I'll probably be playing around with that code for weeks now until I'm satisfied. Great.
1x Like
[OOC] Phosphoros Page 6
- Post-Apocalyptic
- Fantasy
- Advanced
- Ancient
- Military
- Small Group
- GM Slamurai Co-GM Goldeagle1221
Join Status:
Apply
mickilennial The Elder Fae
Member
Seen
0-24 hrs ago
coGM
Goldeagle1221 I am Spartacus!
Member
Seen
1 yr ago
@isotope@monkeypants
@Nib @Crimson Raven
Roshad, Kothar and Baccum now complete.
EDIT: Adding more to Kothar actually
Insulated from the armies of Koshar by the other Cradle states, Roshad boasts the most learned academics of them all. It is known for its great library of texts uncovered from pre-eruption ruins, and has sent many expeditions into these depths. Roshadite culture revolves around astronomy, and their rituals and ceremonies align with certain stars and calendar dates. Outsiders view these customs with some suspicion, quick to blame sorcery and dark rites. The Roshadite pantheon is an integral facet of their artwork, the most famous of which are the great stone heads and ziggurats that feature so prominently in their lands.
Roshad attire tends to be tight and close to the body, with various tanned skins and furs being the medium. As the winter grows and the summer shrinks, brilliant cloaks and capes come out of the wardrobe to dazzle the whitening world, with each families eldest bearing the familial cloak, an ancient tapestry depicting the families greatest moments, or most dire situations. These tapestries are threaded with the best materials the family can afford, and every new name is stitched with care. The greatest insult is to be removed from your families cloak.
Beyond the cloaks of winter, the scholars and temple priests of Roshad are known to wear totem-like hats during ceremony, so that their very gods may watch over them during the most sensitive of times.
Roshad’s mighty walled cities of Ziggurats and statues are ruled by a complicated web of individuals, where a Patron assumes responsibility for all the males of the city, where as he is supposed to present the perfect role model for the male citizens and instruct the city on male social cues. Likewise there is also a Matron to represent all the females of the city, and to serve as a role model. These elected individuals join a city wide council of further politicians, including the temple priests, who inherit their spiritual position from their parents, and the city “Thinker” a esteemed position that presides over all meeting, represents the city during intercity relations, and is to act as an unbiased voice.
The Thinker is chosen from the cities Library harems, a large pool of esteemed men and women deemed capable of producing gifted offspring. While these people live ordinary Roshad lives, their children are continuously inspected from birth to determine if they will be eligible to be the next Thinker, a life long position. Those who don’t make it tend to either become matrons, patrons, or a respected and educated member of the city, and often joining the harem themselves. Admittance to the harem is done through inspection by the priest caste on the applicants, with the priest caste unable to apply themselves.
Unlike most of the other civilizations, Roshad has a very rigorous marriage system to match their complex political make up. Families often have written ledgers depicting their family trees and all its accomplishments to go along with their cloaks. The point of this is that during proposals of marriage, the couple must present themselves to the matron and patron, while the two families debate on if the union will produce great children, or not. Because of this, people with bigger, grander family ledgers have a better time finding spouses, than those who have subpar, or a stained family.
Along with marriage and politics, religion also plays a mighty role in Roshad society. Ever since the dawn of time, the leader of the Roshadite gods, Zxorel of the Stars, has promoted research, study and knowledge. It is written on the stone figures of the land and told in the skies that people were birthed to advance, and learn, at all costs. And so the priests look to the skies to learn the will of Zxorel and the other deities, and the people look to the books and artifacts stored in the great libraries for the duty of mortals in their studies. Virtue is measured by intelligence, and any activity that showcases it is encouraged.
Roshad attire tends to be tight and close to the body, with various tanned skins and furs being the medium. As the winter grows and the summer shrinks, brilliant cloaks and capes come out of the wardrobe to dazzle the whitening world, with each families eldest bearing the familial cloak, an ancient tapestry depicting the families greatest moments, or most dire situations. These tapestries are threaded with the best materials the family can afford, and every new name is stitched with care. The greatest insult is to be removed from your families cloak.
Beyond the cloaks of winter, the scholars and temple priests of Roshad are known to wear totem-like hats during ceremony, so that their very gods may watch over them during the most sensitive of times.
Roshad’s mighty walled cities of Ziggurats and statues are ruled by a complicated web of individuals, where a Patron assumes responsibility for all the males of the city, where as he is supposed to present the perfect role model for the male citizens and instruct the city on male social cues. Likewise there is also a Matron to represent all the females of the city, and to serve as a role model. These elected individuals join a city wide council of further politicians, including the temple priests, who inherit their spiritual position from their parents, and the city “Thinker” a esteemed position that presides over all meeting, represents the city during intercity relations, and is to act as an unbiased voice.
The Thinker is chosen from the cities Library harems, a large pool of esteemed men and women deemed capable of producing gifted offspring. While these people live ordinary Roshad lives, their children are continuously inspected from birth to determine if they will be eligible to be the next Thinker, a life long position. Those who don’t make it tend to either become matrons, patrons, or a respected and educated member of the city, and often joining the harem themselves. Admittance to the harem is done through inspection by the priest caste on the applicants, with the priest caste unable to apply themselves.
Unlike most of the other civilizations, Roshad has a very rigorous marriage system to match their complex political make up. Families often have written ledgers depicting their family trees and all its accomplishments to go along with their cloaks. The point of this is that during proposals of marriage, the couple must present themselves to the matron and patron, while the two families debate on if the union will produce great children, or not. Because of this, people with bigger, grander family ledgers have a better time finding spouses, than those who have subpar, or a stained family.
Along with marriage and politics, religion also plays a mighty role in Roshad society. Ever since the dawn of time, the leader of the Roshadite gods, Zxorel of the Stars, has promoted research, study and knowledge. It is written on the stone figures of the land and told in the skies that people were birthed to advance, and learn, at all costs. And so the priests look to the skies to learn the will of Zxorel and the other deities, and the people look to the books and artifacts stored in the great libraries for the duty of mortals in their studies. Virtue is measured by intelligence, and any activity that showcases it is encouraged.
@Nib @Crimson Raven
This is the most warlike of the Cradle’s civilizations, and is frequently at odds with its neighbor, Mennon. Several historical incursions have only been defeated by the combined effort of several states. Kothar has annexed smaller tribes in the past, growing fat on tribute from these peoples. Its soldiers are very disciplined and well-armed. Kothar pioneered the dreaded pike phalanx, specifically to counter the cavalry of Mennon. The martial inclination of Kothar has bred many heroic personas, and many more of its people aspire to their legendary status. The denizens of Kothar believe in a manifest destiny to conquer all of the Cradle.
