chaotic38 — Roleplayer Guild

Were-creatures, typically wolves though sometimes other animals do happen, do exist, however they are extremely rare, as they would have to have been cursed by the gods themselves. If anyone wants a list of gods and what they represent they can owl me. They essentially, like Straids, live forever barring illness or death by unnatural means. The time that they are cursed to be transformed varies, depending on the crime that got the gods attention(It needs to be really extreme to get them to personally get involved). The most extreme case is one who was set to be permanently transformed, as well as being trapped in a magical prison. The average is about a week per month with the central day being on the full moon.

The World of Varen was spectacular, filled with many wonders that many couldn't hope to see. It claimed a vast sea and two brother continents, which had, over two centuries before, been one continent. Now, after a cataclysm heralded as The Rift, the one continent was split apart by one of a race so elusive, they would give the elves a run for their gold. A Straid, children of the gods, had used accursed magic from the most foul of realms, aptly named the Dark Realm, to split the continent, also named Varen, at the very center of the continent. A place where the elves had built their grand city. Varen, and it's brother continent, Kaven, sat on opposite ends of Varen, with means of travel between the two very dangerous and perilous. And, it is Kaven where our tale begins. 

 Garvantilus Tanis Elgot stood amidst the ever-reaching hills that separated the bustling town of Karn, from his destination, Fotanev. To Garv, Fotanev wasn't really that special. Having been born in the Calltraan forests, Garv had the advantage of seeing the great Elven city, Caeraan, though it was reduced to rubble almost two centuries prior. And, since leaving his home, he had seen his fair share of adventure. There was almost nowhere Garv hadn't gone. He'd visited the Dwarven capital, Mt. Zantrii in the Daltron Mountains, the Toltris Ravine in the Utra Plains, all on Varen. He'd only recently traveled across Kaven, and had explored the reaches of two kingdoms of Kaven. Between Riversand Kingdom, where the humans primarily lived, and Flinaar Kingdom, where the Straids made their home, he'd had a lot to keep busy. 

 However, there were two places even Garv feared to go. One of these was the large Kingdom south of Kaven, named Tolek. Years ago a large group of cannibals had started claiming land to form their illicit kingdom from the port town of Kani. The other was the no-man's-land to the north-east. The land was named Chaon after the rumors that had circulated about the evil that hid there. Most didn't believe in it, but left it alone out of the off chance that the rumors were true. Garv left Chaon alone because he always felt eerie when he was near there. 

 After countless days of traveling through the hilly terrain between Karn and Fotanev, Garv found himself standing at the winding path that led to the immaculate oak gates. Fotanev was a small town that, in normal situations, would have been passed by for the larger city of Savell somewhat to the west of Fotanev. However, in recent circumstances, Fotanev was anything, but normal. It was a town widely sought after for the fame of the White Hart Inn, who made the acclaimed 'nectar of the gods' Carran Ale. At least that was why most people entered the town. Garv, however, was here on mere chance. During his travels, he had overheard a squad of goblins while nestled in a tree, resting. The goblins had spoken of someone amassing an army to conquer Kaven. 

 So, as it was, Garv was traveling to Fotanev to both seek information, and to obtain the provisions to make the long trek to the ruins of Caeraan. Half of the ruins, anyway. Without stopping, Garvantilus set through the gates, and took the right of three forks to make his way to the White Hart Inn. He would both need somewhere to stay for the night, as well as a place where people were loose of tongue. And, what better place than an Inn famous for its alcohol? 

 The door creaked as Garv stepped into the Inn. Instantly his eyes and ears were barraged by what lay within. At the front sitting at the bar, a rowdy group was trying to get a free drink off of a barmaid. Instantly something seemed off about that group to Garv. They seemed almost misshapen, though their cloaks and hoods made it hard to tell. In the far corner of the Inn, a couple of drunkards were attempting to engage in a fist fight, without much luck, gathering from how they kept tripping before they could even land a punch. And everywhere else was just way too loud. Of course it was all fairly typical for a bar, but Garv tended to stay away from such scenes. Before he would ask for information, Garv decided to watch the scene first, so he pulled his hood up, making sure to cover his ears, he'd much prefer to not gain unwanted attention, before slipping into a table near the drunken fighters. That way he would be able to watch as much as he can, and listen in on some conversations as well.

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