Famotill

A Tale of Owls and Wolves

Your legs can only barely carry you up the stairs; their sole motivation lies in the reprieve they’ll soon know. Finally making it to your cot you feel the heaviness of a worn body and eyelids sunken deeper than the brith warships scattered about the Ocean Abyssal. Collapsing in your bed your face meets soft fleece as it collides with a cushy pillow. At last there was quiet, perhaps not a blissful quiet, but quiet indeed.

The world and its light fades from you as the night takes you into its realm.

---

You wake up to, what sounds like, a thunderous assault on the door to your room. Still dazed and half asleep you find the strength to pick yourself up from your cot. Your gate is slow and without reason, and the coldness of the floor nips at your feet. You finally make it towards the door, your arm now leaned against a wall for support. You carefully turn the the knob, but it feels wet and unsettling to the touch. It feels like you’ve been turning the damn thing for an eternity.

At last, the door concedes to your meddling as it ushers in the morning air. Upon investigating beyond the door you see nothing. There is no one there, but one thing is for certain, the blackness that erodes the hallway in front of you is not supposed to be there.

Stepping out into the darkness you find that there is no floor to support your footing. Much like the hallway before you the blackness engulfs you as you fall into an abyss. You try to catch a breath while you fall, unsure of what to do. Your fall feels weightless, but unimaginably heavy. There is no air surrounding your descent, and any words or shouts for help are met only with the all-encompassing blackness.

---

[+]

As you continue to pierce into nothingness you feel a bitter warmth on your back. A wind soon picks up, but its gusts give you no quarter from the heat. You realize that you are no longer falling. As if by magic or some twisted demon’s meddling the world before you is brought to the light. You find yourself lying on your back. Pulling your hand from under the weight that constricts it you see piles of red sand seep through its grasp. The blistering heat of what appears to be a desert crack down on furrowed brows.

There is a presence, something that beckons you forward through the dunes. Picking yourself up you feel no choice but to heed its commands. You again feel the warmth of the sand on your feet, but it not longer hurts you. The intensity of the sun’s heat causes rifts about the air. The sky itself dances before your eyes. The scorching radiance is enough to bring you to your knees on a few instances throughout your trek in the sands, but each time something pushes you onward.

Lucilia

You see him among the sands, in all of his glory. Earl Lion Wolfram, awaits you, a hand extended. You rush to his side unsure of what beast has forced you both into this most gastly of realms. The sands feel unnatural and grimey, and each footstep feels like a betrayal to the name of Wolfram. Still, father must have an answer. Upon getting close enough to inspect his body you see black pourices etched about his person. Their mutated husk like craters stink of plague and decay.

As if against your will your hands reach out to him, but his touch feels colder and more unpleasant than a thousand peasants. His hands are clammy, and you notice the blackened sours festering like tumors. They feel alive, and their intense bubbling abhors you. Maggots crawl from every open wound on his exposed skin. Amidst this horror you realize that your father cannot move. Instead his body seems trapped in time. You notice that cracks begin to line his skin, and before you can say anything it begins to crumble as ebony dust meets the red sand.

Venturing forward you hear the familiar whispers of court in Redcliffe. You hear your brothers and sisters call out to you, but see no one for miles. In all of its vastness this desert is filled only with hot sand and air. The quiet stinging of the heat is nearly enough to drown out these illusions. Resolving to leave such an unpleasant abyss you venture onward.

Barris

You’ve traveled the harsh sands for what feels like days. You’d felt the sands of the Pascar Deserts above Koponbect, but this strange realm felt different. The sands glowed with a fiery red, and the sun more overbearing than you’d thought possible. By your side, same as always, was Vic. As you walked him through the sands you felt his heavy gasps and whimpers. You needed to find water soon. Instead, all you hear are the distant sounds of screams though source is obscured by the massive sand dunes that decorate your path.

Ushering Vic forward you find yourself pushing quickly through the sands, and by the Stone at least the damned stuff didn’t burn anymore. Reaching over the pass you see it. As if some twisted construction of memories better left dead you see the city of Vyberg. Rather, you see its ruins buried amongst the red sands. The dilapidated structures felt familiar, but they were scarred by an intense black as if someone had put the entire city to the torch.

You hear an unsettling cracking of sand. The screams were a phantom. A trick of this shite realm. You quickly reach for your gun as abominations carve their way out from beneath the sands. They let out a bellowing sound of hollow cries. Their gait and wicked screams pierce through your soul. Their husks are charred, and a black taint covers what little flesh remains of them. They quickly make their way to you, and you feel the weight of a hundred armies bearing down on your psyche. You quickly load the blunderbuss in your hands preparing for a wide projectile shot. You steadily aim at a gaggle of the wretched creatures. As one of the plague-sick skeletons charge you your trusted weapon crumbles to dust leaving only ebony remnants in yours hands. You quickly pull Vic forward with you, but his heavy breathing has only served to slow him down. Your small legs carry you far as the beasts, dogged in their approach, seem to have no quarter. You feel the weight of all of Ithea knock you to your feet as your heavy body is repelled down a large dune. Behind you is the sound of harsh cracks met with the cries of a mule. It isn't long after that when you hear only the sounds of the sands once again.

Aria

Not in a long time have you felt this naked, this empty, and the feeling is unsettling. You’d grown accustomed to the constant conflict within you. It was never just Aria. There was always another watching over you, but now? Now you felt nothing. There was no Az’Set. You found yourself trekking through foreign sands without the protection of your glamor. Without it you felt a stinging vulnerability that haunted you and made you recall memories in the Wilds. Now, only the sounds of encroaching heat and the whispers of the sands were your company.

In the distance you could hear something else, though. There was a soft rattle about the sands. Perhaps this was one of Az’Set’s tricks afterall. You quickly find yourself sprinting forward towards the sound. You are greeted, not by your pact holder, but instead by a cobra slithering through the sands. It’s form soon collapses into a black dust which is enough to startle you.

In the distance you could hear something else, though. There was a soft rattle about the sands. Perhaps this was one of Az’Set’s tricks afterall. You find yourself walking towards the sound, but your body feels heavy. You are met, not by your pact holder, but instead by a king cobra slithering through the sands. The snake collapses into a black dust.

In the distance you could hear something else, though. There was a harsh rattle about the sands. Az’Set was testing you. You felt over encumbered, and your gait has slowed. The heats weighed heavily on you. You feel the tugging of a body beneath the sand as a large Penaultish serpent pokes its head out of the sea of red. It’s eyes taunt you, and in your boldness you reach out for it. It crumbles to your touch.