Kothar was formerly a loose collection of city-states, each ruled by its own warlord. These city-states were as likely to fight each other as foreign civilizations, each vying for supremacy. It was only the conquest of Phedas the Great that brought them under a single banner. Since then, Kothar has evolved into a unitary state, dominated by a ruler called the Archon. The Archon’s position is often, but not always hereditary. Some warlords are elevated to the station by their peers on account of merit and reputation. On a local level, villages and towns are governed by elected officials, who report to the warlord who holds power in their respective province.
Kotharans worship a single deity, known as Lekos. Formerly, each city-state had its own patron god, but belief in these was abolished after Phedas’s conquest. The patron god of Phedas’s city-state, Thedus, was deemed the only deity fit to revere. Lekos is a stern and martially-inclined figure. He represents war - both physical prowess and strategy - and purity of body and spirit. His symbol is a burning torch - just as fire devours everything it touches, Kothar’s might devours lesser civilizations. “Purity through fire,” is a common Kotharan motto. Fire is so and such revered that executions are often done through drowning, deeming the criminal unworthy of a cleansing fire, which often is used on the respectfully deceased.
In Kotharan society, masculinity is aspired to by both sexes. Both males and females hold traits in high regard that other cultures might reserve for men: physical strength, mental fortitude and acuity, fighting prowess, hard work and the ability to provide for one’s family and society at large. This results in a largely egalitarian society, as both sexes have the same rights and privileges. Women are allowed to own property, fight as soldiers and participate in athletic competitions. It isn’t uncommon to see women performing “masculine” jobs, like smithing, construction and other physical labor. When it comes to family, it is the women who actually do the lion’s share of running the household. Childbearing is an important motherly duty, but raising an infant from birth to adulthood is a burden shared equally by the mother and father. Homosexuality is not strictly taboo, but same-sex relationships do not hold the same weight as heterosexual marriage. Birthing the next generation is regarded as a duty, one strained by a same-sex-couple’s inability to reproduce.
Kotharans favor simple, drapey clothing. An undergarment and cloak of linen or wool, fastened with bronze clasps or pins is common attire. Little distinction is made between male and female fashions. Kothar’s appreciation of the human body is apparent in the meticulous wrapping of clothes around the body, to accentuate the wearer’s form. Fabrics are often gossamer or transparent, plain white or accented with very basic colors. Sandals are worn on the feet in public, and Kotharans are usually barefoot at home.
Kothar was formerly a loose collection of city-states, each ruled by its own warlord. These city-states were as likely to fight each other as foreign civilizations, each vying for supremacy. It was only the conquest of Phedas the Great that brought them under a single banner. Since then, Kothar has evolved into a unitary state, dominated by a ruler called the Archon. The Archon’s position is often, but not always hereditary. Some warlords are elevated to the station by their peers on account of merit and reputation. On a local level, villages and towns are governed by elected officials, who report to the warlord who holds power in their respective province.
Kotharans worship a single deity, known as Lekos. Formerly, each city-state had its own patron god, but belief in these was abolished after Phedas’s conquest. The patron god of Phedas’s city-state, Thedus, was deemed the only deity fit to revere. Lekos is a stern and martially-inclined figure. He represents war - both physical prowess and strategy - and purity of body and spirit. His symbol is a burning torch - just as fire devours everything it touches, Kothar’s might devours lesser civilizations. “Purity through fire,” is a common Kotharan motto. Fire is so and such revered that executions are often done through drowning, deeming the criminal unworthy of a cleansing fire, which often is used on the respectfully deceased.
In Kotharan society, masculinity is aspired to by both sexes. Both males and females hold traits in high regard that other cultures might reserve for men: physical strength, mental fortitude and acuity, fighting prowess, hard work and the ability to provide for one’s family and society at large. This results in a largely egalitarian society, as both sexes have the same rights and privileges. Women are allowed to own property, fight as soldiers and participate in athletic competitions. It isn’t uncommon to see women performing “masculine” jobs, like smithing, construction and other physical labor. When it comes to family, it is the women who actually do the lion’s share of running the household. Childbearing is an important motherly duty, but raising an infant from birth to adulthood is a burden shared equally by the mother and father. Homosexuality is not strictly taboo, but same-sex relationships do not hold the same weight as heterosexual marriage. Birthing the next generation is regarded as a duty, one strained by a same-sex-couple’s inability to reproduce.
Kotharans favor simple, drapey clothing. An undergarment and cloak of linen or wool, fastened with bronze clasps or pins is common attire. Little distinction is made between male and female fashions. Kothar’s appreciation of the human body is apparent in the meticulous wrapping of clothes around the body, to accentuate the wearer’s form. Fabrics are often gossamer or transparent, plain white or accented with very basic colors. Sandals are worn on the feet in public, and Kotharans are usually barefoot at home.
Roshad, Kothar and Baccum now complete.
EDIT: Adding more to Kothar actually
GM
Isotope I am Spartacus!
Member
Seen
2 yrs ago
Just posting a SUPER WIP here for the sake of having it be around.
The vast majority of my sheet is in the bio, but what I have written I don't feel like sharing just yet, probably won't be done that until mondayish? Who knows, might be earlier. Anyway, everything here is subject to change. I need to flesh it all out a bit.
The vast majority of my sheet is in the bio, but what I have written I don't feel like sharing just yet, probably won't be done that until mondayish? Who knows, might be earlier. Anyway, everything here is subject to change. I need to flesh it all out a bit.
Name:
Valko
Sex:
Male
Place of Origin:
The Western Brimlands
Appearance:
Standing at five feet and ten inches Valko isn't a short man, but neither is he a giant. His short cropped and unkempt black hair tops a haggard looking face, his stark green eyes speaking of a hard life as much as the scar that mars his right cheek. Valko's chin is hidden beneath what could best be described as overgrown stubble rather than a beard, doubtless the result of shaving without a proper razor. Broad shoulders frame his head and lead to equally muscled arms replete with small scars more like those inflicted by wild dogs than men's swords. Though is is covered by a patchwork for multi coloured furs what can be inferred of his torso is that it is no less remarkable than his arms. While not a brute Valko strikes the image of a hardened man accustom to strife but not starvation.
Psyche:
Once considered a genial man these days Valko is intense and focused to a fault. He spends his days working, and his nights sleeping, what leisure he partakes in is rare and often only undertaken begrudgingly. In his tasks and duties he is frenetic, lacking even a modicum of patience. Despite, or perhaps because of this action focused lifestyle when engaged Valko could easily be described as a tower of pride, a man so obsessed with his image of himself and his destiny that he has lost all grip on the practical realities of life and living. In this pride he sees his morality as absolute. In truth, he rarely sees cause to question his actions and emotions at all, living loudly and without restraint in a manner unconcerned with the opinion of others.
