Tortoise

Caravan: An Episodic Fantasy with Worldbuilding! [Always Accepting]

Gonna start filling in the Lore some tonight, after I've settled in and had some more coffee. Off day :)

Caravan: An Episodic Fantasy with Worldbuilding! [Always Accepting]

For Halloween I offer an updated character sheet, I probably wrote a bit too much, but that's the price I am currently demanding. The artwork used will almost certainly change as well, however, I am a notoriously slow chooser of images.

Nemeia

Nemeia

Race, Age, Time in the Caravan:

Tiefling, 23 years old, six months in the Pilgrim's Caravan.

Appearance:

Illuminated by pale moonlight, Nemeia is a young woman touched by the abyss and unmistakably marked by her infernal heritage. Taller than most, she moves with grace, and stands with poise beyond her years. Fearful stares follow her, meeting eyes somehow still full of kindhearted cheer, brilliant orbs of gold. Two large horns sit atop her head and curve stylishly backwards. Long blue hair cascades past her horns, resting freely at the whims of her movements and the wind. Her skin is the color of cool sapphire and a gentle smile is spoiled only by pointed canine teeth that have a frightful effect on the unprepared. Nemeia has a thick, long tail that reaches some five feet in length. She has bat-like wings sprouting from her shoulders, politely kept neatly folded against her back so as to avoid frightening strangers.

History:

"In the frozen hell of Morenia, the devils rule with an iron hand. Bound to unholy laws, these cruel creatures deliver creative justice beyond the comprehension of mortals." - Lofyr the Traveler

Born at the stroke of midnight, beneath the dark embrace of a lunar eclipse, Nemeia is a tiefling full of strange destiny. She hails from the distant land of Morenia, far to the north, past the fallen Kingdom of Undast, and across the Sea of Bitter Tears. Said to be ruled by the archdevil Ixelja, remembered by masters of the High Art as the merchant of souls, a fell creature known for offering bargains to those faced with inescapable doom. Whether such forgotten recollections are true, is hard to discern, and some explorers maintain that Morenia is simply a particularly inhospitable kingdom.

Nemeia makes no effort to dispel such horrific notions and cheerfully explains that she is indeed from a land ruled by fiends. Mentioned in a scattering of forbidden tomes thought lost to the ages, Morenia is reputed to be a realm of law and evil, once named by the Sage Belynia as one of the uncountable circles of hell. Questioned about her homeland, Nemeia disagrees, confidentially explaining that Morenia is the fifth hell of a nine, producing infernal mathematics and cartography that fills any observers with a sense of unwelcome dread. While it is clear that the young tiefling is unmistakably and undoubtedly honest in her beliefs about her homeland, the veracity of such claims are difficult to establish. In truth, little consensus can be found in the few remaining records that concern the accused lands of Morenia.

The youngest of seven siblings, Nemeia was born to a happy household. Her father, Etzilal, a dark elf, was a powerful warlock, sworn to a hellish patron. Her mother, Tseyaqa, a devil, was a hell knight, an unholy warrior oathbound to enforce the laws of Morenia. Her siblings were great and terrible fiends, creatures of immeasurable evil, operating in strict adherence to the law. The roots of her family were buried deep in the frozen ground and the branches had grown heavy with the crushing weight of wretched horrors had family had inflicted on others over the ages. Her ancestors were no lesser evils and no middling fiends, but rather monstrous malefactors. An infamous warlord or two, responsible for untold suffering across Alwyne. An infernal crusader noted to have burned the Holy Library of Kinirrak to the ground no less than three times. And a mad sorcerer remembered for the kingdom she sank beneath the cold waves.

For all the purported evil of her family, Nemeia describes a suprisingly loving relationship with her beloved siblings and parents. Her early years were pleasant and full of learning. A promising career as a hell knight was interrupted by a series of divine visions Nemeia experienced in her tenth year. Nemeia joyously recalls that she was visited by Valradun, goddess of Syashkal, the silver moon that shines down on Alwyne, a deity of merciful kindness much hated by damned denizens of Morenia. Forever changed by these encounters, Nemeia turned away from the cruel beliefs of her people, embracing the compassionate faith taught by Valradun. Nemeia admits that she caused her parents grief and heartache with her conversion. Steadfast in her faith, Nemeia dedicated herself to serving Valradun soon after. Her respected siblings expressed confusion and horror at her chosen vocation.

Of course, Faithful fiends were not unheard of, even in Morenia, but to worship a goddess of good was held to be an unacceptable act of rebellion. Despairing for her future prospects and fearing for her life, her parents encouraged Nemeia to travel, to spread the teachings of her kind goddess in lands more receptive to the offer of such gentle benedictions. The price of her passage from Morenia was a deal made with Ixelja herself. An unspoken contract that Nemeia ruefully refuses to elaborate on.

