The God-Color Council, also known as the Starburst Beams, are members of a secret society hand-picked from Skara's elite. Their identities secret, even from another, they direct the politics of Lundros, the administration of the Luminae Magic Academy, and guide the Lore Wardens in their mission to rein in dangerous knowledge that all too easily in this world may manifest as dangerous magic.

The Lore Wardens are a quasi-mercenary cult who report to the Starburst Chamber. Their job is to prevent the spread of dangerous stories and dangerous magic, including confiscating books and imprisoning in Lore Dens those who use magic and fables to upset the balance of society.

Skolt & Pite,

Siblings, born of the same womb-blood, the same double-yolk, brother and sister, are Kroca children of fishers from Fyrkat. While their father has ascended from the eyrie, their mother still tends to them, although more and more of her time is devoted to her small fishing boat, hewn caringly by her hand from a single white fir into the likeness of a dragon. Awakened by her love and devotion, it can talk, and aids her in bringing nourishment to Fyrkat. However, neither of her children are interested in fishing. They speak aloud infrequently, as their bonded minds allow them to sense another's intentions.

Pite is an herbalist, but not the healing kind; the oracular kind who can make teas or read the leaves for visions or unwanted pregnancies. These recipes, amongst many others, most mundane baking instructions, she carries with her in a tome passed down from her grandmother.

Skolt is a troubadour, a brawler, and a cloud-dreamer who protects those in need with his Macuahuitl, a flat club with obsidian plates in the side-grooves, both a weapon and a xylophone-like instrument; its obsidian blades are normally held rigid, but by sliding out a thin reed from the center of the club, they loosen enough for musical vibration.

Ghilros - a large town nestled in the foothills between the forests and the Iron Table (see Other). Ghilros has historically been a thriving and industrious town, well-placed along the serpentine curve of the Yanvin, the river that peeks out between ancient glades and the mesetas of the Iron Table just north of the sea. Currently one of the eminent free cities of the Yanvin Constellation.

One of the earliest settlements to arise from an alliance between humans and fae, Ghilros' menroh borough delimits the farmlands of the Yanvin Valley and a furnace town at the southern foot of the Iron Table, where the guilds are funding a mining operation that promises to delve far deeper than any before into the abandoned dwarven manses below the earth.

The faeroh of Ghilros is styled after the silvan architecture of elfkind, amid the primeval treetops; historically, there has been a decidedly classist element in Ghilros society with local aristocracy and activity centering itself more around this neighborhood and neglecting the human and crow quarters.

The Sidereal Sisterhood, Court of the Veil, and many other names - attributed to a number of groups throughout the ages and variously described as a matriarchal coven of witches and a diverse cabal of heretical sorcerers, the Sidereal Sisterhood are a common element in folklore throughout the lands of Skara. A tribe of magelings whose stories loom large in the earliest works of great fable magic, they were worshipped as minor deities at one point among hedge wizards and the smallfolk.

Their relevance has dwindled with the passing of centuries and it is said that their stories are but withered husks of the legends.

Common iconography depicts these witches and warlocks with ornate and personalized hats identifying the distinct members of the Court of the Veil, though their names and titles vary greatly between tales and folkloric traditions. Opinion differs about which of these sagely figures are of the wise and grandmotherly persuasion and which are eaters of daughters, demanding of sacrifice... and many conclude both are true, particularly in the earliest stories of the Sisters' origins.

Yanvin River & Valley - the river curving out of the ancient forest between the sea and the Iron Table; historically a prosperous breadbasket region

The Iron Table - a cluster of freestanding terraced mountains located directly to the south of Lundros. Ancient myth says the Iron Table was raised in the Age of the Broken God by a nameless power lost to that antique era.

The Yanvin Constellation - also called the Free Cities, the Yanvin Constellation is a network of city-states throughout the lands around Lundros. Until recently informally linked by trade, the merchant guilds and minor aristocracy have been moving to formalize their coalition and sue for diplomatic recognition from Lundros.

