Description: Leader of the Coward's Men. Exiled Jarl of Gravemire in the Broken Lands, where he earned his nickname after fleeing battle after a failed coup against the High King. Has spent decades as a sellsword in the Ashlands and the Red Desert, leading his company of reavers and cutthroats in the endless petty wars between Drathan cities and in skirmishes with Salished forces. He now works exclusively for the Athalus Venym, the Dictator of Zar Dratha. A skilled and seasoned commander, Daigon is rumored to have a knack for spellcasting and the dark arts. Race: Human, norse Faction/Unit: Coward's Men, in the service of the Drathan Union. Location: Red Desert
Athalo daz Velym, Archmagister of the Congress of Masters
Description: Race: Drathan Faction/Unit: Leader of the Drathan Union Location: Zar Dratha
Name: Glory. Race: Human. (Northman/Northwoman.) Faction/Unit: Independent mercenary. Huntress. Location: Wandering. Synopsis of Role: Glory was a wandering mercenary and huntress that hailed from the north. Her sword forged by the best smiths from the best ore to be as durable and as sharp as possible. She slew monsters for money, and sometimes slew humans who were enabling those monsters to do harm. On one hunt her luck ran out, and she lost her arm to the maw of a beast that was emboldened by a warlock. Cutting her arm free she slew both of them. But was running out of time. With no other option, she thrust her arm into a pool of raw ichor and screamed in agony for hours as a new arm was formed. This exposure robbed her of her natural vision, but gave her an arm and empowered her body to levels unseen in humans before or since.
Now Glory saw the world through clairvoyance. The light of day did not blind her, and the shadow of night hid no secrets from her. Glory could even see things thought to be behind her and out of her field of view. However, such gifts do not come lightly, and she is considered a valuable prize to warlocks.
Description: A Drathan-allied company of mercenaries specializing in taming and corralling the monsters of the Red Desert to use as beasts of war. Notorious for their blase approach to collateral damage - many of the beasts they use are only 'domesticated' by the loosest possible definition, and their tribal roots combined with their habit of using mutant auxiliaries results in an incredible level of battlefield savagery. Their most recent Beast King has made an effort to tame some of that savagery and build the Beastlords into a more disciplined company in recent years, though the process is slow going. Race: Originally an Aelg tribe, they've become largely multicultural as part of their transition into an effective military force. Faction/Unit: Independent. Currently hired by the Drathan Union. Location: Red Desert Synopsis of Role: Monster-taming mercenaries fighting for the Drathan Union under the command of the Beast King Har-Dok.
The Beast King Har-dok
Race: Aelg Faction/Unit: The Beast Lords Location: The Red Desert Synopsis of Role: Leader of the Beastlords mercenary company who was promoted three years ago after serving as the second-in-command under the old Beast King. Working to shape the company into an efficient army instead of a gaggle of berserk war criminals (or at least, reign the war crimes in a little).
Location: In the centre of the Great Varyon Waterfall, straddling the Long Road.
Green Dot
Faction/Unit: Independent Rebel City Description: Built on the ruins of an Old One Frotress, Zar Zirak was once the northern most City-State of the Drathan Union. It specialized in the training of slave gladiators. Fifty years ago one of those gladiators, the son of a Drathan mages pleasure slave, displayed unusual magical skill. He led a gladiator revolt and subsequently the city fell to the rebels in an orgy of blood.
The rebels were joined eventually by a rebellious faction of the Subtle Instruments, an assassin faction employed by the Drathan Union. The city has managed to survive based on its strategic location, providing elite mercenaries, and securing assassination contracts.
Name: Corsis Description: Corina is your standard human, with black hair and black eyes that hint at her Drathan heritage. She bears no unusual scars or markings. She is forgettable the moment she leaves your sight. In other words, she is invisible. Race: Human Faction/Unit: Assassin from the Zirak Assassins Location: City of Zar Zirak
Description: Tales of the the Hermit always describe him differently, but a common thread among them has been he appears as a man in sweeping robes surrounded by undulating shadows, holding a staff of charred wood etched with glowing runes. His facial features are hidden by the shadows, but they say he is pale of skin and that his eyes radiate with the power he holds.
Race: It’s said he was once human
Faction/Unit: The Hermit is his own master
Location: A labyrinth of ruins near the base of the Godsfang Mountains
Synopsis of Role: The Hermit was, in fact, once a human from the Rainlands. He left his home and traveled up the Godsfang Mountains to the Mountain Wisdoms. He asked the Wisdoms for the tools he needed to find answers in the ruin left by the Old Ones. He was mutated by them into a being of shadow and ichor. The tools they provided were small white-skinned creatures with claws and fangs called Shadowlings. He is convinced the Wisdoms cursed him and have sent him along a fruitless quest simply for their own amusement, but he is determined to use what they gave him to seek answers in the ruins. My concept for The Hermit is for him to be a mythical, wiseman figure in the desert with a darker feel to him. Not evil, mind you, but definitely corrupted by the mutation/curse he suffered from the Mountain Wisdoms. I aim for him to have some illusionary magic along with his servants.