Leaving Morenia behind her, Nemeia traveled to Kyeth Thalore, the jeweled city found in the heart of the Kingdom of Aranthnor. There she made her way to the House of the Brilliant Moon, the greatest and most magnificent temple dedicated to Valradun, and asked to be received as a novice into the Order of the Silver Moon. Although they were sympathetic to her earnest desire, even the open-minded clerics beheld the young tielfing with unrestrained curiosity and notable uncertainty. Undeterred, Nemeia told the clerics about her visions. When this did little to quell the well-intentioned concern of the kindly preachers, Nemeia declared herself ready to submit to an examination on all the points of doctrine so beloved by Valradun and the purity of her devotion.

It was the famed Priestess of the Sacred Chalice, Quillathe Amastacia, who broke the theological stalemate, accepting the spirited infernal youth as her apprentice. Initiated in the mysteries and rituals of Valradun, Nemeia blossomed. Through Quillathe her connection to Valradun grew stronger. She could feel the power of Valradun coursing through her. Invocation came easily to her. The teachings of the order strengthened her. She found comfort in the compassion of Valradun. She found colleagues. She found friends. She found a place where she belonged. And she found unknown happiness.

In time, Nemeia grew into an able student, showing a gift for healing and protective magic. Her temper, fueled only by innocent intentions for good, was a source of occasional concern, and for all her soft admonishments, even Quillathe could not manage to quench the fire that burned deep within Nemeia. Concerned at her increasingly brash behavior, Quillathe saw that Nemeia began to train with the master-at-arms of the order. Among the paladins, the holy warriors, Nemeia found a new calling, a higher calling as she sometimes said. Hers was not the path of quiet contemplation. Hers was not long hours of peaceful reflection. Her way was action. Her purpose was to protect. As the moon traveled across the sky, waxing and waning, she too would travel, and she too would change.

With the blessing of Quillathe and her religious brethren, Nemeia became one of the wandering soldier-priestesses of Valradun. She would set forth from the temples, seeking out those in need of the help, the weak and the oppressed, all those that Valradun wished to help.

Stepping out into the world, wearing the full garb of a priestess, Nemeia encountered the prejudice she had long managed to avoid among the faithful, the bitter hatred held over the heads of tieflings. She heard insults, cruel words and unkind mockery that was hurled at her with evil relish. She listened to ceaseless threats, tireless promises of violence to her person, to her purity, and to her very soul. She suffered undeserved acts of violence, strikes aimed to hurt, blows meant to maim, and deadly attacks intended to kill. Nemeia did not cower. She did not beg. Guided by Valradun's wisdom Nemeia did not struggle to defend herself. Yet, she forgave, treating those who mistreated her with compassion, provided they posed no further danger to her. Through such experiences, Nemeia came to realize that there was much she would have to learn about the Alwyne in order to accomplish her holy mission.

Nemeia does not like to dwell on such sorrowful moments, but there is obvious sadness in her eyes when she is judged by her blood alone, leaving deep wounds that even Valradun cannot easily heal. However, Nemeia chooses to look forward, accompanied by the moonlight she does not fear the long, dark nights, certain that a more radiant dawn awaits.

Driven by such hopes, Nemeia excelled in the tasks that she had been charged with. She felt the gentle hand of Valradun guiding her ever onwards and followed the visions that she was graced with. Far stories speak of a moon maiden, an outsider, a figure emerging from the darkness, and a creature adorned with the vestments of a distant hell. A bright light in the darkness, a winged being bearing the words of Valradun. If such stories are ever mentioned in her presence, Nemeia is quick to explain that there are many devoted seekers of Valradun, and assuredly such tales speak of one of her esteemed colleagues.

As the years unfolded, Nemeia continued her questing, always returning to the House of the Brilliant Moon to reacquaint herself with the others of her order and Quillathe. Convalescing after a long, but ultimately successful campaign to secure peace between a colony of werebats and the Queen of Boryn, a mountain kingdom ruled by strangely tall dwarfs, Nemeia experienced a strange new vision.

She saw countless paths illuminated with bright ink as if by some unseen cartographer. She saw an endless pattern of crossroads. She saw beasts, monsters, and species beyond description. She saw wagons, draft horses, pack animals, and ingenious vehicles that bristled with creative thought. But most importantly she saw people. Strangers she could not name. Travelers of the infinite roads. Beams of light that shone through the darkness.

Nemeia did not need to consult her teachers. She did not need to ask Quillathe for advice. A new journey awaited. More places. More people. More chances to do good. It was the will of Valradun and her own intimate desire. Following the scattered signs, Nemeia found the Pilgrim's Caravan, offering her services as a healer, and keeping her tools of war carefully hidden.

A relative newcomer to the Pilgrim's Caravan, Nemeia has nonetheless found a place among the intriguing collection of merchants and travelers that make up the caravan. Most have come to see her as a benevolent figure, a much appreciated cleric unwaveringly willing to offer her aid and to help those in need. Still, some wayfarers continue to view her with suspicion, finding it unbelievable that someone so touched, so shaped by evil can be so firmly dedicated to the cause of good.