The sounds of this desert betray you once again. You resolved yourself to refusing to play Az’Set’s games. You wait for him to chide you or command you, but there was nothing. Only the sounds of a soft rattle about the sands. You were alone. As you’d always been. A weak little drow playing pretend in a world that doesn’t want her. You find the weight of your body crumbling beneath you as you crash into the sands. The world is better off without you.

Raux

You’ve taken to strumming on your hurdy gurdy to pass the time through such bitterly hot winds. Your fur betrays you against the heat of desert sun. There are no trees for shade or wenches for a quick tryst, what a miserable realm. At least, there were the sounds of music to aid your journey. You found yourself playing a familiar shanty native to Mydar. The sounds of it, like the soft winds of winter, refreshed you. You reflected on the journey so far. You tried to piece together just how the Viceroy died. Your thoughts are interrupted by a whimper.

You stop slowly as the realization of what is in front of you sets in. Bound to a large wooden structure hung the near-lifeless body of a beaten and bloodied brith. It was the Stranger, but his rags were dirty, and browned. His face is corrupted by a dark crimson that seeps down his fur. Thinking quickly you play your hymn in an attempt to grease his hands so that you can pull him down. However, the instrument betrays you. Instead only a bleak and persistent chugging come from the instrument. Each note is disjointed and wrong. With each strum it sounds as if the strings were being pulled out of the instrument.

You find the gravity of the situation making your heart race. In the distance you hear the sounds of another whimper. As you cast your gaze out onto the sea of sands you see at least a dozen of these wooden structures all housing another body. As you look to The Stranger, you see black pourices fester about his body. They protrude outwards, and you can see that tufts of fur surrounding these wounds are falling out. Each hole seems sentient as they whistle and shake to the increasing gusts of wind.

“These winds will erase us. This realm is yours, but not. The sands lie to you as it feasts,” the familiar sounds of The Stranger’s voice call out to you in a broken and raspy tone. There is little life left within it, but the words are clear enough to startle you. Having given up on your attempts to free him you settle for easing his suffering. You find yourself starting to play the shanty that you’d played the first time The Stranger had seen you perform. The melody and its chords seemed as familiar as last night’s supper. You began to play, but you missed a note. Trying your best to avoid looking at the growing blackened pores spreading across the brith’s body, you start again.

Damn it, what chord do you start in? You resolve instead to start from further into the song, but the melody that comes from your instrument is foreign. Your heart sinks with the realization that you can’t remember a single note from that day. You remember the fireplace, and the fish. You remember your youth, but the notes elude you.

The sands now blow furiously around you eclipsing everything in your view. You remember the hood that The Stranger was wearing. Was he wearing a hood? You try to recall a face beneath the cowl, but cannot. You try again, desperately to find the proper notes, but he and the others are already gone.

The sands settle back down to a dull breeze. Just you, the sands, and your hurdy gurdy.

In the distance you see what’s been calling to you all of this time. The ringing that’s filled your ears. Another phantom of the sands? No. This was real. You see an elaborate temple in the distance. It’s sharp architectural designs like horns crawling out of the sands. It feels ancient, and the bleak red coloring of the temple walls feel ominous. As you near the structure you realize its incredible size. The tower walls jut out far above you, and pierce the arid skies. You’re forced to tilt your gaze upwards to see its bell tower. As you walk closer to the temple, you hear the bells chime. It’s sounds familiar. The bells that chimed denoting the death of Viceroy Cadby.

Reaching the large metal doors to the keep you realize that you cannot open them. They appear to be barred shut.

Lucilia

The proud wolf. Do you dream about the stories they will sing of you? Of course you do. Dreams are all you have. The reality is that your pack is the last of wolves. Your fangs have dulled. They will burn your banners, and fling everyone you love from the walls of your precious keep. How long after the bodies burn will you twist their demise to your gain. You aren’t a wolf. You’re a pretender. A creature that feels nothing, and loves no-one. You will die, and time will forget you.

Barris

The rogue of stone and powder. You’ve run farther than your legs can carry you. A common thug. No different from the family you left behind. When you’ve failed will you run back to them? Of course, in all your proselytizing and callousness, you are still the Viguard noble’s boy. You cling to black powder and your drinks. Neither of them will save you. These allies are no different from the ones you left behind. You’ll run from them too. When you return to your mountains I’ll have consumed everything, and you’ll have failed them yet again.

Aria

The hidden one. Is there any comfort in that creature you carry with you? The only people capable of loving you are the ones who can make you their pawn. You were created in forbidden lust, and your mother regrets every second of it. When I kill them will their laughs and cruel words still haunt you. Az’Set cannot save you. His power is fleeting, and he is a broken relic of a dead people. I will devour him, and when I do...you will be mine.

Raux

The jester. Do your barbs and quips protect you from what lies beneath? A broken woman who fills her emptiness with whores and poison. You are feeble. How often do the scars remind you of that? When a lover’s fingers trail them it eats at you piece by piece. You’ve left your people to die. As the humans to the east gut your priests and take your women for their own where will you be? Here? Killing yourself with useless trifles? Will you sing lies to yourself? Craft fairy tales of valor as you dance and joke for their amusement? Pathetic. It is no surprise your empire died long ago.

---

You are awoken from your slumber by knocking. It's scattered across the entire hall.

“Talis Cleverfoot came by the tavern." It's Mira. You hear her pause for a moment before continuing. "She wants all of your arses downstairs in the next ten minutes! I don't take her for the waitin' sort.” Mira called out to each one of you. Her voice was a pleasant relief from the ones that haunted your rest.

A Tale of Owls and Wolves

(Double Post)

A Tale of Owls and Wolves

Things had seemed to calm to a more manageable pace back at The Wrangled Drunkard. Many of the rowdier patrons had found their way upstairs or out in the back of the inn to relieve themselves. An elder woman sitting at the bar recounts stories of her youth to a rather tired looking Mira. Meanwhile Dig and his band of mercenaries play quartermage at a table near the now lit fireplace.

The moonlit sky pierces the windows of the tavern as night time summer winds sail through every crack and crevice. There is something mystifying yet fear inducing about Astorian air. The smells of the festival and sea salt travel throughout the bar, and the cold had snuffed out most of the overwhelming warmth of drunken guests.

