(This is my example of an entry using my NPC Jonas, please note that you do not need to use the same format or style and are encouraged to use any writing style that calls out to you. Post them below mine, do not start your own thread.)
Jonas Kane (Part I)
Jonas wiped a cloth along the top of the Dragon’s Claw bar, soaking up the spilled ale from a drunken patron, some tree logger passing through town. He took a long draw on his cigar and stared at the man, contemplating either to pick his pockets for sport or throw him out on his ass for laughs. Instead he allowed the thoughts to pass and walked towards the main hall, calling for Pearl to take over. Pearl eagerly put down her mop and bucket and limped behind the bar excited to do anything other than mop up the mud or other peoples messes.
In the main hall Jonas found a seat at the corner table where the scholars books used to be. Nowadays, he often sat there watching the few who would come in and out. More than often he would stare beyond the people of the present and remember the past; for those memories were far sweeter to him. It felt like just yesterday he was laughing and conspiring with Chet to scare Marcy with a wrapped up dead fish; but that was almost five years ago. The present times felt far less interesting to Jonas, and how could it not be? So much had changed and the strange and quirky place that Jonas had grown to love deteriorated into a simple and uneventful watering hole for transient workers traveling from one province to the next. He would occasionally see a welcome familiar face pass through, but most of his friends had either moved on to other parts of the world, or were so busy in their lands that they never had time or need to visit the Proper.
He wondered how long he would stay here, before he gave up on it as well. Perhaps he would pack up and sail to the isle of Rinn Quinill Nurbonis to live out an easy and lavish life, in fact why hadn’t he, he often thought. Why stay here?
A loud thunk on the table awoke Jonas from his dreaming. “Here you go boss” gruffed Hardwin, a burly goon on Jonas’s payroll. “The Sirens Apothecary was short this week, so I told them we isn’t no charity and they’d better pay triple next month” Hardwin was twice the size of a normal man with only one good tooth and a brimmed hat. He worked as the Inns bouncer, whenever he wasn’t out making the rounds.
Jonas grabbed the pouch of coin and spilled it on the table to count it. “Go grab yourself a whisky and a bed for the night” ordered Jonas. Hardy tipped his hat in response and walked past into the bar room. Things had gotten so boring around town Jonas resorted to some good old fashion merchant extortion to pass the time and drum up some excitement. All the merchants in the proper would pay a fee just small enough to not cause too much unrest, and he made sure they would fear reporting him to the authorities far more than the loss of coin. Not much he thought, but its honest work…
Late at night when all the patrons would leave or go to bed, Jonas would break out his personal stock and drink heavily until he passed out. His thoughts were darker at night and when ten drinks in. It was during these times, that his feelings of abandonment would surface and have its way with his mind. For almost two decades a being of power found him worthy of its attention, and out of the blue, one night it was over and it had left him. When something that great enters your life and is suddenly gone, it creates a hole that’s seems impossible to fill. No amount of time that passes seems to fill the void. He sometimes felt abandoned by the Heroes of Travance, at least when drunk, though when sober a measured mind knew there was simply no longer a reason for most of them to stay, so once again he would wonder why did he? Jonas threw back another shot of londwynian whisky and rested his head down on the table. He closed his eyes and drowned out his thoughts by listening to the sounds of the ghosts in his mind.
From the journal of Captain Oakley the Inked/Oakley Greenblood/Oakley Rudnare
Date: uh?? Its sunnee?
Evereeones gone and flew to the seven winds, they have. Arigoth says we shud be thankfull fur this moment of peace, but I don’t bye it, not fur halfa coppur. If theres aneething I’ve learned in my life, its dat peace don’t last longer den it takes to say the word. Heed my warnings, anee day now the ground will tremble beneeth our feet and sum demunspawn will try n swallow us up, I just kno it. I wanna be wrong, sure, I wanna have peace but lordy lou is it hard to have much faith in that sorta thing when you’ve spent so long livin in Gaaldron than Travance…
But still. Arigoth’s smile is too sweet to argue against, and if there’s gonna be SUM wee bit of peace, might as well take advantage of it, aye? So we’re gonna have our wedding! Gotta get while the gettings good and make an honest man out of that big green oaf afturall! We wanted it on Saint Astrid’s day, he bein a man of Andora's cloth and all, but Travance has a bad habit of a bloody affair outta most weddings, so if times be as “peaceful” as dey say, well, who knos when we’ll get this oppoortuneaty again!