Personality:

Nemeia is a creature of contradictions. She is a devil with religion. She is a being formed in no small part from chaos and evil, yet dedicated wholeheartedly to good. She is a devoted cleric, with not an ounce of regard for chastity. She is a true believer, unbound by orthodoxy. She is a humble servant of moon goddess, held in great favor by her mistress. She overflows with compassion. She is quick to accept and quicker to forgive. She dances in the moonlight, following the inescapable tides of life, bending to the waxing and waning of her reality, recognizing the unmistakable ebb and flow of all forces.

She has a serene and peaceful nature and is slow to anger. She will not fight if she can help it, but will not hold back if she must. She is joyous and good humored, although she reacts with righteous fury whenever she encounters evil. She remains uncorrupted by the far reaching influence of her native land. She is untouched by the constant machinations of her infernal kin. She is kind, friendly, and for all the ill treatment she has suffered, Nemiea possess little of the bitterness that afflicts many other tieflings.

Despite her obvious infernal heritage, Nemeia pursues no evil schemes, and hides no true darkness deep within her. Her heart is kind and her soul is pure, protected by the brilliant light of the moon.

Her heaviest sorrows stem from the poor treatment that she has experienced as a tiefling. Such wounds, run deep, painful injuries of her spirit healing slowly, infected by lingering doubts, and disappointment. Calling out to Valradun, Nemeia fights this sadness with charity and love.

Motivation:

Desiring to do good and much more of good at that, Nemeia has joined the Pilgrim's Caravan in order to more easily travel to new lands and help souls in need of aid that might otherwise be far beyond her reach.

Skills, Strengths and Weaknesses, and Tools:

Skills:

Priestess of the Faint Moonlight

Nemeia is a priestess of the moon goddess Valradun. Imbued with divine magic, she commands lunar energy and powers of the moon granted to her by her deep connection to Valradun. Arising from her belief and trust in Valradun, her magic does not depend on formulaic prayers, ancient rites, or any arcane scholarship. Nemeia is a gifted healer, mending injuries and curing diseases through the manifestation of miracles brought forth by her steadfast faith. She weaves powerful protective spells, affording the blessings of the silver moon to those in need. Dedicated to preserving the natural order of life, Nemeia can channel the radiant light of Valradun to drive away the undead or harm evil creatures.

Dutiful as she is, Nemeia is no sedentary priestess, called to a simple life of temple service. She does not reside within the comfortable safety of temple walls. Her prayers are few and her sacrifices seldom. Instead, she carries out Valradun's will out in the wide world, through acts of faith, divine magic, and her own strength of arms. Although some would call her a soldier-priestess, Nemeia prefers to avoid any such distinction. However, she has been trained by the master-at-arms of her order and her skills have been sharpened through her travels.

Strengths & Weaknesses:

+ Of Fire and Ice: Nemeia is resistant to fire & ice
+ Forged in Darkness: Part elf and part devil, Nemeia has the superior vision in dark and dim conditions ascribed to both of her bloodlines.
+ Infernal Linguistics: As a result of her particular familial constellation, Nemeia is a comfortable conversing in the common tongue of the lands, the Elvish of the High Elves, and the black speech of the Infernal domains.
+ Infernal Magic: Cursed with infernal blood, Nemeia can summon base magic associated with the beings that inhabit the hells that spawned her.
+ Wings: Decidedly inhuman in her appearance, Nemeia has a pair of pale, bat-like wings that allow her to fly at a modest pace.

- Fanatical Idealist: Nemeia would happily die for her beliefs, certain that she can do nothing else but fight for what is right, to convince her to deviate from her wholeheartedly carried principles is an act of hopelessness. Nemeia will stubbornly refuse any and all entreaties to be pragmatic.
- Reckless: Stemming from her faith and idealism, Nemeia is loathe to acknowledge risk and when she does she pays it little mind, especially if the task in question is noble in purpose.
- Poorly Perceived and Received: Few readily or easily trust tieflings, convinced that they are no different than their demonic progenitors. At times, mistrust morphs into hatred and Nemeia has experienced no small amount of poor treatment. In some lands, Nemeia has found that even undeserved acts of violence directed towards her very person are to be expected from strangers.

Tools:

* Holy Symbol: Nemeia carries a silver pendent depicting the holy symbol of Valradun (a pale crescent moon adorned with seven stars).
* Staff: the symbol of her high office, Nemeia possesses a wooden staff wrapped with silver, including silver flowers and vines, and topped with a moonstone
* Robes: For religious ceremony, Nemeia has a meticulously maintained set of white robes embroidered with silver and decorated with moonstones.
* Circlet: Before each service, Nemeia will create a circlet of woven flowers that she wears around her head.
* Traveling Clothes: Nemeia owns a set of clothes well-suited for travel. Thick boots, a wool skirt reaching past her knees, a sturdy belt, a shirt with a jacket and an ample cloak with hood.
* Traveling Pack: Owning only a steady draft horse, Nemeia has a leather backpack containing a blanket, 10 candles, a tinder box, an alms box, 2 blocks of incense, a censer, vestments, several days worth of rations, and waterskin.
* Heavy Mace: Although seldom seen in her hand, Nemeia keeps a four-flanged heavy mace hanging from her belt.
* Scale Mail: Carefully wrapped in weather proof material, Nemeia hides a suit of armor. Consisting of perfectly circular scales of opalescent appearance that glow faintly with silver light this scale mail armor is clearly of excellent make.
* Horse: To ease her travels, Nemeia has used some of her collected alms to purchase a calm draft horse that she has named Sir Thomas.