I’m Ready for Bed

Packing up your things you make your way towards the stairs to the right of the tavern. Each step you take is clunky and misplaced as you make your way up what seems like a countless number of flights. The journey has been a long one, and your body has felt the weight of a long day and uncertainty. Finally, you make your way to the floor that has been assigned to your party. Reaching into your belongings you fetch from your person the key given to you earlier in the day. The bronze metal is rough against your fingers.

You notice that incense line the hallway leading down towards your room. The smell of cinnamon and wood-elves is enough to lull you further into a daze. Fumbling somewhat you finally push the key into its chamber before twisting. The door moves to your touch with a creak accompanying it. The room is darkly lit.

You finally manage to make your way towards the cot prepared for you. You can feel the blankets...animal fur. From out of the small window have a view of the Alexandria Ocean. The mix of moonlight and mage fire are subtle enough to capture your attention for a moment.

That moment is brief, however, as your body collapses onto the bed. You shut your eyes; you’re ready to drift off to sleep.

I’ll Stay Up

There was no sense in wasting the comforts afforded to you at little cost of your own. Well, that wasn’t entirely true, was it? You’d be paying some price. How steep that price is remains to be seen. Studying the festivities outside from a window you notice that the guards seem to have started shepherding the more belligerent folks back to their homes. There was still quite the bit of commotion, but you notice that it isn’t as big of a crowd as before.

The mages seem to have returned to the academy, and the fortune tellers back to their caravans. The escorts are still out, and no doubt mingling with the all too familiar city guard. The crackling of the fireplace actually manage to compete with the ambiance outside, and its embers pull you deeper into thought about your future. There’s a thickness in the air that you can’t describe. You feel an anxiousness rising in your chest, but you try your best to shake it off. This Talon Company, whatever they truly are, it seems your future is with them for now.

Sinking into your seat, you find yourself relaxing as best you can.

---

[+]

A joint post by @Shivershiver, @Tangletail, and @Templar Knight

The clock tower that loomed over the port city of Ardent’s Fall struck midnight, a hint for the revelers in their drunken stupor to return to their families, but only a few took the hint, evidently preferring their newfound companions in taverns and on the streets much more favorable than what awaited in their own homes. Between the raucous throngs of foreign party-goers and frustrated guards attempting to quell their noise slipped a solitary cloaked figure bearing a singularly peculiar mask upon his face. Among the ruckus of the crowd, all in equally strange and festive clothing, Falk was able to slide through to his destination unmolested. He wished every day in Ardent’s Fall was as chaotic as this one, filled to the brim with curious characters and foreigners so that he would fit right in, almost feeling at ease. For the time being, Falk would simply have to enjoy the freedom the Festival of Broken Conquerors allowed him, though it would likely be cut short by the damned Talon Company. Indeed, much of the festival’s charms were lost upon him. The bright, vibrant colors of the city and patrons all came to Falk in muted greys and blacks, while smells both delightful and abhorrent fell upon dead senses. Truly what Falk reveled in the most was the persistent jaunty tunes of minstrels and bards as he walked to The Wrangled Drunkard. The monster hunter’s solitude on the road, while welcome at times, left him desperate for a tune of any form. Even the cacophony of songs and shots that assailed his ear canals was a nice change from the silence of nature and the occasional croak of his raven companion.

The cloaked hunter stepped into the inn and felt all eyes lock onto him. A wave of nervous energy flushed over him. Surely they saw through his crude façade and would take him out and rip him limb from limb. He certainly looked strange, a man wearing so many layers of clothes in the heat of summer, not an inch of flesh exposed to the warm air. Why, he didn’t even have a horse or bag, simply carrying everything within his coat. A gloved hand wrapped bony fingers round the hilt of his sword. It took Falk more than a moment to realize that, in fact, no one was looking at him; another bout of paranoia, cursed things, which were becoming even more frequent. This wasn’t some backwater tavern with three patrons, the place was packed to the gills with drunks and whores, neither of which he particularly enjoyed, but he could blend in with ease. Falk slowly strode towards the barkeep, a frazzled elvish woman, a little homely, but still attractive. In the past, the hunter would have flirted incessantly with the elf, bedding her with ease, but now he could barely mutter the words “Checking in, Falk..” The woman nodded, and he settled into a corner seat alone, observing the crowd, finally feeling some level of comfort.
....

From across the bar Barris nodded at Raux’s words, thinking to himself briefly. The two seemed much too caught up in their drunken conversation to notice the the new guest. “Definitely sounds like my family. Except they pretend they have such power, the Wolframs probably have a little bit more substance behind their pride than my own relatives I’d wager. Doesn’t make them any more endearing, I’ll grant.” He sighs. “Well, she certainly looks mighty capable, hopefully she backs it up.”

The slightly intoxicated feline thought this over, and gave a brief nod when a few stories cropped up. “Aye… I’d say she can prove herself with ease. Word of the people is she’s quite the fierce fighter. Hardened to the concept of death quite early, sadly that also means we’re gonna be dealing with a wacko.”

Barris shrugs and slips off of his stool, a bit wobbly on to his feet. “Wackos come in spades where I’m from, just gotta know how to deal with one, or give them a fair distance depending on which one they are.”

The cat clicked her tongue and started to step for the stairs, each step she took was made slow and steady to make sure she doesn’t just topple over. “Yeah? Well frankly you got two to deal with. I’ll let you figure the other out…” The cat mumbled with a sigh.

The illusions of comfort and drunken camaraderie were soon shattered by a chorus of horrible cries from outside

Raux too had heard the commotion from outside the tavern. She paused as her ear flicked, and for that moment… she was deciding to ignore it… or go check it out.

Barris thought on Raux’s words but then turned towards front door as he also heard something going on outside the inn. Taking a few steps, carefully to mind his disoriented state, he looked out of a window pane at the street outside. “Looks like something’s got folks’ attention out there, not that means much during the Festival, but something’s drawing a crowd . . . Not hearing many cheers either.”

“Always the excitement in a large port town… not always the sort I’d prefer…” The cat mumbled as she stumbled up to a window. She did not lean against it, as much as she did throw herself against it and stick. Her drowsy eyes rolled down the streets, and quickly took note of a gathered mob. “Ah… hell… looks like the shite up, jumped, and slapped the fat lady in the face…”

The Dwarven gunslinger waved his hand dismissively. “I’m not the city watch, let them handle mobs, even though I can’t vouch for how many of them haven’t been drinking.” He steps away from the window and starts walking back over to the stairs up. “I’m off to check my room and sleep some of this off. My hand’s no use to anyone if I can’t aim straight. I’d advise you the same, my feline friend.”

