In that case I feel okay posting this, just some scene setting tbh. Honestly the rust is a lot stronger than I expected, but I'm not exactly unhappy about my first IC post since my return :D
Nah, it was an excellent first post. I like that Ivraan has books about the Forest of Emerald in his caravan. I was *this close* to having Athulwin read a book about it as well
Also wanted to ask how strict we are on posting order, if any at all other than try to avoid posting twice in a row
Personally, I allow at least two posts before I respond again. If someone wants to go back and forth with another person or two, in my experience it's best doing it in private messages then someone posts it all as a single collaboration post, rather than a bunch of little posts between the two or three of you.
For Halloween I offer an updated character sheet, I probably wrote a bit too much, but that's the price I am currently demanding. The artwork used will almost certainly change as well, however, I am a notoriously slow chooser of images.
Nemeia
Race, Age, Time in the Caravan:
Tiefling, 23 years old, six months in the Pilgrim's Caravan.
Appearance:
Illuminated by pale moonlight, Nemeia is a young woman touched by the abyss and unmistakably marked by her infernal heritage. Taller than most, she moves with grace, and stands with poise beyond her years. Fearful stares follow her, meeting eyes somehow still full of kindhearted cheer, brilliant orbs of gold. Two large horns sit atop her head and curve stylishly backwards. Long blue hair cascades past her horns, resting freely at the whims of her movements and the wind. Her skin is the color of cool sapphire and a gentle smile is spoiled only by pointed canine teeth that have a frightful effect on the unprepared. Nemeia has a thick, long tail that reaches some five feet in length. She has bat-like wings sprouting from her shoulders, politely kept neatly folded against her back so as to avoid frightening strangers.
History:
"In the frozen hell of Morenia, the devils rule with an iron hand. Bound to unholy laws, these cruel creatures deliver creative justice beyond the comprehension of mortals." - Lofyr the Traveler
Born at the stroke of midnight, beneath the dark embrace of a lunar eclipse, Nemeia is a tiefling full of strange destiny. She hails from the distant land of Morenia, far to the north, past the fallen Kingdom of Undast, and across the Sea of Bitter Tears. Said to be ruled by the archdevil Ixelja, remembered by masters of the High Art as the merchant of souls, a fell creature known for offering bargains to those faced with inescapable doom. Whether such forgotten recollections are true, is hard to discern, and some explorers maintain that Morenia is simply a particularly inhospitable kingdom.
Nemeia makes no effort to dispel such horrific notions and cheerfully explains that she is indeed from a land ruled by fiends. Mentioned in a scattering of forbidden tomes thought lost to the ages, Morenia is reputed to be a realm of law and evil, once named by the Sage Belynia as one of the uncountable circles of hell. Questioned about her homeland, Nemeia disagrees, confidentially explaining that Morenia is the fifth hell of a nine, producing infernal mathematics and cartography that fills any observers with a sense of unwelcome dread. While it is clear that the young tiefling is unmistakably and undoubtedly honest in her beliefs about her homeland, the veracity of such claims are difficult to establish. In truth, little consensus can be found in the few remaining records that concern the accused lands of Morenia.
The youngest of seven siblings, Nemeia was born to a happy household. Her father, Etzilal, a dark elf, was a powerful warlock, sworn to a hellish patron. Her mother, Tseyaqa, a devil, was a hell knight, an unholy warrior oathbound to enforce the laws of Morenia. Her siblings were great and terrible fiends, creatures of immeasurable evil, operating in strict adherence to the law. The roots of her family were buried deep in the frozen ground and the branches had grown heavy with the crushing weight of wretched horrors had family had inflicted on others over the ages. Her ancestors were no lesser evils and no middling fiends, but rather monstrous malefactors. An infamous warlord or two, responsible for untold suffering across Alwyne. An infernal crusader noted to have burned the Holy Library of Kinirrak to the ground no less than three times. And a mad sorcerer remembered for the kingdom she sank beneath the cold waves.