Skills:
Valko hails from one of the most brutal lands in the Cradle, and his skills reflect this. He is surprisingly agile, able to match the movements of much smaller and more cunning adversaries be relying on a lifetime of muscle memory alone. His skill with weaponry is purely practical but nonetheless brutally effective. While lacking the endurance of true soldiers Valko is fast, skilled, and accustom to ending a battle as quickly as he is able; in the Brimlands one was always outmatched, so acting fast was how a man survived.
Equipment:
Valko travels with nothing more than the clothes on his back, a small skin of water, and his falx.
Bio:
Valko
Sex:
Male
Place of Origin:
The Western Brimlands
Appearance:
Standing at five feet and ten inches Valko isn't a short man, but neither is he a giant. His short cropped and unkempt black hair tops a haggard looking face, his stark green eyes speaking of a hard life as much as the scar that mars his right cheek. Valko's chin is hidden beneath what could best be described as overgrown stubble rather than a beard, doubtless the result of shaving without a proper razor. Broad shoulders frame his head and lead to equally muscled arms replete with small scars more like those inflicted by wild dogs than men's swords. Though is is covered by a patchwork for multi coloured furs what can be inferred of his torso is that it is no less remarkable than his arms. While not a brute Valko strikes the image of a hardened man accustom to strife but not starvation.
Psyche:
Once considered a genial man these days Valko is intense and focused to a fault. He spends his days working, and his nights sleeping, what leisure he partakes in is rare and often only undertaken begrudgingly. In his tasks and duties he is frenetic, lacking even a modicum of patience. Despite, or perhaps because of this action focused lifestyle when engaged Valko could easily be described as a tower of pride, a man so obsessed with his image of himself and his destiny that he has lost all grip on the practical realities of life and living. In this pride he sees his morality as absolute. In truth, he rarely sees cause to question his actions and emotions at all, living loudly and without restraint in a manner unconcerned with the opinion of others.
Skills:
Valko hails from one of the most brutal lands in the Cradle, and his skills reflect this. He is surprisingly agile, able to match the movements of much smaller and more cunning adversaries be relying on a lifetime of muscle memory alone. His skill with weaponry is purely practical but nonetheless brutally effective. While lacking the endurance of true soldiers Valko is fast, skilled, and accustom to ending a battle as quickly as he is able; in the Brimlands one was always outmatched, so acting fast was how a man survived.
Equipment:
Valko travels with nothing more than the clothes on his back, a small skin of water, and his falx.
Bio:
1x Like
Dr Catfish Robotics Expert
Member
Seen
6 yrs ago
Just wanna say, even if I don't get in, that I love this world building and I'll be watching the RP regardless if I'm a player in it or not.
Keep up the good work *~*
Keep up the good work *~*
1x Like
coGM
Goldeagle1221 I am Spartacus!
Member
Seen
1 yr ago
So Aristo and I were devising the reason why you are all in the Mennonite town, and we figurd not only has the word of the Sorceror permeated all of the Cradle, but also a great hero of renown is gathering people in this town to bring challenge to the dark wizard. Why you choose to go is up to you, but this hero has explained that the sorcerer intends to awaken and wield a great power, capable of many god-like feats, such as granting immortality, turning the dark lands into a paradise, creating a utopia etc.. but the sorcerer plans on using it to make themselves into an all powerful God over the Cradle, turning the lands into their personal playground of terrible and unlimited power.
You could be seeing this hero for a few reasons, to slay the sorcerer and destroy this power none should have, to use it for good, to use it for yourself, any reason really, so long as it brings you down this path we all must go.
You could be seeing this hero for a few reasons, to slay the sorcerer and destroy this power none should have, to use it for good, to use it for yourself, any reason really, so long as it brings you down this path we all must go.
4x Like
- Aristo,
- Briza,
- Dr Catfish,
- Nib
Crimson Raven *Rolls a Nat 1*
Member
Seen
4 yrs ago
So Aristo and I were devising the reason why you are all in the Mennonite town, and we figurd not only has the word of the Sorceror permeated all of the Cradle, but also a great hero of renown is gathering people in this town to bring challenge to the dark wizard. Why you choose to go is up to you, but this hero has explained that the sorcerer intends to awaken and wield a great power, capable of many god-like feats, such as granting immortality, turning the dark lands into a paradise, creating a utopia etc.. but the sorcerer plans on using it to make themselves into an all powerful God over the Cradle, turning the lands into their personal playground of terrible and unlimited power.
You could be seeing this hero for a few reasons, to slay the sorcerer and destroy this power none should have, to use it for good, to use it for yourself, any reason really, so long as it brings you down this path we all must go.
So we are all a bunch of goody-two-shoes. Good to know :P
coGM
Goldeagle1221 I am Spartacus!
Member
Seen
1 yr ago
<Snipped quote by Goldeagle1221>
So we are all a bunch of goody-two-shoes. Good to know :P
AYE.. I did not say that... ;) I said you're going, but your reasons are your own. For all I know you want to steal the power and enslave the world, or just use it to become super rich and live a life of luxury.
1x Laugh
Crimson Raven *Rolls a Nat 1*
Member
Seen
4 yrs ago
<Snipped quote by Crimson Raven>
AYE.. I did not say that... ;) I said you're going, but your reasons are your own. For all I know you want to steal the power and enslave the world, or just use it to become super rich and live a life of luxury.
heh, I'm jokin of course
Interestingly, this gives my character a very solid motivation to go. I'd been trying to find one.
2x Like
Dr Catfish Robotics Expert
Member
Seen
6 yrs ago
I also reworked the end of my character's bio to include this new reasoning. I think it fits him pretty well actually. Similar to Crimson, it does provide a rather solid reasoning to find him there.
coGM
Goldeagle1221 I am Spartacus!
Member
Seen
1 yr ago
I also reworked the end of my character's bio to include this new reasoning. I think it fits him pretty well actually. Similar to Crimson, it does provide a rather solid reasoning to find him there.
Where can I see it?
Monkeypants
Member
Seen
1 yr ago
So Aristo and I were devising the reason why you are all in the Mennonite town, and we figurd not only has the word of the Sorceror permeated all of the Cradle, but also a great hero of renown is gathering people in this town to bring challenge to the dark wizard. Why you choose to go is up to you, but this hero has explained that the sorcerer intends to awaken and wield a great power, capable of many god-like feats, such as granting immortality, turning the dark lands into a paradise, creating a utopia etc.. but the sorcerer plans on using it to make themselves into an all powerful God over the Cradle, turning the lands into their personal playground of terrible and unlimited power.
You could be seeing this hero for a few reasons, to slay the sorcerer and destroy this power none should have, to use it for good, to use it for yourself, any reason really, so long as it brings you down this path we all must go.
Gey.
:) thanks for this though.
coGM
Goldeagle1221 I am Spartacus!
Member
Seen
1 yr ago
<Snipped quote by Goldeagle1221>
Gey.
