"DEVOURER": Bronze, Blood, Betrayal

[pugbutter]

@Letter Bee@Lady Selune@Mr Irony II@Heyitsjiwon@Ciaran@Danelaw@Andreyich@flowersrgr8@Strange Rodent@BiffleChump@Random Kitty@Hank

Good morning, pals and prospects. For those interested, here's the Discord link. Normally it would be too early for this to serve any use, but I decided it'd be a good idea to record my daily progress for anyone who hasn't heard from me in a while and might otherwise be impressed to think I have abandoned the project. You can just hop onto the #ooc-progress-reports channel to see how the thread is coming along. Simple, huh? And if you want to get a head start on collabing with partner(s) on your juicy character histories then I won't stop you either.

[pugbutter]

@flowersrgr8 gotcha name wrong, my bad ↑

[Kalleth]

Interested!

[pugbutter]

For your perusal: an example character sheet. Please use this to model your own, maybe even to inspire it.

Bump!

Swidda Shadehand

Most men are old when they become a burden unto others. Swidda was still young. Most, when they are not maimed in battle, are taken with disease and feebleness in their waning years. Swidda lost his body to the mountains, to the elements; really, to the land itself and the gods which govern it. He carried a square shield on his back and an axe and a sword on his waist. His body was strong and beautiful under its warpaint. He did as all hale-bodied youths aspire which is to join a war party, winning wealth and territory for his struggling community. So, equipped with good bronze, trained and led by a very decent captain, they took to the Thraxians, the rival tribes there, in search of their wants. Salt came first, as winter was nigh and there would be nothing to forage until the evergreens beared fruits again, but mead, iron, tools, anything the southern empires would buy the warband could bear to haul back over the peaks. Only they found no liquor, or tools, or metals precious and otherwise. And winter had come early, from the north, as a sort of short-lived raiding party much like their own. First they saw it through the boughs, a bubbling black ambush sliding down the sky like pitch. They smelled its stinging sweetness; it prickled their necks. Before long they were buried, huddling around a tiny fire they couldn't keep lit, burning their oily meat rations when there was no more dry wood left to scrounge. Swidda never saw an enemy, never mind slayed one. He also never saw some of those men again; they did not walk out of the blizzard with the rest, anyway. But they must have survived if he could, even as his toes went black, his fingers next; even as the snow sucked the vigor from his body and a dreadful peace swept over his soul. What had he done to deserve this abject end? He had a good idea, until he made it through the white hell, until he felt warmth and light again and needed only sacrifice a few digits for the privilege. It was less obvious then. Today, in the better wisdoms of his seasoned years, his experience in the mountains feels far less like punishment than it once did. He was robbed of his most conspicuous blessings, certainly, but has uncovered others since. He cannot help but feel these days that that storm saved him, in its way; it stole the swiftness in his stride, and the hardiness of his hands, and even the tips of his ears and nose, but in some useless skirmish or other he would surely have lost his mind, too, and his mind has proven a far sharper gift than any limb. On the wrong side of the mountains, taken unto another tribe's land, unable to fight or to forage, unable even to rise from his bedding once he was placed there, Swidda had only books and stories for company through his many, many moons of healing still to come. And the books he could not even read. But time was on his side, and the sages of this village had taken to their precocious guest, who the mountains had changed. While he recovered he was able to learn the dialect as it is scratched into stones, scribbled onto slabs of wax and clay. He could never swing a sword again, he could barely pick up a stylus with the fingers he had left, but the more wisened tribesmen must have seen in him that same art which was once buried under his muscles and weapons; unless they simply pitied him. Whatever the case, when Swidda's body returned from the Thraxians he was sure that it had shed its fierceness like a snake its old skin. All notions of cruelty and violence had gone out of his life, and the sages had to have seen a potential in him for healing the world, for teaching it, for bettering its understanding of itself. Alas that they were wrong, in the very end; war returns to the hills, and before very long all men begin to obsess over it. Swidda had returned to his first people, the one which sired him, a few years after this experience, when he was strong enough again to make the journey back through the daggered hills. They were pleased to see him again, and pleased moreover that the loss of his strength had not ruined his spirit as well. For generations Swidda served this community of old and continued his learning under their own seers and scholars and poets. He expected to die here as he had lived in youth. But he remembered well his debt to the ones who had saved him, too, and planned to return there someday already. Until the Nhirians came he was even slated to become a druid. But the men who would have elected him are gone now. Only a few have scattered into the Thraxians who may still remember their names, who honor their sacrifices, including a certain gentle sage. He has returned, if under mournful circumstances, to aid the Eioni, intent on compensating the ones who nursed him back to life all those decades ago; to help them find peace, if peace is possible, and avert them of the fate which befell his first people. The sons rule now where once the father reigned; Gederhyn is chief, and he pays well, in companionship and beer, for the stories Swidda can tell of his forebear's courage and kindness. The two have become dear friends. Young tribesmen cannot remember Swidda's first visit to this place, but he can never forget. This time he won't run away; if there is even anywhere left to run by the time the Eioni have fallen. The same scourge comes to annihilate them which has already annihilated Swidda's own people, made servants and corpses of them far to the east of the venerable mountains. Can he survive this war without losing all that he holds dear a second time? What else will he have to sacrifice to finally know a true and lasting peace?	Tall and supple stands this sage of the Eioni peoples, like wheat bowing to the wind. Gaunt of countenance and humorless of demeanor is he, barding himself of dark and rough-hewn robes. He wears no jewelry, and while speaking he hides his ruined fist behind his back or in the recesses of his sleeves, striking a scholarly pose but also hiding the mangled flesh from the vanities of others. Other parts of him are said to have been kissed by the same rot, although no witnesses—including his wives, goes the gossip—can claim to have seen it themselves. He does walk with a heavy limp, however. Unlike most Thraxians he keeps his whole face shaven. His straight steel mane he meticulously brushes for knots and lice. Age: 58 Skills & Talents: Swidda was a warrior in youth. Though he can no longer fight he remembers well the tactics and practices which kept his fighting-fellows alive. His advice in war goes unheard nowadays, or unspoken, but he could serve any chieftain well at the rear of a battle. Swidda is a practiced diplomat and negotiator. Swidda reads, although he cannot write; he recites well the memories of his peoples, although no songs will be written about his own life. He tends a garden. Small animals get nearer to him than most, sensing a gentleness in his weathered and weary spirit. Traits: Gentle; Nurturing; Thoughtful; Indecisive; Fearful; Tormented Allegiances: The Angaturiz peoples; The Eioni peoples; the Acani tribe; Gederhyn, its chief. Rank & Role: RETAINER. Swidda serves Chief Gederhyn of the Acani tribe as a scribe, an advisor, and a diplomat.

