considered the entrance to the subterranean city the Dwarves have established. It is from this purpose that the site received its name. Considering its importance to the Dwarves, Kelda Tor is a relatively subtle landmark: a small, ornate archway, carved into the Cliffside, through which one can descend the stairs into New Kelda.
The tallest peak of Vastoria, Mt. Blut is visible from all across the region. But what is not so obvious is that, deep within the frozen rock, lies a series of caverns that house the nests of feral Nosferytes. The network of tunnels and roughly carved chambers is known as The Hive and is generally avoided for fear of the savage creatures that use the mountain to sleep and reproduce. The Hive can be accessed from hundreds of entry points burrowed into the rock all the way up the mountain.
New Kelda is a small subterranean city established by the Dwarven rebels, forced into rebuilding underground by the feral Nosferytes that stalk the surface world of Vastoria. The city is hidden within a vast network of tunnels accessed through Kelda Tor, designed to protect the Dwarves from predators. New Kelda itself lies within a huge excavated cavern, large enough for the city to be built just as any on the surface would be. It is surrounded by a natural underground lake, which must be ferried across to gain access to the city. Huge bonfires are lit throughout the streets of the city and provide it with sufficient light and warmth, whilst clean water can be taken directly from the lake. Whilst there has been some attempt at farming in New Kelda, the crops are weak and most residents exist on a diet of soups and broths. When something more substantial is needed, Dwarves are known to venture onto the surface world in large groups to hunt down Nosferytes upon which to feast. New Kelda is ruled by King Vastor III, who occupies a humble palace to the East of the city.
Old Kelda is the closest thing to a civilized settlement that can be found on the Vastorian surface. Built into a mountainside, the architecture of Kelda is practical and inornate; it is crafted almost entirely from thick stone, designed to protect the Dwarves from the harsh climate. However, the development of the settlement was interrupted when it attracted the attention of feral Nosferytes who began to ambush the settlers with increasing numbers and frequency. Unable to protect themselves, the Dwarves abandoned Kelda and retreated back underground. The deserted city became known as Old Kelda.
A large island in the frozen North-West, isolated from the rest of Tyrrania by the desolate region of Vastoria, Rotsanger has been largely untouched. It is uncommon for most to pay it much thought at all, and among those who do it is widely considered nothing more than a frozen wasteland. And for the most part, this assumption would be true; vast, empty plains of snow and rock form the majority of Rotsanger. Thanks to an effect known as Dar’s Gift to residents of the island, sunlight only lasts for a few hours each day in Rotsanger, plunging it into night for unusually long periods of time. This makes it the perfect habitat for the Nosferytes that have made Rotsanger their home. The House of Drachall, headed by Lord Alrik Drachall, rules Rotsanger with an iron fist.
Atop the tallest point of Rotsanger sits Steinplatz. A city of dark stone coated in thick frost, the architecture of Steinplatz is tall, grand and gothic, with church-like spires and arched windows being de rigueur on even the homes of the lowliest families. Steinplatz is home to one of Tyrrania’s most feared races: the Nosferytes. At the helm of Steinplatz sits Drachallturm, a large tower from which Lord Drachall oversees the region.
· Ithelm & Savizar ·
The 'twin islands' of Ithelm and Savizar are certainly not identical, and they seem completely incapable of putting their differences aside. Segregated from mainland Amorynthia, their primitive people live basic lives of survival and conflict. Technically under the rule of King Valdez, the islands are essentially independent due Valdez' neglect and disinterest, leading Ithelm and Savizar to develop their own hierarchies. The islands are currently locked in a brutal war over the volcanic island that sits between their neighbouring shores.
Ithelm is an island of harsh, barren terrain: the land mostly consists of stone or dry plains of grass. Nevertheless, it has somehow come to be populated by an isolated and barbaric group of human settlers. Cut off from the mainland, the people of Ithelm are primitive in comparison to the people of Amorynthia and Tumeken; they are a people of basic needs: food, sex, beer and pride. It is this pride that has led the Ithelm tribes to war with the neighbouring island of Savizar. Though they are technically under royal rule, King Valdez holds little interest in the islands and so they are mostly left to their own devices. The unofficial ruler of Ithelm is Chieftain Ragnar Stålhandske.
Even by the humble Ithelm standards, Ashfeld is a small settlement, rarely giving the rest of the Ithelm much reason to visit. Drawing its name from the ash that settles on its soils and rooftops from Mount Ith, here the air is thick and the ground infertile. Despite this, the ash is considered sacred and is collected for various ceremonial purposes. But yet, Ashfeld has found itself at the centre of Ithelm activity and on the forefront of their war efforts in securing Mount Ith as their own. Sat on the coast bordering the volcano and the rival island of Savizar, Ashfeld is the perfect base of operations for the Ithelm’s warriors.
Framik is another large Ithelm settlement. Being closer to the sea, the people of Framik enjoy a more varied diet thanks to the availability of fish and sea-plants. They often take large quantities of these resources to Heimlod on their visits, as gifts to the Chieftain and his people.
Heimlod is the largest settlement on Ithelm, and is the home Chieftain Ragnar. The tribespeople live in bare wooden huts, using meat and fur from the native wolves to eat and keep warm. In the centre of Heimlod is the Grossheim, the a large hall dedicated to meetings of the various tribe leaders from across the island. It is also used for feasts and celebrations by locals, as well as doubling up as the base of operations for the Chieftain.
Known under different names in the opinion of the warring islands, this active volcano is known to mainlanders under the more popular name of Mount Savi. The Savizi recognise the island as a volcano, whilst the people of Ithelm believe it to be a mountain and the home of their god, Ith. Mount Savi is at the centre of a war between the Savizi and the Ithelm, whom both claim ownership of the volcanic island as their own.
A tropical jungle island home to the tribal Savizi people, Savizar has more in common with Ithelm than its residents might like to think. Both communities are primitive and tribal in nature, free of the rule of King Valdez but isolated from the benefits of modern living. The Savizi are governed by a council of shamans, who bring messages from the Jungle Spirits to guide their lives. It was through these ritual communions that the Savizi were instructed to seize ownership of Mount Savi. The Sawazi jungle dominates most of the island, with small settlements for one or two families spread throughout its depths. The jungle is also home to many poisonous flora and fauna, which has caused the Savizi to become relatively adept at brewing remedies and other potions.
Sambawe is one of two communities on Savizar, as most families live independently. As the home of the Elder Shamans, Sambawe is frequently visited by people in search of answers from the other side. There is also a handful of especially capable potion-brewers here, whom can be consulted to cure bites and stings acquired within the dense jungle.
Sanduzi are a more nomadic community; they rely on the other Savizi less so than those tied to Sambawe. Sanduzi are a brutal people, raised to fight from birth in order to survive the particularly dangerous area of jungle they inhabit. Whilst the Sambawe use venom from the jungle to create cures, the Sanduzi use it to enhance their weapons and further their combat prowess. It is said that adventurers would rather bump into one of the deadly Sawazi creatures than the deadlier Sanduzi folk.
· Falinstađ ·
The mysterious island of Falinstađ is rarely visited by outsiders; though not by choice. The inherently magical island seems to isolate itself through arcane means, turning away any visitors upon supernaturally rough tides. Known to mainlanders as Mirage Island, Falinstađ is near enough untraceable to the naked eye, occasionally visible on the horizon under the right conditions. The isolated island is rumoured to be the home of the Elves, though few who ever made it to Falinstađ's shores have returned with confirmation...
Part of Tyrrania's inherent wonder is its ethnic diversity. Growing up in a small, woodland village, I had never laid eyes on a non-Human before I began my adventures. During my explorations, I came across a total of four species that I identified as sentient, Humanoid races; that is, non-animalistic, intelligent people. I have documented the details of these various peoples below, in the hopes that you are fortunate enough to cross paths with some of them on your travels. Through learning about others, we often end up learning about ourselves. It is important to remember that, as well as our differences, we also possess similarities through which we can unite.
· Humans ·
(Homo recognitus)
Humans are the most populous race in Tyrrania. The average height is between five and six feet tall; males are larger and more muscular than females. Their hair and skin colours vary in pigmentation from white to black; though red hair is not uncommon. On average, they live to be around seventy years old, though it is not unheard of for them to reach a hundred. Humans are an intelligent species and are responsible (or at least highly involved) in much of Tyrrania’s development. Humans are generally considered to be the most powerful race; if not for their advantageous build and intellect, then for their sheer numbers alone. All of Tyrrania’s royal lineage has been exclusively human, which has lead to a sense of humans being ‘above’ the other races. Humans have a tense history with the Dwarves; aside from the infamous Dwarven Exploitation and subsequent rebellion, some theories suggest that Dwarves were a failed experiment by the creator gods, from which the Humans were designed. This tension has largely settled in the modern age, but naturally some Humans remain who believe themselves to be the master race. Humans are capable of learning magic, but it must be studied and committed to memory. Humans are ruled by King Valdez of Amorynthia, or by King Setsiput of Tumeken, depending on their heritage.
· Dwarves ·
(Homo primitus)
Dwarves are the second most populous race in Tyrrania, though their population only equates to around 60% of the Humans. They live on average for between ninety and a hundred years. Dwarves are shorter and more muscular than Humans, with both genders averaging between three and four feet tall. Males are notably hairier than females. Aside from these differences, they are physically similar to Humans, albeit it shorter and stockier. Whilst they are stronger than Humans and easily as intelligent, their stature causes them to be much slower. The strength of their internal organs means they are largely immune to poisons, though particularly potent venoms may still affect them. Dwarves were exploited by Humans hundreds of years ago, in what was effectively entire racial slavery. This caused a large portion of Dwarves to move into the unoccupied lands of the North, which they would name Vastoria after their leader. However, problems with the feral Nosferytes that lived in the region forced the rebels underground, where they built the subterranean city of New Kelda. Elsewhere, Dwarves who resisted the rebellion can be found all across Amorynthia, especially in Gard, but the Tumeken kingdom tends to be too warm for them. Dwarves are notoriously good smiths, and Dwarven-crafted goods are considered by the majority of Tyrranians to be the highest quality available. Whilst many would argue that the exploitation of the Dwarves is over, with some smiths even able to set up their own smithees in high-end areas of Amor, most of the Dwarven kind still work labour-intensive hours in the Gardian mines. Whilst they do make a profit, it is minimal due to the heavy taxes imposed by the King. Dwarves are incapable of using magic in any form, even through study of the magical arts. Because of this, Dwarven weapons and armours are often enchanted by human mages and resold at a higher cost.
· Nosferytes ·
(Homo sanguinus)
A populous race, though few pay much mind to their existence due to their isolation in the frozen North. Nosferytes are visually similar to Humans, albeit it taller and more muscular, averaging between six and seven feet in both genders. Females are notably more slender. Their skin is pale and even white in some cases; their hair pigmentation is often dark by contrast, but ice-blonde hair is a coveted rarity considered the pinnacle of Nosferyte beauty. They have sharp, fang-like teeth and the race’s eyes are universally deep red in colour. Nosferytes are much stronger and faster than the other races, and they live to be around four hundred years old, in their prime for around half of that. Though, it is not without its drawbacks: an ancient condition curses the bloodline, giving the species an inherent craving for blood, which is highly harmful to their minds and bodies. Consumption of blood grants a Nosferyte instant euphoria and it is easy for them to become addicted: continued ingestion will quickly reduce the Nosferyte to a frail, emaciated shell, losing their hair as well as their mind and living only to consume more blood. These unfortunates are branded ‘Ferals’ by their kind, and immediately deported from Rotsanger on unmanned ships, intending to kill of the weaklings of the species. Unfortunately for the Nosferytes, many of their vessels crash in the convenient Gravesend Bay, which has lead to an increasing population of Ferals in the mountainous region of Vastoria. Nosferytes live in a constant war with themselves to resist the urge to drink, and sustain a carnivorous diet of meat ritualistically drained of its blood. Contrary to the vampiric rumours that surround the species, the Nosferytes are a race in themselves and cannot ‘convert’ victims; nor would they wish to. Nosferytes are capable of learning magic, though it is generally considered by their people to be a coward’s practice: the Nosferytes enjoy the thrill of direct conflict.