The Many-Faced and Most-Splendid Master of Zar Endal
Description: A form bedecked in colorful robes and garments, the aloof Master of Zar Endal makes for a flamboyant character whose whims and wants ebb and flow like dust on the wind. A servant of chaos who revels in his unpredictability, the colourful Alkhazar presents something of an engima to even his fellow Masters whose visage remains ever-hidden behind a sinister theater mask. Race: Drathan Faction: Drathan Union Location: Zar Vorgul Synopsis of Role: The Master of Zar Endal, a minor city-state sitting on the Scarlet Plateau within the shadow of The Claws. Alkhazar has decadently ruled his city for as long as most can remember though few is the number of subjects who can claim to have actually seen their distant ruler, whom bids his time ensorcelled within his tower seeking knowledge and plotting within the Congress of Masters. That time however has come to an end with the year of the setting sun upon us and blood on the air, the throngs of slave-soldiers of Zar Endal have gathered and march out to support their fellow city-state of Zar Vorgul. In a unique display of commitment not often found amongst the Masters, the Many-Faced personally leads his legion of slave-soldiers though whether this is out of a recognition that Zar Vorgul is likely to be vital in the coming campaign, or whether the Master seeks to further his own interests and dastardly plots remains to be seen.
Zar Endal
Location:
Faction/Unit: City-State of the Drathan Union Description: (TBD!)
Name: The Mad Knight to most, but just Meg to those who've taken the time to politely ask.
Description: An imposing figure invariably swept up in a cloak of faded red and attired in a strange suit of reddish armor, more plant, stone, and sand than metal. Taller than most, she possesses the sharpened body of a warrior, with short black hair hidden beneath a great helm of stone, and grey eyes that dance with complete madness. The Mad Knight wields a bough of rust colored Ironwood that matches even blades of Soulsteel and carries a towering shield of blood red stone.
Race: Human of an uncertain origin and ethnicity.
Faction/Unit: Claims to be on a holy quest at the behest of the Old Ones.
Location: Last seen entering Zar Vorgul through the Great Northern Gate.
Synopsis of Role:
An enigmatic knight, believed by most to be quite mad, famed for her travels across the Red Desert and the strange, sometimes heroic, sometimes terrible, but always absurdly reckless tasks which she is rumored to have performed.
Powered by grand delusions and a belief in her own destiny to recover what she wholeheartedly believes are a number of holy artifacts created by the Old Ones, Meg occupies a reality completely of her own creation and rarely, if ever, does the physical world seem to affect her to any great degree. Convinced of the vital importance and righteousness of her actions, she pays little heed to danger, viewing death as merely another obstacle to be defeated in battle and suffering as an old friend that often visits.
Meg pursues her holy quest with a singular ferocity that has long since spilled over into utter madness and consumed what remains of her once generous soul. Those that stand in her way are dealt with swiftly, decisively, and with great violence, but always in accordance with the ancient code of chivalry.
Having long since lost her wisdom to madness, Meg is easily distracted and it does not take much to lead her astray or convince her to alter her course of actions. However, there is an edge of deadly, terrible and alarmingly unpredictable cunning lurking beneath the insanity that possesses the knight and more than one silver-tongued devil has met their end unexpectedly at the hands of the deranged wanderer.
Blessed by the strange magics of the Great White Erg and gifted with relics of the Old Ones, Meg is a fearsome spellsword, channeling the arcane into each blow of her Ironwood sword and calling upon all the terrible archeotech that she possesses to defeat her foes.
Concept: Corrupted and quite mad post-apocalyptic knight, convinced that she is on a holy quest at the behest of the Old Ones.
Here there is a place and a purpose for all those who languish beneath the rule of the Drathan Empire, a life for the weary, the scarred, the downtrodden. Here you will be lifted up, given a place and the tools needed to secure the fall of our enemies and the unity of peoples and gods. Raise up your fists and your voices, friends, for we are not only the Unbroken but also the Breakers, the shapers of a not-so-distant Future! -Cerys Shadowborne
On the last day of the third year of her training, Cerys was taken to mirror lake, as was tradition. Her left ankle was shackled to a boulder on one side of the clear pool set in the depression at the peak of the Godsfang’s highest mountain. The stone in question was stained with the blood of prayers and sacrifices from generations of Arakkai priestesses, a mark of their most sacred places. Two bowls were set before the young woman, both of a dark, stained wood, impossible to tell what color they once had been. One brimmed with Ichor, the other held nothing but a very sharp knife. Two older acolytes were set on watch, but neither spoke.
For seven days and nights, no food or drink passed Cerys’s lips but for the chilling water of the mountain lake, cold even in the height of summer. She did not move during this time but sat crosslegged, her arms resting on her knees and her head bent as if in prayer except when occasionally taking water. Around her, cold day and night passed, reflected in the mirror lake as though it was less a body of water than a window looking into some distant world.