So here's a list of things your app should include:

• name
• sex/gender
• age
• ALLEGIANCE: include several strata of scope, such as: race, then ethnic sub-group (this will be on the map, and will represent broader strokes of territory comprising several clans, like "Cisalpine Gaul" on a Roman map), then specific tribe, then the PC or NPC who rules this tribe. * EDIT: These allegiances represent who you answer to and kneel to; NOT necessarily who you like, respect, and think deserves to rule! Think "actions" here rather than "feelings."
• A history/biography which keeps at least the last few years of the character's life more ambiguous in terms of names and relations. This part is gonna be filled in with other PC's once everyone's been accepted!
• Some single-word personality traits
• A list of pertinent skills and talents.

[Strange Rodent]

That's a good looking sheet blank mayn! I'll get one going, plus any for retainers I need.

[One Who Tames]

I really wanted to write you off on account of the block of italics at the beginning of your first page. The "You might like this if" part has intrigued me enough to see what you're all about. I am tempted to ask to join just to compare notes on the iron age.

This looks interesting. I would like to know more. At the very least, I am excited for the prospect of talking with a fellow amateur historian.

[Lady Selune]

Kerenatam Ap Tadhg

Kerenatam is 24 years old. Although the Rhaead consider themselves distinct from the overall Angaturiz peoples, he holds allegiances both to those whom he has been crowned Grand Warlord of, and those that share their blood and sinew with the stones of the mountains and earth of the valley. Tall and built like a warrior, he adorns himself with little that is not practical- his hair cut short to fit under a helmet and his skin bereft of piercings that might tear in combat. A superlative commander and with capable men under his command, Kerenatam is a fearsome foe on the battlefield, whilst also not being entirely useless in discussion. He has a great love for music and woodwork, being proficient in the latter but not the former.