Optional: Extra Details

What They Most Want:
Nemeia wants to be good, she wants to do good, and she wants to change the world for the better. She wants to atone for the uncountable sins of her ancestors, she wants to be kinder than her kin, and she wants to be a merciful light in the dark winter of the endless nights.

If They Had a DnD Alignment, It Would Be:
Chaotic Good

Three Likes:
+ A social creature, Nemeia enjoys good food and good company in equal measure.
+ Steeped in religion, Nemeia appreciates encountering new stories, be they written, spoken, or even sung.
+ Nemeia is immensely fond of all animals, she absolutely adores cats and other fuzzy creatures.

Three Dislikes:
- Violence: Nemeia regards violence with great disdain
- Cruelty: Having seen and experienced the cruelty of the abyss, Nemeia has had more than her fill of cruelty and seeks only to spread kindness in the world.
- Laziness: Nemeia believes in action, she likes to do things, many things, probably too many things, and she does not take kindly to those predisposed to overzealous inactivity.

Do They Follow Their Heart or Their Mind?:
Nemeia unwaveringly and unhesitatingly follows her heart.

Worst Fear:
The greatest fear that Nemeia has is that she will one day succumb to the base and cruel desires associated with her infernal heritage.

Favorite Color:
Blue

Most Like The Animal:
Capybara

Favorite Time of Day:
Nemeia has a shifting favoritism towards the ever changing time of day that matches the phases of the moon. She is most fond of the hour, usually late at night, when the moon shines the brightest in the sky.

How They Dress:
Traveling Nemeia dresses pragmatically, wearing clothes suitable for long, arduous journeys (thick boots, a wool skirt reaching past her knees, a sturdy belt, a shirt with a jacket and an ample cloak with hood). Performing ritual or ceremony, she dons a white robe embroidered with silver and decorated with moonstones, a circlet of woven flowers worn around her head, and embraces a distinct lack of shoes. Regardless of the context, she wears silver and gold jewelry decorated with brilliant moonstones.

In times of great danger, when violence is expected near and soon, Nemeia will wear her suit of scale armor and wield her heavy mace.

Favorite Season:
Nemeia holds Winter as her favorite season. Cold days and colder nights, long hours painted with snow and ice remind her of her distant home.

What Gods/Spirits/Whatevers They Worship (If Any):

Nemeia worships Valradun, serving goddess of the moon, and fervently striving to accomplish her benevolent aims.

A greater goddess, worshiped since the ancient days of Alriel, Valradun is a powerful goddess said to hold sway over the moon and celestial bodies that shine in the sky of Alwyne. Over the ages, the domains she is believed to control have grown in number, and at present she is recognized as influencing a wide range of areas. Valradun's nature, appearance, and mood all change in turn with the phases of the moon. She is generous and freely bestowed gifts and blessings on mortals. She also makes few demands of her followers. When beseeched by her clergy, she is said to readily respond.

Drawn by teachings that emphasize compassion and gentle guidance, her faithful are a diverse group, and come from many walks of life. According to words of Valradun, all on whom the moonlight falls are welcome to join her.

Valradun is believed to control the ebb and flow of the tides. She is said to bring comfort and safety to those in need during the night. She shines light over the darkness, holding evil at bay through moonlight. Some learned scholars argue that Valradun has become the moon itself, infusing the moon of Alwyne with her very spirit, so that she can eternally watch over the world. Through the moon, she is thought to control the powers of lycanthropes.

Those who seek her help and favor are many. She is called by those who are lost, aiding travelers lost in the wild and ships drifting aimlessly at sea. Sailors, navigators, and travelers are known to ask for her guidance. Her protection is sought out by those about to embark on dangerous journey. Ever changing, Valradun is venerated by shapeshifters, especially lycanthropes. Regardless of the quality of their heart or their view of their condition, many of those afflicted with such curses see her as the mistress of their nature. Observing the guidance she graciously offers, some engaged in the endeavor of predicting the future, have come to the conclusion that Valradun might rule fate itself.

Although she cares little for the gender of her followers, Valradun is commonly worshipped by women, who look to her for guidance, courage, and strength. A being concerned with life, Valradun is said to love all those touched by her radiant light. She is believed to be able to deliver love to those who seek it honestly and to bless marriages entered in good faith. She is said to intercede during births to ensure the safety of parent and child. Finding beauty in many places, Valradun blesses all things that she finds beautiful, recognizing that sometimes pleasing the senses can be kindness enough. Conventional as she may seem, Valradun encourages her followers to be self-reliant and to discover their own path. She is therefore popular with adventurers, all those who stand apart from others, and chart their own course.