On the morning of the eighth day, Cerys was roused from a haze of feverish prayer to find the lake strangely shaded, though no clouds crossed the sky and the sun shone fiercely from her high perch. With trembling fingers, the priestess lifted the knife to the crook of her elbow and pressed gently. The skin almost flinched apart, repelled by the dark blade, and Cerys skillfully maneuvered the bowl to catch her spilling blood. It filled slowly, but she would not need much.
Cerys dipped her right-hand palm down into her own warm blood and then into the thick pool of ichor in the bowl beside it. Without pausing to let the excess of either liquid drip off, her placed the dripping hand in the center of her chest, sending red-black droplets falling intimately down her torso, slicking a few stray strands of her long, dark hair. Before the potent mixture dried, she dragged her forefinger down her soft lips and again under her eyes, across her nose, in the center of her forehead. The dark liquid was sticky and hot against her sensitive skin, but as the last drop fell into place, her vision deepened. She could see him, mere feet away.
The Wanderer was movement incarnate, a dark mass of shadowy tendrils curling sinuously about itself, sometimes reaching out, sometimes condensing. Struck by the presence of the powerful spirit, Cerys rose slowly, her eyes never leaving the twisting form. For several long moments, nothing happened, and when the Red God spoke, it was in the voice of multitudes, a hundred hundred voices all whispering in unison.
“Do you fear me?” It asked, its strange multi-voiced chant lifted in curiosity as if it was unfamiliar with the feelings of man.
“Yes,” Cerys said honestly, her heart beat thundering in her chest, her body weak from so many days without sustenance. “But,” she went on, “That will not stop me.”
As the last syllable fell from her lips, the mass rushed forward, enveloping the priestess in inky shadow. It touched the markings of her face and chest and then was gone, all traces of blood and ichor gone with it, and the faint sound of a thousand voices laughing ringing in Cerys’s ears.
It could have been nothing but a dream, Cerys supposed, a hallucination brought on by too little to eat and too many days and nights subjected to the harsh mountain climate. But when she again looked into the lake, the unfamiliarity of her own reflection startled her. The priestess’s once dark hair had been leached of its deep color, falling silver across her shoulders, and the shadows of the markings she had made on her skin remained. She was Chosen, her people’s long hoped for champion.
But when Cerys and her two acolytes finally returned to the clan’s village to share the good news, nothing was left but destruction.
The People
The Unbroken are currently made up of the remnants of Cerys’s birth clan and the tribe of the late Eranor Blackwater, now both under the command of Cerys. More will flock to her banner in time.
The Arakkai: A race of pale skinned, dark haired mountain-dwelling people. They are as hardy as they are savage, a strong people that value skill in battle, freedom, and the vicious Red Gods they serve.
Their Religion
The Unbroken worship the Pantheon, especially the Wanderer, the Red God they believe will one day unite all of the others.
Name: The Wanderer, The Traveller, Messenger of the Red Gods or simply Dark Messenger Type: Red God Description: This powerful, if incorporeal, spirit makes the whole world his shrine. He cannot stay in one place for long. He is unique among the Red Gods for not being in opposition with any other gods, and those that worship all of the great spirits venerate him as the voice of the Pantheon, while others consider his presence as a sign of ill fortune. The Wanderer speaks to few, but those he chooses are marked for either greatness or great failure.
Their Leader
Name: Cerys Shadowborne, Voice of the Messenger and Defender of the Unbroken Description: Much smaller than reputation paints her, Cerys stands at 5’4, 118 pounds. She is lithe and fit with long, silver hair, pale skin, and dark eyes. Race: Human (Arakkai) Faction/Unit: The Unbroken Location: The Godsfang Mountains Synopsis of Role: Leader-Priestess of The Unbroken
Captain of the Guard
Name: Rhys Blackwater Description: Tall, dark haired and almost always to be found with a stern expression carved into his features. Race: Human (Arakkai) Faction/Unit: The Unbroken Location: The Godsfang Mountains Synopsis of Role: Protector of the Shadowborne Tribe
Barsabbas wears armor and wields weapons of Soulsteel, crafted in the pits of the Claws by unknown means.
Barsabbas Ahsaz
Description: Barsabbas commands the Firebrands, a rogue warband that operates from the north of the Red Desert. Once, Barsabbas was an esteemed Salished cavalry officer; now he operates independently under no jurisdiction but his own. Attempts by the Shashul to bring him to heel have met in failure, as his warband eludes capture between the Claws' twisted maze of rock. This notoriety has earned him the moniker of the “Phantom General.”
The theories as to why Barsabbas broke away from the Empire are many, but only he and a number of close confidants know the truth. Three years ago, Barsabbas journeyed into the Godsfang Mountains, the lands of the Saliszis' ancestors. He claimed to be led by visions of the Forge Gods, and took an entourage of six of his most trusted advisers with him on the journey. For months they disappeared from the public eye, until it was reported that a number of Barsabbas's ranks had deserted their posts, taking with them valuable Soulsteel ingots and weapons, and several of the smaller, mobile counterparts to the great Soul Forges.