· Elves ·
(Homo arcanus)
The Elves are a scarce people, of whom very little is known about. Some wonder whether they actually exist at all, or whether the stories are just folk tale and mythology getting carried away with itself. Supposedly, Elves are v̶̝̗͕͍̙̜͎͔̅̒̍̈͋͛̉̄̓͐́̅̅͆͜į̴̢̝̞͕̯͇͖̩̮̄̂̀̊͂̔̾͐̀͐̔̉͠͝s̴͙̙̗̋̇͂̀̈̈́̉̓̾͘ụ̶̧̟͕̠̩̥̭̞͌͂͜͝ͅa̵̢̻̼̮̮̗̱͇̘̤̮̥̯̤̣̅̄ͅl̶̨̛͎̣͇͍͉͓̙̹͉͔̯̠͚̠̩̮̺͖̿̅̔̈́̊̊̆̈̃̃̏̽̑̇̕͘͝ͅl̴̤̮̲̄̌͌͐̐͌̉̾̀͑̓̀̊͘͝͠ỷ̴̨̢̤̩̻̬̬̜̼̥͍̗͍͓́̋̊͊̎̿͌͘ ̸̨͚̝̖̙̼͈̭̎̽͐̈̐͗͒͑̋́̓v̶̧̨̛̯̥͕͎͓̺̘͉̑̈̓̓̈́͝ͅȩ̴͇̖̭̭̹̲̱̯̘̞̖̜̎́͑͐̋̈̑̀͆͛̅͒̀̋͛͘͝͝ŗ̴̬̜̜̬̺̤̭͖͈̤̦̻͎͎͚̾̈̈́͗̽̍̃̈́̈́̕͜ͅͅy̷̧͕̟͕̩̹̖̙̟͂̎̉͘ ̶̛̱̊̔͝ş̶̧͎͎̜̼̦͖͎̮̮̫̰͍̜͇͒̂́̐̂͌͋͊̌͆̓̋̓ͅͅi̶̞͉̦̍͊́̒̌͂̈̀̆̍̈́̏̎̉͝m̵̨̛̫̮̟̱̠̭̹̘͍̤͓͗̎͑͝ï̴̧̡̙̖͕̣̮̙͍̳̤̹̤̱̣͓̣͓͜l̶̡̡͙̙̮̰̩̗̦̼̯̟͎̥̜̭̪̽͋̾̐͑̀̊͛̓̌̕͝a̵̡̡̰̳̘̪͉̫̦͎̭̺͖͍̜͈̟͕̤͊͐̉͆̃̔̽̄̕͜r̸̛̯͔̹͓͓̳̘̟͍̣͖̥̦͙̙͈̝̮̦̤̒̿͊̏́̐́̒̎̀̽͒͗̃͐̀̀̐̚ ̶̡͖̥̻͇̬͂̿t̴̙̖̳̹͔̜̦͎̮͉̪͆͆́̚͝ǫ̸̧̖̯̘͙̬̩̳̟͒̅̐̀̔̈́͊̑̇̓͜͜͝ ̶̛̦͎͙̗̣͙̘͈̲̺͊̃̃͒̌͛̆̓̆͠͝H̶̡̢̡̼̙͖̮̤͍͉̪̟͙͔͇̻̹͇̥̾̊̎̏̏̈́̐̈̈́̑̏͊̽͐̃̕̕͠͝ȕ̷̗̈́̾̃̑̒͌͆̄̑͋̐̕m̷̯̮̯̜̣̈́̅͐̎́̀̌̄̊̈́̐̍̓̓͗̈́̂͘͘͜ą̶̛̛̣̒̃̑͐̍̃̉̋̽̋̔̔̃̉͐n̶̢̡̝̺͕̖̬̲̥͕̟̱͚͖͔̈͋ͅs̶̨̡̪̤͍̣̲͚̻͎͇͓̭̲͓̮̪̩͆̓͋͛́͗̃̑̈́͊͋̿̇͘͘,̶͉̯͇̙͉͉̭͓̩̙̱̲̜̼͖͇̉́̒͊̅̓̚͜͜ͅ ̷̡̡̢̱̬͉̮̠̠̠̠͉̩̦̻͕͓̒͋̈́̆̕s̶̘͖̲̥͙̤̪̜̹̜̙̤̽̉͜͜ͅͅͅa̸̧̡̨̖̼̬̣͍͕̼͈̠̬͓̺̖͖͕̳̤͑̓̆̇̈v̵̡̳̜̯̖͍͇̦̖͍̘̫̲͚͍̜̠͊̈͊͂͛̏͒̓̅̄͑̊̃́̓͑̒͝e̸̡͙̖͔̜͚͖͕̖̫̜̦̓̀̈́͜ ̵̣̞̗̖̤͓͈̳̘̜̖̻̾͒̅͆͒̾̀̀͆͗ͅf̸̨̨̺̼̟̼̺̳̩̗͓̻̙͚̼̃̎͛ǫ̶̨̧̢̜͍̫̘͕̦̠͖̬̣͍̮̤̾͆̄̄͌̑̓͌̽̿̀̀̕r̵̢̟̥̬͈͓̱͙̻̤̱̲̫̭̟̄̆͜ͅ ̴̗̹͙͈͙̩̯̻̒̂̒́̾̈̂̄̉́͗͆͌͘͠ͅt̷̢̧̰͇̟͚̫͉͍͆͆̇̾̊͌̐͒h̷̢̛̫̱͎̣͙̖̮̿̽̊̀̓̈́̔̾̏̅̋͛́̐̃̚͘̕ę̶̨̨̨̦͙͓͍̜͙̠̗͍̙̰̻͉͇̩̍͐̉͒̓̓̈́͘͝ͅi̷̛̛͍̫̭͙͓̟̅̇͗͋̊̀͋̈́̀̅̌̓̃̈́͝r̴̺͌̋̈ ̶̧̛̤̬̮̙̮̳̼̺̪͙̝̯͎̭̈̓͛͐̉̂͌͑͐̌̈́̚̚̕ͅl̷̜̋͛͛̊̌̆̊͋́ͅo̴̢̦̞̥̬͇̜͇͕͕͎͖͙̓͊͐͊̌̆̈́̿n̶̛̛̲͍̝̪̱̙̅̌́͌͛͋̐́̀͑̚͘̚͝ǧ̵̨̡̫͈̫͉̪̮͔̮̪̜̾̇͑̇̏̚̕,̷̦̪͔̏̀̃̈̋̓̈́͆͘̚͝ ̸̢̧͉̝̠̱̻̦̣̀̾͌̎͂̀̚ṗ̶̡̡͚̭͙̥̖̙͙̫̬͉͚̋̐͊̾͜o̴͓̮̲͔̼͊̽̌͐̑̆̔̅͌̀͘̕͝į̶̢͈̳͕̟̟͇̪͍͛͊͗́͐̅̓̋͌̿̋̑̓̾̚͝ͅͅn̶̡̦̠̙̟̮̘̹̯̭̲̳͖̳̦̆̒͐̀̂̄̚̕͜t̶̰͎͑̑͋̔͆̈́͐̐̈́͌̚ę̷̣̝͓̮̯͒̎͋͐͐̀̈́̂̇̍̍́͘͜͜d̷̡͖̝̞̯̬̱͈̭͍̰̟̩̫͙͙̫̝̂͑̏͘͘ ̵̱̱̤̅́̎͛̊͗͌̃͘͠ẻ̸͎̞̠̓͌́͛͂͘̚͝͝͝a̸̛̱̽̍ŗ̵͍̣̖̘͖̜͇͙̭̻̮̰͕̮͂̀͗̔̋́͋̿̿͝ͅͅś̶̢͍͔͍̝͓͉̜̮̙͘ ̶̡͎̰͙̽̐͌̏̾͐́͑̃͂̚̕̕̚͝͝ā̸̳̙͎͍̞͚̭̫̩͙̝͍̼̗͙n̷̝̜̭͇̭͓̓d̸̢̧̧̡̧͖͓͙͍̤̦̫̺̲̩̩̰̲̺́̆͛͋̎̀̓̃̿́̀̀̓͂̿̚̕͝ ̷͙̬̮͉̭̍͋̈́͛s̶̛͇̹̮͖͆̑͗̄͗̏͐̅͊͊̉͌̿͆̍̚̕͠l̵͎͔̗̹̜̪̩̙͎͖̐̊̅̎͒̈͌͋́̄̑̚ę̴̡͖͖͙͇̞̝̽̍̿̑̈́̂̌̈́͑͐̔͒͘͠ņ̴̭̬̪̰̖̪̯̥̩͎̅̑͋́͂̈́̆̉͛́̽̓͋͂̋͗̾͒͝͝ͅͅd̶̢̡̜̟͙͈̺̩͇̠̜̳̟͍̰̥̱̖͎͐̋͋̕ẽ̸̙͕͔̼̼̻͖̰̰͇̎̿͛̄͌̈̎͒̀͂͌̊̂͂̚͜͝͝ŗ̸̳̟̗̪̹̝͙̹͓̭̪̫͍̾̽͛͜ ̶̡̟̺̭͚͋͗̂f̸̥͇̭̱͓̲̿̎̈́̏̓̓͑̈̏͊͋͛͂͝͝r̴̛̙̖̳̤͕̤̖͔͉̜͕̗̙̆̌̄̊̂͌͆́̓͒̀̈́͂͌̎̀̚͝͝a̷̧̢̡̖̣̝̠͉̟̻͚̜͇̠̥̳̙̤͇̼̐̂̄̚͝m̶̢̛̻̰̜̭̦̝̥̗͖͇͓̲̺̻̊̈́̏̈́́̈̈́̂̅̄̀̑̋̎́̄̕͘͜͝é̶̡̛̛͍͇͖͚̰̩͔͕͇̼̜̜̻̩̞̪̝͚̅̈̾̿̋̿̇̽̃̎́̂͑͊͜͝͝ș̶̢̡̫̦̤̟͙̳̘͈̭̮̈̋̈͊̐͛̅̓́͊͜͝ͅ;̷͈́̾̅̇͂̄͐̓̽͑͝͝ ̴̧̤̫̣͈͙̞̳̘͇̳͉̽̀̏̃̒͌͒̓̔͘ţ̴̳̱̲͚̩͖̭̟͕͊͊̅̄͗̃͋͌̓͆͘͘͝͠ȟ̷̢̨̧̗̥͕͉͎̖̥͔͇̄͂̀̒͛̎̇͗̍̈́̍̑͂͘͠ę̷̧̳̤̹̤͙̠̤̰͉͖͇͚̣̹̔͂̈́́̀̅̏̆̈́̇͒̀͘ͅ ̵̡͍̜̰̥͙̜̊͗̀͗̆̾̏̽̆̈̓̍͝͝l̴͍̪̙̜̪͉̖̜̳̝̤̥̹͙̏̑̌̆͊͠ă̴̡̝̞̗̩̩̗̘̮̻̟͕̟͍͈̼̱͚̈̀͜ͅt̴̞̥͓̮̻̣͛̒͛̍͊̓͂̈́̕t̸̹͖͑̓̓̑̂̔̑̂̍͂̊̍̄̉̈́̍͑͝ę̸̧̛̫̫̣̯̰̥͍̐̐̈́̏̋̈́̓̊́̂͒̔͘̚̚͜r̶̡̧̪̫̮̜̝̓̿̈́̿ ̸̣̰͕̟͎̬̳̲̜͇̖̠̰͛̐̆̉͑̑͝ö̸̤̝̯͕̳͚́̑̈́͊͂͂͛̏̉̋͑͋̀̅͐̊͝f̶͎̼͍̖̬̜̆̌̃̽̓̀́̎͑̑̄̑̀̑͝ ̶̭̺̳̬͙̆̒͛́̑́́̽̿̉̓͒͒̄͂͐̊͝ͅw̶̧̨͉̮̼͇̲͚̰͎͍̩͉̦̘͉͎̒̕͜h̷̨̛̤̝̪͓̞̣͔͕͈̲̟̻͍͇̬̩͈̱̑̏̂̄͐̑͂͐̐̍͗̂̈̃̑̈̀i̸̢̱̹̝̳̬̱͕̭̜̤̱̺̠̩͙̰͙̺̝̓͋̆́̔̈͗̏́͝͝ć̸̢̡͚̹̞̙̣͉̙̦͕͎͔̳͓͑̕h̴̻͓̗̫̮̖̮̠͍̦̑̿̈́͂̐̅̈́ ̷̛͎̲͈̹̯̩̣͚͐̑́ͅc̷̱̱̺̰̲̼͈̱̮̜̫͓̟̰͓̩̫̗̰̗̅̏̍̈̀ã̶̦̩̠̞͖̫̱͚̠͉̙̫̪̹̩͔̇͗̽̈́̀̔̎̐n̸͙͍̟̓͂͋̓̂́̐̈́͐̂̈́͐̓́̇́͠ ̷̘̬͔̳̝̣̥̟̤͙͓͈̦̥̼̰͌̇͂́͒͐̑͊̎̋́͗͛͑̀͘p̴̧̩͓̲̻̦̭̄̽̒͐̐̓̌̈́͝r̴̡̩̩͕̫̙͙͇͒̽̐̂̊ơ̸͓͕̦̫͓̻̜̫͊̒͆́͂̑̃͊͝b̶̨̥̦̞̟̼͑͒͊̈͋̈͌͘͠ä̴̛̘́̉̒̇̊̿̒̏͂̏̑͐̍̽̍̾͘͘͝b̶͙̗̭͚͚͓̱̫͇̎͌̽̍̕͘l̵̨̡̧̡̛̼̩̱̺͙̈́͐̂̉̆̈́͗̅͝ỷ̶̧̛̲̹͉̜̮̟̗̭̰̼̤̤͎̐͗͒̃́̅̂̈́͑́͊͋͊̏̆͝ ̸̧̢̨̛̰͎̘̰̠̼̹͕̭̿̎̊͂̈́̈́̂̆̀͊b̶̧̰̺̻͕̙̹̣̬̜̲̮͚̤̥̈́̒͆͜ͅͅe̷̛̹̩͔̝͔̞̾͆̔̓̓̉̀̊͝͝ ̶̢̮̼̺̗͉̟̻̯̝͕͎̬̎̿͌͆̈́̇̽̅̿̈̚͝ͅą̸̛̖͓̫̬̣̮̞͉̰̬̝̓̈́͠t̸̢̢̮͇̝̹̝͙̻̰̣̠̂͌͛͒̌̎̎͊̏̿͂̓͜ͅṫ̵̤̼̳̦̽̄͊̎̉́̔͋͛̑́r̵̡̧̘͎͍͓̯̜̠̹̳̫̣͔̮̩̩͛̽͛̎̊͌̅͊̒̇̓̌̊̀͐͘͜͜͠͝͝ͅï̷̡̻̯̹̪̺̻̝̺̤̜̻̜̹͕̣̯̊ͅͅb̸̡͕͔̣̫͖̙̯̼̲͛̐̏̑̅̊́̅̒͐̀̀̃̕͘̚͜͠ư̶̩̘̝̭͕̋̂͌̄͆̑̒͜t̶̨̢̝͙̳̱̰̮̘̳̖̬̞̗̮̤́̍̈́̏͊̂͒͊̏̚͜͜͝ͅȩ̶̛̺͖̳̜͚̩̙̺̌̔̈͊̓̊̈̌̿̚͠d̷̢̪̼͓̙̦̬̱̫͓̞̫̱̫̜̰͒̿͜͝ ̸̡͙̩͙̘̦̱̝͇̻́͒́͋̀͆́̃͂̈́̒̄̊́͘͠ͅţ̸͎̹̦͊͌̅̀̐͂͋͐́̀͘ǫ̸̝̬̭̗͕̱̯̠̖̥̩̪͎̦͈̩̣̙͍́̔ ̸͉̰͛̇̔̓͗̄̾͌͐͒͋͂̈́̔̎̉̓͘t̶͔͐͆͊̅̓̌̔̐͂͑̇̓͌̋̃h̷̫̲̦̘͒̆̌̐̎̽̆̔̈́̈͂͌́̎̿̉̄͜͝͠ȩ̶̢̛͕̝͎͚̝̭̦͚̪̞̯̲̋̾͋͂ͅḯ̴̡̯͎̪̤̖͚̼͔̩̩̩̙̜̖́͆̑͝ŕ̶̰̪͉̑ ̶̢̡̡̨̨̗̱̦̗̜̤͇̳̗̯̩̟̺͈̍̈́̈̒̍̀͗̍̇̓͘͠v̸̧̭̞̩͈͒̐̌͂̃͆̿̌̊̔́͝e̴̡̛̹͚͖̹͙̩̠̠̯̥̗͊̑͜ͅĝ̸̨̨̧̨̨͇̳̤̠̻̙͎̟̅́͆̏̌͋̏̔͛͒̈́̃̈́̏̓̂͑̕ą̷͈̯̫̺̳̹̥̜͙̗̠̀̒͆͐̍͛̂͗̕ǹ̷̢̧̡̧͓̣͕̘̫̙̼͍̞̳̰̱͖̖̑͒͒̓̑̽͌̿́̊͗͐̈́̈̀͌̀͛͘ ̷̛̛͓̺̽̽͆͝l̷̗̪͎͍̞̹͇̭̣͎̲̠̭̝͑̍̓́̈́́͂͂́́̕͠ï̵̢̱̘͍̬̲̙̦̹̣͕̥͂ͅf̶̖̘̥̉̃̓̉̑͒̽̿̄̈͂́̊̕͠ę̴̛͍͉̜̭̱̬̟̠̮̺̲̘̱̍̈́͛̏̎́̒̉͊̏̾̍̚͜͠ͅs̶̢̥̝͇̮̈́̀̏͛͐̑̎̒͛͆͘t̸̠̗̻͈͈̾̿͛̾͝y̸̰̘̯̎̀̌̋̓̚̚̕͜͝l̴͓̖̝̪̪͍͖̯̪̙̆͒̇̀̈́̈̇̀̾̏̆̿̚͝e̸̹͕͚̺̫̯̝͔̤͐̀̇͌̃̚͠ ̶̨̨͕̙̖̤͇̘̖͇̹̣͈̟̹̲̟̞̏͋͛̽͜o̷̜͍̙͉̠̖̻̪͈͓͕̜̠̲̲͎̘̭̾̋̊́̔͒̿͘͝ͅn̶̡̛̮̙̠̯̣͇͚̣̝̟͎͚̺̟̣͛̈́̈̿̓̀̌̍͘̚̕̚͜͝ ̶̨̡͖̫̗̠͉̼̭̺͓̪̙͋̾̀̆̈́̐̚ͅt̸̨̖̠̻̖̊̎̍̓̀̅ḩ̷̹͓̖̳̟̘̮͖̤̙̪̯̘̈̇̊̔͛̒́͋́̔̅̃̀͂̑́͜͝ͅé̶̞̥͈͓̹̓̈́͐̾͛́̈̾̂̑̿͗͋͑̔̚͠͝i̴̥̦̯͈͉̳̙͇͚̦̠̻͔̤̜̙͙̘̗̾ṛ̵̐̎͆͑͑͠ ̸̡̧̥͚̳͔̗͈͓͇̮̘̞̲͇̮͊̑͗̊̿̋́̀͋̉̀̓͘ͅͅm̵̛̞̼̺̈́̄̄̆̾̀̔̉̈͌̎̍͐̀̈́͝ͅy̴̧͙̻̺͈̯͍̟͓̺̮͍̮̫͈̠̼̐̈̾͗͋͘͝͠ͅs̴̨̢̰̭̫̳̺̘̙̘̭͍͚̦̙̳͊́̈́̀́͑̐͐̕̚͘ͅͅt̸̨͎̘̱͇̱͇͎͈̗̤̭͉̫͓͉̙̾͑́͒̍͌́̔̉͜͜ͅȩ̵̢̧̺͍͖̫̟̥̤̥̟̰̼̻̺̼͔̀̀͗̋̌̿̀̎͋̂̐͐͜ṙ̷̡̙͙͉̬̯̺̖̼̳̠͉͔͇͉̣͓͙͖͑̇͗̓̌͑̌̚i̶̡̢̞̱̗̓̅̌͆̽̏͊̊̒̔̄͝͝͝͝ơ̶͖̰͉̱͖̩̞͙̱̖̏̑͋͂̊͒̌̎͊̑̂ŭ̷̧͖̰̱͌̾̕̚ŝ̶͙͚̠̜̼̀̀͝ ̵͎͖̈́͒̄̌̑̿͑̓̽h̵̻̦̓͑͛̍͗͝ọ̵̤̌̓̌͝m̷̢͓̝͉̙̳̪͖̥̖̮̠̝̦͓̃̇͊͋̎̌͒͋͑͆̊̍̒͆͒͘͘̚͝e̵̬̙̲̗̥͓̹̬̝̗̜̻̬̻̼̾̔͛́̎̓̄̐͜͜͝ͅl̶̢͓̞̪͕̝̆̅̃ấ̶͕̣̌̊̇̊̓̔͌̒́̕͘͠͝n̸̬͈̬͙̣̮̳͖̼͈͔̻͍̬̅͜͜ͅd̵̻̖̍ ̷̫̮̩͉̘͎̻̙̹̗͔̻̮̝͕̼̦̳̈́̀̃̇̅̅̃̇̽̕̚͘ơ̷̧̻̬̜͖͓̫̭̘̼̪̹͒͗̈́̆́͊̃̋̄̊̍̎̈́̃̋͋͝f̴̋̀͆̔ͅ ̴͕̳̞̰̗̼͖̠͓̙͇͔͈̈͋͗̑̍̾̈́̿̀̍͊̈́̕̕͝F̸̟̣̃̍̒å̷͕̼̪͖̪̰̖̙̯̔̚ͅļ̷̼̗̗̥̭̦̻͚̼̜̫̙̜̳̣̠͊͆̿̈̌͆̀̽͝͝í̶̧̧̛̮͇̟͔̣̳͍͖̥͉͙̬̭̝͎̬̹̙̂̒͒̀̉̈́͊͂̀̃̽̅̓͘̚ņ̵͙̰̖̮̝̝̜̪̼̼͔͝ṣ̵̛̫̦͚̼͉̫̍͌̍͛̕t̶̼̱̳̲̝̻͈͍̭͓͐ͅą̵̞̫̳̟̦̯̪̗͎͕̫͓͕̞̂͋̊̕͘̚͝đ̸̢̖̦̗͉͓͍̻͋̍͒͊͊̂̄͑̎͘͘.̴̧͖͉̰̈́ ̷̡̤̠̹͔̥͓͓̬͚̐̅͊̔͊̒̓̔̏̽̊̿̐̑͑̀͆͝͝͠Ṕ̴̯͚͖̥͙̰̳̲͍͕̤̠̳̳̘͇̻̒̀͒̔̅ͅh̴̢̨͔̼͍̻͇̣͔́̎ͅͅy̶̧̥̮̣͖̤͈͕̠̘͔̥̒͆̃̊͂́̀̈̈̓̾̈́͘̕ͅş̷̧̨͕̞̟͉̗͕̱̠̹̯̋͐̓͂̒̄̑̈̄̋̾͠i̶̛̲̣̰̣̦͈̙̙̖͖̫̕͘͝ͅc̸̬͓̦͈̹̞̺͕̯͚̩̟̠͗̉̏̂͜a̷̤̩͔̲̩̻̮͕͆́͛̆̍͘͜l̶̢̻̹͇͉̬̰͍͓̫̦͙̬̞͎͈̥̟̺̊͋̃͌̈̿̃l̶̢̗̜̗͚̭̙̥̯̪͍͖͎̻̗̩̥̭͋͝y̶̛̹̟̍̊̒̒͆́̏̃̇̂̏̕̚͝,̶̢̱͎̱̟̜̘͕̘̳͇͉̟̮̝͛̿̓̌̏̄̇͋͗͆̈͊͋͜ ̵͇̓̽̏́̾͛̽̅͗̂̚̚͘͝͠t̸̛̺͎͋̎͋̍̑̐̂̏̆̈̏́́̋͐͝h̴͕̖̰͇͈̩̬̠̙̝̜͚̥͇̗̻̤̩͔͐̽͒̊̆̐̕̚͝e̴̛͇͇̮͚̯͆͑̈́͊̾̋͂̂͊̐̀̐̒͘͠͠y̸̰͓̳̣̯̖̻͆̐̒́̍͆͗̄̑͋͝͝ ̷̨̝́̀̀̓̇̚a̸̢͍͚̤̥͈͙̼̳͕̻̲̐̃̑͂͛͐́̈́̀͊̅̽̑̆́͘r̵̨͍̤͙̯̬̉͗̔̂̄͊̆͌̿̎̂̄͜͠ȅ̵͈̼͍͇̥̈́̾̃̔̉́̓̑̀͒̚̚̚͜͜͝͝͠͠͝ ̴͎̝͈̼̤̹̓͆̀̀̀̉̅̃̿̓́́̏̍͝͠p̶͕̩͓̜̮̩̱̭̱̫̎͊ŗ̴̰̙͔͉̦̰̰̖͚͓̣̗̽͑͜͠ẻ̶̢̧̨͙̩̘̱̭̘̻̣͍͕͍̳͎̦͜ṣ̶̞͍̪̻̤̝̰̳͊ͅu̷̗͖̙̼̺̩̩͎͈̯̲͎̲̞̩͐ͅm̴̞͋̿̓̏̀̒̊̀̑̚e̷̪̠͔̳̘͚̖̹̒̃̈́́̈́̈́ḑ̸̘̫̯̬̤͙͍̭̉͊̓́̾͊̎̀͛ ̸̧̡͇̞͈̰̘̱̗̮͔̍̽͆͆̈́̾̇́͌̓̔͆͘͜ͅt̵̡̨̡͍͉̙̺͙̫͉̞̬̮̙͂̃͑̕͜ͅǫ̸̭̟̗̱͍̙̼̝̳̤̬̭̪̤̖̙̦̀̾̉͐̀̀͋̽̃̃̓̅̓̿̔͗͂̓̕ ̵͔̹̥̰͈̜͉̹͂͒̀̎̌͛̇̃͊́̍͝b̴̨̡̢̜̬͍̳̘̰̳̳̭̟̖̒̃̈͋̀́̄͊̌̓̑̑̾͊̋̔̕̚͝e̵͎̮̓̑̋͋̄̏͊̿͋̊͝͝ͅ ̷̞͔̩̳͉͇̣͙̠̜͓̗̻̙̼̈͑̄̃̎̾̈́͜w̶͙̞͓̠̘͚̥̞̲̞̫̪̝̩̣̓̽̓̀̃̈́̃̋͋͂̌̾̍̒͊̋͋͜ė̸͖̗̮͇̪͕̫͎͙̘̠͕̻̰̙́̏̎̓̔̀̌̒͜͠ͅa̶̛̻͓̱̔ḱ̷̛͔̗͖͇̿̾̄̃̆̈́̽̈́͛͑̅͋̚̕͝é̶̡̛̲̙͚͆͋̊̍̊̏́̅͌͒͗̋̂͐̍͠ŗ̷̨̟̖̟̬̻̭̠̘̦̠̼͓̮̰̳̤̎͑̿̍̒͐̉̈́͋̑͋̍̚͘͘̚͠͝͠ ̸̫̺͉͕̫̺̰̟̻͔̦̬͉̱̙̀̿ͅa̴̧̨̗̠͕̩̟͈̥̭̳̜̒̄̾͐͂̋͒̐̊̿̀̈́̑̐͊͜͜͜͠͠n̷̛̛͇̯̥̿̍̋̐̈́̄͂̀̐̍̋̈́̓̄̚͠ḑ̵̨̢̛̗̱͔̞͕͈̳̪̹̤̥͓̭̯̹͇͆̃͋̆̉͒̂̓͋̈̐̑͘̕̚͘͜͠ ̶̙̥̮̝̞̈́͛͊̃͝ş̸͖͉̳̟͕̥͖͖̬̘̩͔͇͓̻̔̈́͊͐͆͝͝͠ͅĺ̵̹̤̜̑̀̓͌͛̐̾͊̋͘͜o̷̢̲̭̮͕̒͂͐̍͊͊͋̽̾̕͘w̴͔͚̞̺̮̫̯̖̭̯̹̝͗́̓́̏̒̑́̂̓̑̽̈́̉͜ͅe̵̪͎̩̩̪̪̘͖̞͈̮͕̅͠ŗ̷̛̪̤̺̗͓͍̌́͆͂̐͗̓͂͘̕͝ ̵̨̼͈̦̲̪̘̰͙̓ṫ̸̛̗̰̄̂̇̃̏͑̌̒̎͂̔͘͝͠h̸̢̗͉̙̗͍̬̲͚͆̂̐̐̉͝a̷̧̺̯̜̟͚̩͈̖̫͚̐̐̔̎̈́͂͜ͅͅn̶̡̧͉̩̲̹̣̮̺͌̊̂̿͋̈̉̉̈́͆̕͜͝ ̸̢̨̹̥̦̫̘̘̦̮̼͎͖̰̘̼̗̞̥̻̾̐̒͆̿́̔̉̽̑͂̂̏̿̓̊͊͒͠͠m̸̮̰̪̭̬͚͖̮͓͕̖̬͎̟̩̀͑͌͂̋͗̔͛o̷̢̬̝͔̮͓͓̰̻̅̎̅̋̈́̏͌̇̿̇͠s̸̢̡̤̲̼͉̣̺̝͉̪͚̦̯̞̰̳͍͍̆͆̕ẗ̴̙̦͖̘́̎̀͆̔̕ ̵̯̾̔͝s̶̺̖͚͔͉͙̬͎̯͓͆́̔͑ͅp̷̡̩͖̝͙͚͇̙̮͕͓̘̳̰̱̻̦͘ͅͅẹ̸̰͇͑̂̀̇̈́̓̀͑̆̃͛͊͊͠͝c̵̨̡͓͖͓̮͓̭̪̰̺̲̹̏̌͆͊̃͗͠i̷̛̝̣̜͐̅̽̽͆͐̈̉̈̅͆͗́̆͂̽̌́ͅe̸̦̞̲̦̞̙̥̥͉̹̞̰͋̃̂̔̉̓̽̄́̔̓̐͝ş̶̡̢̢̛̛̬͓͕̞͈̼̞̥̤͔̤̮͐̅́̌̿́̈̀̔͆̃͐̀̎͆͗̆͘͜ͅ 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(These pages seem to be covered in some sort of green gunk; their contents are illegible.)
Whilst on my travels, I came into contact with many forms of faith and religion. It is with regret that, through my own atheism, I paid them so little attention, as in my final years the topic has come to fascinate me. With this in mind, I recruited the aid of Alexander Horne the First, an expert in the belief systems of Tyrrania. With his assistance, we were able to combine our collective knowledge to present you with the following summary of Tyrranian faith.