Date: three weeks aftur MY WEDDING!!
IM OFISHALLIE A MARRIED WOMAN! Nevah thought I’d be so happee to have a ball and chain around my ankle! Sorree fur not writing sooner, I’m onlee now just getting ovur the ol’ “Honeymoon Hangover”, ona count of sum weird “treats” I was given at the reception…
We had the seremonee on the Feverfew and of course it was beautifull--and since he’s a priest and I’m a captain, we married ourselves to eachothur! Cut out the middleman we did! That big soft rosebud blubbered and happee cried the entire time. Cant say I blame him, I’d cry two if I was marrying sumbodee as beautifull and as good in bed as me! …. I cried a bunch two. The man nearly died and the world nearly ended and I thought I’d never get to see him again or tell him I loved him!! So what if I shed a tear or two-- I don’t need to explain myself to you! Yer a book I nicked frum Varkelby’s study! You aint nothing!! Fuck you!!
…Aneeway, the party was at The Half Pint, to the depths with paying for a “venue” on MY wedding day when I gots one alreadee, ya kno? Eveeone was invited, of course, though it ached my heart to see sum emptee chairs…
Hopefullie if this truly be peacefull times, I wont have two worree about losing friends aneemore.
Speaking of friends, met a few strange fellas I aint ever seen before, least I don’t think I have. No surprise really, The Half Pint’s almost as popular as yours trulee! Funnee folk they were, talked about the “pleasures of life” and “wonderous indulgance” and hedonism and debaucheree and stuff like that…then they gave me those weird “treats” I mentioned befur. …Dunno why I wrote “treats”, I meant drugs. They were drugs. They gave me drugs. Powerful drugs.
Honestly I cant really remember much about them once they started putting drinks and snuff under my nose… just voices and colors and weird visions. Arigoth says he didn’t see anyeeone, but he was rubbin elbows with his old priest pals, so maybee he just didn’t notice them…
Date: the winds are chillier now and the moon's full
Moved Ibn's grave to the catacombs undur Arigoth's church since we've been traveling to Coasthaven and back fur awhile now. I kno he'd hate being put in a temple of love but I've been tendin the Temple of the Yellow Rose more often then I've been tending the pub, since my customers have been waning with the peace times, so I dont get to see him as often as I used two... plus, with all my weird dreams latelee I miss havin sumone scarier than the sea's wrath on my side. Arigoth and I are talkin about moving to Coasthaven proper. Wait...is Coasthaven in Travance or is they two different cities? Is Travance a city? A county? Wots the difference between a county and a country?
I need a drink...
Date: A day latur
Sum regulars at the pub told me wot the difference is! ...Can't remembur fur the life of me wot they said though. Im pretty sure that, at the very least, Travance is a place.
Date: ???
More weird dreams again. I shud try and write them down aftur I get them so I can remember the details proper. Are they still dreams when they happen during the daytime?
They're not bad, mind you, in fact they're awful fun! I get a good crowd and we get up to no good fur hours or days at a time! Arigoth's a touch worried, but this izznt the first time I've heard voices aftur snorting weird dust off a stranger's neck, so I'm sure it's fine.
Date: Late fall I think… I dunno why I’m keepin track, nobodee else is readin this…
Peace is still going strong, believe it or not! Varkelby found out I stole you from him and stole you right back, the little theiving rat!! Thankfully I re-stole you and here we are! Bastard ripped sum of the pages out though, the ones where I tried describing my dreams. He said they were "sexually grotesque", "morally repugnant" and "crude". Luckee fur him I don't know what anyee of those words mean so I cant get proper mad.
Ofishiallee moved the pub to Coasthaven. I got stiff competition hear but with tits like these I get customers just fine.
Date: Aboutta year since I started this damned thing. A year and change.
Arigoth and I are back in Coasthaven full-time now, and as wonderfull as married life is.. being a captain in the navy don’t really mean much if there’s no reason FUR a navy. I’m startin to get a liddle antsy, sure I got Arigoth and his church and our house and the bar to tend… but I’m now realizing I’ve built so much of my identity off of adventuring and saving folk, that I don’t kno what to do with myself with all this extra free time. Maybee I shud start painting again, or build an extension to the pub, or maybee I’ll stretch my itchy fingers and dust off my lock picking set and make a little extra coin…
or maybee I’ll get pissshit drunk and have amazing sex with my hot hunky orc husband.