Whether Barsabbas and his men communed with their hungry Forge Gods at the peak of the Godsfangs, or learned some awful truth from the Crone Wisdoms, or made a pact with another entity entirely, no one can be sure. All that can be said with some certainty is Barsabbas has the means to produce his own Soulsteel, without the fires of the true Soul Forges, and has the support of several desert tribes: Avanagashans and Varyonese.
Race: Human: Saliszi Faction/Unit: The Firebrands Location: The Claws
Massed tribal cavalry makes up the core of the Firebrands' fighting force.
The Firebrands
Type: Warband Faction/Unit: Loyal to Barsabbas Description: The Firebrands, as they have come to be called, were elements of the Salished war machine under Barsabbas's command. Many followed their commander as he went rogue, either out of personal loyalty or an intent to see his plans realized. They operate from the shadow of the Claws, having carved their domain out of the narrow passes and treacherous crags. This provides them with a natural defense and hiding place with which to undertake their machinations in secrecy.
Deep inside the Claws, one can sometimes see towers of smoke churning from the makeshift forges Barsabbas uses to craft his own Soulsteel. How he's managed to replicate the process without the holy Soul Forges is beyond the Salished's comprehension, but the weapons made in this manner are not a one-to-one match with those that emerge from the fires of the true forges. These are no less effective, but glow with baleful energies and are known to shriek as they kill. Attempts to follow the trail of the smoke to the Firebrands' whereabouts is a treacherous prospect, as booby traps and hidden fortifications are strewn throughout the passes.
From the Claws, Barsabbas stages raids on weaker factions to gain valuable supplies and offers the defeated a place under his banner. With every victory his losses are replenished with new bodies, yet he keeps his ranks compact enough to conceal and maneuver without great difficulty. Though the Firebrands retains a sizable core of cataphract cavalry, most of its numbers are light horsemen and skirmishers drawn from local tribes. Befitting of their leader's nickname, they appear suddenly, harrying their enemies from unexpected directions before picking off disorganized elements piecemeal. Then, they will steal away whatever assets and valuables they can find before vanishing as quickly as they arrived.
Heavily-armored cataphracts act as Barsabbas's elite soldiers.
Viitru, the Caravans, Concealers, Children of Da’at
Race: Human Faction/Unit: Independant Location: Transient Synopsis of Role: Traders, scavengers and archaeo-pirates
It is said that The Viitru have two hands, one holding a ready blade, the other extended in barter. And though they reveal one and keep the other concealed behind their backs, both are there, and ready to change at any time.
Its three known houses are thus:
Viitru-Ba (Warriors): house of barbs, throne of the Scorpioness Jadas, who is called Sadha; concerned with murder. Its mother is Malkut-Ba,the Envenomer.
Vaatru-Sa (Crafters): house of unknowing, throne of the Concealer, who is called Da’at; concerned with secrets and the forging of things. Its father is Sothis-Sa, ichor-mage.
Vatraa-El (Traders): house of sand, throne of the Hinderer, who is called Abshu; concerned with change -- in physical terms, movement, interaction and trade. Its father is Ysod-El, the collector.
For the people of the red desert, the Vitruvians are a blessing and a curse; a nomadic, tribal people, holding no land of their own but instead following a long, circuitous convoy through the desert, bringing either prosperity or ruin in their passage. For the bulk of the year, they wander unseen beyond the pitiless wasteland of the Erg, having sparse dealings with the scattered, half-human monstrosities of that desolate place as they press deeper and deeper into the blasted lands of the Hunger. Then, when the Sandshore rainfalls come, they inevitably come round again, crossing south over the border of the red lands to traverse the dust way, doing trade with the strong or protected and preying ruthlessly on the friendless and the weak. They halt only to hold bazaars at significant settlements, trading in salt, white glass, and a panoply of scrap and Elder trinkets before drifting back into the wasteland, disappearing over the border as the oases begin to dry.
Where the other end of their journey takes them, only the Vitruvians know. Once they pass into the Hunger, even the most obscene desert predators back away.
Appearance:
The Viitru are with few exceptions a wiry, hard-muscled people, retaining little to no body fat, with skin tones ranging from light to deep brown. They wear heavy robes over light, hard armor made of white glass and wormbone, decorated with tribal insignia and dormant archeotech repurposed as talismans and jewelry, their large, variously-shaped helms and masks giving them a distinct and not-quite-human appearance on the dunes. The raiment is functional and flexible in combat, but serves its highest purpose as protection from the flaywinds of the Hunger and the murderous sun of the deep desert.
Their weapons are white glass blades, salvaged fleshrippers (motorized spear blades cobbled together from elder relics) cuttlebone longbows with glass arrowheads, and lethal longrifles that fire from the main caravan.
