I am interested if you are still recruiting? It looks like you have a solid healer, and are trying to discourage a magical party in terms of heavy magic use.
If it it isnt a stretch I had an idea, for a character, a young man, maybe mid twenties, a swordsman or spear-man, not necessarily formally trained, but with skills forged from constant use. He is a physical adept, fast and strong and always working to be better. But he was born with a touch of the gift, and no real head for spells or magic, instead its linked to his emotions, it isnt something he can use, but rather something he has to fight against, he doesnt necessarily know why it happens or how but when his emotions spike in intensity things happen around him, to him, or to the things his emotions are focused on, and like all magic there is feed back into him. His lack of understanding, and guidance on it means its like an affliction, if he cant control his emotions he will end up hurting himself, and quite possibly others.
The idea being to portray his journey towards mastery over himself, and eventually to either overcome or succumb to the emotions and the indulgences of magic depending on his experiences on this journey, he is choosing to undertake as a way to forge out of his current self a better self at the risk of being shattered and the pieces ruined.
Heck yeah we are still recruiting! Feel free to write up a character sheet!
While I do love my granny- if I have to make a different character to better suit the party I'm fine with it.
No need for that now! As I say, do what you want. Same applies to everyone here, even if I may have differing opinions.
In my own opinion, that would be close to what Enzayne has a character. Many of the people we have so far seems to be magic centered, which I won't encourage a magic-heavy party as that would sort of defeat the lore of 'people avoid magic because of the consequences that it brings about'. That is what my opinion is though, just a recommendation to think of a different idea given the current potential roster. Though, I will not stop you from playing a mage if you really want to.
I have updated the OOC. Such updated include new maps, so wondrously done by @Famotill! Additionally I have added an ‘Items’ section which will be kitted out with all sorts of stuff when we get the ball rolling!
Soon to add: Religions A ledger on the Empire of Tara The Lexicon
A human, marked with scars of time as wrinkles begin to take hold of his face and give way to an already disheveled and maddened appearance as the stress makes what may have been a fine noble, into what looks to be a man consumed by drink and paranoid of all things that may keep him awake at night. A mustache, most untamed and certainly followed by a curse of the common man's stubble that makes him seem less of what would be a most opulent and imperial position this man continues to cling with a foul grip. His clothes appear to still be fine if only to staunch the growth of the otherworldly corruption that has taken its hold over the man's mind, stressing him and bring his once fine hairs in a grayed mess that is slicked back.
There can be no rest, no respite, for the man condemned on a mission to clutch onto his status.
This Spectre was encountered within the Lochborne holding with Malcast, giving a cryptic message about their fate and to seek out the ally and fall towards the sky. It seems to posses the ability to kill people as evidenced by the two butlers that died without so much as being touched. Whatever this thing is, it is otherworldly in design and is clearly far more powerful than the group. It held a noose and destroyed symbols of the Maker before entering the room.
"All physicians, mage or otherwise, bear the scars of their patients. We carry them for the rest of our days. That is what it means to be a healer. That is our burden."
Aemma's appearance is far from foreboding. She stands much shorter than most of her kind. Her lithe shape, old age, and declining physical prowess have left her hunched over slightly most of the time. Even still, buried beneath mounds of ragged clothes, an overcoat and hood, there is a roguish streak about her. Her skin, the color of cinnamon spices, is tough and wrinkled. Calloused hands from years of service as a combat medic are still her best ally despite their slight shakiness. Aemma's weary eyes are a deep black, but made somehow more soft nestled between crows-feet and bags. Her smile is warm, but even at her happiest there is a melancholy she carries with her.
Typically her linen are without color, a dull grey. Her overcoat and hood are a mix of steel grey and black. She wears knee high boots leather boots. On her person at all time are a number of medicinal supplies and recipes stored in pouches and pockets that line her clothing. Torn gloves do little to hide the bandages that wrap around her hands and wrists beneath. Her tattered coat flows to her shins, and her hood obscures most of her white whittling hair save for parts of her bangs.
Aemma's body is scarred nearly everywhere because of her healing magic. Her face has finer scars, save for a healed gash on her cheek, as most people who have injuries to the head either don't survive them or don't have injuries that practical medicine can't fix. Lining most of her body are stab wounds, burns, gashes, and other manner of scars from injuries she never personally received. The clothing manages to hide most of them save for the occasional wrist or neck scar.
Detailed Backstory:
Elfroot, Swampseed, two cups of Blight Milk
Like most born in Baldock, I was a child forged by blood oaths and swords. An empire who accounted not for souls, for people, but for the shields they'd soon carry. I suppose that explains the naivete of my mother and father, Maker keep them. They were elves born to foreign lands poor and tired of rule under the Elven Matriarchs. They'd hoped Baldock would be different. Tis often I reflect on the failings of old wisdom, and how comfortable it is to simply exist. Consistency. That is what Myrran and Paeral sought in foreign lands. A sense of normalcy away from the realities of home. A neutral peace.