:) thanks for this though.
so gey
Monkeypants
Member
Seen
1 yr ago
<Snipped quote by Monkeypants>
so gey
50 shades of gey.
1x Laugh
Dr Catfish Robotics Expert
Member
Seen
6 yrs ago
@Goldeagle1221
Name: Cical Cumlainn (Si-Sahl Koom-Lahn)
Sex: Male
Place of Origin: Baccum (Exiled)
Appearance:
Psyche: Bloodthirsty, courageous, selfish, untrusting, cocky, hardened, carefree. (In no order, with varying degrees of severity. You can decide for yourself)
Skills: To say Cical is an assassin is untrue, be it how uncouth his methodology may be. To say he is a front-line grunt is similarly untrue. This is not because he doesn't fill those roles, quite the contrary. It is simply because he does not fit the descriptions of either. He is incredibly skilled in combat from his history and experiences, utilizing his learned ambidexterity to wield two spears. Each spear is used with the same finesse as other men place into one. Their combat advantage is unparalleled when placed against standard soldiers.
Over time during his exile, Cical has gained an uncanny resilience to natural elements and forces of mortality. That is, he has trained his body by experiencing said forces. Forces such as hunger, thirst, hypothermia, hyperthermia, exhaustion, pain, blood loss, broken bones and bruises as well as simply being alone for extended periods of time. That's not to say he is invincible, far from. Cical is still very much a mortal man, however his mind closes off the irritation of mortal problems and forces his body forwards; even if that would result in death. This skill also allows him to live and navigate around the wilderness with only slight issue. During his time in the wilderness, he has acquired a riding skill from the horses of Mennon as well as Qualin from his home. However, the four legged beasts seem to dislike the presence of the man and frequently disobey directions, or simply buck.
Equipment: Not much for wearing clothes (let alone armour), Cical has few pockets to hold trinkets. However, the most notable item in his use are his twin spears. By him, they are named Zi and Kio for short and long respectively. The names meaning he has yet to disclose.
The only other pieces of equipment he has at his disposal is a silver dagger, two small crystals hanging off his hip and a leather satchel full of ashes on the other.
Bio:
Twin Speared Savior
Name: Cical Cumlainn (Si-Sahl Koom-Lahn)
Sex: Male
Place of Origin: Baccum (Exiled)
Appearance:
Hailing from Baccum is never a good sign for modesty, and if the image of Baccum was almost nude men covered in tattoos flexing and eating each other, Cical would be their flag icon.
Standing six feet, two inches and weighing a little under two hundred pounds at 196, Cical could compete with a weak man from Kothar in terms of musculature. However it was doubtful said Kothar man was anywhere near as defined as Cical. Ever inch of his rather lithe figure twitches with underlying muscle. Skinny and thin, he has built up the muscles beneath to such a degree they could more than likely compete with marble statues. Both in figure and in hardness. Toting rigid pecks, arms and legs that looked to be in the verge of splitting open and the aforementioned "carved from stone" six pack, there was little doubt the man exercised.
Messy, strung about blond - almost white - hair fell down from his head, almost concealing sharp sapphire eyes. These orbs seemed to pierce through whatever they were looking at, almost as if they examine everything about a person and beyond. Regardless, his gaze was almost warming and tranquil. His face was angular, sharp jaw and cheekbones complemented with small whitish scars in a handful of places. His lips, always seemingly turned upwards in a cheeky smile, held a single scar near the right corner only rising a half inch upwards. All this and a stout masculine nose show precisely why he was nicknamed "The Prince of War" in his teens.
Across his entire body is an incredible design of tattoos. From his feet to his collarbone, intricate tribal markings coat his entire figure in varying levels of intricacy. Across his right pectoral, a large swoosh overtakes most of his skin in black. In fact, at least one third of his body was inked. In some places, it even went into his groin area which lead to thoughts of awkward moments between him and the woman handling his tattoo work. Similar to the tattoos, scars lacerated his body. Be it thin, cat-like scratches of hardly visible detail or rather large gashes which had head uncleanly, leaving bulging sections of overlapping flesh. While these almost mortal-looking wounds were few, there were enough to stop any questions on the man's survivability.
For clothing, there was a rather distinct lack of it. That wasn't to say he was nude, just that he was very very close to it. Covering his groin was a swatch of leather which did little more than conceal his families pride and most of his rear end. On the top of the article, were three silver rings embedded within the leather. These attached to straps that went up along the curve of his midriff and cinched down against him. There were three of these, with rather equal spacing between them. They served to add some aesthetic, as well as force his sides in to keep his back straight at all times. It probably assisted in keeping his loin cloth up as well, heaven knows what might happen in a fight if it were to get yanked on.
Tight around his neck, is a silver chain that seems to flex and move comfortably with his throat. Hanging off his left ear, is a gold earring. It's of incredibly intricate design, with gold filaments like paper thin butterflies suspended off minute near invisible strings. With each movement they seem to dance and flutter and even make paper wing-like sounds. Their durability is rather insane, and upon close inspection by anyone with magical attunement, one could see they were blessed. Or rather, they held a small fragment of one's soul, their spirit.
Being almost nude all the time, and being outside for most of that; Cical developed a well tanned complexion marred by a handful of freckles across his body. The parts of him that weren't tattooed black, were a nice caramel colour.
Standing six feet, two inches and weighing a little under two hundred pounds at 196, Cical could compete with a weak man from Kothar in terms of musculature. However it was doubtful said Kothar man was anywhere near as defined as Cical. Ever inch of his rather lithe figure twitches with underlying muscle. Skinny and thin, he has built up the muscles beneath to such a degree they could more than likely compete with marble statues. Both in figure and in hardness. Toting rigid pecks, arms and legs that looked to be in the verge of splitting open and the aforementioned "carved from stone" six pack, there was little doubt the man exercised.
Messy, strung about blond - almost white - hair fell down from his head, almost concealing sharp sapphire eyes. These orbs seemed to pierce through whatever they were looking at, almost as if they examine everything about a person and beyond. Regardless, his gaze was almost warming and tranquil. His face was angular, sharp jaw and cheekbones complemented with small whitish scars in a handful of places. His lips, always seemingly turned upwards in a cheeky smile, held a single scar near the right corner only rising a half inch upwards. All this and a stout masculine nose show precisely why he was nicknamed "The Prince of War" in his teens.
Across his entire body is an incredible design of tattoos. From his feet to his collarbone, intricate tribal markings coat his entire figure in varying levels of intricacy. Across his right pectoral, a large swoosh overtakes most of his skin in black. In fact, at least one third of his body was inked. In some places, it even went into his groin area which lead to thoughts of awkward moments between him and the woman handling his tattoo work. Similar to the tattoos, scars lacerated his body. Be it thin, cat-like scratches of hardly visible detail or rather large gashes which had head uncleanly, leaving bulging sections of overlapping flesh. While these almost mortal-looking wounds were few, there were enough to stop any questions on the man's survivability.