The Deepfolk - apocryphal culture said to have dwelt beneath the earth in times prior to the dwarven kingdoms, and allegedly said to inhabit the underworld.

Ykka is a harpy eagle that likes to wear hats.



Nadira the Red is an ancient member of the Court of the Veil, her power but a flickering ember of its once great flame.

A shapeshifter, she is said to variously appear as a fox person with red or arctic white fur and a human woman, her age and beauty in rough correspondence with her power. She is called the Solstice Sorceress and the Witch of Midwinter, among other names, and symbolically associated with transformation and transitional periods in the extinct mystery cults from the bygone days when the Sidereal Sisters had greater relevance in Skaran religion.

To Nadira they are practically memories of another life. For a long time she has wandered the countryside as a mendicant healer and knower of lore, collecting cantrips and other trifling magic, and the tales of the Red Witch are largely forgotten even to her... but prophetic dreams have demanded her attention with the nearing of the Breaking.

Cérenir il Andramson is the half-elven son of a powerful Ghilrosan merchant. His father is one of the primary investors in the mining operation in the foothills of the Iron Table. Recently Cérenir, always an ambitious and politicking sort, has become even more devoted to expanding the wealth and power of his family. He has been selected to journey to Lundros for the Festival of the Breaking as part of a Ghilrosan delegation.

There he has another objective in strongarming Lundros into accepting the free cities of the Yanvin Constellation as a sovereign power, among other goals related to his own ambitions. His abilities are related to bloodline magic and his extensive education compared to most Skaran folk, and his failings are largely related to the arrogance and xenophobia carved into him by his surroundings.

Cérenir is accompanied by an NPC I haven't designed yet. I haven't decided if he will be a bodyguard or the actual diplomat, as Cérenir is probably too much of an asshole to accomplish much on that front. They are travelling with a group of merchants and smallfolk from Ghilros and surrounding villages.

The mountain village of Mirynkat is the largest of a chain of small towns that dot the interconnected lakes of the Old Teeth, a steep range of green, white and gray. It owes its size and prosperity to a few factors: natural resources, technology and positioning.

The first is the easiest to comprehend, because all communities on the mountains can take easy advantage of the bounty they provide: lumber aplenty, abundant fish and game, and mineral resources for those with the ability to extract them. This is where the second point comes into play: owning to the original settlers - a conclave of Iron Word smiths and advocates, enterprising local tradesmen and a handful of lesser nobles from the Winter Court - the facilities of the town are far above their neighbors. Lifts powered by squat mountain ponies help bring goods and visitors from below, while well-maintained canals enable easy transport of raw materials from those higher up, and both the mines and the forges of the village are of a quality that would normally only be found in a large city. This highlights the final point: positioning; it is perfectly situated at the largest and most abundant lake, with many streams feeding down to it from above and many streaks leading from it to below, making it the perfect point for trade between the lowlands and the high places.

Beautiful, stately houses dot the lake shore - a lake so brilliantly and perfectly blue as to be almost indescribable to those who have not lived beside it - belonging to the wealthiest of the town's residents, many of which are descended from the First Families. At night the mountainside is alight with the fires of the forges and the many inns, taverns and households that make up the town. It is a warm and busy oasis in what would otherwise be wilderness.

The history of the town is not entirely blessed, however. The buildings which stand now are the New Town, although only the oldest of the residents would call it such. Long ago a calamity fell upon the town. Some say it was melting glaciers from above, some say it was an intentional effort from rival towns higher up the range, some say it was a nature spirit roused to anger, but whatever the cause, the result was the same: fully half of Mirynkat was drowned and destroyed. The beautiful lake - Miryn itself - holds dozens upon dozens of buildings within its cold depths. On cloudless days when the sun is at its height, or when the moon is shining brightest, one could row out and see some of them - houses and churches, stores and taverns - suspended forever in time below the water.