For all the purported evil of her family, Nemeia describes a suprisingly loving relationship with her beloved siblings and parents. Her early years were pleasant and full of learning. A promising career as a hell knight was interrupted by a series of divine visions Nemeia experienced in her tenth year. Nemeia joyously recalls that she was visited by Valradun, goddess of Syashkal, the silver moon that shines down on Alwyne, a deity of merciful kindness much hated by damned denizens of Morenia. Forever changed by these encounters, Nemeia turned away from the cruel beliefs of her people, embracing the compassionate faith taught by Valradun. Nemeia admits that she caused her parents grief and heartache with her conversion. Steadfast in her faith, Nemeia dedicated herself to serving Valradun soon after. Her respected siblings expressed confusion and horror at her chosen vocation.
Of course, Faithful fiends were not unheard of, even in Morenia, but to worship a goddess of good was held to be an unacceptable act of rebellion. Despairing for her future prospects and fearing for her life, her parents encouraged Nemeia to travel, to spread the teachings of her kind goddess in lands more receptive to the offer of such gentle benedictions. The price of her passage from Morenia was a deal made with Ixelja herself. An unspoken contract that Nemeia ruefully refuses to elaborate on.
Leaving Morenia behind her, Nemeia traveled to Kyeth Thalore, the jeweled city found in the heart of the Kingdom of Aranthnor. There she made her way to the House of the Brilliant Moon, the greatest and most magnificent temple dedicated to Valradun, and asked to be received as a novice into the Order of the Silver Moon. Although they were sympathetic to her earnest desire, even the open-minded clerics beheld the young tielfing with unrestrained curiosity and notable uncertainty. Undeterred, Nemeia told the clerics about her visions. When this did little to quell the well-intentioned concern of the kindly preachers, Nemeia declared herself ready to submit to an examination on all the points of doctrine so beloved by Valradun and the purity of her devotion.
It was the famed Priestess of the Sacred Chalice, Quillathe Amastacia, who broke the theological stalemate, accepting the spirited infernal youth as her apprentice. Initiated in the mysteries and rituals of Valradun, Nemeia blossomed. Through Quillathe her connection to Valradun grew stronger. She could feel the power of Valradun coursing through her. Invocation came easily to her. The teachings of the order strengthened her. She found comfort in the compassion of Valradun. She found colleagues. She found friends. She found a place where she belonged. And she found unknown happiness.
In time, Nemeia grew into an able student, showing a gift for healing and protective magic. Her temper, fueled only by innocent intentions for good, was a source of occasional concern, and for all her soft admonishments, even Quillathe could not manage to quench the fire that burned deep within Nemeia. Concerned at her increasingly brash behavior, Quillathe saw that Nemeia began to train with the master-at-arms of the order. Among the paladins, the holy warriors, Nemeia found a new calling, a higher calling as she sometimes said. Hers was not the path of quiet contemplation. Hers was not long hours of peaceful reflection. Her way was action. Her purpose was to protect. As the moon traveled across the sky, waxing and waning, she too would travel, and she too would change.
With the blessing of Quillathe and her religious brethren, Nemeia became one of the wandering soldier-priestesses of Valradun. She would set forth from the temples, seeking out those in need of the help, the weak and the oppressed, all those that Valradun wished to help.
Stepping out into the world, wearing the full garb of a priestess, Nemeia encountered the prejudice she had long managed to avoid among the faithful, the bitter hatred held over the heads of tieflings. She heard insults, cruel words and unkind mockery that was hurled at her with evil relish. She listened to ceaseless threats, tireless promises of violence to her person, to her purity, and to her very soul. She suffered undeserved acts of violence, strikes aimed to hurt, blows meant to maim, and deadly attacks intended to kill. Nemeia did not cower. She did not beg. Guided by Valradun's wisdom Nemeia did not struggle to defend herself. Yet, she forgave, treating those who mistreated her with compassion, provided they posed no further danger to her. Through such experiences, Nemeia came to realize that there was much she would have to learn about the Alwyne in order to accomplish her holy mission.
Nemeia does not like to dwell on such sorrowful moments, but there is obvious sadness in her eyes when she is judged by her blood alone, leaving deep wounds that even Valradun cannot easily heal. However, Nemeia chooses to look forward, accompanied by the moonlight she does not fear the long, dark nights, certain that a more radiant dawn awaits.
Driven by such hopes, Nemeia excelled in the tasks that she had been charged with. She felt the gentle hand of Valradun guiding her ever onwards and followed the visions that she was graced with. Far stories speak of a moon maiden, an outsider, a figure emerging from the darkness, and a creature adorned with the vestments of a distant hell. A bright light in the darkness, a winged being bearing the words of Valradun. If such stories are ever mentioned in her presence, Nemeia is quick to explain that there are many devoted seekers of Valradun, and assuredly such tales speak of one of her esteemed colleagues.