If Kerenatam was a small tribal chief, he would still be young, but not unusually so. For him to be the Grand Warlord of the Rhaead peoples at his age is unheard of- and because of this many believe that it is the destiny of this man to guide the various tribes to greatness under his command. The backing he has from the druids- both in the prophecies they tell of him and his taking of a druid as a wife have done nothing to reduce the myths already swirling around him.

Born to a tired and redheaded mother in the forests of the Rhaead home, his early life was spent not in languid play, but in the harsh realities of life. Despite his father having held a prominent position, his death had left his wife and four children to be expelled from their community, overthrown by an uncle who left them to die. As a child, he spent his time learning how to use a sling, track prey and ride the wild horses that trotted through the scattered trees.

Although his mother worked hard and could teach the young boy much, their lives were still hard. Every failed hunt of his was another day his family went hungry, and in times of desperation he often had to attack from and steal from his own people- unthinkable to most of the Rhaead. When he was caught he would be beaten and shunned, which only served to make his family more desperate as he recovered.

Through these hardships however, a man was forged. In part, this was thanks to the environment, but at the same time something else kindled an ugly flame inside of him. Often, when the family ate well, his mother would tell stories- of what life had been like with her husband and of the fineries that came with such a privileged position. When he finally reached adulthood and left his home he was consumed by a burning desire to overthrow his relative and take back what his family had lost before he was born. Swearing himself to another chieftain’s retinue, he would prove himself rapidly to be a capable leader of men, being trusted with his own group of skirmishers and launching countless raids against his uncle's troops and homes.

Five years later, his spear would drain the lifeblod from his uncle's neck as he finally took back control of his father's tribe, and with his death, his mother and three sisters could return. No longer were they isolated fringes of the society, but instead in the centre, where they could enjoy the life denied to them as they had struggled to survive in the woods. Now at the head of a significant force, and with his previous chieftain having turned from overseer to staunch ally, he would make a visit to the Godswoods, where the oldest trees lived, having started growing since before man had even arrived in the region. There, he met with the druids, who would describe tales of exploits yet to come and victories yet to be won.

It was also here where he met his wife. Perhaps a druid would not be what was expected, but nonetheless the pair would be wed, the rawhide wraps encircling their arms and joining the two together. From there his already rapid rise would turn to a meteoric one, the man coming into his own with ruthless, yet calculated and cunning attacks that left his foes disoriented and overwhelmed, ripe to be picked off one by one. Perhaps if all his foes had come together to overwhelm him they might have succeeded, but instead with every victory his forces would grow larger, bolstered by the conquered tribe's numbers and those of the increasing number of people flocking to his cause.

It was at the age of 22, having been a man for a mere eight years, when he would become the High Warlord. Crowned with a wreath of holly in the Rhaead capital (and the only permeant settlement they had) of Andrelian, he would spend the next two years subjugating the last few tribes that insisted on rebelling.

Yet after all this work, this tireless struggle to unite the Rhead, there now comes a new threat. A ravenous, slaving horde intent on conquering them. Kerenatam will not allow this. He will not allow his work to be tossed aside, his peoples crushed and held in distain as he was when he was a child. He goes to the meeting not to stir up trouble, but to gather support for the cause, with the chants of his blue-painted warriors behind him.

[pugbutter]

First of all, @One Who Tames, welcome to the Guild! I'm honored that mine would be among the first threads to pique your interest. And it's a great time to be testing the waters; fortune favors the prepared.

(And sorry that the italics didn't work for you. I decided that I needed more than a cool image of an Achaemenid bas-relief to signify that I was switching from an IC epistolary to an OOC summary of events, so I styled it like a flashback of sorts.)

@Lady Selune I look forward to reading it over lunch. I trust there won't be any problems what with the great brainstorming that has gone on already, but if there are then you'll receive my thoughts via PM.

[One Who Tames]

I keep an open mind as much as possible. Thank you for the warm reception and I’ll see you on Discord after work.