For a time that is what they had. I was born on the eve of the latest excursion into Orc territory. Myrran, my mother, had taken to working as a handmaiden to petty nobles. Paeral, my father, was a sheep herder. Our humble home stored one bed with a kitchen no larger than a merchant stand. I remember my father would read me stories of their homeland. Of the triumphs of our elven ancestors. He never had the courage to tell my mother that he regretted coming here. My mother was a stern women so, for that, I could not fault my father. She spent much time away from our cottage. Still, she always managed to return home with fresh bread and a new lecture.
Of all of the lessons she imparted there remained one constant. Keep your nose down, and stay out of trouble. I was never great at listening. I had little want for keeping to the shadows of the world that was. It was a different kind of naivete than my parents'. I would see the soldiers coming back from failed excursions. I watched as the physicians treated them with leeches and controlled magic. It was the same kind of power that I possessed. I could feel their life force humming in their hands.
In this world very few are blessed with the tools to change their circumstances. By the time I was old enough, I traveled into the city of Dalton. I'd heard of their academy, and I had already learned to use the magic I possessed in small ways. My father pleaded that I reconsider. My mother refused every time I begged. I'd trail behind her every morning on her way into the city. It took months of my pestering, but eventually she permitted me to go.
The things I learned in that school were not at all what I expected. Instead of a place to harness my power it was a place of fear-mongering. A place that taught me to fear my capabilities rather than teach me how to use them safely. Luckily there were those in the city who disagreed with such methods of teaching. I learned what I could from them, and from the academy. I trained closely with Dalton physicians. Were there any particular physicians that took her under their wing? What precisely did she learn ? I feel that there could be even more to her story than what is included here.
All of my greatest lessons came from my work as a medic in combat. I served as doctor to soldiers in the field. Fear of bleeding out leaves little room for error or for nerves. It was here that I would meet my husband. Lambert the Toad Knight, they called him. The old fool was a novice in soldier's armor. I think back on those days with a bittersweet nostalgia. Why did she marry this man? Did him merely being a naive soldier draw her close or was it something else? I watched the fire fall from his eyes when the injuries never stopped coming. It wasn't long before he was forced to retire his sword. After returning home to him I found little reason to endanger myself again in direct combat. I saw how the Orcs brutalized our forces. At the time I had hated their kind, for it. Seeing men ripped asunder time after time will break you in ways unimaginable to most. Even the most righteous men seem monsters when they cast large shadows.
Elfroot, Swampseed, two cups of Blight Milk
There was another reason I chose to stay home. I was with child. I moved from my parents' cottage into the city with Lambert. My mother was overjoyed to see me settled down. But she would never see her wishes for me fulfilled. She passed away a fortnight before I delivered my son, Orym. Named for one of the fabled elven mages in the stories his grandfather read to me as a child. My mother's death left my father touched. He locked himself away in their cottage. Lambert and I ensured that the livestock, and my father, kept from starving. Eventually my father refused to eat. He passed on when Orym was but four months old. With my parents gone I was left feeling empty. I buried myself in research, and in doing so was confronted with the vision of the world I once had. I'd settled for comfort. For the world the way it was. I enlisted as a medic when Orym was seven months old.
Like my mother before me I spent most of my time away from home. I worked in the barracks, mostly. I treated soldiers returning home, but I also treated war prisoners when they got sick. It was in caring for these patients that I met some of my closest friends. Somehow it was easier forming bonds with people who never really got better. There is wisdom in a waning soul. Especially in one that had seen what they'd seen. One such Orc prisoner, Xalen, was a scholar before Baldock forces pushed into orc lands. He told me of the beautiful vistas to the south. Of his home, and of his family. The reasons he fought. Xalen was resilient. He was a brutish figure, but as the wrinkles thickened on our faces so too did our health decline. The conditions wore him down. It was a cough first, and then lesions next. I applied the treatments I'd given to every sick prisoner brought into the ward. What they ordered me to give them. It never changed much. They always lost their fight, in the end.
Elfroot, Swampseed, two cups of Blight Milk
Xalen soon lost his fight too. The assistant physicians carried him off like so many others. But he wasn't the others. He was one of the brightest men I'd ever met. I refused to let his body be burned without given him a prayer to our Maker. I went to the morgue at midnight. What I saw changed me forever. Xalen's body, among the other orcs, was bloated and the lesions where gangrenous. I studied his body for what felt like hours. I never studied orc physiology, but I knew what poison looked like. The reality was that I already had my answer. I wasn't studying them for some other explanation. I was trying to justify what I'd done. The orders I followed. We were't treating these people. We were killing them.