Date: A few hours later? Maybee?
I did the last thing. It was pretty great. Shit got a little crazy when we shared some satyr wine, though, I had those weird hallucinations again. Weirder than usual, I mean.
Arigoth and I talked aftur our pretty awsome sex and he says I shudn’t go back to stealing since its “wrong” and stuff. Says I shud keep spending my free time hanging out with those fellas I got along with so well at our reception? I told him I haven’t seen those guys since the wedding but he insists I’ve seen them twice aftur? Apparently they gave us the satyr wine? I mean, I black out sumtimes sure, but usually not so often. Maybee my age is finally getting to me…
Date: Two daze later
Ate some REALLY good chicken today!
Laric // Future For a long and lingering moment, there was no sound, naught but that his mind could conjure up on its own: the scuttling of some minute creature pitter-pattering within the floorboards raised hackles; the creak of far-away floorboards a warning of his imminent capture. Were it not for the circumstances, he’d be reveling in the thrill; It’s been a long time since he’s had to evade capture. He’s gotten too used to having the upper hand in fight-or-flight situations, and then later not having a hand to play. He’s out of practice, and if it weren’t so damned inconvenient, it might’ve been something like fun.
As it stood however, he had places to be, and-
“-you say you haven’t seen him?” Reiterated a gruff, impatient voice.
“You are aware the particulars of my employ under the great Kingdom of Kormyre do involve apprehending and submitting criminals to the guard,” replied a sharp, too-sweet tone.
He grins.
-things to do.
Heavily-booted feet shuffle on otherwise sturdy boards above his head.
“Ma’am-” “Dame,” snipes the second voice,
“Dame, please, my compatriot means no offence, only that we pursued the scoundrel this far in-land, and we have reason to believe he’s in the area. We must make a sweep of every house. This check-in is not an attack upon your person,” a third voice, softer, more inexperienced than the first, attempts to placate the offended homeowner.
“He’s laden with goods taken from a ship - the Pentacle, a merchant vessel - so if you happen to see-” “I am well aware what to look for, guardsman,” snaps the Dame, icy and impolitic now as she had been pressed beyond her limits of patience, “or had you no idea whose home and privacy you so intruded upon?”
There’s a half-moment’s uncomfortable tension before the guardsmen finish their business in equal-parts muttered and placating tones. The next noises he hears above the shuffle of feet and clank of armor is the front door, opening and closing only ever-too-forcefully.
He scarcely breathes, waiting for the sound of all invasion to dissipate. He bites down on a finger of his burned, scarred, but otherwise unmarked left hand - an unfortunate habit carried over from when he wore those leather gloves to hide the old marks, now the source of some little annoyance with himself - listening to heeled shoes click softly now, above him, shuffling to the room adjacent - the kitchen - and a tired sigh is heard.
Moments later, the cellar door opens accompanied by a sharp swath of natural light.
“You can come out now, I know you’re down there.”
He grins sheepishly as he presents himself to the knight with the high ground on him who only stares imperiously at his presence.
“You look wonderful,” he announces to his sister, who in fact always does, but especially so today in her formal dress.
Elysia sniffs, the only tell in an expression full of otherwise apathetic distaste.
“You’ve got dust on your sleeves,” she snipes.
He clutches theatrically at his heart as he makes his way up the stairs, reassured that he’s not in trouble.
“Would you help brush me down? This is a brand new coat after all,” he pleads, eyelashes batting with maximum charm. She pivots on her heel and leaves him to pat himself down as he emerges into the light, hissing- again, for the theatrics of it all. He looks up and she’s perched upon a stool, staring him down.
“What?”
“Care to explain why you’re here, and with so little warning?” He shrugs.
“Navy tipped off the guards I was on my way up the little spit-offs from the Trallion after I docked the Night Divine at Bordertown, as far as I can guess. Knew you lived in the area, and I’ve got to be in the city in an hour. Truly, I had no other option,” he sighs with such drama as to make her roll her eyes.
“Oh yes, what good fortune you just so happened to be in the area,” she scoffs, but they’re both starting to grin.