For clothing, there was a rather distinct lack of it. That wasn't to say he was nude, just that he was very very close to it. Covering his groin was a swatch of leather which did little more than conceal his families pride and most of his rear end. On the top of the article, were three silver rings embedded within the leather. These attached to straps that went up along the curve of his midriff and cinched down against him. There were three of these, with rather equal spacing between them. They served to add some aesthetic, as well as force his sides in to keep his back straight at all times. It probably assisted in keeping his loin cloth up as well, heaven knows what might happen in a fight if it were to get yanked on.
Tight around his neck, is a silver chain that seems to flex and move comfortably with his throat. Hanging off his left ear, is a gold earring. It's of incredibly intricate design, with gold filaments like paper thin butterflies suspended off minute near invisible strings. With each movement they seem to dance and flutter and even make paper wing-like sounds. Their durability is rather insane, and upon close inspection by anyone with magical attunement, one could see they were blessed. Or rather, they held a small fragment of one's soul, their spirit.
Being almost nude all the time, and being outside for most of that; Cical developed a well tanned complexion marred by a handful of freckles across his body. The parts of him that weren't tattooed black, were a nice caramel colour.
Psyche: Bloodthirsty, courageous, selfish, untrusting, cocky, hardened, carefree. (In no order, with varying degrees of severity. You can decide for yourself)
Skills: To say Cical is an assassin is untrue, be it how uncouth his methodology may be. To say he is a front-line grunt is similarly untrue. This is not because he doesn't fill those roles, quite the contrary. It is simply because he does not fit the descriptions of either. He is incredibly skilled in combat from his history and experiences, utilizing his learned ambidexterity to wield two spears. Each spear is used with the same finesse as other men place into one. Their combat advantage is unparalleled when placed against standard soldiers.
Over time during his exile, Cical has gained an uncanny resilience to natural elements and forces of mortality. That is, he has trained his body by experiencing said forces. Forces such as hunger, thirst, hypothermia, hyperthermia, exhaustion, pain, blood loss, broken bones and bruises as well as simply being alone for extended periods of time. That's not to say he is invincible, far from. Cical is still very much a mortal man, however his mind closes off the irritation of mortal problems and forces his body forwards; even if that would result in death. This skill also allows him to live and navigate around the wilderness with only slight issue. During his time in the wilderness, he has acquired a riding skill from the horses of Mennon as well as Qualin from his home. However, the four legged beasts seem to dislike the presence of the man and frequently disobey directions, or simply buck.
Equipment: Not much for wearing clothes (let alone armour), Cical has few pockets to hold trinkets. However, the most notable item in his use are his twin spears. By him, they are named Zi and Kio for short and long respectively. The names meaning he has yet to disclose.
The only other pieces of equipment he has at his disposal is a silver dagger, two small crystals hanging off his hip and a leather satchel full of ashes on the other.
Zi, the short spear, is a rather brutal looking four foot long single tipped weapon with the blade composing a foot of that length alone. The blade is similar to an extremely stretched broad-head of an arrow, two large prongs come back behind where the head connects to the shaft before going towards the tip. If the blade were fully embeded it would not be easy to pull out, but would destroy a targets body if it were. Both the staff and head of the spear are enameled in a peculiar ivory. It is not paint, nor is it some sort of coating. The entire material is made of this foreign substance. When scratched or sharpened, like the edges of the blade, it takes on an eerie black coloration.
Kio, the six and a half foot long spear, is of contrasting design. Being as how it was made in Baccum by human hands. The staff is of a black material, with wrappings of sisal both halfway and towards the bottom of the weapon, similarly painted or burnt to be black. The blade is a much more streamlined design. Still near a foot long, it does not have the wicked barbs sticking out the sides, however it does have peculiar snake like embossment running all the length of the shaft. The spear tip is just as wide as the shaft, making it appear more to be a thrusting spear than a slashing one. Being so, it could do both jobs well in the right hands. The material of the spear tip is a bluish, purplish, pinkish gray. The myriad of colours which dance across it's surface in the light are rather intriguing to look at. Off the bottom end, hangs a small leather wrapping with feathers and small paws of animals. Most likely mementos or trophies of some sort.
Bio:
Born to a rather poor impoverished family in Bacccum, Cical underwent a rough yet thankfully brief childhood at the hands of a living mother and abusive father. After beating his wife, he would take out the remaining rage on Cical. The boy never blamed him however, he only pitied the man that couldn't hold his anger in.
When sat in front of the Shaman with the other children, he was incredibly bored and neglected to pay attention to the craft most famous in their civilization. He focused more on the nearby regiment of training foot soldiers, marveling at the use of peculiar weaponry and the training to both mind and body they all underwent. However he was curious as to why they didn't use two spears instead of one. Wouldn't double the spear mean twice the effective attack?
In his teens, Cical had thrown away any remnants of magical learning he held onto and replaced it with raw experience in sparring. The kid was unstoppable, taking blow after blow only to shakily get up and challenge the next soldier. He was standing in to fight training soldiers in a spar. He was being used as an "inexperienced civilian" who happened to fight back, and fight did he ever. Only after the thirtieth man had cracked him over the head with his staff did the boy not recover and that was simply because he was knocked into a small coma. He slept for a whole day, waking up to notice his first ever tattoo still stinging on his right arm. A looping chain of tribal curves and hooks.
The older he grew, the more refined and masculine he became. Due to the sheer amount of trauma and exercise he forced his young body through, he took on the appearance of a young adult man despite being only sixteen. Still he returned to the sparring ring with the trainees, still he was beaten senseless into a battered, bruised coma. However, he was overcoming some of the larger men now.
On his eighteenth winter, he asked to use two spears. Such a request was so foreign to the Arms Master it was accepted just out of curiosity to see what the boy would do. Rapidly, the boy - now man - learned that two long spears was too much weight and became a disadvantage. Chopping the new staff in half proved much more efficient, allowing the boy to parry and counter one weapon, while preparing his own retaliatory strike with the other. The first time he broke out this tactic, he won ten out of thirty four spars. It had been six more than he had ever done before. The next? Sixteen out of twenty nine. Again? Twenty four out of thirty nine. The more he learned his weapons of choice, the more he began decimating the competition.
On his nineteenth winter, he was permitted to join a hunting party as he was now a fully recognized man of Baccum. He would be expected to support a family, as well as the people of Baccum themselves. Should he not find a woman within two years, one would be chosen for him by his family. Cical did not mind, women had thrown themselves at him for years now. He could choose whichever one suited him most. Young love is fickle that way, you could love or not love on a dime. During his time hunting, the boy was credited with saving the entire party from a band of ravenous gorrak by using himself as bait and distraction. He managed to kill a good handful before they ran off, leaving him to limp home severely wounded. The Shaman decided to award the young man with a spear collected in another hunting parties travels. The spear was too short for anyone else to use effectively, and happened to match Cical's style. It wasn't until he met the Shaman's daughter: Hipalia, that he found love. She was beautiful, and captured the spear-man's heart instantly. He thought of her during hunts, during sparring, even in his dreams (which was more than enough for the spiritually devote of Baccum) and while alone... She was his infatuation.