As the years unfolded, Nemeia continued her questing, always returning to the House of the Brilliant Moon to reacquaint herself with the others of her order and Quillathe. Convalescing after a long, but ultimately successful campaign to secure peace between a colony of werebats and the Queen of Boryn, a mountain kingdom ruled by strangely tall dwarfs, Nemeia experienced a strange new vision.
She saw countless paths illuminated with bright ink as if by some unseen cartographer. She saw an endless pattern of crossroads. She saw beasts, monsters, and species beyond description. She saw wagons, draft horses, pack animals, and ingenious vehicles that bristled with creative thought. But most importantly she saw people. Strangers she could not name. Travelers of the infinite roads. Beams of light that shone through the darkness.
Nemeia did not need to consult her teachers. She did not need to ask Quillathe for advice. A new journey awaited. More places. More people. More chances to do good. It was the will of Valradun and her own intimate desire. Following the scattered signs, Nemeia found the Pilgrim's Caravan, offering her services as a healer, and keeping her tools of war carefully hidden.
A relative newcomer to the Pilgrim's Caravan, Nemeia has nonetheless found a place among the intriguing collection of merchants and travelers that make up the caravan. Most have come to see her as a benevolent figure, a much appreciated cleric unwaveringly willing to offer her aid and to help those in need. Still, some wayfarers continue to view her with suspicion, finding it unbelievable that someone so touched, so shaped by evil can be so firmly dedicated to the cause of good.
Personality:
Nemeia is a creature of contradictions. She is a devil with religion. She is a being formed in no small part from chaos and evil, yet dedicated wholeheartedly to good. She is a devoted cleric, with not an ounce of regard for chastity. She is a true believer, unbound by orthodoxy. She is a humble servant of moon goddess, held in great favor by her mistress. She overflows with compassion. She is quick to accept and quicker to forgive. She dances in the moonlight, following the inescapable tides of life, bending to the waxing and waning of her reality, recognizing the unmistakable ebb and flow of all forces.
She has a serene and peaceful nature and is slow to anger. She will not fight if she can help it, but will not hold back if she must. She is joyous and good humored, although she reacts with righteous fury whenever she encounters evil. She remains uncorrupted by the far reaching influence of her native land. She is untouched by the constant machinations of her infernal kin. She is kind, friendly, and for all the ill treatment she has suffered, Nemiea possess little of the bitterness that afflicts many other tieflings.
Despite her obvious infernal heritage, Nemeia pursues no evil schemes, and hides no true darkness deep within her. Her heart is kind and her soul is pure, protected by the brilliant light of the moon.
Her heaviest sorrows stem from the poor treatment that she has experienced as a tiefling. Such wounds, run deep, painful injuries of her spirit healing slowly, infected by lingering doubts, and disappointment. Calling out to Valradun, Nemeia fights this sadness with charity and love.
Motivation:
Desiring to do good and much more of good at that, Nemeia has joined the Pilgrim's Caravan in order to more easily travel to new lands and help souls in need of aid that might otherwise be far beyond her reach.
Skills, Strengths and Weaknesses, and Tools:
Skills:
Priestess of the Faint Moonlight
Nemeia is a priestess of the moon goddess Valradun. Imbued with divine magic, she commands lunar energy and powers of the moon granted to her by her deep connection to Valradun. Arising from her belief and trust in Valradun, her magic does not depend on formulaic prayers, ancient rites, or any arcane scholarship. Nemeia is a gifted healer, mending injuries and curing diseases through the manifestation of miracles brought forth by her steadfast faith. She weaves powerful protective spells, affording the blessings of the silver moon to those in need. Dedicated to preserving the natural order of life, Nemeia can channel the radiant light of Valradun to drive away the undead or harm evil creatures.
Dutiful as she is, Nemeia is no sedentary priestess, called to a simple life of temple service. She does not reside within the comfortable safety of temple walls. Her prayers are few and her sacrifices seldom. Instead, she carries out Valradun's will out in the wide world, through acts of faith, divine magic, and her own strength of arms. Although some would call her a soldier-priestess, Nemeia prefers to avoid any such distinction. However, she has been trained by the master-at-arms of her order and her skills have been sharpened through her travels.