It has even been said that she is one of the few gods worshiped by non-wicked tieflings. Driven by her dedication to the protecting life and confronting evil, Valradun is known to grant visions to people who desired them for good purposes. As such, even those not dedicated to Valradun will often pay their respects to her, in hopes of gaining her favor and aid.

Finally, those born during the full moon are said to be blessed by Valradun and are often encouraged, if not expected, to worship the moon goddess.

Unlike many gods, Valradun does not chain her followers with heavy ultimatums. She is lenient on issues of alignment and religious observe. To her faithful, to follow one's heart and to do the right thing is viewed as more important than uninspired theological musing or the strict performance of rituals. Her worshipers are encouraged to be compassionate and tolerant of others. They are urged to be humble and self-reliant, to use common sense and practicality.

Followers of Valradun seek out her guidance through observations of the heavens and rituals conducted under the moonlit night sky. They believe that life changes like the moon, waxing and waning with each passing moment. Her clergy suggest that there is a natural cycle to all of existence, arguing that there is an unavoidable ebb and flow to every force found in the world. Valradun and her followers view the undead and evil creatures mournfully, believing that while such unnatural forces must be swiftly opposed an defeated, they are not always beyond redemption.

@Abstract Proxy

Wow.

You're fantastic at this. Absolutely approved. I love it.

Caravan: An Episodic Fantasy with Worldbuilding! [Always Accepting]

In that case I feel okay posting this, just some scene setting tbh. Honestly the rust is a lot stronger than I expected, but I'm not exactly unhappy about my first IC post since my return :D

@twannyman

Nah, it was an excellent first post. I like that Ivraan has books about the Forest of Emerald in his caravan. I was *this close* to having Athulwin read a book about it as well

Caravan: An Episodic Fantasy with Worldbuilding! [Always Accepting]

Updated my sheet with the extra info, nothing too special.

Also wanted to ask how strict we are on posting order, if any at all other than try to avoid posting twice in a row

@twannyman

There's no posting order at all. I wouldn't recommend posting twice in a row, but other than that, post as often as you like

Caravan: An Episodic Fantasy with Worldbuilding! [Always Accepting]

First post up!

As some might have guessed, for our first destination I chose the Forest of Emerald that I mentioned in the OP. Our first IC post gives a general rundown of what the place is like, and the things you might choose to write about there. There's undead occupying abandoned tombs near the Caravan, there's a group of refugees that have come out of the forest seeking our aid, and there's a general feeling that the forest itself is sentient and hostile to us. Players can choose to explore any of these paths, or come up with something else that they thing could be happening in the woods.

As always, this RP is very open-ended, so feel free to invent your own stuff as you go along. If you want to go exploring and find a hidden society of elves living in the wood, or discover that the reason the forest hates us is because of a curse that an evil witch placed on it four hundred years ago, be my guest. I'm not picky. Just write something interesting, my friends ;P

Caravan: An Episodic Fantasy with Worldbuilding! [Always Accepting]

Dust and dirt kicks up into the air where the Caravan roams, a cloud of disturbance that forms around and clings to it like a cloak. Hundreds of people and animals (the people walking or riding, the animals tugging caravans and weights) move together like one massive, living thing. It has left its trail all over the world. It is as if the Caravan and those who ride within it are lost in some great, endless search. But, whatever the Caravan may be looking for, it has never found it. For centuries it has roamed the world like this. And it will roam for centuries more.

Today and for the past seven days the Caravan has moved snail-like through an old forest called Emerald. The place is so named for its color: the leaves and grass here are a shade of green so bright they nearly hurt the eyes, and those who live nearest to it tell rumors that the trees drop jewels, cut and polished, instead of fruits. Its smell is sweet, but with an undercurrent of something wild, and something very threatening.

Threatening, yes. There is a sharpness to the air in this forest that the Caravan has found itself in, in every breath a certain feeling of something old, something deep and furious. The Emerald Forest is awake, the Pilgrims have begun to realize. It is alive. And not only alive in the way that all plants and such green things are- but alive in the way a person is, like a spirit. It has a Mind and Will of its own. What, you must wonder, does it think of the Pilgrim's Caravan worming its way through its body? It feels... hostile.

Perhaps that is why so few people build here. As the Pilgrims roll through the Emerald Forest, they have met no other humans, elves, or any other friendly faces. There was a town that sold them needful supplies just before they entered, and there is good word of a crumbled old city on the other end of it, to the East. But no humans or humanoids are said to dwell within, nor have for centuries. To live in a forest is one thing, after all. To live in a Living Forest- that is completely another. It would be like building your house in the stomach of some great giant. Here you are always feeling the air breathing around you, the wind sucking in-and-out between the trees in a way uncomfortably reminiscent of the air in a man's lungs. The last people who lived here did so ages ago, and nothing remains of them but the haunted barrows they left behind, silent stone tombs scattered throughout the wood.