[Inuyasha]

You seem like a GM who is competent as fuck. I'm so in

[pugbutter]

You seem like a GM who is competent as fuck. I'm so in

@Inuyasha

Honored to disappoint, sirrah.

[Strange Rodent]

Shostic Summary

Summary
Shostic (pronounced SHOSS-titch) is a civilisation located on the vedatanni peninsula, and the bytes on either side, with some mountain territory.
The Shostic people are peaceful and abhor violence, focusing more on trade and piety. Their most common exports include cloth of wool, hemp, and cotton, salt, copper, iron, and wood.
They have three gods, Sky, Earth, and Sea. These are made up of much smaller gods in much the same way a stained glass picture is made up of smaller pieces of glass. In both cases, the smaller thing exists and must be acknowledged, but it’s the bigger picture that is truly revered.
The Shostic people pay their respects to the gods through certain activities such as hang gliding, farming, and trading.

I’m on the Discord and have 5 pages of info in a google doc, so if you want to be a retainer, just ask for access and I’ll shoot it to ya, we’ll work something out :)

Bazlinn Cotz

Bazlinn Cotz

---

Superficial
Bazlinn Cotz is a 42 year old merchant from the Shostic tribes. Some would say the most wealthy and successful. Some wouldn’t. All agree that he is among that number, though. He has a grand total of 23 dedicated trading ships bound to his name, not including contractors or smugglers. What good merchant would admit to owning any smuggling ships?

He is tall and “padded”, a side effect of a wealthy lifestyle. He has eyes full of a tired enthusiasm and a face like a cracked stone slab. His brownish hair has salt streaking it, something he considers a gift from the Sea. His nose is nearly offensively obvious. This is only somewhat remedied by full cheeks and prominent brows.
Contrasting his status, he wears drably coloured hempen tunics and skirts, only adorned with a richly dyed sea-green sash to show piety to the Sea. Although the clothes are drab in colour, the cut and cloth is clearly quite fine.

Persona
His drive, the reason he continues to live and the impossible goal for which he strives, is Prosperity. He pursues this using his Wit, Resources, and Charm, though several things stand in his way. Most notably, his Condescension, Hypocrisy, Weight, and Age. To elaborate on the first two: he condescends on those who hold beliefs he deems morally lesser, such as ones that allow for violence and reckless spending; and he is hypocritical in that wants Prosperity but is usually funneling more money into his business than back to those who need it.

He is commended as virtuous for his Humility and Passivity, however he is condemned for his Greed and Unaired Greivances. He is humble about how he presents and adorns himself, and endears himself to lower classes, yet does little to offer real help. He is unwilling to fight or condone violence, much to the joy of many, but it's no secret that he wouldn't miss certain people were they to disappear.

Things he done gud at
As a highly successful merchant, he is exceptionally good at Trade, Economics, and Language, even boasting Literacy and Numeracy.
In his youth he worked for his father in a shipyard. And so he has a natural competency at Shipbuilding, Sailing, and Navigation, though his age and weight keep him from doing this regularly.

Allegiance
First and foremost, Bazlinn owes allegiance to The gods, Earth, Sky, and Sea, and their prophets, Fraz Growth, Fraz Wind, and Fraz Tide respectively.

Next, he owes loyalty to the Shostic civilisation and the city Zwchc. (Pronounced SHOS-titch and ZUUCH-s respectively.)

Last, he owes loyalty to his company. Employees, ships, and goods are all worthy of this attention in his eyes.

History
Bazlinn was born to a middle class shipbuilder and his wife, who raised him and, one by one, three other younger children.

Bazlinn was the first and only one to help his father at work after he came of age, the rest pursuing other avenues.

He and his father made quite a team. They built up a beaming reputation, which caused business to flood in, filling coffers, bellies, and ambitions. Even the Fraz Tide was praising the ships they built, no small feat.

Once his father became unable to work due to age, Bazlinn inherited the business. He immediately set his sights high.

In a stroke of ingenuity, he had the idea to build two ships at once, taking it step by step. When a ship was commissioned, he would build one extra, keep the superior ship for himself. He'd praise the other vessel as he sold it.