Yet she was the Shaman's daughter. The Shaman's, daughter. The shaman, who was the equivalent to the pope, was nothing if not strict. His daughter was to be chaste, a virgin and innocent so that he may find a worthy suitor to give such unspoiled fruit to. (In exchange for a healthy dowry) And Cical, the poor boy who fought with two sticks was far from suitable. He had indeed asked and had been both laughed at and struck by the Shaman's staff. Later he would feel something deep within him hurt, however he brushed it off. Without knowing, the two mimicked Romeo and Juliet, longing for one another with the separation of their families. However, rather than an unfortunate ending; they both got what they desired. One night in an old cellar owned the Arms Master was all they had, and they certainly made the most of it.
Happy endings sometimes flip, or they were never truly endings at all. The Shaman had invaded Cical's dreams and discovered their plan, or so he told the people later. He stormed to the cellar and flung open the doors to the people crying out: "See for yourself! The Prince of War and my beloved daughter copulating in the shadows! Come, come and burn their bodies so we may save their souls!" He cried, assembling a mob of people who wanted them both to pay for the deeds. However, the more Cical thought about it in his older years, the less he believed the Shaman could see dreams and the now he believed that has are Arms Master had ratted him out.
Only by Cical's quick talking, threats of violence and good acting on Hipalia's part did he manage to stop them both from being burned alive. He claimed that he had lightly hypnotized the woman, who suddenly acted as if she had no idea where she was. After much arguing and mumbling on part of the people, it was decided that as punishment, Cical would be banished from Baccum permanently and if he ever returned, both him and Hipalia would be executed. Without hesitation, he accepted. So long as Hipalia wasn't executed and lived in the safety of Baccum he was comfortable to having anything happen to himself.
Before leaving, Cical was given Deavich and his families spear. Their family having never before been a military family, the spear had been recently crafted for Cical specifically for him to pass down and use. There was no point in keeping it in Baccum. Hipalia also gave him something, one of her earrings. Through a brief kiss she explained that the earring was made during her birth, where her father asked her still-forming spirit to grant him a token of good luck for the child she was to be. It came in the form of two earrings. While the luck would only work on her, it would serve another purpose to Cical.
If she were alive, the earrings would exist in the world. If she died, so too would the earrings. It would be a reminder to him that she was still alive, and that they would be together again sometime in their lives. She had said it so quick, but every word she spoke had been committed to the strongest memory Cical had. As he clutched the earring in his hand, he became lost in thought before suddenly turning with his weapons on his back. He gave one last look at the place he had once called home before wandering away, destined to find a new place to settle down.
Not knowing of any maps or cartography skills, the man relied on his experience as a Hunter, he quickly found himself.... Absolutely goddamn lost. He had no idea where he was or where Baccum even was anymore. Maybe this was why he never lead hunting parties. Couldn't find game if you couldn't even find yourself. As time went on, stories and rumours of a twin-speared man saving men, women and children from vicious beasts started to spread through Baccum. Nobody dared mention the Prince of War, as some of the details on his appearance were off slightly. The spears were always generally the same. A short one in the left, a long one in the right. Typically the man left after he was done without saying the words, in some extravagant and incredibly far fetched stories, he brought the saved individuals into a massive castle in the Brimlands full of gold and lavish trinkets of all sorts. This is where the Twin-Spear Saviour was born.
If asked, Cical would claim every single story to be a fake. However... Some were indeed true. Not the far fetched ones mind you, but some of the simple ones perhaps. Over time in his wanderings, Cical came to learn how to survive, even how to ride a horse. While he knew the names of various areas and civilizations, he didn't know their location and definitely didn't know the kind of people. All he knew was that Baccum was not his home any longer, and no where else could be his home either. When alone, he takes off his earring and gazes at it longingly. Like doing so would summon his love into his arms.
But every hero needs his crux, or else nothing would drive them to be heroes at all.
.
.
.
Word had recently arisen of a new job that would interest the exiled Spearman.
A small backwater town of farmers or something, was gathering heroes under a champion to defeat some grand evil. The usual story, only this time, the grand evil held some sort of wish granting device. Something that could bring a man to power, or make the Cradle a brimming utopia, or even make the Dark Lands... Not so dark. Or even... Well, he would think on it when the time came. He traveled towards the assembly anyways. While he wouldn't consider himself a hero, it might be interesting to see who would. Maybe some of them would be willing to spar. After all, if they couldn't get past some measly exiled spearman, were they really worthy of trying to surmount an evil wizard's plot?
When sat in front of the Shaman with the other children, he was incredibly bored and neglected to pay attention to the craft most famous in their civilization. He focused more on the nearby regiment of training foot soldiers, marveling at the use of peculiar weaponry and the training to both mind and body they all underwent. However he was curious as to why they didn't use two spears instead of one. Wouldn't double the spear mean twice the effective attack?
In his teens, Cical had thrown away any remnants of magical learning he held onto and replaced it with raw experience in sparring. The kid was unstoppable, taking blow after blow only to shakily get up and challenge the next soldier. He was standing in to fight training soldiers in a spar. He was being used as an "inexperienced civilian" who happened to fight back, and fight did he ever. Only after the thirtieth man had cracked him over the head with his staff did the boy not recover and that was simply because he was knocked into a small coma. He slept for a whole day, waking up to notice his first ever tattoo still stinging on his right arm. A looping chain of tribal curves and hooks.
The older he grew, the more refined and masculine he became. Due to the sheer amount of trauma and exercise he forced his young body through, he took on the appearance of a young adult man despite being only sixteen. Still he returned to the sparring ring with the trainees, still he was beaten senseless into a battered, bruised coma. However, he was overcoming some of the larger men now.
On his eighteenth winter, he asked to use two spears. Such a request was so foreign to the Arms Master it was accepted just out of curiosity to see what the boy would do. Rapidly, the boy - now man - learned that two long spears was too much weight and became a disadvantage. Chopping the new staff in half proved much more efficient, allowing the boy to parry and counter one weapon, while preparing his own retaliatory strike with the other. The first time he broke out this tactic, he won ten out of thirty four spars. It had been six more than he had ever done before. The next? Sixteen out of twenty nine. Again? Twenty four out of thirty nine. The more he learned his weapons of choice, the more he began decimating the competition.