“And I suppose you’ll be leaving your ill-gotten gains here?” “Please?” he bats his eyelashes again. She sighs the sigh of the eternally put-upon.
“Three days.” “Five?”
“Three.”
“Deal!” he claps, already slipping toward the door.
He pauses on the threshold, an earnest quality coming over his expression.
“See you at the reception?” he asks. Elysia grins.
“Yes, little brother.”
Laric grins wide and unburdened in response, winking at her before sliding away into the morning, richly embellished wedding coat fluttering in the wake of his steps.
Chud Larsson – Warrel Trow Finds a Story Warrel Trow stumbled into the moonlit clearing, shivering stiffly beneath the furs binding his limbs. He shuffled through the snowdrifts like a perverse straw doll, buffeted by winds. This place matched the descriptions. Big clearing, one conifer, cliff face with a crack in it. He'd traipsed through every trading post and tavern north of the rift. The further north he got, the more likely he was to hear mutterings of Chud. Eventually, after a few coins, those mutterings became directions. And they had led him here. A frozen clearing so far north the days stopped, and the night stretched on for months. Half frozen, Warrel Trow crept through the crack in the cliff. Inside, he found a channel, side walls hollowed by years of howling wind. Gusts buffeted Trow, guiding him down the natural corridor. As he exited, he found a ravine, walls carved out into a courtyard, and a wide doorway with a fire burning inside. By a small pool, a hulking figure stooped, a slender fishing spear dipped in its silvery surface. A furtive twitch of his arm, and spraying from the water came a twitching flexing whiskered fish, eyes pale and unblinking, mouth gulping breathless air. "Eh, excuse me sir," Trow called through chattering jaws "Are you the one known as Chud?" Looking up from his quarry, the mass of hair and shoulders replied "That's me name. You look cold." "I can't feel my fingers" "Well come inside, mister, got a stew going. Yer more than welcome to some." Trow followed him into the doorway. Inside it was warm, and dry. The smell of lemongrass wafted through the air. A vast array of insect chitin plates were piled in a corner, and a smooth cauldron sat in a firepit full of embers, softly bubbling. Mounted to a wall was an angular slab of metal with a handle. "Keep yer voice down, don't wanna wake the kiddies up." a low frequency rumble bounced softly off the stone walls. Chud ladled stew into a stone bowl. "Now, why have you come here?" "Did you know that tell of your monster slayings stretches from here to Travance?" "I spent some time in Travance" "I sir, am a writer." "A what-now" "A writer. I tell stories. Ooh this stew is good, what's in it." "Crawler." "What do you mean." "A crawler. You ain't seen one?" Chud gestured in the direction of the pile of insect chitin. Trow uncomfortably swallowed. Chud chuckled, a low thumping sound. "Do you need help around here?" "S'pose I could use a hand. Not sure what yer good for, though, southfolk don't take to the cold up here." "I've got the furs. And I'll pull my own weight I swear it. I want to tell the story of one of your slayings. And I'm willing to wait until you find a good one." "Well, we're harvesting cabbages pon the morrow. It's hard work, and the kids keep gettin out o hand." "Happy to help any way I can."
Verrill Lebastion - Guilty Pleasure Xualla danced with a smooth pace around the crystalline ballroom of Sevenlore- hooves and flaming feet dancing upon the ghost river- hands locked in Vim's gentle grip. His stygian eyes were perfect as they twirled about the chamber. Weeks ago the Hellprince couldn't imagine the peace he felt in the gaze of the ancient evil, nor the safety he felt with his hands in his-
"Hah-!" Verrill called out, pointing to the scene contained in the shimmering sphere,"Ms. Lebastion, look what I found-! 1 in 100,000,000- borderline edge of the finite curve-! Remember Xualla-!? I found a timeline wh-" A sound of exasperation as a frying pan whipped across the chronal-bed-and-breakfast. He ducked as he had 1,000 times before. The mithril pan panged against the houseplant which tittered and scuttled away. Time didn't matter here, but for her it always seemed to be 3 am and she was always trying to sleep. He'd tried to find any vision, any theater of their shared experience to free her from this state, but little seemed to satisfy. The chronomancer gave a tired breath. He was alone tonight. He didn't enjoy being alone so he sought out an old comfort. Verrill shifted the glass to a familiar show- a play he watched when alone. He thought most would find it dull- pedestrian- but to him it was the time his friends were happy, safe, and satisfied. There were variations and that made his dozens of viewings pleasant. The vision began- Jonas was alone in the inn, feeling sorry for himself. Verrill sat back with a bottle of something red and bitter, in the familiar comfort he had watching this timeline 100s of times prior, "I hope no one burns down Valdalas this time." He was happy, This time his friends would be safe and happy.... maybe...