But he didn't want to sell ships forever. He resolved to try his hand at the mercantile arts.
He realised that to do this, he would need greater knowledge of nearby ports, and how they operated. His solution was to approach common folk, and offer a deal. He would pay them to go travel to reputable cities, get drunk, and learn. They were to enter these cities and find out what was in short supply, what was being produced, what the local conflicts were, and who the wealthy were.

Based off this information, he drew charts of what could be bought and sold where, and for how much. If somewhere could produce alcohol, but not so much iron, he would get iron to them, and alcohol from them.

Following this, he would send another ship with much the same purpose, but this time he stationed an emissary on each. They were nominally members of his company, and had messages to deliver to the wealthy in each port. They would propose trades based off of the aforementioned charts, giving small gifts to show goodwill (and, of course, wealth).

In a relatively short period of time he had himself some good connections who were willing to trade with him, because as it turns out, everybody likes wealth.

He's particularly proud of one of his connections, a tribe that produced exceptional charcoal. They had previously politely refused the offers, as they did their own trading.
Bazlinn had his sights set on this charcoal, though. He organised a meeting with their chief, and came armed with an idea that everybody would profit off: Bazlinn would manage the tribe's trade routes for them, allowing them to focus on more pressing matters.

They accepted, seeing the benefits in having a merchant manage their trade.

(Now here is where more recent history starts. Because the rp is still quite young, I wanna leave this as a blank, to be filled with other players. If you're interested in having an ic connection with Bazlinn, hit me up, I'll be more than happy to write something with someone!)

[Ciaran]

Arlanna ap Tadhg

Arlanna ap Tadgh

---

The druidess Arlanna, though best known for her marriage to the legendary High Warlord Kerenatam, is a powerful force in her own right. Said by her people to have a rare and potent natural talent for magic, her isolated upbringing has forged little in the form of kinship with the other Angaturiz, though she is fiercely territorial and loyal to her own people, the Rhaead. Her strongest allegiance, though, is to her husband, who she believes is a divine spirit that is destined to bring the Rhaead to greatness, while it is her purpose to ensure he fulfils his.

Some believe that Arlanna never knew her family, and this is the reason why she spends so little time among others. While it is true that the woman that for three seasons carried her in her womb died on the day of Arlanna's birth, and that the man that planted that seed fled his newfound responsibility soon afterwards, this does not mean she did not know her family. Because her mother and father are not her family - they never were.

Arlanna was raised by the druids of the Rhaead, and exposed to their rites almost from birth. At six summers' age, she was assisting the sacrifices in small ways, and by nine, was regularly an active participant. Druids older and wiser than her recognised a unique talent for druidcraft in her that had nothing to do with learned skill or practice. Though Arlanna was reclusive due to her unorthodox upbringing, and so rarely visited the rest of the tribe, word got out, quickly but quietly. Explanations for this power arose, though whether rumours and gossip or genuine truths, it is hard to say. Some claimed that she was born on a blood moon. Others that she stole her mother's life force during her birth, killing her mother but strengthening her. Regardless, the druids made an effort to keep these quiet, while simultaneously taking advantage of this asset.

It was many years later that Arlanna heard tales of raids taking place against a Rhaead tribe by the forces of another. Though she ignored this at first, as infighting in the Rhaead was common, the days turned into weeks, months, and years of conflict, and again and again the same man was leading the attacks. His persistence was certainly noteworthy. Out of curiosity, she attempted to divine his future, and saw a glorious world in which the Rhaead were the undisputed masters of all known lands, and the forger of this great crusade was the same man who at present fought only in petty raids against his uncle. Arlanna made it her life's work to ensure that he lived the future she had seen.

Arlanna made sacrifices in Kerenatam's name. In the final battles leading to his uncle's demise, he would be witness to what were seemingly strokes of good luck - a change of wind blowing an arrow just off course, or a spear breaking at just the right moment. These were Arlanna's doing. And so not long afterwards, the treacherous uncle of Kerenatam ap Tadgh was dead.