In my fumbling I was sloppy, careless. I was found by night patrol guards, and imprisoned. I knew the barracks and the cells better than any of them. By the time I escaped however, it was too late. I'd returned home to a house rummaged through. Lambert was nowhere to be seen. I found my Orym, just shy of twenty, ran through on the floor. His coughs were dry and hoarse. He was burning up. I knew I needed to stop the bleeding and bring down his fever. I used my magic to try to close his wounds. As the hole in his chest closed I felt a tearing and burning at my own chest. The pain was unbearable. Through that I managed to close most of the wound, but he still was choking up blood. He'd become ill. In that moment I thought of my Orym laying there for hours crying for his mother. Shaking the thought I searched for the ingredients to try and soothe him.
Elfroot, Swampseed, two cups of Blight Milk. Most of my equipment and supplies was smashed on the floor. No doubt Orym tried to fight back. A fool just as his father was. I'd managed to scrape some of the elfroot from the floor, and I had a spare bundle of swamp-seeds. In that moment I was panicked. I was careless.
Elfroot, Swampseed, two cups of Blight Milk, and Nightshade. Maker, I swear I could never forget it again.
I couldn't save my son. I certainly couldn't cut through armed guards and save my husband. I contemplated residing myself to the same fate as my father. That's what my mind commanded me to do. Unfortunately, I was never great at listening.
Now I wander the realm using my body and my magic to set things right. I will atone for my mistakes. I am a healer to the sick and the oppressed. Each scar that curses this withering body is a small redemption for the lives I took. Never did I think my newfound purpose would bring me back to the Kingdom of Baldock willingly, no less under the employ of a noble family. The Lochborne's offered me clemency to move freely through their hold in return for my services. A darkness is coming.
I will not fail these people. I cannot.
Equipment
Weapons:Daggers- Aemma was never a skilled swordsman, but daggers were quick and discreet. Armor: Tattered Redeemer's Robes-Aemma's robes are worn, but offer protection from the elements. She wants for little, and needs only her tools. General Provisions:Medical Supplies- Aemma's coat and clothes are adorned with a number of pockets and pouches that hold a number of medicinal herbs and supplies. Magical Items:
Magic
Magical Affinity: Aemma has very little offensive capability. Her magic is mostly used to heal the party, but can be used defensively to warn off attackers.
Spells:
Healing Hands: Aemma's primary minor healing ability. A minor spell that can heal small ailments quickly. This is particularly useful in combat as it has a very short cast time. All Spells have a downside, even those that are simple and have a short casting time. Healer's Oath: The more potent of Aemma's healing capabilities. This is a sustained spell that can heal grave and potentially fatal wounds. There are a number of downsides to this spell. The spell has a longer cast time, and Aemma sustains damage when healing someone. Closing wounds on another may create the wound on her own body. She heals faster from these wounds than an actual injury, but still requires rest after using it.
Ward of Protection: A defensive spell that allows Aemma to temporarily shield magic attacks. It can do nothing against physical/blunt attacks, but can deflect magical ones. Lack of training makes it difficult for her to fend off more than one or two attacks per ward created, and her time is usually better spent healing her allies. What is the drawback of using the Ward of Protection? Is such use a physical or mental toll on the Elven woman?
I would say that this is a pretty damn good review, very in-depth in the backstory and it was enough for me to feel sadness for her plight. Though with every good, comes a nitpick from me as I have seen some portions of the backstory that could have a bit more explanation or even a new tale that would bring even more light to an already great sheet. Additionally, two of the spells that I had found did not have a clear drawback as every spell does have, such as the expense of using magic that no matter how small a spell may be or how insignificant a drawback is, there always is a drawback. I would say to focus down on that backstory section and hammer out those details a bit more and this sheet will be looking even more lovely!
“In this estate, you will find no solace as that corpse hangs there in the trees. Cursed, he stares and affronts us with the singular, damned eye. There shan’t be remorse in the day, as adventurers and brigands alike take forth the perilous quest to remove the Hanged Man and, by extension, the curse. There shan’t be forgiveness in the night as the ruined hills conceal those who wish to bring down the decrepit majesty that afforded us such a curse. You must end this blight, for it all else succumbs to this darkness, there will be no light left for us. As our friend, we implore you. End this reign of terror and advance into the perilous hills that plague us.” Hedlef Lochborne, Lord of Malcast
In the Kingdom of Baldock, a curse has swept over the Estate of the Lochborne family as the Hanged Man appeared on the cold rolling hills of the countryside. Once fertile lands have turned to death and decay as the Hanged Man watches over the Estate, dark clouds blocking the sunlight and casting a maddening spell upon those who tend to the estate and the farms that surround it. Cattle give birth to abhorrent abominations, masses of grotesque skin and heads that do not survive their first seconds in the world. Children to the farm hands grow sick, dying in the night as the curse creeps into their stead and cradles them in their beds. None is spared from the curse that has overtaken this estate.
The Lochborne family has allowed the curse to spread into their stead, not out of their own negligence of duty, but to the curse being far too difficult to dispel with their own mundane grasp of magic. Though, while they are too stubborn to relocate their estate to more fertile soil, the curse is seeping into the city of Malcast as the children to have begun to grow sick and the soil begins to decay. Thusly so, Hedlef Lochborne has reached out to those who he would call ‘friend’ as those who had previously been hired have proved too ill-equipped as cultists and monsters rampage in those cursed hills that continue to mock the noble family.