Serr Thomas Bell - Last Rat Standing "Gotta be a good man- there's too many bad ones." Granny Esther's words set a pace- One raw hand over the next, each catching on cutting stone. Pulling with breathes and rasps that shredded his lungs. More ribs broken then set. The stairs were gone. Ladders too. One hand over the next. Had to get back to him. Had to die in the sunlight. Had to try.
Blinding pain as splinted fingers breached the soil. Cool autumn air licked the wounds. One last pull, tearing what was left of him from the rubble and dirt that remained of it's damned nest. That damned nest that lay under his family- his neighbors since the start. Took and took was all it ever did. Was the first and last of the rats that needed crushing- Just had to find the right rock and the right sling.
He lay soaking in the sun, coated in mud, blood, and other, breathed a sigh of a final jubilation,
"Got 'em..."
Azwren Vayli - Hellfire
((CW: Burns, blood and gore))
It had been nearly a month since Azwren had felt unnaturally compelled to run away from Darkwood Academy. It had been nearly a week since his arms started burning in his own flames, worse than ever before, and hadn't stopped. And it had been nearly a day since that voice decided to show up, and it wouldn’t. Stop. Talking.
“I’m not going to DO that! Please, just stop!” The shaman called out to the air around him.
“I saved your life that day, boy. You knew it came with a price. You’ve had your year, and in that time, all you’ve tried to do is betray me. And you’ve failed at that as well.”
The flames crawled further up Azwren’s arms, engulfing his shoulders. The untarnished skin began to burn, to match the rest, charring black and crackling, bubbling and bursting, causing near unbearable agony. Screaming, he fell to his knees, and cried out for relief. He knew, regardless of how badly the wounds were, he would not die. His hands hand already burned down to the bone, and he still could use them. He knew there was no end to this so long as he continued to refuse.
“There must be something else you want! Anything!” He begged.
“One year. Three-hundred-and-sixty-five days. Today makes that sixty-six. One life a day. *That* was our deal, and you’ve ignored it long enough. I granted you enough leniency already. You knew you would have to make up for lost work when your year was up.”
“I fought in Travance! I took lives! Bad people!”
“But not for me. Those were for other reasons.”
“Please!”
The flames crept higher once more, threatening the left side of his face. Azwren’s voice was raw, no more could he scream. His simply shook his head as he continued to fight against his fate. His face began to burn.
“You. *WILL*. Honor out deal, Azwren Vayli.”
Azwren wasn’t exactly sure how long he had managed to last after that. He knows it was long enough for his forearms to join his hands at burning down to the bones. When he finally relented, he could’ve easily been confused for a burning lich. But no. Azwren wasn’t a lich. He was just an elf, whose will had finally been broken. Whose curse has finally taken its toll. With no voice to verbally respond, vocal cords now burned as well as screamed raw, he could only start nodding, and hope his pact would recognize what he meant. Eventually, the flames died down, and Azwren laid in a smoking heap.
“By the gods!” A voice called out from a short distance, “Fetch a physician! Someone’s hurt!” Whoever this man was, his compassion was immediately clear, as he rushed to Azwren’s side to check on him. It was a complete stranger, who took one look at the crumpled elf, and grew sad. “…Looks like there may be no need,” he sighed, mournfully. “He can’t possibly still be alive… what could’ve done this?”
The burnt, skeletal hands began to twitch, and move, as Azwren opened his eyes. He couldn’t… he couldn’t let that pain come back. He wouldn’t. The man hardly had time to scream, as an elf with wounds beyond what he thought survivable stood up, and unleashed a torrent of flames.
One down. Three-hundred-and-sixty-five to go. The sun was setting. Soon it would be sixty-six once more. He’d needed to work fast.