Little time passed before Kerenatam's visit to the Godswoods, the first time he and Arlanna would meet in person. By this point, her interest in him had already developed into a fully-fledged, almost religious obsession. Other druids saw her value as an asset for the tribe, but they also considered her extremely unstable (quite reasonably). They encouraged her to marry Kerenatam as they believed that his "destiny" could be more easily fulfilled with Arlanna assisting him in person, as long as her fraying sanity held up. It is likely that they still have a contingency plan that involves her murder, if necessary.

And so in the years since that day, Arlanna has lived in Andrelian, assisting Kerenatam in his conquests however she can. This primarily has meant sacrifices, but Arlanna has also worked in negotiations, counsel, and the management of the High Warlord's territories while he is away. Now having seen 22 summers, she has become an intelligent, potent schemer, but is also entirely apathetic about the fates of those tribes other than her own, while her sanity waxes and wanes like the moon.

[Strange Rodent]

Bump of gathering people-ness

[pugbutter]

@Danelaw@Mr Irony II@Kalleth Took a while, but if y'all haven't died of old age yet ... 😎 roleplayerguild.com/posts/4902965

[Mercenary5]

Kussaz

Kussaz Fall-staff


Pictured Right

Age: 54

Sex: Male

ALLEGIANCE: Kussaz is a sworn sword of Kerenatam Ap Tadh. Beyond that he owes no vows of loyalty to any tribe, nation, or people.

Profession: advisor, commander, mercenary.

A brief biography of Kussaz Fall-Staff

Transcribed and (annotated by Rikaz, bard and druid)

I was born here in Thraxia. My mother belonged to a Vedatanni tribe and worked as a seamstress for her village. My father was a wandering hero who had passed through my village some months before¹. Growing up was rough, and I did anything it took to help our family survive². When I was old enough to leave, I did. I signed on with a unit of mercenaries headed south to fight for the imperials.

Life was good as a mercenary. We were treated well by the Empire and were highly valued for our obedience and strength. While I never took part in the politics of the imperial bodyguard³, I heard that Thraxian influence in some cases stretched as far as the palace. I spent most of my campaign attached to a "peacekeeping" unit that would go on loan from governor to governor. We killed bandits for the most part, but we also hunted pirates, infiltrated resistance groups (in the north of the empire), and served as hired muscle for town guards. I got to see most of the world in that job, made a fair bit of coin, and laid with about every type of woman you could imagine. While I never learned how to read like the officers did, I made it a habit to try to listen to locals and their stories if they would let me. I speak many languages poorly, but I spoke more than any other enlisted man⁴.

I returned to my homeland at the end of my service. I was still young enough to enter a chieftain's retinue. Now I am a half decent commander, but I’m not touched by the gods. I wasn't born into any great house, I rarely held the fate of men and my hands, and the fate of nations is far above my station. I was posted under the command of the young commander Kerenatam.

Kerenatam was no more than a boy when I met him. But his claim on his neighboring land and his noble birth ascended him to a position of command in the court of his neighboring chief. I was quite fond of this young commander, and made myself useful as an advisor on battlefield, logistical, and troop management matters. While at first Kerenatam was guarded around me, in time the scared boy grew into what could only be considered a conqueror⁵. In a short time Kerenatam has done more to unite the warring tribes than any warlord of the past. While I wouldn’t dare claim any credit for the lads accomplishments, it has been my privilege to witness his conquests⁶ thus far.

Traits: Protective. Honest. Direct. Greedy. Selfish. Stubborn.

Talents: I have a talent for organizing men. A great man can use an army to topple an empire, but a lesser man must be at his side to make sure that the army doesn’t starve along the way. While in my youth I had other talents, at this point in my life logistics and administration are my most useful skills.

Footnotes
1: All evidence suggests that Kussaz's mother was an escort and his father one of her clients. This is due to the fact that Kussaz has many siblings from various stock.
2: This included petty crimes like pick-pocketing and burglary, as these are the only means of income for a young boy of his stature of birth.
3: The Emperor has many bodyguard units, including some entirely composed of foreign mercenaries. In addition to a unit of Eunuchs and a contingent of Slave-Boys.
4: Most mercenaries are not famed for their education, for good reason.
5: Liberator.
6: Unification.

[pugbutter]

Bump, would love to see just a couple more to replace the ghosters ... nonetheless the IC is well on its way.