· Ahimoth ·
God of Life and Death
Ahimoth is regarded as the giver of life and the bringer of death. It is Ahimoth who ultimately determines whether a soul is pure, and whether it will pass safely into the Afterlife. Ahimothians live their lives according to his scriptures, which demand servitude to him, hoping to appease the God and ensure that their eternity beyond life is a pleasant one. Ahimoth is morally neutral: he encourages his followers to live good lives, but he is known to punish fiercely and has a reputation for being very unforgiving. This trait has earned him the nickname 'The Stern Judge', and is known to deter some Tyrranians from subscribing to his religion. Many of those who follow him do so out of fear rather than anything he might stand for.
· Adilah ·
Goddess of Justice and Wisdom
Adilah is a Goddess with a following throughout Tyrrania; many worship her in conjunction with Ahimoth, believing that her virtues will help them live a life pure enough to ensure them safe passage to the Beyond. But Adilah also has a strong independent following who worship her alone, and whilst she may only be the second most-worshipped deity in the land, her values of fairness, knowledge and morality earn her the reputation of the most benign deity. She is considered much more kind and forgiving in her judgement than Ahimoth; though her teachings focus upon order and justice, those who break the rules can be forgiven if they are able to learn from their mistakes.
· Carminda ·
Goddess of Beauty and Song
Carminda and her followers value the beauty of the world above all else, and see all creation in its pure form as beautiful. Their values of beauty and song have earned them an association with birds, which are considered sacred animals to the followers of Carminda. Her alignment with visual pleasures earns her a varied following, from painters and sculptors to carpenters and craftsmen. So charming is Carminda that even the followers of other deities have been known to offer her whispered thanks upon beholding particularly breathtaking views.
· Destina ·
Goddess of Fate and Order
Destina is regarded by her followers as fate itself personified: she is the one who decides what route a life will take, and it is her power that ensures the road is not strayed from. Her morality is considered neutral, as Destinites believe that she will enforce fate regardless of how the outcome will effect the individual. Destinites believe that fate is pre-determined, and thus it is common for them to dismiss the idea of Ahimoth’s judgement. They believe that Destina has a plan for them that will ultimately end well: they must learn self-control and persevere with the cards she deals them in order to attain her rewards. As such, Destinites are perhaps the most disciplined worshippers; they often favour meditation over prayer.
· Fusius ·
God of Strength and Power
Fusius is a controversial deity, renowned for the ruthless and self-serving nature of his teachings. The God believes that all individuals should fight for themselves; be it for their survival or their happiness. Where Fusius is concerned, there is no strict ‘right’ or ‘wrong’; he endorses doing whatever it takes to become stronger and more powerful. It is the belief of Fusians that the teachings of their God falls in line with the natural way of the world: the weak fall to the bottom, whilst the strong rise to the top. In a world where danger lurks around every corner, it is easy to see why so many people are willing to turn to Fusius for power. Whilst the faction is berated by other faiths, the Fusians believe that all life naturally craves power; it is just within their brave nature that they are willing to admit it and realise their desires.
· Ith ·
God of War and Hunting
Ith’s legacy began on the island of Ithelm, where the barbaric people there believed he dwelled within the flaming mountain; they prayed to him for success in their hunts and battles. Though the people of Ithelm remain his strongest followers to this day, worship of this God has found a place in the more civilised mainland over the last few hundred years. It is for this reason that Ith is often considered to be the youngest of the Gods. Despite his relative youth, however, it is easy to see why soldiers and huntsmen from across Tyrrania might turn to Ith in times of need. Even those not loyal to him have been known to carry armour or weapons imbued with his blessing into battle.
· Lynessa ·
Goddess of Fertility and The Land
Lynessa is associated with growth and health; she is the one women pray to for help conceiving children, and the one farmers pray to when their crops struggle. If Destina is considered to be a personification of fate, Lynessa is Mother Nature. She and her brother, Rhiver, are often worshipped in conjunction with one another. She lacks her brother’s kind heart, however, and her followers are often obliged to make personal sacrifices in return for her blessings. Every Winter, her followers celebrate their servitude to her by constructing large bonfires, into which they cast crops and produce in the hopes of earning her favour once again for the following year.
· Rhiver ·
God of Peace and Nature
value is peace between living things. His teachings encourage those who follow him to avoid killing or harming living things, though it is not prohibited entirely. Rhiver does not set rules that must be followed as he does not wish to be worshipped as a God; instead, he wishes to use his power to help guide people towards better lives. One could kill and eat a boar and still be considered a devout Rhiverist, as long as they ensured that the animal was treated with respect and saved from suffering. Whilst some dismiss Rhiverists as naive and idealistic, those who follow this religion are generally recognised as good-willed people.
· Zorion ·
God of Freedom and Will
Zorion is hailed by his followers as a god standing for independence, but his detractors would label him a force of mischief and chaos. In some respects, Zorionites share the same self-serving purpose as the Fusians, with one exception: their actions need not necessarily benefit themselves. Rather, those faithful to Zorion simply believe in acting on one’s free will, and rejecting the rigid structures of religion found in other faiths. Zorion asks nothing from his followers except that they do as they please, praying to him only if they wish; usually for protection in their endeavours. Zorion tends to attract the more roguish outsiders of society, as the religion is generally frowned upon as immature, irresponsible and disorderly. Because of this, Zorionites have a particularly tense relationship with the Destinites.
· The Great Mothers ·
The Old Gods
Across all histories, faith in various deities has waxed and waned. In one age, life itself may seem to revolve entirely around a particular deity; in the next, few may believe that same God had ever existed at all. The Old Gods, or the 'Great Mothers', are such beings lost to the passage of time.
The term 'Great Mothers' most often refers to three beings in particular: Yan, Rol and Tum. It is said that Yan, the oldest and wisest sister, created the earth and shaped it into Tyrrania, but it was too dark for them to appreciate it. The next oldest, Rol, gave birth to the Sun, which lit up the planet and allowed the sisters to marvel at its beauty. Tum, the youngest of the three, was overcome with emotion and wept in awe, her tears of joy flooding the planet with oceans, rivers and streams. They created lifeforms of increasing sentience, culminating in the eventual birth of the Humans. For some time, the Mothers did nothing but watch proudly as their creation blossomed.
That is, until Dar arrived. The fourth and youngest sister, Dar was abandoned by the Great Mothers in another plane of existence, and they believed her to be gone for good. However, Dar had been following them through the cosmos for millennia, and the Mothers had stopped for long enough to create Tyrrania that she was able to catch up. Enraged, Dar threatened to destroy Tyrrania, but together her sisters were able to defend their creation; though not before Dar was able to curse the land, introducing the concept of greed. She promised that, with greed now in their hearts, the once-perfect Humans would eventually destroy everything that the Mothers had created.
And so Dar left. Realising that their perfect world was no more, the Mothers soon followed suit; setting off in search of an equally suitable corner of the cosmos in which to rebuild what they had lost.
APPEARANCE: Averagely built and only slightly above average height, Lucius does not strike anyone as particularly heroic by the light of day. Even when clad in his robes, his appearance is more unsettling than valiant. His skin falls on the paler side, a result of many hours locked away in his shack, and his icy blonde hair betrays his Grimm heritage. His piercing hazel eyes glimmer with a suggestion of greenness in the right light, and have a certain hypnotic quality when gazing out from beneath his cowl. His left hand is often bound in rags or bandages; when exposed, a ghastly scar is revealed running along the width of his palm, often with the signs of a fresh wound. His presence in a room is decidedly uncomfortable; he seems to have a vague aura of cold about him, and says very little. He has a reputation for lurking, and often startles people accidentally due to the quietness of his movements.
SKILLS, STRENGTHS & TALENTS: Lucius is a highly skilled practitioner in the dark art of necromancy, which affords him a number of specialist magical skills. Necromancy does not draw upon the natural arcana of the world like most magic; it is performed by channelling the power of death itself. Utilising this energy by sacrificing weakened enemies or exploiting their corpses, he is able to produce powerful effects. These can be destructive explosions and miasmas, or protective magical fields and portals through which to evade harm. These large feats of magic are ritual-based, and thus require a period of uninterrupted and very specific spellcasting to achieve.
In situations where more immediate magic is required, Lucius sometimes performs blood sacrifices; by cutting open his palm and allowing himself to bleed, Lucius gains access to deathly magical spells which affect the bodies of his victims. For example, he can cause excessive bleeding in his victims, or cause areas of their flesh to rot. These cruel spells require Lucius to make physical contact with his victim, often by wiping his blood on them. Similarly, he can create ‘blood bonds’ between two enemies, whereby any harm that befalls one party is replicated magically upon the other: effectively, killing two birds with one stone.
Not requiring himself to bleed or get close to his enemies, regular magic is the safest for Lucius to use. Trained in fire and ice spells at the Wizard’s Tower, Lucius is not well-versed enough in elemental magic to truly stand on his own two feet with it, but it does allow him to buy himself some time. More often than not, he uses a human skull as a magical focus in order to bolster his grip over fire and frost; without his focus, Lucius’ regular spellcasting ability is little more than beginner.
He does have skills outside of necromancy, too. He’s excellent with a knife, and can hold his own without magic against weaker foes. The sacrificial nature of his practice has forced Lucius to learn the basics of wrapping and treating wounds, but he does not know any healing magic. He also has little knowledge about wounds other than cuts; burns, breaks and disease are all things that would require a proper medic’s attention.
As a person, Lucius’ main strength is his unwavering loyalty. His devout upbringing and disciplined magical practice have shaped Lucius into someone who always sees things through; he will stand by his allies until the very end. He’s highly intelligent and fiercely curious, making him both a fast learner and a useful investigative eye.
WEAKNESSES & DRAWBACKS: Much of Lucius magical discipline is inconvenient in the context of battle; yes, he is able to conjure devastating effects, but they require extensive rituals and even self-harm. Performing rituals leaves Lucius vulnerable to attacks, and if he stops to defend himself then the spell is ruined. Similarly, allowing himself to bleed for the duration of a battle is clearly dangerous; not only is he losing blood, but also exposing the wound to a variety of infections and diseases through skin contact with his enemies. For all the risks he takes to perform impressive feats of necromancy, his regular spellcasting ability is quite weak through a lack of training; should he be separated from his focus, his spells are barely above beginner-level. When fighting without magic, Lucius may be skilled with a dagger, but his ability ends there. He lacks the physical strength to fight with a larger weapon, or to cause much damage with just his hands.
A lot of Lucius’ necromantic potential is ignored as a result of his faith in Ahimoth. With ability such as his, Lucius could easily raise small hordes of the undead to do his bidding, but he believes it to be the ultimate sin to interfere with Ahimoth’s judgement: he has never even attempted to bring something back from the dead, and he never plans to.
It is perhaps because of this that Lucius was so affected by the exile he earned through his necromantic practice. He felt that he had been unfairly branded a villain by people who had once loved him, but who now pictured him as someone who wanted to cheat death and lead skeletal armies. The rejection he experienced affects him to this day, and he still finds it difficult to place his trust in anyone but himself. Similarly, he finds himself unable to easily earn the trust of others, due in no small part to the stigma surrounding his profession. Plus, all his time spent alone has significantly impaired his social skills; he has a reputation in Valeview as being somewhat awkward. His shy, hermitic nature mean that his observations, which are usually insightful and valuable, often go unheard.
✶ B E L O N G I N G S
ATTIRE: Lucius wears fitted armour crafted from trollhide, famed for its durability and flexibility alike, with matching knee-high boots. Iron rings on his chest and waist offer some additional protection. On his left side is a hard sheath, in which he stores his athame, and a square leather pouch to house his personal journal. Two similar pouches hang from his right side, for keeping various belongings. He drapes himself in a heavy black cloak with a hood, which is thick enough to keep him warm without weighing him down.
WEAPONS: Unlike most mages, Lucius owns no wands or staves. He fights almost exclusively with an athame; the blade of which is triangular, double-edged and forged by Dwarves in iron. The handle is beautifully crafted from onyx, into which a runic sigil has been carved. The weapon is used for physical stabbing and slashing, as well as being a conduit for magical attacks.
TOOLS: As his non-necromantic magic is comparatively weak, Lucius uses a human skull as an off-hand focus through which to bolster his magical strength. He also carries a small bag of bones, which he believes he can use to divine messages from the Beyond.
PERSONAL ITEMS: A number of ornate rings have been handed down through the Grimm family for generations; Lucius wears one such ring. It is pure silver of the finest quality, set with a sharp cut onyx rock. Along the inner band is an inscription pledging the servitude of the wearer to Ahimoth. He also carries a journal, bound in batwing leather; what he actually writes in there is unclear.
✶ H I S T O R Y
The Grimm family have lived in Woodsend for generations; well-known for their involvement with the Church of Ahimoth, some of Woodsend's most respected priests have been Grimms. The family are known to be devout in their servitude to the Stern Judge, as well as for throwing some of the best dinner parties in town.
Lucius Grimm was raised by his clerical father, Alistair, following the tragic death of his mother during childbirth. The Grimms were already a notoriously hardened folk, but Carmen's untimely demise only toughened her widower further. Still, he made sure Lucius was well looked-after; Alistair's responsibilities meant he was often obscenely busy, but the churchfolk were charmed by Lucius and always seemed willing to watch over him.
Growing up in the chapel was always going to have an effect on the boy, and Lucius was as devout to Ahimoth as any of his forefathers. It was assumed that he would follow in their footsteps, eventually leading the sermons himself and passing on the baton to his own offspring when the time came. And so it came as quite the surprise when, aged twenty-one, Lucius announced that he would soon be leaving Woodsend.
As he grew up, Lucius had become increasingly interested in his mother. She had been an accomplished healer, and pouring through her old journals had revealed to Lucius that individuals would come from as far afield as the First Capital to benefit from her magical prowess; she had even been called to the Palace on one occasion. All of this fascinated Lucius, and he became somewhat enamoured with the idea of training as a Mage himself. And so it was decided: he, too, would study at the Wizard's Tower, following in his mother's footsteps.
He didn't need to spend long at the Tower before realising that he was in his element; it was apparent to all those who knew him that Lucius had inherited his mother's talent for spellcasting. It seemed, however, that Lucius had a curiosity and a thirst for knowledge that set him apart from his parentage; while Alistair was contented in blind servitude to Ahimoth and Carmen was disinterested in learning magic outside of healing, the same drive that urged Lucius to leave Woodsend now compelled him to learn more.