“Aye, aye…” Raux mumbled. Though she did not move, she just… laid against the window, letting her eyes watch the streets for her. “Ave a good night my short bearded friend.” Her gaze remained transfixed on the mob. And soon she found the sea of bodies growing angry. Rapid ungulating waves and accusing glares as they spoke among themselves. “Oh great… it’s about to be… about to be a damned lynching.”

Raux would watch as most of the patrons rushed from the inn and to the streets, where they were met with a gristly scene. The cougar grumbled before slinking her way out of the tavern, then ambled to the crowd.

---

Mobs of townsfolk are huddled around the Viceroy’s Palace. The swell of the crowd, which had originally died down, seemed back to its numbers during the height of the festival earlier in the day. It's difficult to make out the scene in front of you with so many people in the way, but you do your best to push past some of the townsfolk. There are a few particularly enticing merchant stands around for those who might be not be able to see over the large humans, elves, and other creatures.

“Everyone, step back, now!” You hear the sound of a gruff voice yelling out to the crowd. “I said move back, now or I’ll have the lot of you in the mines by the morrow!” Making your way out into the crowd you see a city guard adorned in a rather majestic maroon cape. His helm is, unlike the other guards, made of brass and styled like a bass. It framed a face twisted in grief and disgust.

“By the ten! He’s dead,” you hear shouted out by a woman in the crowd of people.

“A murderer...in the city. Gods protect us,” you hear another civilian whisper.

The murmurs of the crowd begin to permeate the area, and so to does a light rain. You feel the rain wash over townsfolk and cobblestone alike. As you look at the crevices in between the bricks you notice the trail of blood riding along the rain water.

You notice a number of guards making their way towards the estate in formation with weapons and shields drawn. You can still hear whispers of panic throughout the crowd, and among many of the low-ranking guards. You wonder to yourself what this commotion is coming from, but your thoughts are quickly tuned out by the sounds of familiar church bells. Their melancholic song rings throughout the city, and over head a flock of crows seek refuge from the intense sounds.

Upon looking again towards the Viceroy’s Estate you see it. It’s marvelous antiquity serves as an oxymoron or some kind of cruel joke. It is an affront to the onlookers for what seems obvious now. Investigating the building you notice the window to the Viceroy’s balcony opened wide with the drapes dancing like wild fire in the wind, and hanging from the balcony is Viceroy Cadby himself.

His shirt is torn, nearly off, exposing his gut as abrasions and cuts dot his exposed skin. His eyes are rolled back into his head, lifeless, and his face stained with a blue tint.

A Tale of Owls and Wolves

Back at The Wrangled Drunkard

A collaboration by @Tangletail and @Templar Knight

Barris, after having shown his letter to Mira in a free moment, proving that he was hired by the Talon Company, ordered a pint of Astorian lagerand a plate of food to start off the evening. A simple meal of beef, assorted vegetables, and a loaf of soft bread. Once he had satisfied himself with dinner, he turned towards surveying the bar and the rest of the patrons as he steadily got more drinks throughout the evening.

Raux, on the other hand, had spent a good bit of her evening chatting with those at the bar, and doing some light drinking. And no matter how spread out her drinks were, she couldn’t help but notice her own mind feeling a bit slugish. Fortunately, her movements were only partially impaired… and years of practice had prevented a slur from biting her words. Still, one of the more wiser decisions to be made of the night, was her quickly declining the next drink from being poured. She’d rather not take this slight tipsy, into a buzz and beyond. Now left with a moment of fuzzy thought, she gave the bartop a quick pat before slinking out of her chair to go harass a nearby dwarf with her antics. Afterall, the letter she caught an eyeful of showed they were likely to be working together.

“This seat taken here, my bearded compatriot,” The tall cat asked with a grin. Without waiting for an answer she slipped into a seat across from the other. “Course not, little guy like you spent the better part of some hours alone despite the rugged good looks yah sporting.”

Barris looked over at the Brith Bard, the one he’d overheard the antics off earlier in the night. She certainly seemed to be one of the more fun people seeking to be the center of attention this evening, compared to the arrogant human noble who’d walked in earlier. He smiled as he turned on his stool.

“One would not think you’d turn to one such as me for company. You looked like you could steal anyone’s attention in the room. Got bored with that game for clothes earlier and think you’re set for more private albeit no less tame pass-times?”

Slowly, Raux’s brow raised while her grin widened to a frightening size. Though her head slumped a bit to the side on her shoulders, likely suffering the mild buzzing effects of alcohol. “Aye, I could steal anyone’s attention if I wanted. But there’s no sense in tryin' to charm a laddie if they don’t have the balls to ask themselves. You however, gotta say. Like the way you think. Subtle and blunt at the same time. Decided to run the axe through a door and whisper through the hole, hm?”

Barris drew his short pipe from his jacket and checking to see if he had any spare tobacco left, lit using a nearby candle and took a small puff from it before proceeding. “Let’s just say I’m a bit more ballsy than probably most of the schmucks in here. Then again, such an attitude has gotten me into trouble as often as it has gotten me into a more than a few lady’s knickers. Such is the gamble for one of my lifestyle.”

“Known trouble all through your days, mmm,” Raux chirpped as her eyes shifted down to look at the dwarve’s hands. Despite how tipsy she seemed, she clearly was picking through the details… though not at record speeds. No callus, scar, or bent out of shape finger seemed to slip past her gaze by the time she looked back up. “Yeah look the sort. Also look the sort to get into another lady’s nickers. If I was actually sure about what in the blazin hells I’m even sayin, I’d go through with this offer.” She slumped to one side and rested an elbow on the table. “Find a decent enough lass, and we go halfies as long as we share.”

Barris laughed, catching a slight cough as he was mid-puff of smoke on his pipe. He places the pipe down and takes another drink to clear his throat. “I wager that shouldn’t be too hard. We are in Ardent’s Fall, by the port, at the Festival of Broken Conquerors. No shortage of fun to be had here for those with the coin, or who’re inventive enough. Fortunately, I have both.” At this, a new thought entered Barris’ head, he should check his room to make sure all of his stuff had been moved, and that nobody with light fingers had tried to tamper with his chest. He doubted any thief in this city would talented enough to be able to pick the lock so quickly and steal all his money, but it’d be just his luck right now. He made a addled mental note to check on that before he settled on whatever he and perhaps his new friend here, intended on doing for the evening.