Some in the Caravan are beginning to grumble that they never should have come here at all. They've had nothing but misfortune and delays since they entered. Every day a wagon wheel pops off, and every night a child or an old woman falls ill. They blame the forest itself, or some curse that must be seeping out of the barrows. The sick are multiplying even when they get good food and rest; but the likelyhood of having much of either dwindles with every day they spend in this forest. The Caravan is usually well-supplied, but it cannot last indefinitely, and already a week has been burnt up. The animals are depressed, despite the green grass and bright air. They are still days out from getting through to the other end. They are on a path- the only path, in fact, that exists through this wood- but it is uncomfortably narrow for a Caravan so large, and it means that every time a wagon up ahead breaks down, all behind it must stop and wait.

During one of these inevitable stops, a crowd of about twenty strangers emerges from the woods with hungry faces, pleading desperately to join the Caravan.

--- ~--( )--~ ---

Athulwin

"Do you know where they came from?" asks Athulwin. He is sitting in his own caravan, a small but cozy one, filled to bursting with pillows and books and blankets. There's a little man stooped in here with him, a messenger.

"Not exactly, Navigator," the little man answers. He was the one who drew the short straw, got sent to tell Athulwin about the two-dozen strangers who appeared out of the wood asking for food. "They say that they've been lost in the forest for weeks. They look it, too. Oh, you should see 'em, faces all sunken and ribs showing. Poor creatures! Said they're from the city, came in as loggers hoping to fell some of the great big trees that only grow deep in the wood. But once they came in, they said, they could never find their way back out. It was like the trees closed up behind 'em, they said. And after that-"

"And after that," Athulwin finishes, sighing a gust of wind, "they had nothing but misfortune and bad luck, until eventually they ended up cart-less and starving, and now they have to beg for their food from us."

"Well, that's about the shape of it, sir."

"Alright. Spare what we can for them. Give them some straw bedrolls to sleep on tonight. Bread and water, the like. Did they say anything else? Anything useful?" At the word 'useful,' a flame flickers inside his mouth. He's quite frustrated at being interrupted. He'd been meditating on the Eld Breviary when this messenger came in, and everybody knows that Athulwin hates for that time to be disturbed. He doesn't care if he shows his irritation- he considers himself entitled to it.

"Just one other thing. Uh, it's probably nothing, you know, mister Navigator."

"It's alright. Speak, messenger."

"Well, it's just, some of them found one of those old barrows that they say lay around these parts, and when it was getting to be dark the other night they tried sleeping inside it, you know, and... they saw dead things in there, mister Navigator."

"One often finds dead things in a tomb."

"No, no, I mean they saw dead things that was still moving like they were alive. Said a bunch of bones came walking up to them. And it said something to them, too, that frightened them so bad they all went running, even though nobody could guess what language it was."

"Undead, then. I'll put the word out. Thank you."

The messenger turns and whisks his way out of the caravan. He knows what Athulwin means by 'put the word out,' and he doesn't much like to watch it happen. It freaks him out. Soon as he's gone, the Monk turned Navigator begins to speak stirring, gasping words in a foreign tongue. It does not sound like normal human language. It uses the inhaled breaths as much as the exhaled ones. It sounds more like the rustling of leaves in the breeze, like an arrow whistling by your ear, like the stirring of a tornado. He is speaking the language of the Wind, and at his words a breeze suddenly comes into his open window and begins to circle around the room, rustling the fabrics. He reaches out and grabs it.

The wind whirls in Athulwin's palm, tickling his fingers. It is his own pet windstorm, held in the palm of his hand. He brings the hand to his lips and whispers his words into it. Normal, human words, this time. When he opens his palm, the wind will fly outwards, out from his caravan, carrying those same words to the intended Pilgrims, where they will hear his speech as if it were carried on the wind. In this way he can talk to people far off, without having to bother getting up and walking over to them.

He could have just sent the messenger, he realizes. But that would have been less impressive.

He sends his wind-borne messages to most of the key figures of the caravan. The guard captain, the quartermaster, and so on. He also sends messages to a few of those who might not be leaders, per say, but nonetheless stand out in one way or another; they are often the most useful.

To Galaxor Stoneclaw, the great giant explorer, he says:

"Stoneclaw, O giant wanderer of our Caravan, there is word of ancient barrows nearby. Was it not your purpose to see the world, so that you may bring stories of it back to your tribesmen? Well, while we are stopped for some time, perhaps you'd like to venture out and explore these forsaken old ruins. Some others may wish to go with you. I hear of tales of undead- and I admit, I do not like having such a threat so close to our Caravan. Take your axe and your fists with you, should you go. I do not think any skeletons will withstand you."