The Iron Word is an order of nonspecific religious creatives; those who make - smiths, potters, carpenters and more. Their guiding principle is that the act of creating and improving in the service of sentient life is a form of communion with a divine creator, the builder of all things. Their tenants disallow using their work to purposefully do harm, although self-defense is not forbidden.

Roan Norvell - or Roan Lakeland, as he travels by - is either the youngest son of the richest family in Mirynkat, or just an orphan from the high mountains, depending on who he's sharing with. He's the kind of muscular that comes from a good diet all of his life, the kind of tanned that comes from a lot of time spent on the road, and has a smile so quick and sharp you could spark a fire with it. His hair is black and wavy and on the longer end of short. His eyes are a dull, bleached blue.

He dresses colorfully and moves confidently. His voice has a little croak to it that you might just think of as husky...until you see the ragged, ugly scar across his throat. He often talks and never sings, but adores the sound of song.

He carries a large backpack of dark brown leather across his back packed full of this and that, odds and ends. His two most important possessions are a thick, tooled leather book locked three times which, so he says, can neither burn nor become ruined by water. The other is a small red drum, which he uses sometimes during his storytelling. He also wears a necklace covered in thin strips of leather that are used, at times, to trigger the pent up effects of his fable magic.

Shaarkis is primarily an island of sand dunes, with the only signs of vegetation around where land meets ocean. Most of the inhabitants of the island are the gnollish people, who are primarily nomadic outside of the port cities where trade is done. The gnoll races are rather varied, consisting of different tribes that traverse the vast seas of sand on Sharkis, distinguished by their varied fur colors and size. The prominent feature of the island is the rather large singular mountain that resides within the center of the vast dunes.

A tropical island that is thick of lush plant life and mixture of inhabitants that reside across its vast forests. A common odd site that appears to be most typical of the isle are the large hanging villages that make up many shelters for the inhabitants, especially the further inland one makes.

Just want I'm using for when I make Kerbera speak in gnoll tongue. Rare instances but if desire to tranlate here you go, just copy and paste into the appropriate spot, though it kind of isn't great going backwards so if anything is ever said important by her in this language I'll just have the translated sentence is parenthesis after:
https://lingojam.com/Gnollish

Kerbera Slitherfangs is a hybrid of gnoll from the isle of Shaarkis and the lizardfolk commonly found living on the island of Valoris. Rarely do the two people cross outside of trading purposes but Kerbera appears to be a rare showing when taboo relationships happen between the races. Being clanless her last name was given by two prominent features, her unique tail and large fangs. With her she carries a multitude of pouches for necessariy materials, a hook like danger, and a mighty hammer showing her strength if her immense size wasn't enough.

Willis Philips is a human male adventurer who is equally skilled in magic and combat. He learned magic from a mysterious wizard's hat, which is black and smells like sulfur. When he sleeps with his hat on his consiousness is transported to a barren, volcanic plane where he fights endless hordes of phantom enemies. He have not named his hat yet, but it gets excited at the sight of a roaring fire, drinks blood, and can show Willis visions if he asks it nicely. To the insistance of his hat, Willis dresses in black, and he is always moving from here to there to find a fresh supply of blood for his hat.

The Trespassers - a disunified catch-all term for townless folk far stretched along the passages of the northern gulf. What loyalties, social structures, nomadic impurities and conventions each band of Trespassers has is their own. There is no culture to it all, though some may suggest otherwise from afar, but the groups are as they are. A crossbreed of havens for outcasts or wanderlust folk; the plains, peaks and rivers run freer in their eyes.

Though, that isn't to say Trespasser bands aren't connected to society at all. Many function simply as tradesmen in endless motion. There isn't a destination, only a life to live. For some, the Trespassers are a means to an end. A way in which one journeys between the end of one life and the beginning of another. Few live to be a Trespasser for life. It's a system that was made to bleed itself out in the end.