The cat let out a long whine, “Currently, the best selection probably taken, by folks of faster wit and raised swords during the wee daylight hours. Hell, our dear Orc, who blessed us with a wonderful belt warming display of nudity, is currently introducing a lass to his third arm. She…” the cat paused and covered her mouth as she made a small burp. It looked like that one hurt. She moved her forehead into her plam… as the soft sounds of whatever was going on upstairs drifted down into her feline ears. “She… sounds as if she’s not handling it well. Both a poor and lucky gall. For creativity? Can’t think much right now. Well… I suppose I can think of my tongue… but you have a tongue like mine, and you’ll learn quickly you can’t sit still long enough to be sure it stays in good use. Give me a few hours… I’ll show you how to light fire underwater though.”

Barris snickers, and drains the rest of his pint. “I’m sure I can buy out or intimidate a guy twice more size. Not every day gets one of these pointed in their faces.” Barris then reaches into his coat and draws one of his pistols, to Mira’s brief horror as she suspected the inebriated Dwarf to scare off her whole crowd by shooting randomly, he waved his hand at her briefly in reassurance before stowing it away. He shook his head. “Gods, sometimes I forget everywhere’s not like home.”

The Brithian laugh and slumped onto the table. She reached down to her hip and undid the claps holding her hurdy gurdy to her hips and slung the strap off of her shoulders. Afterwards she thunked it down on the table, looked the Dwarf in the eyes with a smirk. “Mine’s bigger. Ten pounds of sculpted hickory, fourteen wires, tuned between high-low Gs, and a crank barely held in place by the threads. The hurdy gurdy. Smash someone over the head with this, and the only thing they’ll be mumbling is ‘hur-dur’.”

Playfully, Barris slams his fist onto the counter. “Come upstairs, I’ll show you my blunderbuss, bastard can clear a whole room in a single shot, far quicker than even that fine instrument of yours.” He leaned back, smirking beneath his beard at his pun, the more reasonable tracts of brain wondering what the hell he was doing, but the more dominant parts telling them to shut up and enjoy it.

Now… Raux couldn’t contain her laughter. Oh she was hawing up a storm, she was! She’d likely have relocated across seas and into the next major landmass if she wasn’t holding onto the table. But when her merriment finally died down, she gave nod through teary eyes and a grin, “Alright. Yeah. Name’s Raux by the way…” she slowly stood up, shakily at first. Then fetched the letter from coat pocket and tossed it across the table, “A distant Jarl’s wit, and a wayward minstrel. We’ll be working together.”

Barris glanced briefly at the letter, and waved an identical matching one to hers from his pocket.”Figures that one of the more interesting people in the room was evidently one of the people I’d be working with. Makes me wonder how many of the others have walked in. Smart money’s on that Lady demanding the attention of the entire room being one of them . . . though she could also be one of my cousins for all I know, she’d certainly fit with them. Name’s Barris Isengrim by the way, Gunslinger formally of Viguard, now of the Charred Republic.”

“Mmmph… Lucilia Von Wolfram, Heiress to the legacy of Earl Von Wolfram… and also bond-maiden to it’s property, lands, and exploits,” Raux drawled as she lifted her gurdy off the table. Once she had her letter slipped back into the pocket’s she made a nod to the stairs, though had to move a foot to counter balance herself. “The family of power in these lands. Drunk, and lustful in the limelight forged from a foundation of brutality… be it pen or blood. They cling to the animal of wolves. Yet shows none of the majesty such beast afford, but the predators they are. Poweful yes. But they’ve not learned one thing. A lesson in humility.. Or a lesson in frailty.” She sniffed and looked down to the dwarf with pursed lips. “Also the family tree is a cactus. Everyone on it is a prick.”

A Tale of Owls and Wolves

The Essential Ithean Atlas has been updated!

As Lucilia found her place in the bar a young errand boy approaches. His leathers are a deep brown, much like his hair and nervous eyes. His large pupils study the noble woman timidly, and the young man tugs on the teal and maroon shawl draped about his neck and upper chest. He looks to Lucilia before pausing frantically. The boy had clearly forgotten his formalities. Quickly seeking to remedy this he bowed in obedience.

“M’lady, Viceroy Bayim Cadby has r-requested audience with y-you,” he managed to stutter out. He studied the noble. Everything about her seemed fearsome and deliberate. Her armor alone was enough to make the boy quiver. Did she actually do battle? In some nervous attempt to re-focus himself his eyes traveled anywhere but on Lucilia, and certainly not to her own eyes.

There was an awkward pause for a moment; the boy stifled a pathetic smile and laugh to fill the void. He was never quite good at reading people. Especially not the ones who could order his execution or personally carry it out.

"So Ser Cadby has finally decided to send for me? Shame he didn’t decide to meet me at the gates in person, but what can you expect from such a busy, busy man," Lucilia hummed, not bothered by how the boy acted for it was only natural when it came to dealing with someone as powerful as a Wolfram. She let out a huff and rose from her seat, "Where might Ser Cadby be at the present time?"

The Wolf supposed she could make time for someone who had decided not to escort her through the city that he managed. Though it did annoy her, knowing that Cadby had done nothing other than send a meager boy who seemed ready to wet himself.

The messenger nearly choked on his own spit. A question? Cristo, she wasn’t supposed to ask a question. “Uhm, yes...he...at the Viceroy’s estate! He’s at the Viceroy’s Estate. If you’ll look outside you’ll see him from the balcony...m’lady.” The boy almost managed to faint from all of the excitement. He mustered another bow before extending an arm to escort the noble woman as was common custom.

The noble looked upon the boy, her eyes still holding their cold look but hiding something on the inside. She did not want to take his arm out of her own fear of being touched, a flaw that was hard to come to terms with. Lucilia let out a sigh as she composed herself, though she had looked composed the entire time regardless, a took the boy’s arm and accepting that she would have to be unnerved for a bit. A shiver ran up her spine as she felt the boy through her armor, she hated being touched, despised, no, feared it. While she could take a punch, that was only for a instantaneous period of time and not prolonged. His touch felt dirty, and every shutter or tick of the nervous boy’s body felt like a transgression. His weak grip was strong enough to feel as unnerving as leeches squirming and sucking on the skin. Before they started moving, the noble looked over to the bartender and called, "Send somebody to take my belongs to my quarters, the wine included!"

Then she went back to internally screaming.