To Gru, the cheesemonger and friend of rats, he says:

"Gruyere Yarg, O man of cheeses and wines. You will no doubt have heard that a small, hungry group of refugees has come beseeching our caravans. Basic supplies are being granted, but I wonder if perhaps they would also benefit from something hardier and more cheering out of your supply of cheeses and wines. I do not expect it is in your nature to give people something for nothing, but nonetheless I ask. They may also have some gold or meager goods to barter with, if you must profit from this." He paused a moment, and as an afterthought he adds: "By the way, Master Yarg, your last sample of Brie de Meaux was deeply impressive, as always your work is. One day you will have to let me see your methods." Athulwin was an appreciator of things like fine cheeses and wines; many of his fellow monks produced similar goods, back in the monasteries. He was a reoccurring customer.

To Knossos, the occultist, he says:

"Knossos, O Walker of Dreams. What do you know of undead and old tombs? More than I would like, I imagine. We are very near to some of both. Ready your occult knowledge close at hand to protect us. But, please, spare my sensibilities the details."

To Malleck, the wanderlusting bard, he says:

"Malleck, our friendly musician. Your ears have heard of the refugees that have come asking our aid. Food and necessities have been supplied, but they are in poor spirits. Perhaps you may ready your instruments and your voice; I imagine a follower of your faith knows what to do."

He gives no suggestions to the other stand-outs of the Caravan- Ilyana, Mergoux, Jason and the like- though he can guess what they might do. Some will no doubt go forth exploring into the old barrow-tombs, hoping to crush the undead who live there. Some may join Malleck in trying to cheer the refugees, or find out from them more of what strange things they experienced. Some may even simply go wandering in the forest, trying to find out the source of its strange hostility towards travelers. And some others may do something he has not even thought of.

It doesn't matter. Each in the Caravan is a free soul, as always. Even Athulwin holds no true sway over what they choose to pursue, whatever he may suggest.

With that humbling thought, he reaches again for his Eld Breviary, and continues to meditate. He has not moved from his caravan.

Caravan: An Episodic Fantasy with Worldbuilding! [Always Accepting]

Caravan's Current Destination:
Tonight, the Pilgrims camp in the Hold of Clan Buraq: a desert city from the Dinnin culture, that thrives on slavery

Caravan: An Episodic Fantasy with Worldbuilding! [Always Accepting]

<Snipped quote by Tortoise>

First off Happy Birthday!!! Double Candyland with Birthday and Halloween so close to each other I guess.

Just thought I'd drop my shot in here and make a character. Been like 3 years since I was active on the forum so a bit rusty and this seemed like a great way to throw some Cola on that rust and get back in form.

Ivraan Valdo

Name Ivraan Valdo.

Image

https://imgur.com/a/whZPNfk

Race, Age, Time in the Caravan:

A young half-elf in his early twenties, he has been with the Caravan for 3 and half years now.

Appearance:

The first thing you would notice when looking at this young half-elf is his striking white hair. That coupled with beady white eyes and a sizable slash-scar on his face gives way to a face that is hard to forget. While generally, he keeps his hair unkempt, freely flowing around, on occasion he will bundle them together to form a ponytail. His elven heritage is mostly visible in his ears and length, standing a solid 203cm tall (6'7). His lean and slender build coupled with the fact that he seems to be carrying a spear by his side suggests an agile spearman.

History:

Born to two loving and doting parents who had managed to overcome the boundaries of their race, Ivraan grew up in a loving home. Ivraan was the second child the couple had brought to the world, with Ivraan having an older brother. His mother an elf by the name of Elara was a skilled healer, and his father a human by the name of Alexander a skilled ranger. The oldest, a half-elf by the name of Aelar was being groomed to take over the family tavern. One Ivraan's parents had bought with their earnings as adventurers. This basically meant that both Ivraan and his younger sister Ela were given free rein in what they wanted. For Ela it was simple, she loved chatting, making music and enjoying the tavern life. For Ivraan however, it was a different story. Plagued with indecision since he was young Ivraan decided to join the Caravan as it passed his hometown, hoping to find a way forward in life.

As for how Ivraan got a massive slash across his face, he doesn't like to tell people. All that is really decipherable based on the scar is that it was made with either a blade or a thin wire. For those whom he eventually warms up to, it turns out his former teacher gave it to him to awaken his latent potential in Vitae. Acting as a traitor to Ivraan, it hurt him deeply.

Personality:

Young and optimistic ready to explore the world. Raised with compassion Ivraan took over that virtue. Very chatty, perhaps from being raised in a tavern.

Motivation:

Ivraan is hoping to find his way in life. Perhaps love, adventure, or life as a caravaneer. The mundane tavern was too boring, so adventure lust is the main reason.

Skills, Strengths and Weaknesses, and Tools:

Vitae

Vitae, also known as the energy of life is a universal force that dwells within every living being. To use it and train in it, you need to unlock it via meditation, training, and often a life-altering event. In general, the use of Vitae is simple, it enhances the body. Be that it's agility, strength, recovery speed or train of thought. It might make you jump higher, run faster, think faster or recover faster. As a source, it is not unlimited and should not be used for prolonged periods of time, if a being fully runs out of Vitae, they cannot access it for at the very least a month.