After finishing his Basic Level classes, Lucius decided against specialising in Healing, having developed an interest in Elemental magic; perhaps driven by the symbolic connections to his beliefs around life and death, he chose fire and frost as his focuses for his first year of study. Whilst he excelled in his studies, catching the attention of several of the Tower's teachers, he began to grow frustrated when they denied his requests for additional classes. The Wizards were insistent that the mark of a good Mage was discipline; once he had finished his studies in frost and fire, he would be able to choose a new specialism - but not until. Of course, 'no' was not the answer Lucius wanted to hear, and so he took matters into his own hands.
With charm and light-fingered skill, Lucius was able to obtain a key for the Wizards' legendary library. It was here, deep beneath the Tower, that he would sneak to each night in order to conduct his extra curricular research. He read in brief about all sorts of fantastical magic: oneiromancy, metamorphosis and even alchemy were all documented in the library, and the wealth of offerings here that ought to have been available for general study only added to his initial frustrations with the Tower. But it was one tome in particular that caught Lucius' attention; bound in dark green leather, with an ornate pewter skull affixed to the cover. It bore no title, nor did it credit any particular author... But upon scanning the first of its yellowed pages, one word seemed to burn brighter than the rest: necromancy.
Everything Lucius knew about the so-called dark art told him to put the book back or, better yet, burn it. And yet, there was something beautiful about the way the author spoke about life and death; there was an intoxicating quality to the idea of utilising the very essence of everything his God stood for. It seemed to make perfect sense to Lucius that he would come across this path... Perhaps, as the son of an Ahimothian priest and an accomplished Mage, it was his genetic destiny. Enamoured with the idea of forming a deeper connection with both his God and his ancestry, Lucius read on.
He had covered considerable ground by the time he was eventually caught reading from the tome some months later, which became quite the scandal across the Tyrranian magical community. There is much communication between alumni of the Tower, and talk of a star pupil turning to the dark arts was shocking enough to sting many a graduated mage's lips. Lucius, of course, was disgraced, and immediately expelled from the Tower. Feeling defeated, Lucius headed home.
It was perhaps a mistake to expect a warm welcome: the townsfolk were both frightened and furious; Alistair himself was overcome with shame, his only son turned against the ways of their God. Lucius tried to explain himself: that he was using necromancy to connect directly with Ahimoth; working to his teachings rather than against them. But it was useless, and his words fell only on deaf ears. Estranged by his family and the people he'd grown up with, Lucius left Woodsend once more... This time, he realised, would probably be the last.
Alone, he headed East, eventually settling in the quiet village of Valeview. Here, on the borders of the vast Tumek desert, Lucius lived in exile; rarely speaking to his neighbours and focussing on truly perfecting his craft. He would spend his entire days studying the notes he'd made at the Tower and practicing his rituals into the night. In truth, some of the villagers suspected him as the star of the infamous tale; he who had promised to become a prominent figure in the magical community, but caved to temptation of the Dark Arts. Even now, ten years later, whispers fly around the village about the true identity of their most reclusive resident.
RELIGION: Nature, or the First Child. Moreso than actively worship the Mothers, Bon has believes in their creation – even if she herself would describe her faith as fact rather than religion. Bon values nature as if divine, but doesn't deem any part of it as good or evil as the followers of the current Pantheon would. Rather Bon considers the subject of her worship a primal force, one that functions outside the boundaries of morality.
✶ P H Y S I C A L I T Y
HEIGHT: 4'3
WEIGHT: 76 lbs
APPEARANCE: As her dwarven lineage dictates, Bon is short and her build on the stocky side. Her face on the other hand, shows more human traits. She possesses a narrow jaw, large and expressive eyes, thick lips and a slight olive tan. Her wild, black hair is riddled with straps and ornaments she crafted for herself, like souvenirs from the sights she has seen. Bon wears robes and skins, not always entirely without the musk of their previous bearers. Strangely, neither the questionable hygiene of her garments or Bon's age has much affect on her health or appearance. In fact, few would estimate Bon over twenty-five.
SKILLS, STRENGTHS & TALENTS:
In combat, Bon is feral. Literally. Her magic enables her to shapeshift into wild animals while maintaining her rational mind. This makes her a powerful and versatile opponent. However, Bon cannot transform seamlessly from one animal to another; she always needs to revert to her original form first. She can only transform so many times per day and needs to stay in that form for at least twenty minutes, including the form of her half-dwarven self.
This same magic enhances Bon's instincts. Like a wild animal, she senses fear and can predict storms or even earthquakes. Rot and decay occur much slower when Bon is around. Even she herself doesn't age as much as one would expect.
Bon is skilled at navigation and survival. She is self-sufficient, hunting her own food and crafting her own clothes. Bon has pockets of knowledge on all kinds of environments and the benefits and dangers they produce. For example, she might be able to tell whether a mushroom in a given environment is edible or poisonous. That said, because of Bon her migratory nature, her knowledge is nowhere near absolute. Specific details or deeper complexities about that one particular mushroom's reaction to a summer rain may escape her “Did it mimic direwolf pheromones, did release flammable spores... I'm not sure, but I remember it is delicious. Try it.” Bon can often share rudimentary knowledge about settlements based on her travels. For example, she may deduce what kind of stone the masons used to build a church, or tell where a market stall got their fish (and if it really is as fresh as they'd have you believe.)
Though reaching an understanding with Bon can be... Trying, she is rather sociable. Bon finds it easy to talk to most people regardless of their background or disposition. Her honest and upfront (if somewhat blunt) nature makes Bon an easy to trust woman. Entertaining others is something Bon quite enjoys and with a wealth of stories and knowledge at her disposal, she can hold quite the conversation.
WEAKNESSES & DRAWBACKS:
Because Bon transforms into wild animals in order to fight, she rarely if ever benefits from what is quite possible humanity's greatest asset; the ability to use weapons and tools in combat. Certainly she might transform into a wolf, but a thick hide is no substitute for plate armour and fangs are not warhammers. If an enemy mounts a horse in order to escape, she cannot fire a bow at their backs or grab a horse of her own to pursue without forgoing her transformation.
Bon is not very respectful of the 'fledgling' gods and their associated religions. She cares little for others their religious rituals and sensibilities. Bon is equally concerned with people's opinions on her expressing said views. This makes her appear antagonistic (if not heretic) towards the more devout followers. Similar to her disregard for modern religion, Bon considers many social structures foolish or childish. That doesn't sit well with those who feel they or others are entitled to her respect, such as lords or particularly prideful humans.
As Bon her outlook on morality often shapes itself as (and I quote;) “It just is.” many consider her brand of philosophy alienating. Likewise, she has no attachment to the concept of home, so is unlikely to lend herself to territorial disputes. Bon considers vengeance foolhardy because she does not believe in retribution. Whether this perspective is the fruit of divine wisdom or utter madness, I'll leave up to the individual, but it can certainly make her difficult to work or reason with.
On the other hand, something that does actively bother Bon is the unnatural, such as curses and magic that needlessly corrupts nature. She particularly distrusts Nosferytes to the point of outright prejudice and racism. Likewise, she objects to exhaustion of farmland and considers many cities disgraceful. Being in the presence of any of the aforementioned elements disturbs her on a spiritual level.
✶ B E L O N G I N G S
ATTIRE: Bon wears a cloak and mishmash garments made of various animal skins. Her clothes and hair are interwoven with pieces of bone, bark and stone; though more for sentimental reasons than practical purpose. Her self-made leather boots and gloves which, though far from fashionable – much less matching, are perfectly functional.
WEAPONS: Though preferring weaponry of the claw and teeth variance, Bon is capable of handling the axe and javelin. She carries an old, somewhat rusty, dwarven-made battle-axe as well as ten handmade javelins.
TOOLS: Bon carries with her small leather bags filled of tools to make her life in the wilderness easier. Tools such as rope, flint and a waterskin go without saying, but Bon also carries the means to fix clothing or carve wood and leather. The most unusual of her items is perhaps a mortar to crush leaves and herbs with. After all, there's many things lying around just waiting to made into tea.
PERSONAL ITEMS: Aforementioned ornaments and trinkets interwoven with her clothing or hair. Other notable items include a drinking horn cut out of a grey bone, a hairbrush you'd be hard-pressed to believe to be of much use, and a tiny pair of reading glasses to which Bon is strangely attached.
✶ H I S T O R Y
”The clan, the clan. Always about the clan. You'd think my father would shut up about family or forges sometime, but nay. To dwarves, you see, family is everything. Oppressed by shackles of the past, they make sure they stick together – and with a half for a daughter in a town like Gard, old man Copperhelm doubled down on those teachings.
My mother was human, you see. Lovely woman, and as tall as a tree. Father's nose would be about the same height as her waist when they stood next to one another. I didn't know any better as a lass, but I was often told it was a hilarious sight. Still don't get the joke myself, even after all these years.
Either way, not many dwarves take human brides. Most don't trust humans, you see, so my father did all he could so my mother and I were accepted by the clan. He'd shout at everyone who'd try to claim otherwise, brothers, neighbours, even our elders. Hell, the moment anyone even looked at me funny, his hand would be on his axe. To me, father would always drone on about the importance of the clan and how it was my heritage. Yes, yes, I was a dwarven lass. Bit tall for one - and not as pretty as far as my cousins were concerned, but to my father and his side of the family, I was a Copperhelm all the same.
My mother's side of the family on the other hand? Never seen 'em. Was told not to worry about it, that should tell you enough. My human side however, came up when I was twelve. I believe the word mother used for it was puberty. Strange word for a strange thing. I remember I just wanted out. Out of my home, out of Gard, and that desire lead to the best and worst decision I made my entire my life.
One day, I jumped on the back of a merchant's carriage, knowing it'd take me south. Hid between his wares, I did, but I wasn't a smart lass. I hadn't packed any food. The third day on the road I knew for sure my stomach would rat me out, so when the merchant stopped to feed the horses, I sneaked out of hiding, hoping to find myself something to bite on. Didn't go as well as I'd hoped, I'll tell you that. The merchant took me for a thief and drew his axe. Chased me all the way up the hills, taught me a slew of obscenities, he did. But at the end of the day, he had a job to get back to. Me? I was lost and alone in the hills with nothing but the clothes on my back. And just when I thought it couldn't get any worse; it started to rain.
So there I am, drenched down to my knickers and sneezing my lungs out in the middle of nowhere. I dragged my feet to a cave. Little did I know that by the next dawn I'd feel so sick I'd be spending the rest of the week on that rocky floor. It would have made for a short adventure weren't it for the next morning, where I hit it off with a bear.
Now to a half like me, reckon I'm at least a feet and a half shorter than your everyday human lass, bears are giants! Imagine waking up and staring in the eyes of a beast so large; it could swallow you whole! Chewing optional. I was scared shitless. Would've screamed if I could, but my cries for couldn't make their way up my sore throat; I just wheezed and squeaked. I could swear I saw that bear laughing, it did. A laughing bear. I thought I'd seen it all, but the next second that bear shifted into the shape of a snickering, elderly woman. It's a miracle I didn't faint on the spot.
Varaan, the woman called herself. After she had her fill of laughter, Varaan brewed me tea. It tasted like piss, sure, but she saved my life with that bitter stuff, she did. Varaan told me she was a druid – a simple servant of the First Child. I told her I wanted to go back home, but we both knew I was in no condition to. So Varaan took care of me. She brewed more teas, the one even more pungent than the other. She brought me roots and meat to chow down. She kept watch while I slept, perhaps bit down a troll or two at night – truth be told I was too scared to ask what the noise was about. Still. We spent a lot more time than either of us had bargained for, such is life.
By the time I got back on my feet, Varaan decided she enjoyed my company enough to see me home. Aye, a gentle woman, powerful magician and wise soul she might have been; a pathfinder she was not. Two years. It took us two years to return to Gard. But the times, the adventures that we had in those hills... I'll speak of them another time, perhaps.
Alas, I found my way back to Gard. To my father, my mother... To the Copperhelm clan. My time with Varaan had changed me. I'd never seen eye to eye with my father when I was a lass, but then and there, as a slightly taller lass, the distance between us was wider than the road I'd travelled. I'd taken after Varaan, you see. In those two years she had shown me wonders and horrors both I'd never dreamt of. It was good to sleep in my old bunk for a night or two... But I started longing back to the adventures I had. It was as if I'd forgotten the comfort of home. Even mother's stove was nauseating. I longed for the wilderness.
And so I wandered – back to nature and back to the teachings of Varaan. I found her quite easily and she took her under her wing. We travelled without destination as I learned of her art, then I travelled and learned some more. I haven't been back to Gard since. It is not a home, it is not a clan, that brings me happiness. It is these... How many... Thirty-odd years that have gifted me the joy of life. To serve the First Child and to have become keen to a world most this day and age have forgotten... It is a bliss unlike any other.”
BIRTHNAME | Hadrin Guthstein OTHER NAMES | Laethe, Sparrow
AGE: Twenty-six
GENDER: Male
RACE: Amorynthian Human
BIRTHPLACE: Dray, Amorynthia
RELIGION: Hadrin was born into a family steeped in tradition that existed as long as written records have existed. The eldest son's duty was to enter their father's tutelage and eventually take his place as the master jeweler of the Guthstein family. The eldest daughter would be trained in the arts of enchantments, originating some twenty-three generations back to the Eddelreich family whose form of enchantment was based in song. This blending of glimmering gems entombed in silver and gold, imbued with enchantments of songs passed down tens of generations led to the Guthstein family being paragons of the Carminda faith. Though, perfection requires scores of failures and as such those children not born eldest or likely to take the position of the eldest found as little value in the Carminda faith as their family traditions found in them.
Being an eighth-born child, Hadrin was one of those children. As he grew older and the need to make his own path became more and more of a reality, he looked to Zorion for guidance. To become a devotee of Zorion was to find liberation from the Carminda faith in the eyes of Hadrin, his brothers and sister, and the extraneous children of countless generations before them. It was Zorion's guidance that influenced his ambition. It was the sense of self and rejection of selflessness that drove Hadrin into the arms of magic. It was Zorion's demand to serve himself above all else that he took to an ultimate feat of recklessness in the pursuit of magical mastery. It was Zorion's influence that ultimately drove him away from the gods.