“My apologies...m’lady. I-I've forgotten my formalities; as I usually do...” His accent was one common among the slums of Astoria. He was a human, but his small stature was that of an elf. The only part of him that stood out as human was the small pot belly that protruded from his clothing. “I am Edwin Myer, m’lady.” The two made their way through the crowds of belligerent people. Merchants clinging to their wares were soon trying to shove their items at the noble as she passed by. It wasn’t everyday that an Earl’s daughter made her way through throngs of commonfolk, and a Wolfram at that.

“Lord Cadby is so glad to have you in the city, Lady Wolfram. He’s been quite busy setting up preparations for own city’s inspection with Earl von Gudeuir’s son Caldwin.” The two made their way through the back of the estate. The two hastily made their way through the courtyard. As they did, Lucilia’s silver armor reflected the uniquely colored embers of the mage fire decorating the vibrant garden. Vines hung from the architecture; curtains, no doubt, spun by the Gods themselves. There was a distant sound of harp-playing and the laughter of nobleman young and old.

Walking through the palace Lucilia was met with the smell of incense. The scent of hickory and wine permeated the air as the two made their way up a series of stairs. The walls felt archaic, but the fire that lit their halls showed that the design was contemporary. The brick was almost orange in its coloring, and was smooth. The design was rather extravagant especially given Cadby’s reputation.

Finally arriving outside the door to the Viceroy’s office the two could heard the boisterous and jovial sounds of Cadby’s unending laughter. More subtle to your ears was the sound of a crackling fire place, and the sounds of the festival from outside the walls. Edwin opened the door carefully.

---

Cadby's Office

[+]

“M’lord, Lady Lucilia of house Wolfram. As you requested.” The boy bowed his head, and soon felt the weight of the large man approaching him.

Cadby was truly a giant in human form. His weight and height made him tower over most Astorians. The nasty rumors of the court alleging Orcish ancestry didn’t help. He wore various scars upon his face, and his face was twisted by deep wrinkles along the nose and forehead. These were accompanied by eyebrows thick as marron grass, and a pulled back mess of brown hair reaching to his neck a single braid crowning the back of his head.

"Very good boy, here’s your copper. I’ll send for you in an hour’s time."

His glazed light blue eyes studied the messenger before him. "You can see yourself out now," the Viceroy spoke abruptly to Edwin, Cadby’s cheerful demeanor quickly morphing into one of annoyance. Edwin quickly found himself ready to comply before being stopped by Cadby. The larger man motioned back towards his chalice before looking at the noble. Instinctively the messenger retreated to the glass before handing it over to Cadby; all the while never making eye contact. He, of course, closed the door behind him.

As if the interaction hadn't happened the Viceroy motioned towards Lucilia.

“Ah! It’s Lion’s girl!” Cadby’s warm welcome implied a familiarity that wasn’t really there. At least, not between he and Lucilia. Cadby’s accent was clearly Astorian, but not fitting of a noble. He sounded like a dock-worker or soldier more than the ruler of a city. His large body extended over Lucilia in a cheerful embrace. “Cristo’s tits, it’s been ages, girl!The last time I saw ye, you’d been only about yea high.” Cadby’s hand lazily extended down towards his right thigh.

“I trust you’ve met Lord Caldwin,” he said before moving slightly to his left side.

It was then Lucilia noticed the presence of another. Lord Caldwin von Gudeiur, the son of Earl Claudius von Gudeiur. The von Gudeiur house held claims to Ardent’s Fall, and as such held incredible political power in Astoria. Half the kingdom knew of Caldwin’s role as the errand boy for his father, but in some ways this made him all the more prominent as a relevant noble.

His dirty blonde hair was mostly shaved save for the tufts of shaggy hair that sat at the top of the head. His blue eyes studied Lucilia as he took a sip of his wine before rising himself.

No longer being touched was a great relief to Lucilia, she let out a deep breath, having to have had to concentrate very hard on not losing her sanity. She disliked the common custom, yet knowing that as a noble she had to follow else she be judged by even the common folk. Her eyes gazed up at the towering man and with an inhale of the incense, the look of a Wolfram came back to her. A form a sadistic smile ran across her immaculate face, then she spoke. "Good day, Lord Cadby. I had expected you at the gate, but unfortunately I did not meet that kindness. Though I understand that you are busy, which is why I am… unbothered towards the notion."

“Bah!” Cadby waved the noble off. While he was deeply entrenched in the political meandering that seemed to occupy most nobles he was quite disillusioned with it. “I’d only just heard of your arrival, girlie! It’s not everyday a Wolfram steps through these gates!” Cadby’s exuberance seemed genuine. He wasn’t as crafty or devious in playing the game of politics, but he was well equipped nonetheless. Typically though he used his size and bluntness to get the upper hand.

“I know our festival is quite the attraction, and our whores some of the finest in all of Astoria, but I doubt tits nor the drink have brought you to my wonderful city.” Cadby guided Lucilia to a seat beside Caldwin as he himself pivoted back towards the chair at his desk.

"You’d be correct to assume that. I am here because I was sent for by Talon Company, specifically a Mikael ibn Da'ud," Lucilia stated, deciding it would be best if she were honest with Cadby rather than skirt around the facts. She reclined in her chair, her hands folded in her lap. ”As much as we Wolframs pride ourselves on being the most knowledgeable family, I have rarely heard of this ‘Talon Company’ nor the person who sent for me. You wouldn’t mind on filling me in on some of the essential details, would you?”

“Mikael, that little shit! How I’d love to have him flogged and paraded about the plaza. Be you in trouble girlie you come to me. I’ll handle the bloody Talon Company the same way my fathers before me handled those damned elves. Swords to chests!” Cadby's hand crashed thunderously against the wood of his desk. Never a man of cowardice Cadby hated those who clung to the shadows.

“With due respect Viceroy that may be ill-advised.” Caldwin finally spoke up. His accent wasn’t nearly as thick as Cadby’s. In some of his words there was a distinct Vicellian pronunciation. “I do not mean to imply your safety isn’t of importance, m’lady. It’s just...you must understand that the Talon Company has contributed quite generously to this very office.” Caldwin looked to Cadby as if to subtly chide him.

“All of that is irrelevant, of course, the Talon Company is an upstanding organization. They’ve been instrumental in this city’s continued success. If they’ve contacted a member of the Wolfram family it’s because they wish to better the realm.” Caldwin didn’t seem to be as forthright as Cadby; instead every word was chosen carefully. His eyes continuously shifted between Cadby and Lucilia; he wasn’t afraid to hold the gaze for as long as necessary.

Cadby muttered to himself in protest.