Yet, it is those before who have been summoned to the task that has met there most tragic end, driven to despair and madness in those hills of plague. They telltale of fiends and blights unlike ever have been encountered, that those who fight would meet their end and that those who escape wishing only for their own miserable lives to end. Heed the warnings of the raving madmen who have retreated for it is they that had stared into the eyes of the endless horror of the Hanged Man’s curse and survive, but it is they that would sooner seek the endless embrace of death rather than recount their memories of the Hanged Man.
Those pagans must be driven out before all hope is lost.
Those beasts must be slain before death is wrought through the hills.
The Hanged Man must be cut down before life itself loses its will to live.
May the gods show mercy to those who face his maddening gaze.
Welcome to The Hanged Man, a dark fantasy roleplay deeply inspired by the game known as Darkest Dungeon in that characters who go to face this Hanged Man run the risk of going mad against the forces they combat. It is in this roleplay that I seek to tell the tale of the Hanged Man, a corpse that has appeared on a hill overlooking an estate owned by the Lochborne family, a family of nobles that rule over the nearby city of Malcast. The mystery here as to who this Hanged Man is and why he is plaguing the land with such a powerful curse and thus finding out how to dispose of it.
The characters, coming from all different walks of life from various corners of the country, the Kingdom of Baldock, have been summoned by their friend, the Lord of Malcast, to dispose of the curse as all other attempts, even by professionals, have failed. Warriors and monks, doctors and assassins, no matter who the character is, they have a friendship with Hedlef Lochborne and have answered his call to go to the now solemn and despair-ridden town of Malcast. With such despair, Hedlef has become desperate to rid the estate of the curse before it spreads further.
If you haven’t guessed by now, I plan for this RP to be heavy and while I do not generally like to run amok with controlling PC creation, players are expected to create characters that would fit the story and theme of the RP. Now, that does not mean edge-lords or anything like that, but this setting is darker and runs along with the notion that madness and despair await those who seek to fight the Hanged Man. That said, I suppose I should say that I am looking for roughly six characters to embark on this tragic story and if this gets more attention than the slots I am willing to run with I will have to make various choices between PCs on which would be best for the RP. However, if a character is not chosen, that player will be put on a waiting list and if the time comes, they may join if their interest holds.
Now, onto the story itself. I want to say that there are times in which sand-box will be a thing, namely in terms of exploration or downtime while the ‘Story’ missions are set in how they are playing out, barring player choices and how that would influence the story. In this fashion, it allows plays to do some solid character development outside the expeditions into the hills where the Hanged Man watches the Estate while still staying along with the setting of the story. This is a detailed, collaborative story where the characters are the focus after all.
Do note that all the knowledge that I present here is not all the world has to offer, but rather all the necessary information needed to play within this story. Any ideas that a player may have should PM, or openly discuss with me. Whether it be races, notable people, or countries, I will listen and give my opinion, though if I feel it does not belong in the game, I do reserve the power to deny the idea.
Races of this world include some of the typical fantasy races one would find; humans, orcs, elves, dwarves, demons, goblins, etc. etc. However, it should be noted that each of these races is separated with Orcs occupying the deserts south of the Baldock, elves inhabiting the vasts forests even further south than that, and dwarves generally scattered in their keeps all around the various mountains of the continent. With that said, here is a list of races that are available for players to choose from.
Humans Humans are, perhaps, one of the most adaptable races found throughout the continent and by far more numerous than the dwarves and elves, only rivalled by the orcs. They are primary species of Baldock and have adapted to the harsh cold that persists in that north, showing their determination to survive in nearly any climate that they set their minds to. Yet, they do not boast the strength of the orcs, the perception and dexterity of the elves, or the hardy and long-lived nature of the dwarf.
Orcs Orcs are a scattered people, strong and unwilling to cooperate with most other races unless it advances their own honor throughout the world. This has led to a particular rivalry between the imperialistic humans who seek to oppress them and use them as strong labor in their fields. Orcs are proud and live by the traditions of the desert where one must be strong and have the endurance to survive the brutal heat. This has led to a general consensus that the orcs are less learned than the other species, but they hold the same ability to learn as the humans and dwarves. They are the second most common species in Baldock, though still operate as a significantly lesser minority, a majority having been brought in to be used a small workforce.
Dwarves Dwarves, perhaps, are some of the most long-lived and least common species to be found in Baldock as they remain as independent nations states within the two mountains that occupy the countryside, Narhoul, and Dogrear. They hold and technological edge over the humans, though as of late they have entered into a stagnancy in their development with their plates of armor and weapons, while still better than most of what humans can make, are merely maintained from generation to generation at this time. They are a rare sight outside of their mountain-forts, only coming out to trade or in dire cases, to raid.