✶ P H Y S I C A L I T Y
HEIGHT: 6'4"
WEIGHT: 175lbs
APPEARANCE: Hadrin in his younger years was never obese, though if he had a vice it was his indulgences in the culinary arts. His body had all the soft feminine curves of a sensual woman unfortunately affixed to the body of a short posh boy. He eventually shook the habit of overeating, under-dressing, and abstaining from grooming to make himself into a presentable young man. As the desire to practice the magic arts welled within him, so did his desire to make himself fit the role he had come to envision himself in; a hero whose name would be lauded across the all of Tyrrania.
As a grown man, he's a shadow of his youthful vision whose appearance exaggerates his age. Laethe, as he later came to be known, towered over most folk though few would ever recall him as being particularly tall. He had a way of carrying himself that betrayed his true stature; slouched shoulders, downcast gazes, a hunch slight enough to look at if he were standing normally. His hair had grown beyond his shoulders and gone were his formerly golden locks, faded far beyond his years past gray to nearly white. All of which comes together to frame a gaunt face with high cheekbones and a sullen set of lips. Around his eyes hang dark bags, a result of sleepless travels and a lack of personal care. Contrasting that are his lavender eyes, a recessive trait his family has long been proud to posses; a blessing of Carminda his ancestors liked to claim. It's not rare that the unassuming figure draws predatory gazes from some, sympathetic eyes from others, and ensures that jobs involving physical labour and rarely given to him without some convincing needing to be done.
SKILLS, STRENGTHS & TALENTS: In his travels, both former and current, this trait has been the foundation of it all; Self-sufficiency. Laethe has no patience for stagnation and if there's a job to be done, it's already been started by him. If his belly is empty, his throat parched, and there's nary a nibble nor a drop in his pack, he'll find work with his magics or his bare-hands to sustain himself long enough to get to the next village, town, or hamlet. It's this work ethic that's led to him picking up many useful skills from barn building to breaking horses to trade negotiations and everywhere in between. He's had a silver tongue since he was a child, a common trait of his lineage.
Laethe is no master of arms, but he has years of experience hunting with spear and bow which aids him well enough when he has either on his person. Though as he's rarely armed in his travels, he's never arrived at a town beaten and bloodied from beast or brigand.
Laethe has a plethora of skills picked up mostly out of necessity. His more common-folk skills such as hunting, foraging, and carpentry speak to his current life. His literacy and general education hark back to his privileged roots.
It's no secret that Laethe is a traveling mage. He's a wide range of skills that are strictly utilitarian, like sparking a flame to life, mending minor wounds, always knowing which way is North, and a plethora of otherwise unremarkable skills. While his range of magic should stretch his mastery thin, he often surprises viewers with his results. Where he truly shines is in a magic he practices in secret, going so far as to refuse desperately needed work if he cannot do his task behind locked doors and shuttered windows. Whatever the source of the magic is matters not to most he's helped, as he's found ways to provide far more in practical means for folks than answers to questions ever could. His secretive magics have often been used both in self defense and in service to certain buyers where there are witnesses to his magics, though those that have seen it have never lived to tell tales. However in the Tumeken desert sound can carry some distance and as he was dealing with a camp of bandits that had taken over an oasis, the sound of the chirping of a swarm of birds came across the rolling sands. The bodies of the bandits were found, shredded to ribbons at the hands of Laethe and soon after that he began to answer to the Sparrow, a title for the sound of his deathly magics.
WEAKNESSES & DRAWBACKS: While not lame, his left arm lacks much of the strength his right has. Never having healed properly from a traumatic injury, the arm can only remain raised for a short while before it drops back to his side. It also cannot be raised vertically, mobility being limited to just below 110 degrees. His grip is weak and a sword can easily be knocked out of it. Had his left hand not once been his dominant hand, this would've been less of a burden. It's taken him years, but he's learned to write and do most tasks as well with his offhand, though his writing has always suffered significantly.
Laethe has a great sorrow he carries with him, often being described as haunted by those with the wherewithal to notice. He's often open, even jovial about most of his personal history, but should he be pressed for information about his travels to Falinstađ he completely shuts down. The topic has only ever been addressed once. His eldest brother asked him what had happened and how long he had actually been stuck on that "God foresaken island". He answered, "It felt as if a lifetime" and had nothing more to offer. He quietly disappeared from the estate that night, never to return.
Laethe has become emotionally distant, though there are enough subtleties that he's rarely around long enough for it to occur to people how little they know the traveler. Whatever happened to him left him with the inability to hold onto things. He's best been described as a passing ship in the night; nothing more than a light passing along the waters only to disappear beyond the horizon.
Laethe's magic is a secret kept to himself and him alone. To this day there has yet to be a witness to his true school of magic, though he has always felt safe in the knowledge that any that might witness him would be shrugged off for telling tall tales. The reality of his magic is to be kept a secret and as such, it's reserved for life and death and only if the credibility of any potential witnessed is nonexistant. If it weren't for his mysterious strength in schools of magic outside of his primary, he'd have died long ago.
✶ B E L O N G I N G S
ATTIRE: He's been with outfit since he left his fzmily estate for the second and final timr, as such it's long since begun to show its age after nearly seven years of very frequent wear. His deep-blue hooded cloak, aged foreign leather jerkin, taupe silk blouse, brocade breeches, mitten-styled fur-lined gloves, and calf-high boots of equally foreign leather. The heavy clothing does well enough to keep him warm in the months adjacent to winter, though he dons a fur-lined cloak for winter travel and sticks to traveling between dusk and dawn during the summer months. Over his shoulders is an ever present pack sack of stitched animal skins that sticks very closely to his person at all times, though it hardly looks large enough to hold enough supplies for traveler such as him.
WEAPONS: Laethe goes unarmed, though there could be a case made for his cutlery.
TOOLS: In his trousse are cutlery and a few small knives for deboning, skinning, and carving. Within his bag there is also a folded fishing rod and several hooks, and small pouches meant for miscelaneous items, foraged items, and bait.
PERSONAL ITEMS: His only momento from his travels is an object roughly the size and shape of a torch that has been wrapped tightly in cloth and bound with twine.. In the event that he ever must go without his pack sack, this is the one item he won't leave behind.
✶ H I S T O R Y
Time had been unusually kind to the Guthstein famiily. Nearly thirty generations had passed since the Guthsteins and Eddelreichs came together and mixed their heritage in jewel-craft and enchanting to create something more than just a thriving business. They created an institution in the world of craftsmen. Every generation was led by its eldest son and daughter who would take the mantle of leading jeweler and enchantress respectively. The second and third eldest were often retained in the event that tragedy strike and were often expected to assist their elder siblings in their respective crafts. Our story is about one of the children left to find his own place, the eighth-born Hadrin Guthstein. While a life of guaranteed wealth and stable work wasn't granted to the firstborn on birth, children like Hadrin still had a very comfortable upbringing. Private tutors, plenty of food and indulgences, an allowance commoners would gawk at. The only duty of a non-essential Guthstein/Eddelreich was to find a path and the family would ensure all the necessary funds were available and that the most influential people of that path were made available to the young family members.
As a boy, Hadrin was a generalist, equally attached to many pursuits. There was a growing worry among the family that he would become this generations black sheep. There was often one and his tendency to overindulge in sweets and hideaway in his room with his books only ever seemed to validate this. It was no wonder why his mother was so welcoming to the idea of his becoming a mage instead of something more practical and useful to the family. He was quickly paired with a wizard sent from the Wizard's Tower in exchange for a sizable donation of gold and enchanted jewelry. Hadrin was quick to attach to his mentor, Salazar; an ancient man who had been practicing wizardry since he was Hadrin's age and who shared in Hadrin's penchant for sweets. Having been born after the passing of his grandfather, Salazar became a surrogate grandfather. The two were inseparable and while Hadrin wasn't always learning magics from his tutor, he was learning about life. Salazar had always imparted on him the value of compassion, self-sufficiency, and practice. From the ages of 11 to 16 he had hardly learned any magic beyond some basics such as igniting a campfire through will alone, mending cuts and bruises, and tempering ones emotions. What he had learned from the wizard was patience, temperance, and hard work. He had learned how to slow himself down and comprehend something much more challenging than some of his peers, so as he began his formal training as a elementalist he rapidly excelled beyond his peers, able to turn boiling water to ice and then sublimate it before others had even gotten it to a boil.
The death of Salazar hit Hadrin far more than he could have ever expected and within a few weeks he had fallen to the pack of the pack among his competitors. He had lost focus and struggled to do something as basic as light a torch without aid. Had it not been for his father's insinuation that the money spent on employing Salazar had been a waste, Hadrin might have never found the boost he needed. That day, he rounded up what worldly possessions he had and sold them on the cheap to local merchants and went south to a land Salazar had occasionally mentioned rumour of. It had been one of Salazaar's many fascinations, the island that appeared under a full moon's light which was believed to be inhabited by an untouched race of untold magical power. He charted a boat in the Dray ports to bring him to the small village of Tethersall where he intended to charter a second boat to bring him to that island of legend. For all the coin he had, he could not find a single captain, fisherman, or hobbyist to take him to the island. Desperate, he offered to work for a pittance with a local fisherman, if the man would teach him how to sail. A deal was struck and for the next two months he spent everyday on the water, sailing out into the open sea and getting his sea legs under him. The first full moon to pass tugged on his heartstrings as he had wanted to take off and try to find the island, but the open water had still made him nervous and the swaying of the his employer's boat still left him nauseous after every wave. The second full moon, he had felt ready to handle the waves, but had not actually verified the rumour for himself yet. He sailed to the lighthouse and spent an evening studying the horizon for every pass of light until he spotted it. A faint glimmer deep into the distance, a shape that seemed to shimmer out of existence the moment the lighthouse's light moved past. He waited through the whole night, watching the object appear and disappear until the moon had set and with it the place that could be none other than Falinstađ has also disappeared.
The third moon had come and in that time Hadrin had gotten his sea-legs and burned what coin his still had on a boat and a meager supply of food and drink should his destination turn out to be uninhabited. The fisherman had insisted that he'd only get himself killed, but Hadrin had reassured him that if he hadn't followed through with this he'd not be living. He set sail as the moon crested over the horizon and sailing was smooth until the distance between himself and the island was much less than the distance between himself and Tethersall. There was no wind, though the sea seemed to reject him. Waves crashed against his small boat, soaking him, burning his eyes, and pulling the wind out from his chest. A jagged rock seemed to materialise out of thin air for the boat to crash against, splitting it at the bow and sending Hadrin headfirst toward the rock. His last memory was of his shoulder being ripped from its socket before he plunged into the inky waters.
The Guthstein family received word that their son had likely perished at sea a few weeks later and after a year of no sightings of Hadrin his death was accepted as reality. A small ceremony between family was held and shortly after what little possessions he had were either given to members of the family, sold, or discarded. Six years after the death of Hadrin, the Guthstein family found itself without a father or mother and as such the eldest children moved forward to assume their places. A future generation was born and in honor of his deceased brother, the eldest Guthstein, Peytr, named his son after the deceased Hadrin. Fifteen years after the passing Hadrin, a family servant burst through the doors of Peytr's chambers in the middle of the night, their face red and chest heaving as they made wild claims of apparitions in the courtyard. Hadrin had returned.
He appeared differently from Peytr's memory. He carried himself as if the weight of a lifetime rested upon him, but physically he appeared to be not much older than when he left. "Hadrin, where have you been all this time? What's happened to you?" Peytr found himself saying, unable to so much as entertain pleasantries. Hadrin's eyes found his and in them he found a profound sense of loss. "Falinstađ, brother. You're the head of the family now then?" Hadrin had asked, his Amorynthian twisted with another Peytr could not quite place. "Mother and father are no longer with us, yes. I'm sorry, Hadrin." Peytr had closed the gap between the two of them and was revolted by the thick stench that wafted off his brother, "You say you visited that fairytale? Gods, Hadrin. How long do you think you were on that godforsaken island?"
Hadrin took a long while to answer, his voice croaking when he finally did, "It felt as if a lifetime." Peytr embraced his brother, "Well, you're home, brother. Rest. In the morning we'll talk and I swear to you we'll find you help. You'll be okay now, Hadrin. You're home. You're home." Peytr led him to a guest room and put him to bed. It was the last he saw of his brother.
With his life reset, he no longer wore the name Hadrin and instead introduced himself as Laethe. Laethe became a traveling mage, providing help for coin, shelter, or food. His travels were aimless and took him across the continent and back. Few can say they've crossed the Tumeken desert and traveled the entire Amorynthian Kingdom on foot. In those six years he's seen the much of the world, though he's done little more than drift without purpose. His latest journey has been to Ryth where word has spread that the king seeks adventurers. Perhaps this will be where Hadrin finds new purpose. Perhaps it will be another dead end.
OTHER NAMES: Goldfinder; this was his nickname within the gang he ran with in Ryth.
AGE: 24
GENDER: Male.
RACE: Half Human, Half Nosferyte
BIRTHPLACE: Amor
RELIGION: Zorion
✶ P H Y S I C A L I T Y
HEIGHT: Five feet and ten inches.
WEIGHT: 150 lbs.
APPEARANCE: Gyman is not a large man by any standards, but he does have some muscle to him. This is not noticeable at first with his long torso and wide shoulders creating a slender frame. He has short, dark brown hair that he slicks back out of his face. He has rough but not unattractive angular features almost like a hawk. His jawline is slightly pointed and usually has a layer of stubble growing over it. He carries a scar across the bridge of his curved nose with wide nostrils. Beneath his arched eyebrows he has a pair of light grey eyes. He does have a paleness to his skin.
SKILLS, STRENGTHS & TALENTS: His early life in the Shambles taught Gyman how to lift a purse without being noticed and to be quick on his feet. His mother taught him the art of Tarot readings. Rather than doing tarot readings for people and divining some sliver of their future, his readings reveal maps in the form of puzzles and riddles to him. Following these maps lead him to some sort of fortune. He’s not entirely sure how this happens but he doesn’t necessarly complain about it or question it for that matter. He accepts it as a gift from the heavens. Despite being lowborn, Gyman has developed a keen intelligence for figuring out riddles and puzzles. This coupled with his strange ability with his mother’s old tarot cards have made him into a successful treasure hunter at such an early age. Along with these skills, he is able to pick locks easily, viewing them as a sort of puzzle. While not a traditional skill, Gyman is a patient person, able to wait for the opportune time to move in. From his time spent running with a gang in Ryth, Gyman has also learned the subtle art of infiltration and blending in with crowds.