"Anyone who contacts a Wolfram better have a good reason for holding our time, and while your words help, Caldwin, I’m afraid that does not answer my original inquiry." She studied the noble that sat next to her. He seemed to be indifferent, but she would have to expect that from someone who was supposedly equal in her status. With a sigh, Lucilia looked back over to Cadby before continuing. But I have gathered that Talon Company is run by elves, yes? And that the one who summoned me is also an elf. Though I must ask, what exactly does Talon Company do?"

Caldwin was nearly brave enough to sneer at the woman. Her arrogance was typical of nobles he had dealt with before, but she seemed to be as stubborn as Cadby on top of that.

“They’re as damn bloody close as any man can be to an elf. Most of their lot, including Mikael ibn whatever, hail from Vigo in the Union across the ocean. Humans, but I’ve seen their kind a thousand times over. They think that in my old age and love for good wine that I don’t know exactly what they’re up to. Skulking about like gossiping housewives. Bah!”

“As we’ve discussed Bayim, they’re a vital and necessary component of our economy.” Caldwin scolded the older man, but soon turned his gaze to Lady Wolfram. “They’re a collection of guilds, from performers to blacksmiths. Cadby’s paranoia is noted, but through their efforts we’ve allied with Caracas and Vigo. They’ve done quite well in representing the people of Ardent’s Fall. They aren’t creatures of the night like our good Viceroy suggests.”

Caldwin stood up from his chair before walking towards Lucilia. He extended an arm towards her. “Unfortunately, m’lady we must adjourn this meeting for the evening. Lord Cadby and I have much to discuss regarding the city’s finances. We needn’t bore you with such minutiae especially during such a lovely festival.”

"Very well, I suppose we will get to talk again some other time." As she rose to meet Caldwin she eyed the nobleman. They approached the door, but not before she pressed herself uncomfortably close to him. She started with a whipser. "Though, Caldwin, do remember which family holds the most power power in the kingdom. And before you say your own, beware the Wolf Pack, for they are always one step ahead," before the noble could get in another word the Wolfram was gone to return to her quarters at the inn.

Star Wars: The Bigger Picture

I'm still here! Running an RP of my own so a little less free between that and real life, but definitely still here! Sometimes life gets in the way for everybody- including the GM. Don't worry about it too much; I just hope you get power back soon!

A Tale of Owls and Wolves

Hey all, just a quick update. Over in the discord I've linked a google doc for us to work on any collabs with! Feel free to head on over there if you're looking for help with your intro post or wanted to speak to an NPC.

A Tale of Owls and Wolves

A Tale of Owls

Content Warning: This RP may contain uncomfortable or violent themes. While this won't make up the entirety of the RP it will be featured. Quests will feature a summary (and content warning) as well as links to the starting point. If a quest features a topic you are uncomfortable with feel free to skip over it.

Quest Log

Feathers and Blood

Feathers and Blood
Upon arriving to Ardent's Fall on the day of the Festival of Broken Conquerors I made my way to The Wrangled Drunkard Tavern. After midnight I heard screams outside of the tavern, and upon investigating the cause I've found Viceroy Cadby hung from his own balcony. The Talon Company is using their leverage over me so that I and my new allies will look into the murder.

⍚ Investigate the murder of Viceroy Cadby

• Investigate the Viceroy Estate
• Speak with the embalmer at the mage academy
• Speak with Cadby's children at the guard barracks
• Speak with Evangeline, Caldwin's personal guard at the Temple of Cristo
• Locate Edwin, the messenger, and/or locate Caldwin von Gudeiur

⍚ Learn more about my new party members.
⍚ See if I can find out any information about the Talon Company.
⍚ Participate in the attractions of the festival, and explore the plaza.

A Tale of Owls and Wolves

---

---

Feathers and Blood

[+]

Our story begins in the port city of Ardent's Fall; quite arguably the crown jewel of Astoria. Throughout the city the sounds of anxious crowds, swindling merchants, and minstrels with heavy pockets fill every street corner. The beautifully paved cobblestone roads and impressive contemporary architecture serve as a familiar sight to the culturally diverse citizens, but also as a source of boastfulness to its many visitors. For today, is the day of the annual Festival of Broken Conquerors. No other day could a Vicellian noble recall his stories of valor whilst pouring spirits with impoverished Dwarven handmaidens. Only at the Ardent festival could an Orcish warlord share laughs with the stuffiest of Caracan elites. Of course then, it made sense for our heroes to have been assembled here together on such a day. Their stories together begin here, but ‘tis wise to beware the misty glimmer of Ithean shores; for not all is at it seems. We live in an era of owls, but in the shadow of something that exists beyond our wildest wandering thoughts...

---

To our most trusted and loyal of beneficiaries,

It is, today on the 1st of Merrus, 138 Owl that we humbly request your presence in a meeting with our representatives. The Talon Company is an honored and respected guild that prides itself on compassion and civic duty above all else. As such, it is most imperative to our efforts that the debts that our patrons incur be returned to us in full. We understand that, of course, the scarcity of coin in such uncertain times means you may not have the funds necessary to return to us what is owed. It is for this reason, that instead, we've arranged a deal that is beneficial for both parties.

You are to arrive in Ardent's Fall on the 18th of Summerhill in this same year, 138 Owl. Your traveling and lodging expenses will be satisfied per our arrangement. Your passage to the city will see you here early in the morrow. You'll find our guild near the docks across from a rather fine bakery. Talis Cleverfoot will be your contact, and will be expecting your prompt arrival. Come, and enjoy the merriment of the Festival of Broken Conquerors.

We assure you there is little promise in the lives you now lead. Adventure beyond the familiar, and return your favors in the process. There is so little to lose, and everything to gain. Secure your future with Talon Company.

Should you fail to comply with our requests please know that the Talon Company is determined to uphold its reputation as a forceful presence in Ithea no matter the cost.

Your eyes and ears,
Mikael ibn Da'ud

---

I've Traveled by Land

You remember most, the smells of horse dung, hay, and human waste. These pungent scents served as foreign invaders persistent in their mission to find permanent residence in your nostrils. Next you recall the weary eyes of the stable-boy, a portly middle-aged man, study your silhouette as it hurriedly frenzies towards the city gates. You found yourself surrounded by a myriad of other foreigners, and wondered if the smells of horse manure weren’t instead coming from one of the large brith mercenaries standing nearby. It was better left unasked. It seemed nigh impossible to avoid the throngs of travelers shuffling into the city. It had taken what felt like hours, but luckily the massive influx of those eager to enter the city gates had weighed on the guards to the point that they’d all but given up on their posts. Navigating the crowds carefully, you had made your way towards the docks as your letter had instructed. The walk felt short in comparison to the many nights you’d spent traveling. Even better, you think back on the smells of warm breads and fresh foods that were tantalizing as the various attractions that lined the city streets. Regardless of your thoughts on the festivities you had business with the Talon Company, and it was best not to keep them waiting.