Strengths & Weaknesses:
+ Of Fire and Ice: Nemeia is resistant to fire & ice + Forged in Darkness: Part elf and part devil, Nemeia has the superior vision in dark and dim conditions ascribed to both of her bloodlines. + Infernal Linguistics: As a result of her particular familial constellation, Nemeia is a comfortable conversing in the common tongue of the lands, the Elvish of the High Elves, and the black speech of the Infernal domains. + Infernal Magic: Cursed with infernal blood, Nemeia can summon base magic associated with the beings that inhabit the hells that spawned her. + Wings: Decidedly inhuman in her appearance, Nemeia has a pair of pale, bat-like wings that allow her to fly at a modest pace.
- Fanatical Idealist: Nemeia would happily die for her beliefs, certain that she can do nothing else but fight for what is right, to convince her to deviate from her wholeheartedly carried principles is an act of hopelessness. Nemeia will stubbornly refuse any and all entreaties to be pragmatic. - Reckless: Stemming from her faith and idealism, Nemeia is loathe to acknowledge risk and when she does she pays it little mind, especially if the task in question is noble in purpose. - Poorly Perceived and Received: Few readily or easily trust tieflings, convinced that they are no different than their demonic progenitors. At times, mistrust morphs into hatred and Nemeia has experienced no small amount of poor treatment. In some lands, Nemeia has found that even undeserved acts of violence directed towards her very person are to be expected from strangers.
Tools:
* Holy Symbol: Nemeia carries a silver pendent depicting the holy symbol of Valradun (a pale crescent moon adorned with seven stars). * Staff: the symbol of her high office, Nemeia possesses a wooden staff wrapped with silver, including silver flowers and vines, and topped with a moonstone * Robes: For religious ceremony, Nemeia has a meticulously maintained set of white robes embroidered with silver and decorated with moonstones. * Circlet: Before each service, Nemeia will create a circlet of woven flowers that she wears around her head. * Traveling Clothes: Nemeia owns a set of clothes well-suited for travel. Thick boots, a wool skirt reaching past her knees, a sturdy belt, a shirt with a jacket and an ample cloak with hood. * Traveling Pack: Owning only a steady draft horse, Nemeia has a leather backpack containing a blanket, 10 candles, a tinder box, an alms box, 2 blocks of incense, a censer, vestments, several days worth of rations, and waterskin. * Heavy Mace: Although seldom seen in her hand, Nemeia keeps a four-flanged heavy mace hanging from her belt. * Scale Mail: Carefully wrapped in weather proof material, Nemeia hides a suit of armor. Consisting of perfectly circular scales of opalescent appearance that glow faintly with silver light this scale mail armor is clearly of excellent make. * Horse: To ease her travels, Nemeia has used some of her collected alms to purchase a calm draft horse that she has named Sir Thomas.
What They Most Want: Nemeia wants to be good, she wants to do good, and she wants to change the world for the better. She wants to atone for the uncountable sins of her ancestors, she wants to be kinder than her kin, and she wants to be a merciful light in the dark winter of the endless nights.
If They Had a DnD Alignment, It Would Be: Chaotic Good
Three Likes: + A social creature, Nemeia enjoys good food and good company in equal measure. + Steeped in religion, Nemeia appreciates encountering new stories, be they written, spoken, or even sung. + Nemeia is immensely fond of all animals, she absolutely adores cats and other fuzzy creatures.
Three Dislikes: - Violence: Nemeia regards violence with great disdain - Cruelty: Having seen and experienced the cruelty of the abyss, Nemeia has had more than her fill of cruelty and seeks only to spread kindness in the world. - Laziness: Nemeia believes in action, she likes to do things, many things, probably too many things, and she does not take kindly to those predisposed to overzealous inactivity.
Do They Follow Their Heart or Their Mind?: Nemeia unwaveringly and unhesitatingly follows her heart.
Worst Fear: The greatest fear that Nemeia has is that she will one day succumb to the base and cruel desires associated with her infernal heritage.
Favorite Color: Blue
Most Like The Animal: Capybara
Favorite Time of Day: Nemeia has a shifting favoritism towards the ever changing time of day that matches the phases of the moon. She is most fond of the hour, usually late at night, when the moon shines the brightest in the sky.