WEAKNESSES & DRAWBACKS: At his core, Gyman is a selfish person with trust issues. Being born in The Shambles and having a gift for finding treasure taught him at an early age that people will use him for his gift. Because of this, he soon decided that it would be best to look out for himself above everyone else and to give his trust out rarely, if at all. Despite having a gift for finding valuables, Gyman only had mediocre luck at gambling or any game of chance, but he enjoys them nonetheless. Being so slim, he is not very physically strong compared to most and relies more on speed than strength when it comes to fighting. Being half Nosferyte, Gyman has the same craving for blood but to a lesser degree. Rather than it calling to him like some sweet nector that will bring euphoria, it’s more of a dull aching; like a void in him that desperately wants to be filled. He has more strength when fighting the urges than someone of full Nosferyte lineage, but he still must fight it to prevent himself from falling into addiction. If he does succumb to the urges and drinks an excess of blood, Gyman will go through similar symptoms to withdrawal and become incredibly ill.
✶ B E L O N G I N G S
ATTIRE: Gyman wears plain and practical clothing, so he can be seen wearing simple shirts and trousers. He usually wears his sturdy leather boots that reach almsot up to his knees. Rather than a cloak, Gyman trusts in his long coat with a collar to keep the weather off. He always wears his faded red scar wrapped around his neck or even as a sash under his belt. He also carries a trusty pair of leather gloves tucked in his belt, which looks as though it is made of pouches.
WEAPONS: Gyman carries a pair of twin fighting knives in a scabbard on the back of his belt. Both daggers have a long, thin handguard that runs parallel to the handle and ends slightly before the pommel and does not connect. The blades have rigid backs and a serrated section on the bottom half of the front. The tip of each blade has a slight curve upward. Held in a tight coil on his belt, Gyman also carries a whip made of braided leather.
TOOLS: Gyman carries a vast array of tools for thieving in the pouches on his belt. It goes without saying that he carries a good set of lock picks. In addition to his picks, he also carries: a prybar, a spyglass, a file, a chisel, a small metal hook, and wirecutters. Though not considered traditional tools, Gyman also carries a simple deck of playing cards and an old set of playing dice.
PERSONAL ITEMS: As far as personal items go, Gyman has his faded red scarf that belonged to his father and a weathered deck fo tarot cards inherited from his mother. Though not technically a personal item and more of a friend, Gyman is accompanied on his travels by a dog with shaggy gray fur and a white belly named Dreg. From his excersions into ruins hunting for treasure, Gyman has kept a simple copper ring with a singlar small amethyst and an ornate flask made of silver with depictions of trees in a black metal of some sort. He wears the ring on his right index finger and carries the flask on his hip. Gyman keeps a small leatherbound joural full of notes of readings he's done for himself with his mother's deck.
✶ H I S T O R Y -Mother was a fortune teller people in the Shambles came to in order to have their fortunes read with her tarot deck. -Father was Nosferyte lying low in the Shambles until a mob became angry at his presence and killed him. -Mother kept Gyman's paternal parentage secret from the people of the Shambles after his father was killed, praying that Gyman would live a better life. -Her prayers are answered by Gyman being born with no immediately discernable Nosferyte features and the tarot deck giving him clues where to find valuables. -Childhood in The Shambles teaches him basic thief skills, and practice with the tarot deck teaches him how to solve riddles and puzzles. -Leaves Shambles at age 11 after mother's death. -Goes to Ryth and runs with gang pulling heists on the rich until he senses it going south and cuts and runs, taking his share and a "finder's fee" for being the one to spot marks for the gang. -Strikes out on his own to explore and find treasure
OTHER NAMES: Golden Spear (Tumeken), The Undying (Amorynthia)
AGE: 36
GENDER: Male
RACE: Human
BIRTHPLACE: Amor, Amorynthia
RELIGION: Egon prays to Ith regularly, and although the man isn't the fiercest believer or follower, it has become a custom that he has picked up over the many years of service in the army alongside most of his comrades, something they did in preparation to a battle or before being assigned to any kind of long-term military operation.
✶ P H Y S I C A L I T Y
HEIGHT: 6'3"
WEIGHT: 180 lbs
APPEARANCE: Egon fits very well the image of what one would envision a veteran and weathered soldier to look like. He has a sturdy and fit build, something he developed over decades of training, and scars of varying sizes cover many parts of his body, the most striking one crossing over his face and barely missing his eye, a testament to how the man came close to his own demise several times. His skin has a light olive tone to it, with a dark brown color to his scraggly beard and short hair accompanied by his green eyes, giving the man an overall pleasant appearance that is otherwise overshadowed by his weary and scarred look and disregard for his own appearance at best of times. Overall, Egor's visage is shaped by his way of living, that of a warrior, though still a tired one, for certain.
SKILLS, STRENGTHS & TALENTS: Egor is a trained and experienced soldier. He is a man of the battlefield and thus knows how to kill a person in effective ways. His preferred style of combat is that of the simultaneous use of the shield and spear, making for a defensive and yet nonetheless deadly combination in fights. In his hands, the long weapon feels very much just like an extension of his own body, offering versatility and deadly precision to his attacks, with speed that seems unfitting of someone of his size, the main use of those strengths being in either finishing a fight quickly with a good placed blow or otherwise wearing down tougher and more armored opponents.
Furthermore, the man has an impressive physique, carved by over a decade of combat and survival in the most desolate and dangerous of places in the continent. Though such experiences have indeed left their marks on him over the years, they still have managed to form a warrior with impressive strength, stamina, and vitality. Egon was often used as an example of what soldiers should strive to be, never letting himself lack behind in his training or his skills to rust. Such strict adherence to a practice routine comes off as almost unnatural to many people who get to know him, but those who fought beside him came to appreciate that the man was as diligent in his work as he is.
The veteran is also a skilled commander on a tactical level. Being able to assess situations of danger and how to effectively deal with them in a short and pressing period of time has been more of help to him and his companions in staying alive than his own fighting prowess. Such ability came to him not by research or reading books, but rather after much trial and error and getting out alive of situations that killed many soldiers in his place. It garnered him the respect of his companions and a reputation in the army, most of them coming to a tacit understanding that most of the time to remain alive in a situation they had only to obey Egon's commands. Most of the time.
WEAKNESSES & DRAWBACKS: Egon has never received any formal education since he was little. Other than the bare minimum in knowing how to read letters and signs, the man knows very little in the way of academic subjects. Such always proved to be problematic for him when discussing things outside of his own area of knowledge, that being mostly the battlefield. The only other area such a deficiency doesn't affect him is mostly the one surrounding the geography of the continent, something the veteran had to learn one way or the other while campaigning for the army.
Other than that, Egon has an old wound in his right thigh, and though it doesn't disrupt his physical capabilities most of the time, there are some occasions where the injury may flare up when the man over-exerts himself in the battlefield, greatly impairing his movement. Funnily enough, though such a wound was not even close to the most threatening to his life, it still proved to be the one that left the deepest mark in his body and, some may even argue, mind in general. It is also one of the big reasons the soldier takes an aggressive stance in trying to take an enemy down as quickly as possible.
✶ B E L O N G I N G S
ATTIRE: The wardrobe of the man summarizes itself in his light army clothing. A plain green laced tunic reaching waist height and with short sleeves adapted to his life in the south is what Egor is seen wearing most of the time, as well as loose-fitting black trousers and light brownish leather sandals and gauntlets. Other than that the veteran uses a simple leather armor that covers his torso as well as legs with a pair of greaves of similar material, such a choice of equipment mostly made as to not disturb his movement in combat and that he got accustomed to wearing in the hot climate of Tumeken where heavier armor may very well be more of a hindrance rather than a good defensive addition.
WEAPONS: Egon is always accompanied by his shield and a pair of spears. The first one is in a round metal shape, with no apparent engravings on its surface, having marks of wearing and battering, as well as a couple of obvious patched holes where projectiles pierced the shield. Though such signs would indicate otherwise, this always proved to be a very reliable piece of equipment for him, made of superior metal he reckoned, one that he procured from an enemy combatant he himself had killed many years back, that had been by his side since then and saved his life many times. As for the spears, he had no such luck in procuring a similarly superior weapon and could only be content with a standard issued military one, with a wooden pole and an iron head, a gear that was not entirely uncommon to see break after much use, such being the case as to why the warrior carried a pair of them with him at all times.
TOOLS: He brings only simple tools with himself, those used mostly for long travels and survival in the wilderness. They included a hunting knife, a couple of waterskins, medicinal herbs and bandages for dressing wounds, spices for cooking meat, trapping equipment, an assortment of food provision made to last for a long time without spoiling, as well as a traveling bag to carry all that, of course.
PERSONAL ITEMS: Egon always carries a silver ring tied around a metal necklace that has engravings made in a strange language, as well as his golden badge that is a testament to his accomplishments while in the army, but he doesn't use it on his clothes, and just keeps it stored inside his bag.
✶ H I S T O R Y
Egon was born in Amon, the richest and most prosperous city in Tyrrania. That being, only for a few select group of individuals. Or so many would claim. To be honest, although that statement certainly held some truth to it, the man came to learn as he grew up that things were much worse in other parts of the world, so in comparison, he had the opinion that this place wasn't half-bad. That was only later in his life, though. To the youth that was Egor, this city was his whole world, and the slums that he grew up in wasn't the most pleasant of places for a child to live.
His father was a city guard and earned a meager amount for his salary in a miserable and taxing job, probably about half of the reason for him taking to drinking, and his mother worked with many other women in the open market, skinning and deboning fish for an equally unrewarding salary. Egon, being an only child, wasn't spared from the hardships of his family, having to help his mom in the market if only to earn a few extra coins. Other than that, he spent most of his days playing or fighting with other children in the slums, the latter being a common practice in these parts of the city, seemingly an early introduction to the gang-ridden dynamic of The Shambles. The boy took his fair share of bruises in the beginning, but it didn't take long for his superior physique to develop and start dishing out beatings more than he took. His mother vehemently opposed him being involved in these fights. His father, like he did most of the time, didn't care.
His relationship with his mom was very good, her being a very caring and loving person. His father, however, was very withdrawn in interacting with Egon, and his rare showings of affection were overshadowed by his drunkenness and arguments with his wife. It didn't escalate to physical aggression, as he heard happened with many of his friends' parents, but arguments weren't uncommon, and his father, rather than lashing out angrily, mostly took a detached and cold stance towards him and his mother, as if they were strangers rather than his own family. Once again, however, Egon noticed it could have been worse. For the most part, the man still helped with the house's finances, and the boy and his mom managed to get by mostly fine with regards to food and paying taxes, a good fate that many people in the Shambles couldn't partake of. That was the case until the reason for their well-being relative to other people was revealed.
His father and dozens of other guards, as well as their superiors, had been found guilty of accepting bribes to let smuggled goods into the city, something that cost the kingdom a huge amount of profit. Such a crime of avoiding the taxes imposed by the King was perhaps even worse than killing a person in broad daylight in the middle of the streets. The guilty were hanged on the public square post-haste, as an example to whoever else might have thoughts of stealing gold from the Royal Family itself. Egon, 17 at the time, only learned about his father's death from his neighbors that same night. He didn't go to see the body. To this day, he wondered to himself whether or not the man could have been implicated into the whole ordeal while still being innocent. In the end, though, he recognized that it was all wishful thinking on his part. As hard as it was for him to come to accept the fact, his father had gotten the punishment that was coming for him.
His mother fell into a state of sadness, having no will to leave the house to work for a good few weeks. The boy, seemingly less affected by the whole ordeal, went to work in his mother's place. When she was finally in a state to go back to her job, they were both faced with the fact that without his father's support the family was soon to be faced with financial difficulties in paying their taxes. The only solution Egon found, much to his mother's dismay, was to join the army. He considered whether or not joining the city guard would be better, but the difference in salary was enough to convince him towards being a soldier, considering those risked their lives in combat and were thusly better paid as to incentivize youths to keep on joining the army. It was a decision the boy made with a heavy heart, and yet, with firmness knowing that it was perhaps the only way to guarantee that his mom could still live a good enough life.
After settling her in with a trusted friend of the family and getting the papers in order so that she could take out most of the salary he received from the army in the treasury of Amor, something that was necessary for the family members of the soldiers to be able to sustain themselves while those were deployed in who knows what part of the country, Egon quickly departed for the training camp, located four or so days away from the city. It was perhaps then that the boy unexpectedly discovered his calling for life, and where his talents were put to good use.
It took perhaps one week for him to become used to the routine and training of the army. Common drills and use of weapons were what was mostly taught in the camp, in a process that lasted generally from 1 to 3 months before redeployment of the recruits to whatever place may need them and where they could receive more specialized training and be put to use at the same time. Egon surprised many instructors by displaying his mastery with the spear and discipline despite his young age, never lacking behind in practice, to an almost unnatural degree, something he carried with him to adulthood. Egon completed his training after the minimum time, one month, and was quickly deployed to the southeast of the kingdom, near the desert's border, where he was to deal with pirates and bandits that preyed upon merchants moving through that area, a place very needing of reinforcements.
Arrived at the encampment, Egon came to know the precarious situation he was in very quickly. The army there had very little support from the kingdom, with supplies being scarce at best. Officers lazed about and deliberately ignored calls for help, and casualties among soldiers deployed there were very high when they were called to act. There was even suspicion that superiors assigned to the region might be having deals under the table with the bandits of the area, with many of the soldier being bribed to keep their mouths shut when kingdom officials came to visit. It was in such a situation that the youth found himself serving in the army, a dangerous and bleak one for his future.
Even then, Egon persevered. For the next 7 years to come, the boy became a man and was carved by the hardships of battle. The soldier was close to dying many times, and still, he persevered and came out victorious in situations where others would have perished. Several of his companions, afraid for their own lives, started to trust his decisions and follow his lead, finding that victory and survival awaited them if they only did so. This bond of battle in an otherwise desperate situation created a link between these men that could not be broken, and perhaps it was the first time in his life that Egon could ever call someone his true friends. The division assigned to the region saw a sharp increase in effectiveness, and it was such that even against his superior's will they had no choice but to promote him, proceeding to give him his own company of men, including same ones he came to trust deeply, much to his delight. With this newly found authority, his salary was raised, and he could even afford to visit his mother more often, who seemed to have mostly recovered from her trauma and, albeit still being a bit worried, was happy that her son had found success. It was unfortunate that he, perhaps blinded by his own achievements and new-found kinship, failed to notice the calamity coming his way.