I’ve Traveled by Boat

You’d heard tales of mage fire, but rarely had you been treated to the sight of the shimmering flames that danced like crystal in their braziers. It was quite the warm welcome upon reaching the docks of the famed Ardent's Fall. Hues of purple, yellow and green flame seemed ready to spring from their perches, and unto the docks that they decorated. The embers were nearly eclipsed by the rising sun as they played on the surface of deep blue waters. The sounds of loud church bells rang throughout the ship alerting all on board of their arrival. The bells from the city were met with bells from the deck of the ship. The sounds clashed rather unpleasantly, but even more uncomfortable were the cramped living spaces of the ship. You quickly gathered your belongings from the quarters you’d called home for quite some time before you made your way off of the ship and unto the dock. You were immediately met with creaks and moans from the boards beneath your feet as they seemed to follow every step taken.

The docks at least felt more secure than the extending bridge between it and the ship. From here, you saw the large gathering of people flocking towards the eastern roads of the city. Turning back behind you there were a plethora of ships docked alongside your own. It was truly a sight to behold. The scurrying of busy dock workers was enough to shake you from your concentration, and nearly from your footing. Their sharp breaths only elucidated a yearning to finish the monotony of a work day at the shipyard so that they could prepare for the festival. Your destination was, fortunately for you, not too far from your current location. The letter you received instructed you to meet with representatives from the Talon Company. It was best not to keep them waiting.

You shake off the thoughts of your journey here. Your thoughts travel to the new companions you've come to meet today. All very different from yourself, but all indebted to the Talon Company. You find yourself residing, for the foreseeable future, in “The Wrangled Drunkard”, a rather large and expensive inn that was well known for its hosting of foreigners during the festival. Most readily apparent is the large number of people conversing in your vicinity. The sing-song cheer of those around you competes with the clanking of drinks against wooden tables and stands. For the more perceptive, you hear the sound of dice sputtering out onto the wooden floors. There is an air of comradery that fills the air. It wasn’t every day that dwarves, orcs, elves, humans, and all other manner of species celebrated in jovial wistfulness as they did tonight.

What fills your ears next is the sound of lute strings plucked with a careful melancholy. The notes are amplified throughout the tavern, and as the melody begins to pick up you hear a woman’s voice. Its sounds are sweet like Gnomish wasp’s honey, but there is a confidence that looms within.

Ardent’s Song

0:19

Dragon of the north, the Ardent flame still burns
Compass pointing south, bound by victories that we’ve earned
Praiseth be thy name, the warden of the seas
You’ve used your magic wisely as the vanquisher of Deis

Gone are the days of rulers overseas
Gone are the days of vial tyranny
Light to our shores, the ardent guides you home
Tis Cristo’s will, a human takes his throne

Lass from Vicelles, your strength could not be matched
Imbued with mages power you repelled elven attack
Protector of the light, ascension is assured
Wielding greater power than the world has ever known

Gone are the days of rulers overseas
Gone are the days of vial tyranny
Light to our shores, the ardent guides you home
Sing from the docks, a champion has been born

Mankind never ever bows again
Mankind never ever bows again

At last our lands are freed, from Redcliffe to ‘Ol Fall
The Watchmen swear their oaths to you as they answer the call
Mighty woman here, we raise a glass to you
The champion over Ardent’s Fall the Keeper of the Blue

Gone are the days of rulers overseas
Gone are the days of vial tyranny
Light to our shores, the ardent guides you home
All ye wayward, on the seas be not alone

Mankind never ever bows again
Mankind never ever bows again

Before, the minstrel can finish her song you hear the sounds of dwarves, humans, and some elves join in before she can finish. The sound of their voices combined is gruff and twisted like the howls of werewolves. Drunken werewolves, but werewolves all the same.

Ardent’s Song for the Drunkards

Patron of the Waves, Maiden of the Mist
There was no elf in sight who’s ass you did not promptly kick
Ardent of the Bog,founder of the Watch
We sing you songs of glory, boys let’s take it from the top
Gone are the days of rulers overseas
Gone are the days of vial tyranny
Light to our shores, the ardent guides you home
Tis Cristo’s will, a human takes his throne

The charismatic might notice that some of the elves in the tavern weren't singing along, and instead shuffled uncomfortably as the others in the tavern cheered among themselves. The noise died back down to a less intense tone, and you notice that the main tavern is quite busy in its design. The bricks themselves feel stained with many-a-hushed-whisper and forgotten night, and are neatly stacked giving a sense of perpetuity that might make you feel safe and protected. Decorating the walls are various banners from local shops.
“Jonathan’s Fabrics”, you note, is having a particularly enticing sale on all boot fittings. You also see the official banner of the city. The red tapestry is adorned with a teal fish supported by two swords and a golden leaflet beneath it.

Looking to the barkeep you notice that the elven woman is working particularly quickly as she tries her best to keep her patrons satiated. She looks frustrated, and her dirty blonde hair is tied messily in a loose bun. You can see her muttering to herself.

Just outside the tavern you remember beholding a great number of attractions dotting the plaza. A group of tall and scantily clad Dalic exotic dancers beckon drunken suitors. Dwarven craftsmen have set up a small series of shops neighboring one another with a hodgepodge of trinkets, weapons, jewels, and other commodities. You remember a stout woman standing next to a strange wheel carved in the shape of a round noblemen a look of horror drawn on his cartoon face. There are also a few fortune tellers gathered outside of the taverns at a small bench. Beside them, underneath a large oak tree is a storyteller surrounded by children. From the windows of “The Wrangled Drunkard” you notice an array of fire jugglers, a shouting apothecary, what looks to be a group of student mages, a mercenary troupe, and local noblemen conversing on a balcony overlooking the event. ‘Tis enough to overwhelm many an unaccustomed traveler. Fortunately, should you need to retreat from the festivities, your quarters await you upstairs.

This is where your story begins, in the port city of Ardent’s Fall.

A Tale of Owls and Wolves

Hey all! Sending the discord link to everyone who's submitted a character! I'll be sending out the PMs! Hope to see you all there!