The ambitions of certain Trespasser groups can vary. On occasion, some may seek vitriolic thrills of banditry, should their bitterness triumph, whilst others take on the work of politicking messengers, consorts or envoys along the occasionally unreached expanses of the gulf. Most, however, have learned to steer clear of such lifestyles for the sake of their own, fundementalised existence.

Vildrel Könire bleeds the very essence of a Trespasser. The apparent half-elf stands amidst a flowing brook of Crisa Trespassers - a standard cohort of varying, nomadic wayfarers that walk in states of confusion and wanderlust. Her garbs are loose enough to act as a promise to thicken her muscle mass, though she remains modestly thin, if not by much choice. Crowning it all sits an unceremoniously cut canopy of whitened hair, unlawfully kept, that sit atop a veil of solar-toned eyes, a glint in the fabric of the dark.

The clash between her drabs of colourless cloaks and hand-threaded shirts do only so much as to blur her subtle expressions into her reserved demeanour. She speaks with immaterial wisdom, though for topics often irrelevant to herself, whilst the winds bring about a certain unease to the daily motions of her directionless life.

A reservation of ones inner-self had often created a strange parallel between her curiosity and the Crisa Trespassers' commitment to societal indifference. Beneath her sleeves, several bracelets are to be found, and they've become a point of personal expression against a world so vastly colourful.

Therein the tenderness she's sewn into her tanned skin, the world often breathes on the flow of changing minds. Should the winds favour alternative exercise, Vidrel often wanders if her inherited abilities, the burdens to subtlety, are considerable. In such cases, she carries a large scramasax for her own personal defence.

Mørkheimr, a realm shrouded in perpetual midnight, veiled its shadowy forests with swirling mists only illuminated by their blood-red moon, Svarthrafn. The air crackles with dark energy, and an eerie silence hangs over the land like a heavy cloak. The landscape is rugged and untamed, with jagged cliffs and winding rivers cutting through the obsidian terrain.

In Mørkheimr, what's left of Phaedra's elven ancestors, the Netheri are said to dwell within sprawling citadels carved from the living rock, homes hidden deep within the shadowy recesses. These dark elves have had centuries to study the power of Obscuria, the mystical realm of shadows and darkness. Naturally leaking into their realm it produces a nexus of dark energy that permeates the very fabric of reality. Guardians of ancient knowledge and gatekeepers of long-forgotten secrets, in bouts fueled by selfishness and greed, they waged war against each other which is why they were seldomly seen in Skara. Their culture was one flooded with distrust and betrayal. Because Netheri have evolved to be attuned to the dark rhythms of Obscuria and draw strength from its depths, they are considered untrustworthy, though they hardly had any time to antagonize Skarans.

Name: Phaedra Hawthorne
Alias: Mourner of the Moonlight
Age: 20
Height: 5’6
Weight: 118
Sex: Female
Race: Human - Netheri Hybrid (Dark Elf)

Appearance:

Phaedra is a slender yet young woman whose expression at times bears the weight of recent trauma while still managing to be beautiful. She has roseate eyes veiled by silken, platinum-blonde bangs, and her radiant, almost aubergine complexion glows in the moonlight highlighting her Afrocentric features.

Weapons/Kit:

Serenelle: With every swing, every parry, every strike, Serenelle sings with the echo of Phaedra's will, amplifying her resolve through strikes capable of severing spirit. As much as the moon resurfaced dark memories, Phaedra deemed Serenelle's elegant, sharp edge like a crescent moon. Her bestowed dussack, an heirloom that sat dormant for decades thought to be lost is the only thing that connects her to her lineage, a descendant of dark elves known as Netheri.

From Mørkheimr, coveted by many for its legendary properties. This blade which also functioned as a spell-casting staff is said to be forged from the darkest shadows of Obscuria, infused with the essence of Mørkheimr’s mysterious moon, Svarthrafn. Phaedra has always kept the origins of Serenelle shrouded in secrecy, revealing little about why she possesses such a rare and coveted artifact from her homeland she’s never been. The few who know of it in Skara view it as an omen of death, while many Netheri view it as a critical weapon to unify all the elves under a single ideology. Regardless of the truth, Phaedra taps into Obscuria's dark energies through Serenelle, channeling its power to enhance her abilities. Only recently has she been able to overcome the fear of utilizing such a dark weapon in an attempt to avenge her fallen classmates.