The Huskwalkers
The heart of the caravan itself is a menagerie of weathered, rusted-out hulks, some remnant of an elder empire that now serves as transport and home to the children of Da’at. They are many-shapen things of battered metal, hollowed and decorated in the banners, bunkers, flags, lanterns and pavilion-tents of the Viitru. Some move like horses, some like scorpions; some crawl close along the dunes like armored beetles while a scant few others shamble almost as men.
Though dilapidated and slow, the walkers do not tire or stop, moving through day and night until they reach their regular waypoints. Raiders move alongside atop swifter war-insects, riding out from the caravan to intercept as opportunity permits, or necessity demands.
Patron Daemons
The liminal Gods of the Viitru
The Concealer
Once a stripling asked of the Ichor-Mage, "Is Da'at my teacher or my foe?" Sothis-Sa replied "What's the difference?"
Da'at, the Concealer, whose attainment is power, tutelary goddess of the Viitru. Her name, when written, is a divided circle with two complete circles suspended in each; her likeness a smooth, feminine mask of white glass or bone.
Almost nothing is known about the Concealer, her nature elusive and obscured. She is the mist; the mirage; the curtain; the veil. Even the term itself, “Da’at,” is a vague, flexible Viitru word implying secrets, the intangible, truth of things unseen, non-thought. It's a word that crops up in their culture as both a name and a place, though even then, it's unclear whether the destination is a physical or philosophical one.
True to her name, the concealer presents more mysteries than she unravels, but in this is a hidden virtue. For she hides twice as much from one’s enemies, and to the wise, the state of Unknowing is a powerful one indeed.
The Scorpion
“When one’s belly is full, one can no longer imagine hunger, have you noticed that..? And a failure of imagination, in a battle of wills... Such a thing is fatal.”
Sadha is the name given to Jadas by the Viitru, and they understand well the value of the lash-mother’s favor. She is torture and thirst, the heart that cannot know rest, the acid in the blood of those afflicted with her sticky-sweet toxin, begetter of assassins and queen of whips. The Viitru-Ba honor her with their house symbol -- a written rune hooked like a scorpion’s tail, a teardrop of venom falling from its tip -- and her adherents coat their blades with her children’s agonizing milk. “Better you than I,” as some of her bound have said.
The Hinderer
“Complete this journey and you will not recognize the one who began it.”
Abshu, the Hinderer, the key which unlocks itself. The empty compass, serpent at the crossroads, the impassible way, he who erases the path behind. He is the male twin of Da’at, associated with time, travel, and ordeal, and is a crucial friend-foe of the Viitra. He is the challenge. The riddle. The obstacle. The unending test, which gives as it demands, strengthens your resolve with every failure. He is the god who opposes your very attempt to follow him, and his presence is closely felt along the caravan’s migration.
Abshu is said to most often appear as a figure in ragged robes wandering the obscurest and most difficult paths -- his face hidden beneath a deep cowl, a divining-staff in one hand and an ever-changing key burning brightly above his head -- or as a series of ever-turning, interlocking wheels. It is said that to see him in this latter form is to teeter on the brink of madness, but as with all things regarding the Hinderer, this is simply one more difficult path to be walked, one more riddle to dissolve.
Persons of note:
Fate readies its blade
Ysod-El the Collector: First trader. Unlike the charismatic, clarion-voiced hawkers of the rest of his House, the master merchant is a terse, direct, and deeply unsettling presence. Bargaining with him is a rare and terrible privilege, granted only to those who can offer something significant and unique. Such trades are tempting, for he can inevitably offer things one deeply desires or direly needs in return -- but he is known to carry the curse of fate-altering, and it is said that the red gods hold their breath when Ysod-El shakes hands.
Binah, Snakedancer, daughter of Ysod-El: The Collector's courier. She plays first greatflute in her father’s caravan procession, the deep, melodic drone announcing their intent as they move from territory to territory. She has mastered the thousand undulations of the Snakedance and will perform it, in all its unspeakable ecstasies and consequences, for the right price.
Malkut-Ba, Intoxicatrix, Envenomer: Cultist of Jadas and the only woman to carry a clan name. She is comely and sweet-voiced, but this is a mask. She is eaten alive with resentment and thirst. Her bodydress, coif and gloves are made from the tanned leather of Rainlander virgin girls, and she wears a belt of painted skulls around her waist. Her blades are named Hearthunger and Razorfever. Her helm is fashioned into the face of a fanged scorpion, and it is rumored she knows three and forty ways to skin a man alive.
Melek-Ba, Blood-Ruby, Radiant: Tall, lean and abnormally strong, Malkut’s only child is said to be the fairest of men. His golden hair is a gift from his father, a long-forgotten Reaver from the Broken Lands, and his face is breathtakingly beautiful beneath his skeletal mask. He is thoughtful and distant, his heart a heavy weight in his chest, until his temper breaks, as it inevitably does. Where most Viitru are pragmatic and opportunist in battle, conducting war as they might haggle in the market, the child of the envenomer is renowned for his screaming bloodthirst, frequently closing in hand-to-hand and going berserk, tearing his opponents limb from limb. There is some rumor that the barbed armor he wears is a living Soul-Metal, possessing him almost completely in battle.