William - Progress
While most people he knew were unnerved by the quiet after the disappearance of Amototh and the end of the Dark Clandestine, William Sterling was quick to see real opportunity. With a generous sponsorship from Lady Lois, he sequestered himself at the railyard, inviting only those with scientific or magitechnical minds to occasionally join him. Laborers were hired to continue the outside work, and less than two years after the peace had settled, the first steam locomotive chugged its way from the Proper to Valdalis Crossroads.
The work only increased after that, and William began to see the realization of his original vision. More tracks were laid, connecting Valdalis to Oringard, and the Proper to Honor’s Peak, Caer Bridaeg, and Mordavia. William personally oversaw the construction of each individual engine, customizing it and making alterations in order to better fit with whichever land it would be serving. He even finally struck an accord with the people of Kaladonia, who were ever cautious of any form of technology spoiling their woodlands; and two years later a steamship built with Druidic magitech, whose home berth was built onto the Valdalis Station, made its way up the River Aris to dock in Elvalion.
William didn’t relax after all this success. He dove headfirst into logistics. Timetables and maintenance became his new normal. While he established an office in the Central Stationhouse, he’s almost never there. Just like before, he’s usually to be found at the Railyard, with a makeshift office in one of the shacks where he takes care of paperwork. However even with all of this work to keep him busy, he remembers what things were like before. Occasionally, William disappears into a fenced off and covered area of the Railyard, with signs posted all around saying “AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.” A lot of raw material has gone into this area over the years, and the banging and clanging can be heard throughout the night...
The Rusalka I The Inquisitor wet her thumb and forefinger to extinguish the lanterns at either side of the wide blackwood desk. Lira Ninnyhammer slumped further into her chair, stewing in the darkness. The sun had long since retired, the windows shut and bolted, and the thick ashen curtains of her Baronial office had been drawn since noon. The only light to court her eye was the warm glow from the closet door where she had assembled her shrine to the Ferryman. She frowned.
It had never sat right with Lira, this newborn era of harmony. It had been disorienting, in the way you might stumble when you bring down your heel too hard having expected one final step. It came too sudden, too easy, like a bribe. Like a trick. But she had begun to exhaust the possibilities. For a good eight months she had become convinced this was a collective dream. It took a celebrated ring of clerics to convince her that Chronicler’s Book had not been tampered with. Query, the research team she had assembled of theoreticians, augurs, boffins, and thaumaturges had long since dispersed. They had lives to live, they said. They no longer saw the problem.
But Ninnyhammer had been unrelenting. She wouldn’t accept non answers, she said, as the last of her colleagues took their leave. She would pursue the Answer on her own. Lira went back to her strengths, but found no success in blood rites and occult ritual nor holy pilgrimage nor Archon divination. The Spirits had no answers and the Siren spoke in riddles.
It was only a matter of time. Soon, the knife in the dark would be drawn. The Tower’s creature would re-emerge or some fresh terror would finally bear its teeth and announce that all had gone as planned. Arawyn was on borrowed time. Was she so alone in her fear? In her sight?
Heaving a great sigh, the Inquisitor wrenched herself up out of her chair to open the closet. Her grimace sank into something depressive and mournful, bathed in the orange light. The shrine was littered with wooden and paper statues, fruit, bowls of salt, carved beads, enchanted unshrinking candles, flowers, and apotropaic charms. Lira stooped to her knees and brought her lips to the cool face of a ceramic talisman.
“Please. Just one sign.”
There was no great flash of light, no apparitions, just the sound of crickets and the gentle perfume of the courtyard’s lilac bushes. In a moment, Ninnyhammer was at her feet a thin dagger drawn from her boot.
The window had been locked.
Now, somehow, it was open just an inch as a small black feather was carried in by the breeze and fell at Ninnyhammer’s feet. Something kin to a smile played on the Inquisitor's lips as she gathered her cloak.
To the Blackbird it is.
Owen Piper - Statecraft
“Because he will be merciful,” Owen declared before the council. “Think of how few have made such grievous mistakes-”
“Treason. You might say it aloud, Lord Heir.”
Owen gritted his teeth before loosing a brief, yet labored sigh. Second Councilor Vero, a thorn of an elf, grinned as she sat back in her seat behind Owen. The circle of stone chairs remained silent as the politicians spoke solely through their eyebrows. Candlelights painted great shadows about the room.
