Here is a city with many names. Spindle. Teluval. The Twilight City. Built on the edge of an abyss, a web work of bridges, towers, arches, tombs and tunnels stretching deep into the cliffs of a land known as Rende. In ancient times, these ravines and cracks were carved by marvelous weapons wielded by gods. The time of Obliteration has ended, and civilization has returned; No, civilization thrives, on the ruins of those that have come before. Everywhere relics and legends, the remnant artifacts of empires with alien names. Here, in the Twilight City of Teluval, people live and work and craft their own tales until they bid this life farewell.
Abyss
It is not a true abyss, not like Gonfalion (cursed is that place, let us not speak of such things), but the heights are dizzying to one not acquainted with such lofty environs. Truth be told, there is a river, just below the Mourning Quarter that flows gently through the columns and caves keeping the city of secrets aloft. The river had a name, and I'm quite sure it has one now, but most importantly is the direction in which it flows, towards the Starlit Sea and Evermore and beyond that, the city of Corvasquer, where lives the Suzerain.
Woad
Ah! Yes, that is it. The Water-road or the Woad as it is known in Teluval, a river turned canal turned river again, leading to the Starlit Sea, and many places still: Ephome, where the horned snakes dwell and horses stamp them under-hoof, or yet further south where the men speak only in rhyme and dwell in huts upon the backs of turtles deep in slumber. The Woad is a winding course, in certain places packed with sailing ships from Darmos or the wondrous paddle-boats of Beltane. In quiet bends upon the river, flanked by barb-grass and willows float the ponderous Marids and Ghuls upon rafts of sutured skin and reeds. Their whispers are said to impart wisdom on those that are not driven mad...
Prophecy
There is a journey to be undertaken. A gift imparted on the adventurer that may reveal a secret history of this world. What begins as a simple errand for a trivial amount of gold may be the start of events set in motion thousands of years ago. There is a Painted Lady & a Fatherless Son. There are 3 Faces Upon A Hill, That Will Speak In Unison. This is the prophecy repeated by the faithful of Perlain. This is only the start. For now, farewell.
To Teluval, Farewell is a surreal fantasy roleplay focusing on setting and character. Magic is real and very strange, as are the characters and the setting itself. The world is dangerous, cynical and often melancholy in a tongue-in-cheek sort of way. Information regarding player characters, and some more world info will be in the character tab. Submit characters as hiders in the OOC. Player space is limited. Let me know if your interested!
Influenced by: Neil Gaiman, Dali, That Carcosa Play, Lovecraft, myths, legends, more. Ideas borrowed are for entertainment, and to pay homage. Thank you for reading this pretentious shit. Goodnight.
The image you posted of kind of reminds me of Mechanarium. The prose, odd enough, a bit of PKD. Dali is an awesome source of information. Looking forward to more! :) Definitely interested.
The image you posted of kind of reminds me of Mechanarium. The prose, odd enough, a bit of PKD. Dali is an awesome source of information. Looking forward to more! :) Definitely interested.
Thankyou! Machinarium looks awesome, I haven't played it but the visuals are really cool. I'm assuming PKD stands for Philip K. Dick and not polycystic kidney disease as google suggests. Either way, thank you for the compliment and thanks for reading.
@Polybius I wanna make an Ophidian bard but I have no idea how to even start. Can I get a little more Ophidian info? It's hard to write a bio when I know so little about their culture. Like, what offends them? What do they eat? Are they the apex, or is there a predator above them? Why would an Ophidian actually be a bard?
@Polybius I wanna make an Ophidian bard but I have no idea how to even start. Can I get a little more Ophidian info? It's hard to write a bio when I know so little about their culture. Like, what offends them? What do they eat? Are they the apex, or is there a predator above them? Why would an Ophidian actually be a bard?
These are the questions that plague me.
You actually don't need an extensive bio to begin. When in doubt, make it up. I like to just go with whatever players invent, helps me keep the writing and creating fresh. Why would an Ophidian actually be a bard? That is a great question. Maybe they have been persecuted by the Ophidian Empire, and have become a voice for change, writing songs of revolution (reptile woody guthrie anyone?) or maybe they are keepers of the histories of the empire, chronicling the great accomplishments. Maybe they were raised by a different race, and prefer those folk tales and stories to their own kind. I mean really, you could worm your way around it anyway you please, it's all a matter of what you want to do with the character. I was hoping I had given an adequate framework to build whatever concept you were looking for, but I hope I have answered your question or at least pointed you in the right direction.