His mother keeps a jealous watch over him and holds his leash tight, kidnapping and torturing girls who flirt with him, and murdering those who think to court his attentions more deeply.
Sothis-Sa, ichor-mage: Known to never remove his mask or armor, yet the sire of a not insignificant number of children in spite of it. Legends and myths abound of the ichor-mage’s deeds and power, though an entire generation has now come and gone that has never seen him wield magic. Said to be the first and only to have attained Da'at and lived.
Thekmet-Sa, Glassbinder: One of the ichor-sorcerer’s sons, particularly skilled in glasscraft, his mask riddled with dark, oddly-shaped lenses which he claims allow him to see things unseen. He once lost an eye during a raid and crafted a replacement, its iris twisting and contracting in an uncannily realistic fashion. Able to do custom work -- for a price.
Thriss-Thressa, Bird of Paradox: The youngest of the ichor-mages daughter(s), Thriss and Thressa is/are twins -- a single body with two heads, her split torso merging at the waist. That she wasn't thrown to the jackals in childhood is largely attributed to the fact that she doesn’t seem to eat any more than usual, coupled with the general acceptance that anything directly issuing from the ichor-mage is going to be seriously weird.
The Hunger:
An anomalous and violent area of turbulence deep within the dry, dead wasteland of the Erg. If plied enough with barter and good wine, the Vitruvians will tell you that the Hunger is not a place, but the death-dream of a murdered god. And who knows? They may just be right. Because if the Erg is an untraversable wasteland, then the Hunger is the blasted surface of an alien world, hostile and unrelenting. Nothing natural enters it and lives. Unpredictable, gale-force sandstorms -- the flaywinds -- ravage its expanse, and the exposed sun is a baleful violet star that will burn the unprotected to death.
Uncounted other horrors are told of the veil-cursed realm, but the truth of it remains hidden. No one but the Viitru ever get that far -- and only the driven and insane would ever wish to try.
White Glass:
A superior, weapon-capable grade of glass made not from sand but from the vitrified bones of unspecified creatures found beyond the Hunger. Properly-crafted white glass blades, used correctly, hold as strong as steel and bite twice as deep.
Description: Orchid Home is the salvation of the Aboriginal kind and the promise of a better future. It is blessed and protected by a member of the Red Pantheon, the Overmother – supposedly the divine remnant of the now – extinct Hive Mothers – who, through her new prophets, will usher in a new age of Nyr’kiin dominance. As Aboriginals across the Ashlands are slowly drawn into Orchid Home, the time for the Great Infestation draws ever closer.
Orchid Home is a new Aboriginal hive built out of an abandoned Old One Ruins. Previous rooms and hallways have been reshaped to best house its ever-growing inhabitants and collapsed walls and roofs have been built up and connected with mud and rubble to form an interweaving village.
Mantid Dor’ken
Description: Mantid, though weak by his species’ standards, is tall and stately – respectable. Just his body language and the way he holds his four shoulders high show a pride and charisma not often seen in modern Nyr’kiin. His skin is a plain dark green, but his eyes glimmer with the orange radiance of the setting sun. Adorned in tan, flowing robes of his own making and wielding an ancient staff said to come from the chambers of the last Hive Mother, the Aboriginal prophet cuts quite a figure.
Race: Nyr’kiin
Faction: The Aboriginal Race
Location: Orchid Home
Synopsis of Role: Mantid is a prophet, a visionary. He offers what every Nyr’kiin needs: a new way of life through the Overmother. From an emotional connection to an elevation out of their lowly place in the world to the energy and enthusiastic motivation that every lost soul craves, Mantid provides just enough of a promise to draw into his cause. Is his cause based in reality? Only partially. His desire to bring about a new age for the Nyr’kiin is very real, though his conjuration – the “Overmother” – might be less so. That doesn’t stop her from uniting people under her new prophet, however.
Description: Mahaad Abshir was born and raised in the southern country of Eyhwan, where greedy tyrants rule over the poor citizens of the nation, who often resort to crime and otherwise unfavourable lifestyles in order to survive. Murder and theft are rampant, and the growing and sale of mind-altering substances is one of the biggest and most viable industries. As a result, Mahaad learned from an early age that crime does in fact pay, as long as you can get away with it. His entire life, the Eyhwanian has survived by carrying out tasks that many common folk or nobles in other more well-to-do countries would never dream of - piracy, assassination, and slave-trading, the latter of which is what brought him to the Red Desert. Specifically, the various city-states that make up the Drathan Union. It is here where he's made a living by tracking down and kidnapping Aboriginals - the Nyr'Kiin - to be transported to the Drathan mage-lords as slaves, or whatever else the pale abhumans would do with the bugpeople. Mahaad cared little, as long as he was paid well for his work.