The bandits and their sponsors over the next two years started to complain to the army officials of the region about the situation. They had no more opportunities to grasp for profit due to Egon and his soldiers, and those military folk, seemingly also pressed by another unknown force to the man at the time, were forced to take action. Receiving reports about a band of 20 or so bandits raiding into Amorynthian lands from the Tumeken borders, he set out with his company mounted on horses to exterminate them. Arriving at the location, Egon was ambushed by a force of around 150 men, more than twice the size of his own band, and armed with equipment to match it too. With that and the element of surprise, he saw his own forces massacred by the enemy's longbows, his friends proceeding to die before his eyes, and yet he lived on, fighting and killing every enemy that came his way, making an effort to save his men to no avail. It was at that time that Egon was reminded of his mortality.
Receiving a deep piercing wound to his leg, the warrior was forced into a difficult decision as he stared dismally at the last of his forces being picked off by arrows. Either he retreated and lived another day, or he died fighting here alongside his comrade. A voice filled with hatred in his head told him to kill every single one of those people here, even if it meant he had to die with them as well. But then his mind wandered, to the image of his parents, his drunk father, his despondent and kind mother, to the faces of the ones who had died here. By now he knew they had been betrayed, and no matter how many of these bandits he killed here, the true culprits would just get away with the crimes they committed. With a heart filled with anger and the desire for vengeance, Egon spurred his horse and after a last burst of strength to break through his enemy's blockade, he retreated. Not back towards his camp, but rather, towards the desert.
He quickly escaped his pursuers that weren't too keen on following him into the hell-scape. What happened then... Well, suffice to say that the soldier had an arduous journey through the desert. To this day, what happened in those months where he was constantly between life and death still confused him. It was like a fever dream, where his memories seemed jumbled and difficult to recall. When Egon finally came to, or at least when he remembered things clearly again, he had been rescued by a patrol of New Tumek with his life hanging by a thread. It wasn't at least until two months had passed that he recovered from his wounds and was in a condition to walk normally again. A ring now hanged from his neck in a chain, carved in it what seemed like letters written in a strange language that not even after much research was he able to recognize. Trying to recall where this thing had come from brought with it a splitting headache, and after a few attempts, he decided to give up altogether, keeping the thing with him after having a feeling that it was important in some way
Finally, finding himself in a strange land and with no good plan in mind, Egon tried to make the best of his abilities in service of the city, biding his time and serving as a hunter and mercenary. His reputation didn't fail him either, and soon many people around the city started calling him "Golden Spear", as a testament to his abilities with the weapon. Waiting for an opportunity to come by, the warrior waited, the flames that stoked the hatred in his heart not abating, but rather becoming more focused than ever. The veteran spent 10 years in Tumeken, gathering wealth as well as expanding his net of influence by getting to know as many people as possible. Until the opportunity finally presented itself, with a simple letter that arrived in New Tumek, announcing the King's search for adventurers. And of course, it was not long until the Golden Spear finally got wind of it.
"I'd rather ya toss me into the ocean with nothin' but a piece of driftwood to cling to than make me live in a fookin' cave. I hate caves."
✶ P R O F I L E
BIRTHNAME: Gashin Kazor
OTHER NAMES: Captain, Gash, Sea Hound
AGE: 34
GENDER: Male
RACE: Half Human, half Dwarf
BIRTHPLACE: Ryth, Amorynthia
RELIGION: Worships Zorion, God of Freedom and Will
✶ P H Y S I C A L I T Y
HEIGHT: 4'11 ft
WEIGHT: 123 lbs
APPEARANCE: Captain Gashin Kazor is a short man, as one might expect. His stature is nearly a foot higher than the average dwarf, though several inches shorter than most men. Gash's origins are clear to anyone who give him a cursory glance. From his brawny, short form to his scraggly facial hair, to his strong accent and even stronger desire for pipeweed and alcohol, Kazor screams dwarf. Yet another look might cause the mind to doubt, for he's too tall to be a dwarf, his beard is horribly short and- strangest of all- he wears the badge of the Amorynthian Navy upon his breast.
Apart from his heritage, the captain's appearance is markedly similar to that of most men of his occupation. Gash's flesh is tanned and leathery from years spent out under the beating sun on the deck of his ship. On his head, the captain wears golden bandanna and a black tricorn hat. On his feet, a pair of dusty old boots. And on his hip, the sheathe for his reliable cutlass. A white, low cut shirt, a golden vest adorned with runes of ages past and a sash of crimson tie together the sailor's attire.
Several scars from boarding hatchet and cutlass adorn his arms and chest; the gnarliest of which rests right over his heart. His hands, calloused and worn by the sea, have several cuts across their dark surface.
Tattoos, too, mar his flesh alongside those wounds of old. A sea serpent coils about his left arm from wrist to shoulder. An anchor, with a mermaid hanging from it's hook, sits in the center of his broad chest. Most important to him, however, are the letters lined upon each finger. Put together they read the name of Kazor's vessel: Saint Leona.
SKILLS, STRENGTHS & TALENTS:
Captain Gashin Kazor, of the Royal Navy's Saint Leona, is a sailor without equal. None commands the high seas with the same tenacity, skill, or vigor of the half dwarf captain. He particularly specializes in Caravels, such as the Saint leona herself, preferring speed and maneuverability to size and bulk. Gashin is a pirate hunter. He chases down the rogues and bandits of the sea with ruthless efficiency, carving out a safe haven for Amorynthia's merchant fleets. Anyone who dares to fly the black flag knows the name Gashin Kazor, and of his damnable vessel, and fears him; those that wish to survive more than a fortnight on his ocean, anyway.
Though ship to ship combat is where Kazor is best known, the Sea Hound of Valdez excels in all aspects of sailing. He can guide a vessel through the sharpest rocks and the narrowest of paths, barely scraping by areas that any other captain would say was impassible. When Gashin must travel across the open ocean in long, drawn out voyages to far away lands, he can reliably guide the Saint Leona using the stars. Kazor rarely gets lost anymore, his knowledge of the heavens allowing him to get his bearings without the need for maps or landmarks.
A sailor first, and a navigator second, Captain Gashin is far from completely helpless when not manning his ship. While he's no master swordsman who dedicated his life to learning the ways of the blade, Kazor wields a cutlass well enough to skewer most who dare lift up a weapon against him in a duel. His training as a marine of the Royal Navy allows him to stand toe to toe against most foes he could expect to face. Alongside his curved blade, Gashin typically carries a boarding axe as a secondary weapon. It works well in tandem with a sword, and as a last resort if his primary armament was damaged or lost. Other weapons Kazor has some experience with are pikes, throwing axes and clubs.
Learned skills and talents are not all that Kazor has at his disposal. The blood of the dwarves runs through his veins, offering him a sturdy form and strapping muscles. He's naturally stronger than the average man, making the half dwarf a frightening wrestler in hand to hand. Alongside his dwarvish heritage, Gash is partially human. This gives him the advantage of height, reach, and agility over a full blooded dwarf.
WEAKNESSES & DRAWBACKS:
The Sea Hound of Amorynthia is at his best on the deck of a ship. His ship, specifically. Taking him from that and putting him down in another place takes Gashin out of his comfort zone. Ships larger or smaller than the Saint Leona are alien to him; Kazor can count the number of times he's had to captain another ship for any extended amount of time on one hand. This is not to say he'd be useless, far from it. But a lack of familiarity with his vessel makes the captain less effective in the whole. Other environments- such as forests, deserts and caves- are similarly out of Gashin's area of expertise.
Physically, Kazor's blood is as much a disadvantage as it is an advantage to him. While Gashin might be stronger than a man, he's almost always weaker than a dwarf. He may be more agile than a dwarf, but Gashin's slower than a human. His half breed status means that the captain lacks the all-in strength of either race, while still possessing the weaknesses of each.
Being a half breed is more a curse than a gift in the eyes of society as a whole. Men look down on him for his Dwarvish heritage, throwing him in the same class as the disenfranchised race of stocky slaves and craftsmen. His peers in the Navy view Kazor as a stain on their prestigious institution. More than one concerted effort has been made to force Gashin into an early retirement, though the half dwarf has never given in to the pressure of his fellow soldiers. He has few friends in Amorynthia, but even fewer among the Dwarves. Acting as an agent of the king responsible for the Dwarven Exploitation marks Gashin as a traitor to his own people.
✶ B E L O N G I N G S
ATTIRE: The attire donned by the Sea Hound is an unmodified uniform of the Royal Navy, marking Gashin as an officer in service of the Crown. A white waistcoat and a puffed shirt of the same color, accented by golden stripes and facings, protected the captain's chest from the rough conditions of the sea. Trousers matching Kazor's long jacket in color and material keeps his lower half warm and himself decent. More lavish is the long jacket that Gashin wears over everything else. Buttons of gold and dark blue linen mark it as a high quality product, though years at sea have sullied it's appearance significantly. Epaulettes, medals, and tassels can be added to the coat for ceremonial purposes, though Kazor's idea of a party involves more grog and fiddles than the a ballroom dance in the capital. The most treasured of his uniform is the old tricorn hat and bandana he wears on his head.
WEAPONS: Wielded by sailors of all classes, ranks, races and creeds, the cutlass is as synonymous with the men of the sea as their ships. Gashin's cutlass is twenty nine inches long and a little under a pound in weight. A basket hilt embroidered with gold protects the captain's hand. The blade was forged with tempered steel by the venerable smiths of the Amorynthian military, and enchanted to be sturdier and sharper for longer. Named after a young maiden that Gashin courted in his youth, Betsy is a fearsome sword to cross indeed.
Alongside the mighty Betsy is a far less exciting boarding axe. Unenchanted though usually well crafted, Kazor has gone through more than a dozen over his career as a sailor. He has a habit of losing or breaking them, so Gashin likes to carry several on him at once. On occasion, if the situation calls for it, Gashin can use his axe as a ranged weapon.
TOOLS: Any number of navigation tools are carried in Gashin's pack. A sextant, spyglass, a pocket watch, maps and various charting tools, and Kazor's trusty compass are all kept on his person when he travels anywhere. A short working knife, rope, bandages, rations, a lighter, and a bedroll were included in his equipment when he set off on the king's expedition.
PERSONAL ITEMS: Golden earrings and a single iron band marked with the symbol of the king are all the jewelry worn by Captain Gash. One of the only personal items Kazor keeps with him is a worn copy of A Kraken's Tale; an old novel about a captain obsessed with killing a sea monster that destroyed his first ship. Gashin has read the book more times than he can count, though he never tires of the narrative and likes to come back to it whenever he has nothing else to do.
✶ H I S T O R Y
REGISTERY OF THE AMORYNTHIAN ROYAL NAVAL ACADEMY
MILITARY SERVICE RECORD ARCHIVE, LISTED UNDER PUBLIC INFORMATION BY ORDER OF KING VALDEZ II
NAME:Kazor, GashinSEX:MALERACE:MIXED, HUMAN / DWARF
P.O.B (PLACE OF BIRTH):GARD, AMORYNTHIAP.O.R (PLACE OF RESIDENCE):DRAY, AMORYNTHIA
Gashin Kazor first served under the original captain of the Saint Leona, the late BOARSON, WILLIAM. Patrolled the coast of Tumeken as ordered by the king, under the Valdez-Setsiput Treaty in the courts of Ryth earlier that year. Engaged in ship to ship combat with pirate raiders, and assisted the Tumeken Army in clearing out bandits in Fool's Mistake.
NOTE: Following first tour of duty, 50% of earnings were sent back home to family in Gard.
SECOND TOUR:
Assisting in the transport of engineers and resources to Wizard's Tower for construction purposes. Saint Leona was tasked with protecting unarmed transports from northern pirates and keeping forest bandits in the foothills away from the construction site. During a battle with pirates, a Boatswain was shot and killed via a crossbow bolt to the skull. Gashin, being the most experienced deckhand present, was elected to take his position. Captain Boarson received a good deal of harsh criticism from command and his peers for promoting a dwarf man of Gashin's inexperience to the position of junior officer.
NOTE: 65% of earnings sent back to Gard. Father is diagnosed with unknown heart disease, and Laeya is born. Kazor heads to the Royal Naval Academy for training as a naval officer, under the orders of Captain Boarson.
THIRD TOUR:
Admiral [REDACTED]'s campaign to eradicate the pirate threat living on Rat's Nest island included a number of veteran pirate hunting ships. The Saint Leona was on the short list to join the fleet due to it's recent clashes with pirates in the north and along the Tumeken Coast. The fighting was incredibly fierce, resulting in several Royal Navy ships being severely damaged while others were sunk. Captain Boarson's first mate was slain in combat. Due to the courage he had shown during the campaign and his last two tours, Boarson elected to promote Kazor to the position. Mutiny was considered inevitable; that is, until the Saint Leona came under direct attack by several pirate ships. The captain was wounded, taking an arrow to the shoulder, and Gashin was forced to take the wheel. Showing considerable ability, Kazor directed the crew and successfully evaded their pursuers, earning the begrudging respect of the Saint's crew.
NOTE: 80% of earnings sent back to family. Deon passed away in his sleep, and Kazor returned home on leave to help his family with funeral arrangements. The Kazors, using the money Gashin received from his recent promotion, moved to Dray.
FOURTH TOUR:
Following the failed Rat's Nest campaign, the Saint Leona takes on low-stress cargo transport defense patrols. Captain Boarson's condition continues to deteriorate; the blow struck to him during the previous tour has, unbeknownst to him, become infected. While out at sea, William passes away, and Kazor finishes military duties until they can return to port. He is then unanimously recommended to take the position of captain by the crew. A letter written by Boarson on his deathbed confirms that these are his wishes, and command chooses to promote Kazor after eight months immediately.
FIFTH TOUR:
Gashin serves as captain of the Saint Leona for a number of years, acting as a pirate hunter in the seas near Rat's Nest. Fighting is intense and often, though Kazor shows a significant degree of skill at the helm of his ship. He receives several accolades for successfully capturing or sinking a number of vessels, having a direct impact on the region's frighteningly high population of pirates and criminals.
NOTE: As of very recently, Gashin has been pulled from duty and asked to accompany a special envoy by the king. His dwarven heritage, loyalty to the crown and navigational skills make Kazor a reliable asset for the mission his highness has planned.