How They Dress: Traveling Nemeia dresses pragmatically, wearing clothes suitable for long, arduous journeys (thick boots, a wool skirt reaching past her knees, a sturdy belt, a shirt with a jacket and an ample cloak with hood). Performing ritual or ceremony, she dons a white robe embroidered with silver and decorated with moonstones, a circlet of woven flowers worn around her head, and embraces a distinct lack of shoes. Regardless of the context, she wears silver and gold jewelry decorated with brilliant moonstones.
In times of great danger, when violence is expected near and soon, Nemeia will wear her suit of scale armor and wield her heavy mace.
Favorite Season: Nemeia holds Winter as her favorite season. Cold days and colder nights, long hours painted with snow and ice remind her of her distant home.
What Gods/Spirits/Whatevers They Worship (If Any):
Nemeia worships Valradun, serving goddess of the moon, and fervently striving to accomplish her benevolent aims.
A greater goddess, worshiped since the ancient days of Alriel, Valradun is a powerful goddess said to hold sway over the moon and celestial bodies that shine in the sky of Alwyne. Over the ages, the domains she is believed to control have grown in number, and at present she is recognized as influencing a wide range of areas. Valradun's nature, appearance, and mood all change in turn with the phases of the moon. She is generous and freely bestowed gifts and blessings on mortals. She also makes few demands of her followers. When beseeched by her clergy, she is said to readily respond.
Drawn by teachings that emphasize compassion and gentle guidance, her faithful are a diverse group, and come from many walks of life. According to words of Valradun, all on whom the moonlight falls are welcome to join her.
Valradun is believed to control the ebb and flow of the tides. She is said to bring comfort and safety to those in need during the night. She shines light over the darkness, holding evil at bay through moonlight. Some learned scholars argue that Valradun has become the moon itself, infusing the moon of Alwyne with her very spirit, so that she can eternally watch over the world. Through the moon, she is thought to control the powers of lycanthropes.
Those who seek her help and favor are many. She is called by those who are lost, aiding travelers lost in the wild and ships drifting aimlessly at sea. Sailors, navigators, and travelers are known to ask for her guidance. Her protection is sought out by those about to embark on dangerous journey. Ever changing, Valradun is venerated by shapeshifters, especially lycanthropes. Regardless of the quality of their heart or their view of their condition, many of those afflicted with such curses see her as the mistress of their nature. Observing the guidance she graciously offers, some engaged in the endeavor of predicting the future, have come to the conclusion that Valradun might rule fate itself.
Although she cares little for the gender of her followers, Valradun is commonly worshipped by women, who look to her for guidance, courage, and strength. A being concerned with life, Valradun is said to love all those touched by her radiant light. She is believed to be able to deliver love to those who seek it honestly and to bless marriages entered in good faith. She is said to intercede during births to ensure the safety of parent and child. Finding beauty in many places, Valradun blesses all things that she finds beautiful, recognizing that sometimes pleasing the senses can be kindness enough. Conventional as she may seem, Valradun encourages her followers to be self-reliant and to discover their own path. She is therefore popular with adventurers, all those who stand apart from others, and chart their own course.
It has even been said that she is one of the few gods worshiped by non-wicked tieflings. Driven by her dedication to the protecting life and confronting evil, Valradun is known to grant visions to people who desired them for good purposes. As such, even those not dedicated to Valradun will often pay their respects to her, in hopes of gaining her favor and aid.
Finally, those born during the full moon are said to be blessed by Valradun and are often encouraged, if not expected, to worship the moon goddess.
Unlike many gods, Valradun does not chain her followers with heavy ultimatums. She is lenient on issues of alignment and religious observe. To her faithful, to follow one's heart and to do the right thing is viewed as more important than uninspired theological musing or the strict performance of rituals. Her worshipers are encouraged to be compassionate and tolerant of others. They are urged to be humble and self-reliant, to use common sense and practicality.
Followers of Valradun seek out her guidance through observations of the heavens and rituals conducted under the moonlit night sky. They believe that life changes like the moon, waxing and waning with each passing moment. Her clergy suggest that there is a natural cycle to all of existence, arguing that there is an unavoidable ebb and flow to every force found in the world. Valradun and her followers view the undead and evil creatures mournfully, believing that while such unnatural forces must be swiftly opposed an defeated, they are not always beyond redemption.
Wow.