On his nineteenth winter, he was permitted to join a hunting party as he was now a fully recognized man of Baccum. He would be expected to support a family, as well as the people of Baccum themselves. Should he not find a woman within two years, one would be chosen for him by his family. Cical did not mind, women had thrown themselves at him for years now. He could choose whichever one suited him most. Young love is fickle that way, you could love or not love on a dime. During his time hunting, the boy was credited with saving the entire party from a band of ravenous gorrak by using himself as bait and distraction. He managed to kill a good handful before they ran off, leaving him to limp home severely wounded. The Shaman decided to award the young man with a spear collected in another hunting parties travels. The spear was too short for anyone else to use effectively, and happened to match Cical's style. It wasn't until he met the Shaman's daughter: Hipalia, that he found love. She was beautiful, and captured the spear-man's heart instantly. He thought of her during hunts, during sparring, even in his dreams (which was more than enough for the spiritually devote of Baccum) and while alone... She was his infatuation.
Yet she was the Shaman's daughter. The Shaman's, daughter. The shaman, who was the equivalent to the pope, was nothing if not strict. His daughter was to be chaste, a virgin and innocent so that he may find a worthy suitor to give such unspoiled fruit to. (In exchange for a healthy dowry) And Cical, the poor boy who fought with two sticks was far from suitable. He had indeed asked and had been both laughed at and struck by the Shaman's staff. Later he would feel something deep within him hurt, however he brushed it off. Without knowing, the two mimicked Romeo and Juliet, longing for one another with the separation of their families. However, rather than an unfortunate ending; they both got what they desired. One night in an old cellar owned the Arms Master was all they had, and they certainly made the most of it.
Happy endings sometimes flip, or they were never truly endings at all. The Shaman had invaded Cical's dreams and discovered their plan, or so he told the people later. He stormed to the cellar and flung open the doors to the people crying out: "See for yourself! The Prince of War and my beloved daughter copulating in the shadows! Come, come and burn their bodies so we may save their souls!" He cried, assembling a mob of people who wanted them both to pay for the deeds. However, the more Cical thought about it in his older years, the less he believed the Shaman could see dreams and the now he believed that has are Arms Master had ratted him out.
Only by Cical's quick talking, threats of violence and good acting on Hipalia's part did he manage to stop them both from being burned alive. He claimed that he had lightly hypnotized the woman, who suddenly acted as if she had no idea where she was. After much arguing and mumbling on part of the people, it was decided that as punishment, Cical would be banished from Baccum permanently and if he ever returned, both him and Hipalia would be executed. Without hesitation, he accepted. So long as Hipalia wasn't executed and lived in the safety of Baccum he was comfortable to having anything happen to himself.
Before leaving, Cical was given Deavich and his families spear. Their family having never before been a military family, the spear had been recently crafted for Cical specifically for him to pass down and use. There was no point in keeping it in Baccum. Hipalia also gave him something, one of her earrings. Through a brief kiss she explained that the earring was made during her birth, where her father asked her still-forming spirit to grant him a token of good luck for the child she was to be. It came in the form of two earrings. While the luck would only work on her, it would serve another purpose to Cical.
If she were alive, the earrings would exist in the world. If she died, so too would the earrings. It would be a reminder to him that she was still alive, and that they would be together again sometime in their lives. She had said it so quick, but every word she spoke had been committed to the strongest memory Cical had. As he clutched the earring in his hand, he became lost in thought before suddenly turning with his weapons on his back. He gave one last look at the place he had once called home before wandering away, destined to find a new place to settle down.
Not knowing of any maps or cartography skills, the man relied on his experience as a Hunter, he quickly found himself.... Absolutely goddamn lost. He had no idea where he was or where Baccum even was anymore. Maybe this was why he never lead hunting parties. Couldn't find game if you couldn't even find yourself. As time went on, stories and rumours of a twin-speared man saving men, women and children from vicious beasts started to spread through Baccum. Nobody dared mention the Prince of War, as some of the details on his appearance were off slightly. The spears were always generally the same. A short one in the left, a long one in the right. Typically the man left after he was done without saying the words, in some extravagant and incredibly far fetched stories, he brought the saved individuals into a massive castle in the Brimlands full of gold and lavish trinkets of all sorts. This is where the Twin-Spear Saviour was born.
If asked, Cical would claim every single story to be a fake. However... Some were indeed true. Not the far fetched ones mind you, but some of the simple ones perhaps. Over time in his wanderings, Cical came to learn how to survive, even how to ride a horse. While he knew the names of various areas and civilizations, he didn't know their location and definitely didn't know the kind of people. All he knew was that Baccum was not his home any longer, and no where else could be his home either. When alone, he takes off his earring and gazes at it longingly. Like doing so would summon his love into his arms.
But every hero needs his crux, or else nothing would drive them to be heroes at all.
.
.
.
Word had recently arisen of a new job that would interest the exiled Spearman.
A small backwater town of farmers or something, was gathering heroes under a champion to defeat some grand evil. The usual story, only this time, the grand evil held some sort of wish granting device. Something that could bring a man to power, or make the Cradle a brimming utopia, or even make the Dark Lands... Not so dark. Or even... Well, he would think on it when the time came. He traveled towards the assembly anyways. While he wouldn't consider himself a hero, it might be interesting to see who would. Maybe some of them would be willing to spar. After all, if they couldn't get past some measly exiled spearman, were they really worthy of trying to surmount an evil wizard's plot?
Monkeypants
Member
Seen
1 yr ago
@Dead Cruiser
Hey, so. I saw you mentioned Kyon being for hire and needing a reason to go to the party town.
How about this, in my intro post I will be having my chica's backstory for leaving, maybe she purchased your services as a bodyguard or something.
Just tossing an idea your way.
Hey, so. I saw you mentioned Kyon being for hire and needing a reason to go to the party town.
How about this, in my intro post I will be having my chica's backstory for leaving, maybe she purchased your services as a bodyguard or something.
Just tossing an idea your way.
coGM
Goldeagle1221 I am Spartacus!
Member
Seen
1 yr ago
SILESEA IS D O N E!
Silesia is the he southernmost nation. Ruled not by kings, but by a confederation of representatives from each of its major tribes. A strong mercantile power, blessed with mineral deposits of gold and salt as well as most of the few rivers and lakes in the Cradle. Known for its archers and light troops, Silesia has adopted the military tradition of arming two bowmen for every spear. Mennonite grain is ground into flour via watermill and sold for profit.
Silesia dress is telling of their environment, with their area in the cradle having hotter summers than the others, head wraps and flowing loose fit clothing has remained fashionable throughout its existence. Bright colors are common, with cooler colors being favored. A rich Silesian can be picked out from a crowd, as they will no doubt be dressed in bleached linen robes, blue sashes and headwraps, while also being complimented with plentiful golden jewelry, crafted with the geometric art style of the Sileseans.