The way one trains Vitae is mostly by meditation, by transferring and absorbing the Vitae in the surrounding area one's source can grow. However if one kills a being by draining it's Vitae, the energy gets corrupted, turning poisonous unless repelled or extracted.

In simpler terms, think of it as the classic Murim cultivation without it being bound to weaponry.

Strengths
Use of Vitae; A magic system meant to enhance physical capabilities. Often combined with skills in weaponry or martial arts for it's full effect. During one of Ivraan's treks in the forest, he met a master that thought him the way after noticing Ivraan's abundance of Vitae.

A tavern lad; Being raised in a tavern made Ivraan a great socializer, both capable of persuasion and deception. However do not mistake his optimism for naivety, as Ivraan has shown to possess a keen mind.

Skilled Spearman; At a young age Ivraan's parents ask their children to experiment with some basic weaponry. As it turned out Ivraan was very talented with the spear and determined enough to train it almost daily. This made him a solid fighter in his own right.

Elven Agility; While not as agile as a full-blooded elf, Ivraan's elven blood has clearly granted him dexterity above what is expected of a common man. Ivraan uses this to support his skill with the spear.

Knowledge of herbology; Raised by a healer, Ivraan was taught herbology of the close forest granting him basic knowledge of the craft. With some common sense and by virtue of reference Ivraan is able to learn what is edible and poisonous rather quickly.
Tools
Crescent Spear; A spear granted by his parents when Ivraan turned 18. It is forged from a rare metal as strong as cold steel, but as light as a feather.

Crescent Spear

Well Crafted Leather Armor. A gift from his parents upon leaving with the Caravan. It is tailored to fit Ivraan perfectly and does not constrict his movement at all. A gambeson beneath it provides ample protection, specifically for slashing and blunt attacks.

Weaknesses;

Magically inept; Perhaps as a result of his inherent Vitae, but Ivraan is completely helpless when it comes to using magic. While his parents tried to teach him the basics it never stuck so Ivraan decided to forgo that in favor of training with his spear, and late Vitae.

Easily bored; Ivraan is easily bored and will on occasion just decide to do things for the fun of it. An example could be pranks on fellow travelers. Ivraan also tends to not realize the consequences of his actions as part of him being raised in such a loving environment.

@twannyman

Ivraan is accepted. You can drop him in the char tabs whenever. I myself also have a bit of a soft spot for magic systems that connect to the forces of life.

@Tortoise Happy birthday Tort!!

@Timemaster

My ex-girlfriend texted me yesterday, "WOW YOU'RE ALMOST 30."

I am 26. I have never been so close to murder.

P.S. The IC is definitely coming on Halloween, not on my birthday, unless I invent a time machine

Caravan: An Episodic Fantasy with Worldbuilding! [Always Accepting]

@Tortoise - Is it okay if Ilyana is now a worshiper of Fãrryn, her nation's goddess of the sea? She appears as a young elvish woman with wavy blue hair who reminds you of a playful dolphin. She has deep-set eyes the color of milk. She has an amazonian build. Her skin is white. She has thick eyebrows and small hands. Their icon is a conch shell.

She possesses two powerful items - a Conch Shell that allows her to control sea creatures, and Kŷiriŏn - a magic boat that can go anywhere at command (it is actually her son from a drunken trysk with a sailor, her father Ievis of the Forest thought her son was a degenerate and transformed him).

@Expendable

Ye! That's just fine.

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Smol update, boys and girls. My goal is to kick off IC either today (the 29th, by my clock), or on Halloween. Today is my birthday, and Halloween is a holiday, so it seem appropriate to start the RP on one of those two occasions. I'll choose our first Destination.

At some point after the IC starts, I'll begin updating the "Lore of Alwyne" section of the OP with rough overviews of the lore that has thus far been created by our sheets. Things like the cultures, gods, magics and whatnot that we have already added to Alwyne. I'll probably be using a lot of direct quotations to save myself time ;P

Caravan: An Episodic Fantasy with Worldbuilding! [Always Accepting]

Yet you ask about the character's D&D alignment in your sheet?

@Expendable

I mean, yeah. I figured it'd be a fun way to relate our character's ethos to something most people are already familiar with; it hardly makes this a DnD game, and I didn't at all expect it to be perceived that way. If you're genuinely saying that's how you took it, I'm a little bit shocked.

Yes, Ilyana is a retread from a failed discord group, I wanted to play her more and I was very familiar with her when your game first showed up.

@Expendable

Chill. I'm not attacking Ilyana, I'm just making sure that people are clear on the style of game I'm doing. I've seen first-hand the kind of chaos that happens when multiple groups of players have different ideas of how the RP should happen, and I'm trying to prevent that from happening here. You're fine.