Race: Sentient Ooze
Color: Dark Grey
History: From the depths of the mountains west of Lundros, the Penumbra and their kin thrived within the damp, shadowy halls of an ancient, long-abandoned castle. This enigmatic group of oozes, known as Slimes to themselves, traced their sentience back to a fateful encounter with a wandering bard and his ill-fated companions.

Drawn by tales of hidden treasures, the bard and his group ventured into the castle, only to be picked off one by one by the ravenous oozes. The bard, however, found himself trapped in a secluded chamber with an enormous ooze. Unable to escape and with the ooze unable to reach him, he began to tell stories, perhaps out of desperation or a need to calm his racing mind. His fabled magic slowly affected the ooze and…

…Over time, the Mother Slime, as this particular ooze came to be known, listened to the bard's tales. Though she couldn't devour him, his stories sparked an unexpected transformation within her. She gained awareness and sentience, becoming the first of her kind to think and feel. As the Mother Slime multiplied, her offspring inherited this sentience, quickly filling the castle with curious, intelligent Slimes.

However, the ancient stone walls could no longer contain their growing curiosity. It was time to venture beyond and discover the world outside. Penumbra, the most intelligent and perceptive of the Slimes, was chosen for this vital mission. The castle, though filled with endless mysteries, was just a stepping stone to the vast unknown that lay beyond its weathered walls.

Clad in a suit of ancient armor that Penumbra set forth with a sense of purpose. The fate of their kin and the secrets of the outside world awaited, and Penumbra would be the one to unveil them.

While today the vast majority of species appears to live in peace and harmony with one another, the way leading to this state was harsh and littered with obstacles to overcome. For some species such as humans, overcoming their alleged greed and tendency for superstition was difficult enough, but others had entirely different inner beasts to deal with. In case of lycanthropes, it was their nack for... hunting and happily eating away at other people among many other beings. How does one replace what is not a process of thought, but a part of the foodchain ?

While the lunar syndicate is most likely not the perfect answer to this question, it is definitely better at it then its name might suggest. The syndicate is not an organisation of crime, but more of a collective attempt at preventing those from happening. It is a honorary collective of people who try to provide advice and other assistance to those lycanthropes struggling with their inner beast, trying to prevent the worst from happening while also serving at a listening post and public representation for their kind of people as a whole. Branches can be found in several of the major cities and smaller, more mobile agents travel the countryside frequently in order to stay in contact or advertise the syndicate's existence.

That being said, of course there are those who still deem the syndicate to be more of a shady business. Accusations are rather frequent, but solid proof so far was nowhere to be found.

Race: Lycanthrope (werewolf), once ordinary human
Age: 25
Height: 5'9 (in human form)
Weight: He looks like maybe 180 lbs given that he slightly overweight, but that number is quite a bit away from reality.
Gender: Male

Vodilic is the 'offspring' of a not so fortunate event happening in a small village called 'Mavaughal' that normally hardly anybody would care about. That day however and with him still being a far too young boy to fully grasp what actually happened, things were different. Peasants and merchants fled the streets into their houses as a beast with long, scraggly hair seemed to stop for... pretty much everyone. To bite them, to rip parts off them, to kill. Vodilic was a tad too slow to ram the door shut behind him and felt a pair of far too large teeth dig into his foot.

He has a moderate limp from this injury up to the present day, but much more importantly he has cheated death at the cost of the curse. It took some time and help to get some newfound feral instincts and desires under control, but one can say that Vodilic has reached the point of nobody noticing that he's even anything different than a nice looking, medium-sized youngster. Only upon closer inspection one might find his ability for heavy lifting a tad suspicious or the fact that he somehow seems to be much, much heavier than he looks like.