Elves Elves, like humans, are perhaps a moderately adaptable race, but they find it much harder to get around from their forested south as they are much frailer than even humans. To make up for their frail and sickly nature, they have evolved higher reflexes and have an increased perception, namely in the form of sight and hearing. They are not seen as trustworthy by humans and dwarves as many of them tend to cause trouble, or rather they tend to get blamed for trouble, whenever they are around.
Half-Bloods While Half-Bloods are not unheard of between the races, whenever one comes about, it is very prejudiced as they are seen as lesser from both sides of their lineage, being “unclean” and more abomination than a person. Whether it be Orc and Elf, Human and Dwarf, they are generally neutered, or what is more common, put to death despite taking on aspects from both of their parents, though in a lesser and more moderate degree. Additionally, Half-Bloods do not have the ability to reproduce, whether or not this is because the gods look down on such creations is up for debate.
Notable Locations
Dalton Dalton is the capital of the Kingdom of Baldock, having a population of nearly 745,000 souls, it is one of the largest cities on the continent and home to the family of Bright, the ruling family of the nation. Being one of the only cities in Baldock with a proper dock, it has grown into a prominent trading hub in the Northern Sea and is lucrative in supporting the massive population that lives there. This city has massive, stone walls said to be built by ancient dwarves hired to construct such a monument, through the slums of the city have spilled out of the protection of these walls long ago. Additionally, the city is home to the only professional magician school, designed to teach students about the dangers of magic rather than having the students practice their powers.
Malcast Long has this city been on such peculiar grounds that the curse that now haunts it was not originally perceived as great a threat as one may think. The city is the home of the Lochborne family, who rules the city with debauchery and sin as their power, reinforced by the King, is abused to increase their own power and not provide for its people. Such autocracy and ruthlessness is assumed to be why the curse came to be, but given the curse affects all, it is still unknown, though it has rallied the peasants and freemen to protest the rule of the Lochborne. Malcast, having no port of its own and only relying on the yearly harvest of the Lochborne Estate, is now suffering a food shortage, adding to the suffering of the people.
The Lochborne Estate Nearly 60 miles away from the city of Malcast, the Estate consists of sprawling farms and a large fortified mansion in a hilly countryside. The weather there now is abhorrent as dark clouds block the sunlight and the curse kills the land of the estate. In the generations of the Lochborne family living there, why now has the curse just came up?
Brief History
The history of Baldock is a long a tenuous one founded in the blood and rebellion from the Great Empire of Tara nearly a thousand years ago. The Dukes and Lords that lived within the region had been prosecuted for their growing power and eventually, when the now declining power of the Great Empire of Tara had begun to suffer a string of large rebellions that began to pick away at its insides, the nation of Baldock managed to rip free the chains of oppression that held them down, allying with Dwarven Lords, Elven Matriarchs, and Orc Chieftain alike as they toppled the great power. Under such duress, the Empire of Tara collapsed, its forces stretched thin and troops being routed on all fronts. This was the birth of the proud nation that is still dwarfed in size by the Empire of Tara.
In the peace that ensued, Baldock expanded south and established a vassal to act as a border against the Empire of Tara, the vassalage of Fenlia. Such a vassal has proved used in deterring the armies of Tara from future wars as it attempted to reclaim what power it could, as the Wars of Deterrence raged after poultry thirty years after what was supposed to be great peace. This war, however, did not play out as easily for Baldock as it had in the past as the nation had become the primary focus of the Imperial Army. Pitched battles and ambushes raged throughout the countryside of Fenlia and no winner was determined from the war as Empire of Tara was forced to retreat and winter at home, allowing for the new lords of Baldock to lick their own wounds.
Summer after summer and winter after winter, the Empire of Tara attempted to break through Fenlia but never have they been able to get the decisive battle that they needed. As such, Bardock was able to reinforce it’s armies and adopted military traditions that improved its own logistical capabilities and tactics to better suit the northern hills that it would commonly fight in. Though, such wars are hardly talked about anymore, as the Empire of Tara eventually consolidated its power and signed a white peace with lords that make up Bardock. However, with the Empire finding a defeat once more, it was decided that holding onto the northern territories was more of a hassle than it was worth and allowed those nations to be free after its forces were brought back to proper imperial lands.
The raving orc bands of the deserts declared their own independence from Tara, offering a further buffer between Baldock and the Empire, but making the frontier territories a dangerous land to be. Many expeditions were sent into those orcish warbands to claim more land, but they suffered a defeat that sent the Kingdom reeling. Unknowing true defeat, the King of Baldock has since made such a large invasion into those lands, instead of focusing to fight to its east and west with the newly formed nations of Yolotco to its east and Kunizu to its west.
While wars were fought, little land was gained, leaving Baldock to consolidate its power and make sure that its vassal to continue to stay under the rule of its northern lords. However, such wars were fought many, many times and Fenlia became known as the ‘Land of Rebellion’ as Fenlian lords who desired independence constantly rose and fell making the region all the more unstable.