Desription: Tall, a good 6'1", covered in scales of varying shades of green, a coat of tropical camoflage. His tail is an additional 7'9", extremely long for his species, and though his family has a history of long tails, his surpasses all others. It is a point of pride for him, similar to phallic size for human males. His back bears a line of dark green and brown spikes, not for defense, but for both temperature sensitivity as well as a deeper interaction with the world's magnetic poles, giving him and his kin exceptional sense of direction, similar to the method birds use for migration. He generally wears an old brown duster coat and matching wide brimmed hat, simply for protection from the sun when he is too warm. He wears his guitar on his back, and his knife on the strap. His chain he keeps coiled around his arm, or tied onto his beaten leather rucksack. His claws are brown, some with a vein of white running through them, and are long and sharp on one hand and both feet. His left hand's claws are filed down, generally with a rock, so that he can play his guitar without breaking the strings. His eyes are almost always wide, the reptilian smile, and his head always cocked, a reptilian mannerism for curiosity, so eager is he to gather material for his life's all-important yet technically useless work.
Biography: Durandal grew up in a large family, even by Ophidian standards. His brothers and sisters proved to be capable soldiers, mercernaries, bodyguards, hitmen, even some negotiators. All were important, all bore reasonably high social status. Dali was left in the dust, until he discovered his niche. He began telling stories in the town square. First, just to other children. Then adults began to gather. Gradually, he had a daily crowd, buying him drinks, throwing money at him, into his vase, his lap, until he had become one of the wealthiest citizens in town, the envy of his siblings. His grandfather, the last bard his family had ever borne, was dying for most of Dali’s childhood. He gifted to Dali a guitar on his deathbed, saying “Storytelling ain’t a career. You wanna keep it up, be a bard. And a bard ain’t a bard without music.” Dali took this to heart, earning him the nickname “Dream-Painter”*. He coasted for years until his 22nd birthday, the same age his grandfather was when he got sick. He told a tale, to a great crowd on the outskirts of the empire, of a mighty emperor who oppressed his people. The people let him do it, for a long, long time. But one day, a small boy stood up against the Emperor's secret police, and his parents joined in. Soon, the whole village was in uproar against the tyrant. Then the city. Then, the empire. They overthrew the emperor and brought about an age of prosperity. Needless to say, the real emperor was not happy. It was time for a change anyway.
Dali now must undertake a journey, one he may not return from. But, even if he dies, one thing is for certain: it’ll be a damn good story.
Psychological Evaluation: Dali, as he prefers to be called, is, plain and simply, a storyteller. He claims to be the last of a long line of Ophidian royalty, a prince among lizards. He claims to be able to weave magic spells with his guitar and his stories, conjuring up otherworldy gods and conversing with them. He claims to have once slain a troll with a song. In the end, he is not a liar. He is a storyteller, and that is the key difference. A liar deserves guilt for their deception. For a storyteller, skilled deception is not only part of the job, but the job. Dali is not a fighter, but he can scrap with the best, earning him a nickname in his hometown: “Dali the Dream-Bringer”. Preferring to be known for his stories, he spread that his nickname was “Dream-Painter, and now no one agrees what it started as. Clearly, he has a flair for not only the telling of a story, but the story itself. After all, as he often says, “Story’s only as good as the journey that made it.” Dali’s interests include: Laying out in the sun, playing songs, telling stories, eating, and laying out in the moonlight.
Three empty scrolls for recording stories and songs that were particularly good
15 ft. Chain whip, barbed tri-point grappling hook on the end for combat and traversal
Rucksack, primarily filled with fruit and dried meats
Folding polished steel mirror, for sunbathing
A bag of birdseed, as songbirds make very good snacks
Quadruple-sized Water Sack, as a reptilian is quite prone to dehydration on the road
A pouch of seeds, from a variety of fruit trees. He plants them as he walks
Ophidian ceremonial knife, given, as per tradition, on his twelfth birthday, his first day of adulthood. He has carried this with him for ten years. It is half serrated, with a ‘Dragon’s Tooth’ curved tip, designed for hooking, slashing, and gouging. It also makes an excellent carving knife and fruit peeler, as Dali has found
A pouch of herbs, which he rolls into accompanying leaves and smokes as cigars when relaxing or entertaining
Goals: He desires to return home with the greatest story ever told, an epic to be resung for centuries. He believes that this will grant him true immortality: a legacy.
Dislikes: Birds of prey, predatory fish, eating birds of prey or predatory fish, hecklers
What is your crime? "I am no criminal. My only crime is bringing hope, inspiration, angst, fear or sadness, depending on the demographic.
Your most treasured item? "My tail, undoubtably. My brother lost his, and I am terrified."
Your favorite poem? "Something I wrote a long time ago. Hang on, it's in here somewhere. Nope. Ah well. I'll find it later."
How would you like to die? "In any way that would reach my family. Especially if it's shocking or horrifying. Bonus score if I also die heroically."
Frequent Quotes: "Sure as scales"
"Walloped"
"Snorf Snorf"
"Caterpillars are delicious/ taste incredible/ gotta find me some caterpillars/ caterpillar-good"
"Wanna hear somethin' crazy?"
"If I had an inch for every _______ ___ _______, my tail could be its own snake."
[b][u]Psychological Evaluation:[/b][/u] Dali, as he prefers to be called, is, plain and simply, a storyteller. He claims to be the last of a long line of Ophidian royalty, a prince among
/\ this line is messing up your bbcode. Will get back to you ASAP about your character.