Race: Human
Faction/Unit: Independent/Slaver
Location: The Red Desert
Synopsis of Role: As a professional criminal, Mahaad has developed quite a silver tongue and sharp wit. His prowess on the battlefield is as good as any other thief's, but it's his charismatic personality and natural charm that's gotten him out of most predicaments unscathed. His oddly optimistic attitude and relaxing aura are his strongest weapons, and have proven to be a valuable asset over the years, especially since coming to Azoth. While he is only one man, his personality alone has helped him develop some interesting relationships with powerful people throughout the Drathan Union. In such a harsh and hostile country, his skills in diplomacy and speechcraft are something of a rarity, and certainly ones that could prove to be useful in the face of war.
Name: Eyhwan
Type: Country
Faction/Unit: Independent. Not associated with the Avanagashan Wastes, save for the occasional Drathan lord who finds himself seated as the nation's ruler for any period of time.
Description: Eyhwan is an island country located a week's journey south of the Smouldering Coast, accessible only via ship, or any other means of traversing the oceans. It is governed by tyrannical slavelords, pirates, murderers, or whatever other evil soul manages to climb his or her way to the top at any given time. As a result, the common rabble of Eyhwan have lost faith in any ruling party, and instead fend for themselves, surviving by any means possible. Crime is rampant throughout the country, though with ever-changing sets of laws being put in place, the word crime has something of a malleable definition in Eyhwan. Regardless, the people who inhabit the country have learned to survive by any means possible, whether that be fleeing the country, or staying and fighting their way through life.
Name: Loc'haven Type: Location/Nation Description: Rising high over the southeast of the Long Road is the twin mountain range known as The Smouldering Embrace. Nestled between the mountain peaks lies The Loc'brook Sea. Settled in center of the calm blue waters is the island nation of Loc'haven. Home to the Mundusaur. Scattered along its coasts are fishing villages and trading ports. Further inland lies the farmlands. Deep within the middle of the island is The Loc'mire, a swampy rain forest filled with all kinds of exotic flora and fauna. Surrounding The Loc'mire at it's cardinal points are hunter garrisons (see pic above) in charge of safeguarding the farmlands from unwanted pests. At the heart of The Loc'mire is The Loc'well, an oozing spring of Ichor and the source of one the Mundusaur's most powerful weapons that only the bravest and strongest of Mundusaur can wield.
Name: Mundusaur Type: Race/Civilization Faction/Unit: Loc'haven Confederacy Description: A humanoid reptilian species of various sizes, shapes, and colors. Their nation consists of a confederacy of multiple clans and tribes mostly separated by trade like fishing, farming, and hunting. Each clan has a counsel of elders that elect a chief they feel best suited for the job. Each chief then gather at the end of each harvest to discuss trade, crop rotation, and other major issues. Disputes are settled by duels ranging in severity depending on the accusation. Mundusaur reach maturity at the age of 13 and considered old at fifty. The eldest Mundusaur in record is 90, but there are stories of those who have broke into the hundreds.
At maturity young Mundusaur are tasked to find their place among tribes. Albeit in the family trade or the trade of another clan with hunting being the most dangerous. So dangerous there are only 4 hunting clans; Redclaw, Blacktail, Horncrest, and Ironmaw. The hunting clans are tasked to defend the farmlands from the dangers of the Loc'mire. Sometimes even tasked to delve deep into the forest and collect Ichor from the Loc'well. The same Ichor used by the blacksmiths to bless the weapons of chiefs, warriors, and alpha hunters. Alpha hunters are tasked with hunting the most dangerous wildlife. They are highly respected, and the only way to become one is that one must prove themselves by crossing the desert by themselves and returning with an artifact of power. Should the blacksmiths see great potential in a prospective Alpha Hunter they may be bestowed a Greenfang to aid in their journey.
The blacksmiths are also the shaman of the Mundusaur. The Mundusaur pray to a Red God they call Loc. They believe Loc is an Old One who ascended to Godhood through use of the Ichor. They also believe that through the Ichor Loc became the first Mundusaur and so blessed them with life. It is taught that the first shamans that discovered the Loc'well were given visions by Loc in how to smith using the Ichor to protect themselves from the dangers of the Loc'mire. The weapons they make are called Greenfangs after the sickly green hue they receive after being quenched in the Ichor. A Greenfang is nothing compared to a Soulsteel blade, but in the right hands it can be just as deadly. Greenfangs never dull, never rust, and depending on the smith have an added attribute that can poison, paralyze, or even energy drain a foe.