Silesian government is upset with you and your decisions, get a job. Silesian government is of course, a confederacy of tribes working on cohesion. Each tribe is represented by the tribal leader, which could be a petty king, an elder, or an elected official. Every tribe has the right to its own form of government so long as they are loyal to the confederacy as a whole.
Disagreements among tribes do rise, and are often solved by the confederacy but there are occasions where tribes attempt to cut off from the confederacy, or cause brief civil wars. These conflicts are often resolved through trade embargoes or swift and brutal retaliation by allied tribes to ensure a quick conflict rather than a long war. The threat of brutal punishment acts as a strong deterrent, keeping would be upstarts in their place. One of the most famous examples was Jurrod the Bloodied, a young man who murdered his father to take control of one of the larger tribes of Silesea, but upon disregarding the confederacy and attempting to set himself up as the sovereign of Silesea, the confederacy broke down his walls, stormed his towns, and slaughtered the first born of every family and all who got in their way. Jurrod himself was sacked by his own people after the atrocities, and his body was offered to the confederacy in hopes for forgiveness.
While Silesian politics could be considered brutal, their day to day life is among the most comfortable in the cradle, with the vast mercantilism of the limestone built Silesian cities offering the best of resources to anyone who could afford them. The wealthy rarely labour, and even the poor have decent living quarters and available food in comparison to the poor of other nations, however this overabundance often brings in more people than the towns can handle, and while the native born lower class can still experience the care of Silesian mercantilism, foreigners are often stuck living in shack towns outside the settlements.
Silesian food is considered the most colorful and flavorful in the cradle, with Roshadite coming in at a hot (very hot) second. Silesians use many spices and natural sweeteners on their foods, giving their palate very savory dinners, and very rich desserts, often consisting of chocolates and cinnamon baked into fluffy cakes. The most popular dessert happens to be what the Silesians call “Jil’shuk” which is old tongue for lucky plums. A lucky plum is a dried plum baked into a chocolate bread and then rolled in sugar and cinnamon, often wrapped in a thin cloth until ready to be consumed.
Silesians worship a single god, and unlike Kothar, their monotheistic representation of God does not have a anthropomorphic design or motivation. The Silesian God, Ill’llii, is often depicted as an arrangement of geometrical shapes that are considered “infinite” to represent the omnipotent nature of Ill’llii.
Ill’llii is the creator of all, and of course is all knowing, having decided the course of history at the very beginning of time. In Silesian myth and religion, life and existence is purely those of the mortal realms chance at creating themselves to the point of being ready to experience the greater realm after this life ends. Being ready means to fulfill and embody the virtues of Ill’llii-ism: generosity, humility, compassion, wisdom, honesty and faith. Those who fall short at the end of their lives and give into the vice’s of pride, dishonesty, greed, foolishness and wrath are doomed to repeat life, born into increasingly difficult situations as per the depths of their fallacy until they finally redeem themselves.
Of course the Silesians are not without guidance, and often convene in great assemblies called Op’kil where the priest of Ill’llii leads the assembly through the various teachings of Ill’llii that were given to the mortals through a myriad of prophets and wisemen over the ages.
Silesia dress is telling of their environment, with their area in the cradle having hotter summers than the others, head wraps and flowing loose fit clothing has remained fashionable throughout its existence. Bright colors are common, with cooler colors being favored. A rich Silesian can be picked out from a crowd, as they will no doubt be dressed in bleached linen robes, blue sashes and headwraps, while also being complimented with plentiful golden jewelry, crafted with the geometric art style of the Sileseans.
Silesian government is upset with you and your decisions, get a job. Silesian government is of course, a confederacy of tribes working on cohesion. Each tribe is represented by the tribal leader, which could be a petty king, an elder, or an elected official. Every tribe has the right to its own form of government so long as they are loyal to the confederacy as a whole.
Disagreements among tribes do rise, and are often solved by the confederacy but there are occasions where tribes attempt to cut off from the confederacy, or cause brief civil wars. These conflicts are often resolved through trade embargoes or swift and brutal retaliation by allied tribes to ensure a quick conflict rather than a long war. The threat of brutal punishment acts as a strong deterrent, keeping would be upstarts in their place. One of the most famous examples was Jurrod the Bloodied, a young man who murdered his father to take control of one of the larger tribes of Silesea, but upon disregarding the confederacy and attempting to set himself up as the sovereign of Silesea, the confederacy broke down his walls, stormed his towns, and slaughtered the first born of every family and all who got in their way. Jurrod himself was sacked by his own people after the atrocities, and his body was offered to the confederacy in hopes for forgiveness.
While Silesian politics could be considered brutal, their day to day life is among the most comfortable in the cradle, with the vast mercantilism of the limestone built Silesian cities offering the best of resources to anyone who could afford them. The wealthy rarely labour, and even the poor have decent living quarters and available food in comparison to the poor of other nations, however this overabundance often brings in more people than the towns can handle, and while the native born lower class can still experience the care of Silesian mercantilism, foreigners are often stuck living in shack towns outside the settlements.
Silesian food is considered the most colorful and flavorful in the cradle, with Roshadite coming in at a hot (very hot) second. Silesians use many spices and natural sweeteners on their foods, giving their palate very savory dinners, and very rich desserts, often consisting of chocolates and cinnamon baked into fluffy cakes. The most popular dessert happens to be what the Silesians call “Jil’shuk” which is old tongue for lucky plums. A lucky plum is a dried plum baked into a chocolate bread and then rolled in sugar and cinnamon, often wrapped in a thin cloth until ready to be consumed.
Silesians worship a single god, and unlike Kothar, their monotheistic representation of God does not have a anthropomorphic design or motivation. The Silesian God, Ill’llii, is often depicted as an arrangement of geometrical shapes that are considered “infinite” to represent the omnipotent nature of Ill’llii.
Ill’llii is the creator of all, and of course is all knowing, having decided the course of history at the very beginning of time. In Silesian myth and religion, life and existence is purely those of the mortal realms chance at creating themselves to the point of being ready to experience the greater realm after this life ends. Being ready means to fulfill and embody the virtues of Ill’llii-ism: generosity, humility, compassion, wisdom, honesty and faith. Those who fall short at the end of their lives and give into the vice’s of pride, dishonesty, greed, foolishness and wrath are doomed to repeat life, born into increasingly difficult situations as per the depths of their fallacy until they finally redeem themselves.
Of course the Silesians are not without guidance, and often convene in great assemblies called Op’kil where the priest of Ill’llii leads the assembly through the various teachings of Ill’llii that were given to the mortals through a myriad of prophets and wisemen over the ages.
Dead Cruiser Dishonour Before Death / Better You Than Me
Member
Seen
13 days ago
@Monkeypants Sounds fine.
1x Like
GM
Mennon and Silesia have been updated in the OP!!!!
1x Like
© 2007-2024