Culture
The culture of Baldock is that of military and pride, much like the Taran culture to the south. The Baldock boy seeks to ready himself to be called to a life of war, lest he is called a coward and ousted from society. Until his honor be regained on the field of battle, or he prove himself worthy in the eyes of a noble, there is no salvation until he has died. The boy will go out to become a man or he will die and rid the nation of a burden that cannot serve to forward the King’s wishes.
The land rewards the hardworking Baldock, too, of course. They stalk game with bow and arrow; they forage their forests; they net the bogs for iron, and pull up minerals from the skin of the earth: nickel, jet, coal, amber-gold. But these are the realms of old, fearful men, men who have lost their luck and whose spirits have gone to ash. The sea belongs to those with spirits still ablaze. It makes fishermen of the smallest of them. Many again are traders in fat times and plunderers in lean, buying meat or stealing it from other lands when their own has yielded none, taking only enough slaves to see their chores done back home. A decent living is always easy to earn on the lakes and rivers, too: the demand never dries up for young, strong workers to portage ships, loaded with casks and weapons, from water to water. But the greatest of these men, the ones with infernos inside, they go hunting.
Magic, within the confines of this setting, is a double edged sword as whatever spells that may be cast by a magician who may be touched with the ability to harness such a power, will touch the caster as well. A healer who tends to a wounded party member may find that those wounds burn into the skin of the healer and cause immense pain until they would be normally healed. A magician who seeks to launch a ball of fire at their enemy would find that they have been set on fire by their own magic and may very well die. However, such drawbacks are often random in their intensity, but the mere fact that such drawbacks exist make many wary of even using the “gift”.
It is due to this fact alone that there is no centralized magical circle, save for the school in Dalton who only seeks to deter the use of magic rather than encourage it. With such, there are no commonly used spells or knowledge that is passed down from mage to mage as those would want to teach it have likely died from their own spells. Additionally, those who openly use magic in Baldock, are typically seen as fools and are commonly avoided lest they see a fool kill themselves wielding a power not reserved for the mortal being.
Heed not the fools, for the magician will always die in their youth.
Elfroot, Swampseed, two cups of Blight Milk.
This brew, a most insidious one as it induces a calm, a fleeting numbness to pain and soothering wrought from the common world. Whether it be tempered steel, burning fever, dying breath. It induces that insidious calm but it numbs not the mind who knows all that has happened. The mind can never forget a pain, only repress it until the heart has beat its final, rhythmic beat. And so does that beat come to a slow and gradual halt, with the lightest inclusion of that Baneful Nightshade.
Avoid power playing or god-modding. If you're unsure about taking a certain action ask the group/GM through the OOC or in PMs respectively.
Please do not harass or insult your fellow players. If you are running into a problem please message the GMs in a private message.
Consult fellow players before making sweeping decisions about the World State. Choices that change the world or impact multiple characters requires the agreement/consideration of the party.
Secrets among characters are fine, but make sure to message the GM to ensure they can prepare properly.
Try to avoid OOC chat in the IC
When creating characters and posts please stick to the setting and theme as best you can. The World is an ever-updating tool for you to use, and I'm always a PM away!
Please alert the GM if you are expecting to be away for an extended period of time. This is totally okay, but it's nice to know before you head off. Emergencies happen, and the GM reserves the right to use your character and your related NPCs to progress the story forward as to avoid the RP stalling.
[center][h2]C H A R A C T E R N A M E[/h2] (potential picture here) [/center]
[b]Gender[/b] [b]Age:[/b] [b]Race:[/b] [b]Profession:[/b] Are you a mercenary? A jester perhaps? Maybe even a cultist...
[center][h3]DETAILS[/h3][/center]
[b]Detailed Appearance:[/b] No need to go above 5 paragraphs unless you want to, just be detailed (especially if not using a reference picture)
[b]Detailed Backstory:[/b] Perhaps the most important aspect of this character sheet, make as in-depth and as detailed as possible and feel free to world build through the eyes of your character! Be prepared for me to thoroughly judge this.
[center][h3]Equipment[/h3][/center]
[b]Weapons:[/b] [b]Armor:[/b] [b]General Provisions:[/b] [b]Magical Items:[/b] (leave this blank at the start)
[center][h3]Magic[/h3][/center]
[b]Magical Affinity:[/b] How strong you character has to the forces of magic, if any at all. Due note, I will be keeping an eye on the number of magic users. If there are too many, then I will ask that a character either reduce their affinity or remove it entirely, though I do want to avoid doing this. [b]Spells:[/b] Limit the amount of spells your character has to three and balance them as best you can, remember that all spells have drawbacks and the stronger the spell, the stronger the drawback. You may create any type of spell you desire as magic is decentralized.
And finally, thank you for showing interest! If you have any questions, do not be afraid to ask me something!