You're fantastic at this. Absolutely approved. I love it.
Nah, it was an excellent first post. I like that Ivraan has books about the Forest of Emerald in his caravan. I was *this close* to having Athulwin read a book about it as well
Haha thanks. Yeah just felt it was fitting with the herbology :D
Gonna start filling in the Lore some tonight, after I've settled in and had some more coffee. Off day :)
Looking forward to it
Personally, I allow at least two posts before I respond again. If someone wants to go back and forth with another person or two, in my experience it's best doing it in private messages then someone posts it all as a single collaboration post, rather than a bunch of little posts between the two or three of you.
Yeah thats fair. Just thought I'd check since peoples opinions differ on such things, lovely first post btw
And made my post! A quick one from Gadri should folks wish to come across them as they stroll to the front of the line, and then Malleck doing silly Malleck things.
Your fun African Wild Dog (the species on which Malleck and his people are based) for this post is that they have all kinda of vocalisations, none of which you'd really expect to come from an animal named 'Wild Dog!' They chirp, hoot, squeak and even sneeze to communicate.
A great first post, @Overlord Thraka. I especially loved your description of the Caravan.
Wonderous wagons moving on their own, or else pulled by strange and exotic beasts. Enormous wagons big as houses, to carts so small that they barely held the single occupant, and more-often were filled to the brim with several. The people too were something else. Poor and rich and inbetween, young and old and some perhaps even dead if the smell was any indicator. Humans and Dwarves and Elves, Lizardmen and Catfolk and all manner of Beast-men. Just yesterday a large slug pulling a wagon had shouted at her to move aside while it inched forward, leaving a slimy trail on the ground behind it.
That's almost precisely the brand of chaos that had I imagined when I came up with this RP.
1. Progress on the Lore of Alwyne has begun. You will now find short descriptions of (most of*) the magics and other powers we have invented, as well as the more unique races, in the OP.
(If you've got a picture you're using, right here would be the place to drop it.)
Race, Age, Time in the Caravan: A human of 32. Or so she thinks at least. A pilgrim within the caravan for four years.
Appearance: A tall, slender, willowy woman, who looks as if a stiff breeze would cart her up into the air and carry her away, into places unknown. The good madame has long locks of flowing, wispy flaxen hair kept neatly tucked inside a full set of modest bonnets, a milky complexion and pale eyes that can never quite decide if they should be blue, grey or green, depending on the condition of light or shadow forces beyond the day or how wide her pupils are.
Trist is an old, forgetful land, somewhere to the west and somewhere to the north, not terribly far from the Old Marshes. It is a land of stone, earth and bones, tilled and toiled upon by peasants, ridden hard upon by nobles, and settled extensively by wave after wave of migrant, invader and coloniser. Out in the oldest of its places, villages that once proudly stood for generations have been covered by the silt of time, and in their place are barrows and tombs... Yet in its beating heart stand proud citadels of heavy stone and sloped roofs, gutters near-overspilling from the rain that frequently drizzles down.
The earth of Trist is fertile and rich, fine fodder for the peasantfolk to divide into hedgerow-split fields or to allow sheep and cattle to ramble over, and although few would call it the most blessed place on Alwyne, only a fool would deny that the people of Trist feast more often than they experience famine.
This was the land where Madame Morivanne was born to, as wind and rain crashed against sturdy stone walls, where the cries of her mother were drowned out by the crack of lightning and boom of thunder. She had a first name, once, of that she is sure, but she has found that whatever it was has become quite superfluous now.
In fact, many things about Madame Morivanne have turned out to be quite irrelevant over the years. Even to herself, her life is a patchwork thing, stitched together from threads of recollection around memories who have found new uses. Yet, just because she does not remember them does not mean they never happened.
A child to a family of burghers - those who learn crafts like the peasantry yet live behind high stone walls, she was raised to be a lady-in-waiting, as it is the custom in the city of Trist for wealthy women to have a learned assistant to help with managing their house in ways mere servants cannot. She learned to read, to write, to stitch together flesh so a doctor might not be needed, to count coins and tighten a purse, and to dress and undress another faster than they could do so themselves.