Name: Nayax Race: Mundusaur Description: Nayax is one of the taller variety Mundusaur at around 6'4". He is stocky and broad shouldered with a heavy frame and a barrel chest at about 275 pounds of corded muscle. Bright intelligent green eyes are covered by a thick brow with two long sharp horns jutting back over the crown of his head. Rusty orange colored scales cover most of his body out side of the dark beige of his chest, belly, and inner thighs. He dons mostly scars, but he does wear a single plate pauldron on his left shoulder, a sleeveless chain-mail tunic, and an iron-studded leather loincloth. Around his neck is a leather cord necklace holding a jade amulet carved into the shape of a lizard biting its own tail, the holy symbol of Loc. Faction/Unit: Loc'haven Confederacy/Horncrest Clan Location: Loc'haven Synopsis of Role: Nayax is on his pilgrimage across the Red Sands. Seeing his great potential Nayax was bestowed with his Greenfang, a claymore, by the shaman of his clan proclaiming he was blessed by Loc and destined to do great deeds. Hearing rumor of artifacts of power from traders from the desert Nayax planned to travel to The Godsfang Mountains hitting every ruin between there and The Emberlands along the way. If and then there's a chance to help someone along the way it'll only grant him more favor in the eye of Loc.
Description: The Levintines are a tribal people who are most notably characterised by their lose relationship with dire wolves. Dire wolves have long served an important role in Levintine society, acting as companions for the Levintines and viewed as servants of the deity Maurarim. For centuries dire wolves have aided the Levintines in war, hunting, and numerous other activities.
Originating in the Rainlands, the Levintines were forced out of their ancestral lands by Salished expansion and Salished desire for dire wolf pelts. This has forced the Levintines to migrate to the west an into a nomadic lifestyle.
Normally a peaceful people, when pushed into combat Levintines make for fierce enemies. As one Salished soldier commented “The Levintines are slow to draw their blades, but once drawn they are like a force of nature.” Most Levintine warriors paint their faces before entering battle, but some of their more dedicated warriors will tattoo their faces to show they are always prepared for battle.
Levintine warriors are typically outfitted with light leather armor and bows or spears as well as their traditional kukris. Occasionally a Levintine warrior may bring a falcata into battle, although the comparative expense of making these blades makes them a relative rarity. The Levintines have been noted as excelling as skirmishers, scouts, light infantry, and even light cavalry on rare occasions (as some of their dire wolves, called vargs, are actually large enough to ride). Perhaps more importantly Levintine warriors have been sought more for their foraging abilities than anything else. Race: Human, fair skinned and commonly brown and fair haired Type: Tribal Faction/Unit: Neutral, but aligned against Salished
Ranger Arlana
Description: Even when not astride her varg, Arlana has a striking visage. She possesses a single scare from her tenure as ranger of the tribe, the loss of an eye covered by an eyepatch. Tattoos on her arms and shoulders also add to her appearance. Wherever she is, her faithful companion Carr, is guaranteed to be close. A massive dark furred varg, Carr has the tendency to draw the eye away from Arlana and cause many to assume that he is the true threat between the two. Arlana also travels with a dire wolf named Gwri, who commonly acts as a courier for her so she can more easily communicate with her tribe.
Once the tribes greatest archer, the loss of her eye caused Arlana's archery skills to decline to a point where she set the bow aside. For defense she uses, besides her companions Carr and Gwri, a pair of kukris and a falcata. While she is certainly more skilled than the average warrior with these weapons, her skill with the blade falls short of truly skilled warriors. Race: Human Faction: The Levintine Tribe Location: The Claws Synopsis of Role: Being the ranger of the tribe, it is Arlana's duty and honor to lead the tribe as it migrates from place to place. This, in practice, gives her power rivaling that of the tribe's chief, while ensuring that she spends as little time with the tribe as possible. She acts as the vanguard for her tribe: it is her duty to set the groundwork for future negotiations with the various cities and tribes of the land and she can, in essence, determine when and were her tribe will fight its enemies.
A species of wolf native to the Rainlands, dire wolves are highly intelligent, arguably as intelligent as humans in some cases, and notably larger than most other species of wolves. They tend to be half again as large as other species of wolves, although members of the species have been noted as growing to be much larger, in which case they are referred to as vargs.
While native to the Rainlands, the desire for the pelts has caused them to be hunted extensively, severely limiting their numbers. Currently the largest collection of dire wolves in a single location is with the Levintine tribe.
Vargs are, to put it simply, extremely large dire wolves that rival horses in size. They are very rare and all attempts to breed their sizes into the general population of dire wolves has failed, meaning that their appearance is either purely random or created by some kind of divine intervention. Vargs, much like their smaller brothers, are highly intelligent creatures and are worshipped by the Levintine people as servants of the diety Maurarim.
A traditional tool of the Levintine people, kukri are large knives characterised by their forward curving blade.They are especially good for chopping and were originally used widely of cutting wood, building, clearing fields, and killing animals.
A more combat oriented version of the kukri, the Levintine people started producing these forward curving swords when the Salished Empire begin pushing into their traditional lands. These blades are fairly rare now, due to the Levintine tribe’s inability to gather the materials needed to produce many, but the tribe’s greatest warriors are still outfitted with these blades. They often serve both a combat and ceremonial purposes and the blades are noted as being especially beautiful due to the runes and inscriptions etched into their blades.