For a few seconds the battlemaster simply stayed there holding her dead allie. Her eyes closed, tears dropping onto the sand as her mind swirled with sadness. It was the most emotional she could recall being in sometime, and certainly the first time her padawan had seen her like this. She’d buried too many friends in her life. Kyla’s eyes came open and she carefully placed Elav’s corpse down. Then she picked up both of his lightsabers, folded his hands together on his chest and placed them in his lifeless palms. She would return when calmness came back to Tython and give her old friend a proper funeral.
“We have to go back to the temple. Our day is not done yet. Stay strong San, the Force guides us.” The master Jedi said, slowly bringing herself to her feet as she gave her deceased friend one last glance before her eyes went to the speeder. Kyla wiped her face, her expression still red from the intense sobbing. She then climbed aboard the vehicle, her feet kicked on the ignition and the engine roared to life. There was no time to waste.
San Anin has not moved from her spot, standing there as she looked upon the dead Jedi Knight that served to remind her of her inability to save fellow members of the Order. Slowly she turned back to her master and shuffled over, the turbulent winds dragging her robes all over the place as each heavy footstep brought her closer to her master. Her shoulders seemed to move up and down as the small sounds of crying made through the winds.
“If I- I could have- my fault,” were the words that gave way to low tear driven muttering as she cried. The sight of the dead knight had brought back terrible memories of her dead master, the one before Kyla had taken her under her sterner wing. “Just l-like him,” she sobbed as she got on the vehicle with her current master.
“It wasn’t your fault, San. You did all you could. I’m proud of you, you saved my life,” Kyla stated softly, turning around on the bike to wrap an arm around her saddened padawan. “Those things weren’t natural. We’re lucky that we survived and now we will put an end to this chaos. Elav will never be forgotten, he will receive a proper burial deserving of a true Jedi like he was.” The battlemaster took one glance at Elav’s corpse, in the state she had left it. He looked peaceful now. She knew his spirit was with other fallen Jedi amongst the Force. The greatest thing that they could do in his memory was to stop whatever was causing the instability on the Jedi homeworld. Kyle ran her hand underneath San’s eyes, wiping the tears from her eyes. As she did this a look on confidence came onto her face, showing that they had to move forward. Times were desperate on Tython,
“I k-know I could h-have saved him! I-I could have- I-I I know- I…” San Anin grew silent as she looked upon her master, slowing her breathing. The Kel Dor didn’t know what to say or even do for that matter, barely out of her initiate trials and having witnessed the deaths of two Jedi. She did not want to see other Jedi die because of her own weakness and inability to fight, but she knew that she merely did not have the heart to fight. This conflict had grown ever since she watched her first master call to be hands of a Sith, and in that conflict, anger and sadness fought for control of her mind.
“We w-will avenge them both,” the Padawan said in a sorrowful voice.
“Vengeance is not the way of the Jedi, my padawan. Revenge consumes you, twists you, clouds your conscience and becomes an utter obsession,” Kyla stated with certainty as she kicked down on the ignition pedal hard, rocketing them out of the Rift and through the mountain range. Her next words tinged with a remembered sadness. “I was once like that, after my capture by the Sith all those years ago. Vengeance is toxic in every way.”
As they sped through the beautiful snow tinged mountain range Kyla’s eyes scanned their surroundings. Another shake of the ground caused a small avalanche to tumble down a distance from them, shaking the foundation of the towering mountains. As the speeder continued towards its destination, they powered across the grassy plains. Her skin crawled as the Force echoed throughout the sweeping fields of green, shimmering in the trees. Nature itself on the world had been shaken by the arrival of the dark side. Every animal she saw was frightened, the roaming herds of grazing Uxibeasts had fear in their eyes as the two Jedi flew by them. It was even more reason for Kyla to stop this chaos and bring peace back to the beautiful world.
“Master Vondin, do you come in?” A male voice echoed inside of her comm device, it was another one of the Jedi masters. She wondered how long they had been trying to contact her.
“I’m here, heading back to the temple with San Anin. We’re both alive.” She replied, holding her comm to her ear as they continued on their path back to the temple.
“We’ve been trying to reach you for a while now, the council feared the worst. The planet is in disarray, we have Jedi still unaccounted for in the chaos. Were you at the Rift?” The voice said, sadness and uncertainty evident in his words.
“Yes we were, along with Elav Chiyoa. Though he was killed in action. We were attacked by these lumbering monstrosities that emerged deep from the canyon, the dark surrounded them. We are going to put a stop to this, we have to.” Kyla replied, pausing briefly as she mentioned Elav’s death. Her expression turning to a frown at her friend’s sacrifice in battle.
“Elav’s death is a hard one to take, he was a noble Jedi knight. I fear he will not be the only that dies if we don’t stop this. But we need you back at the temple. We are deploying Jedi to the desert, we tracked a massive disturbance moving to there. A colossal creature. There are things buried in that desert that could lead to more chaos on Tython. Where the Force flows more uncertainly.”
“A creature? I’m heading there as soon as I can, with my padawan. We are going to stop this.” The battlemaster said assertively as the temple’s front courtyard came into view. She blinked at the mention of an enormous creature, though was unflinched in her determination.