She was apprenticed to a family of minor nobility, and at first, all seemed well, but there was little well within the manor which she found herself now living in. Her mistress was a weak-willed woman, and she had a husband who used this against her and the rest of his household, heavy with his hand, harsh with his tongue, and prone to strong wine that made him all the worse for it. Morivanne learnt quickly that the one place her master rarely bothered to tread was the library of the house - a marvellous thing, but left neglected in the basement, where it secrets had been forgotten beneath the slowly-gathering dust.
As she spent her time down there, blowing away cobwebs and parting parchment that had not seen candlelight in far too long, she began to read of things that perhaps ought to have been forgotten. She read of the Sun, and the splendour it once had. She learnt of the Light-And-Flame, the tenfold essences that made up the soul, of how autumn did not lead to winter, but instead the Silence, and then she learnt of the Threshold, and she began to understand enough.
One day, her mistress noticed that she had not seen the young Madame Mervivanne around for an unusual while. Nor had her servants, and the master of the house could not remember a young woman by the surname Morvanne having ever worked at their estate before. Soon enough, the servants could no longer remember a Madame Morvanne either. When the master of the house passed away - a tragedy for a sleeping sickness to strike like that, it truly was, all memories of Morvanne had left the house entirely, along with the quiet library buried in the earth.
But not all are as suceptible to such things as unwitting nobles, and not all are pleased by the twisting of shoulds and should-nots. Among Trist's people are those wise to the ways of ancient memories, and Morivanne, with no tutor to guide her beyond the books, was not terribly apt at disguising the profession in which she found herself. When Wych-Hunters came to her new abode she was forced to flee, and then flee again, until at last she realised that, for now, Trist was unsafe for her to say in. The Pilgrim's Caravan came at an apt time to allow her to quietly slip away, but she knew more than most that Trist is an old, forgetful land. She will return there, one day. Of this she is certain.
Personality: The good Madame is a quiet, studious sort, who tends to travel alongside unusual companions wherever she can, the more unusual the better. She is the sort to listen, long and hard - the sort of listening that can rarely be feigned, and seems to take great and legitimate interest in the things that others have to say. She is fond of books and tea, of long strolls to nowhere in particular, of the houseplants she tends to in her wagon and in the careful sorting of the many curiosities and knick-knacks she has accumulated. In short, she is a regular homebody, except one whose home now rolls along the road.
Motivation: If she had her way, Morvanne would be back in Trist, sat beside a small hearth in a pleasant house nestled firmly behind a set of thick walls. Perhaps she'd even have a husband, or let herself grow heavy with child, but above all she would have her library. Until Trist has forgotten her then, she works on the last objective most of all. At every stop along the journey, and indeed between stops as well, she goes about, gathering literature, cataloguing it and then, most of the time, selling it or gifting it onwards. Most of the caravan probably knows her best as a book merchant and librarian, which suits her just fine.
Skills, Strengths and Weaknesses, and Tools: Morvanne is an occultist - but mind how you refer to such a thing around her, because to Madame Morvanne, the 'occult' is not the domain of fussy old fellows in Hermetic Lodges, or tentacle-wielding scholars muttering at skulls. Her practices are easy to miss. She does not read the cards or cast the bones, nor do her spells pour forth darkness or sunder skin from bone. She reads, and she writes, and things that oughtn't ought, and things that ought oughtn't and peculiar bargains lead to peculiar happenstance.
In plain English, Morvanne is a spellcaster dedicated to the various powers who those in the know refer to as the Oblitarchy, and the tenfold essences that their occultists categorise. Morivanne in particular found herself predisposed to the Oblitarch known as the Threshold, associated with the essence of [WIP]. [WIP]. is the essence of the sleeping mind - where experiences become memory and memory engrained, and thus the Threshold is a peculiar thing - gifting and taking away knowledge in equal parts, and reigning over all that has been murmured in the night.
Because of this, Morvanne is unusually well-educated considering her age in matters both of and not of this world, but this comes with it not only a forgetfulness of her own past, but also with remembering things that are not true, at least not within this Time. Outside of the Threshold, she also dabbles in the essences of [WIP] and [WIP].
[WIP]
What They Most Want:
If They Had a DnD Alignment, It Would Be:
Three Likes:
Three Dislikes:
Do They Follow Their Heart or Their Mind?:
Worst Fear:
Favorite Color:
Most Like The Animal: That is, which animal they are most like- not which one they like the most.
Favorite Time of Day:
How They Dress:
Favorite Season:
What Gods/Spirits/Whatevers They Worship (If Any):