A few Jedi and temple guards stood outside, relaying orders and keep the situation under control. The skies were still a terrifying shade, but the temple was in one piece. Its foundation sturdy and strong, more importantly the Jedi within safe and secure. She slammed the brakes on the speeder, bringing it to a halt near the front steps. Then she hopped off the sleek vehicle, motioning for San to follow. The gathered personnel glanced at them, the driven Jedi master not stopping for any chit chat.
“What are we doing, master?” San Anin asked, moving after her master as she looked at the other Jedi. The sight of the others made her dip her head, not wanting to look at them or be seen by them.
“We’re going to get my ship.” Kyla stated with a glance to her padawan as they both walked through the temple’s front entrance. Jedi were gathered inside the building, seemingly huddling with each other while head counts were made. Accounting for any who hadn’t made it back to the temple. “Kyla!” A familiar voice called out to her, causing her to slow down in her stride and look in the direction it came from. A male zabrak in the robes of a Jedi master appeared in front of her, a gruff expression on his face. Diagonal blue lines and dots were tattooed on his face, a tradition of his species.
“Master Uakro, I thought it was your voice I heard on the comm link.” Kyla stated, not stopping in her stride as her fellow Jedi master walked alongside her.
“I’m glad that you and San Anin made it back safely. You’re heading back out there already?” Uakro asked, no surprise evident in his words. Kyla was known as a woman of action after all, he was just unsure if it was the best idea to bring along her padawan.
“We are heading to the desert in my ship. We believe whoever crash landed in the Rift and caused the chaos on this world hijacked a transport we took. We were one of the first ones there, along with Jaslyn Dayne. Though we lost contact with her as she managed to stow away on the transport as it flew away.” The battlemaster said, some of the Jedi she passed giving her strange looks at the dried blood splotches on her armor. The trio kept walking through the main hall into the back of the temple.
“So that’s where Jaslyn is. She was unaccounted for. I do not particularly agree with you heading out there, just you and your padawan. We are gathering together teams to send there. Who knows the dangers that could be now unsurfaced. Are you sure this is the best course of action, with your young padawan? Are you ready for what may be out there, San Anin?” Master Uakro asked San as the three of them walked through the hangar bay doors, Kyla’s personal starfighter sitting near the center. Sigils of the Jedi order marked on each wing.
“I.. I- I don’t k-know. B-but, my M-master need-ds me,” San Anin said, not bothering to look at Master Uakro as her self given shame continued to hang over her mind, unable to cast them away despite Kyla’s words. The padawan’s heart and mind was confused, trying to sort through all the different feelings and emotions that surged through her. It was those emotions that were her weakness, spurred by the death of the Jedi Knight and the memory of her former master. The day proved to be one continuous trial for the young girl, a trial that she was most unprepared for.
San Anin let out a sigh and ran a hand over her breathing mask before she continued, “I-I’ll help Master K-Kyla n-no matter w-what happens.”
Uakro replied with a nod, noticing the nervousness and confusion in the padwan’s words. The uncertainty in her reaction obvious. The Jedi master did not believe this girl was ready for such a dangerous mission, even if she was under the tutelage of the renowned battlemaster Kyla Vondin. The zabrak put his arm around Kyla, then lead her to the side, away from San.
“I don’t think San Anin is right for this type of mission. I can sense the emotions stirring within her. I know your strong Kyla, but this is no simple task. Who knows what might happen out there?” Uakro said calmly, his eyes quickly dashing from Kyla to San then back to the battlemaster.
“With all due respect Master Uakro, that is utter nonsense. San is strong in the Force, she has my back in every sense. She’s devout to the light side, she saw the horrors unleashed by the dark side on its arrival to this world. She helped me defeat them, without her I’d have been brutally killed by those monstrosities. I’m totally confident that she will help me stop the darkness thats come to Tython.” Kyla replied assertively, certainty evident in her words.
Even as she walked away from her fellow master Jedi, no time to debate or doubt her chosen padawan. Part of her was clearly displeased with Uakro’s words, but Kyla did not allow herself to voice this displeasure. She raised a hand towards San as she strolled towards her personal starfighter, motioning for her padawan to follow her. The cockpit rose open, revealing the pilot’s seat and a more compact passenger seat tucked behind it. As the battlemaster climbed inside of the Valiant her astromech droid beeped a greeting.
“We’re heading out immediately, San. I need you to be confident, but not cocky. Clear your mind of any vengeance filled thoughts. Let the light flow through you, let it guide us to victory.” Kyla said to San Anin as the battlemaster strapped herself into the pilot seat. It had been some time since she had flown her striker-class starfighter, she missed the comfort being in the pilot’s seat brought her.
“A-as you wish, Master,” San Anin said, giving Uakro a parting glance before getting into the passenger seat. She was small enough to find the compact space a bit comfortable and with a singular released breath, she began to meditate, following her master’s instruction and attempting to clear her mind of all the sorrow and vengeance that she had felt today.
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