“Treason then. This dilemma, however, is how I know he will be just. We all know full well how brilliant Lord Meldicia is. We all know how his people love him, how they cheered for his safe return.” Owen circled the room, directing them to letter after letter of knights, scholars, and guildmasters declaring their support for Hystern.
“Lord Heir, is this a proposal for kingship or marriage?”
A chuckle skittered across the room.
“Were I not wholly given to another, Councilor, I might have considered it.” The chuckle grew to a brief laugh and communal smile. Owen continued, “But alas, I might only be a friend. A friend who knows of his devotion to the betterment of this kingdom. How, after having fallen so far, he has risen to love this kingdom and its people. He has found duty in his rehabilitation, and that duty shall be tempered by the mercy we have shown him. If we raise him to King, he shall raise us all. ”
“And what of you, Lord Heir, would his Kingship name you Hand?” Councilor Vero raised an eyebrow, this time no snide remark but earnest concern.
“I assure you, Councilor, this is no play of ambition. My duty is to the sea, and I shall not leave her. Once he has been Named, I shall return to my place. In truth, I recommend that Elijah, the original candidate, be named his Hand and Heir. He is bright, optimistic, and gentle. Under Lord Meldicia, he shall grow into a fine Hand.”
“Hm,” responded First Councilor Micai, a grizzly bear turned-man, “I think it best we discuss a potential Heir at a different time.” Muttered agreements colored the room. “For now, we shall meditate on what you have said. You may take your leave now, Admiral Piper.”
With a deep, quiet bow, Owen departed through the iron chamber doors, where the ever-loyal Cobus Puren awaited him. Dark circles rested beneath his eyes and he had clearly been chewing on his lip in recent days. As the two trekked through the halls of Castle Loez, Cobus spoke his piece.
“Sir, I just don’t trust the Second Councilor. Bloody ponce. Gods forbid they entertain an idea they didn’t have. Been tryin’ to keep my eye on her lately. She goes off alone with a fair few of the lords and ladies ‘round here and I don’t think it’s for fun reasons.” His empty hands flexed and unflexed unwittingly, grasping for a missing rifle.
“Cobus, this is the capital. Everyone loves their secret meetings.”
“I know, sir, but I just get a bad feeling about her.”
“Cobus, my friend,” Owen began, stopping to place a hand upon Cobus’ shoulder, “you have had a bad feeling about everyone lately. Were we in Septufas, I might be of the same mind, but right now we must restrain ourselves and maintain face. This is a different kind of battlefield. Vero would sooner damage my reputation than poison me, and the last thing I need is her thinking I am directing you to spy-
“She’s harmless right now,” interjected a familiar voice with a cough. Axiana Lockmoore, Cobus’ old, candle-like lieutenant had climbed into the castle hall through a nearby window, covered in soot and hacking up a storm. Owen pinched his nose immediately upon seeing her. “Hid in her chimney during a few of her meetings and they’re mostly talkin’ about her business investments. So... shitty for a politicker, but she’s not tryin’ to poison you or nothin’.”
The high-and-happy laughter of Cobus filled the halls, while Owen took a long stroke of his face, uncertain if now was the best time to discuss this behavior. Before he could settle, two more familiar faces found them, recognizing the captain’s laugh.
“Slow going with Steward Beck,” Winks opened, his hair greying with frustration. Though the hobgoblin was happy to drop pretense in the presence of friends, Consul Verity was not. Poised and sharp as a quill, she delicately held a number of scrolls in her hands.
“The Good Knight is correct, Lord Piper.” Verity’s raised eyebrow was perhaps the only hint at frustration. “Heyward Beck’s original position of strength was useful when he was first placed in charge of Robyrn; however, he is exhibiting some...difficulties grasping the concept that the criminal activity within his capital would decrease if his efforts were devoted to minimizing desperation rather than making a show of punishment.”
“Did you present him with the-”
“The numbers did not speak to him,” the Consul replied. A communal sigh filled the hall. A silence lapsed before Sir Winks continued.
“I have a couple old friends in his court. Heyward isn’t...perfectly aware that some of his officials
come from less reputable upbringings. I’m thinking that, if I can convince them to come forward and be an example of how people can change, then he’ll at least have to attempt to reconcile with the idea.” Wink and Owen shared a knowing nod before a handshake with their scarred left hands.
“The stagnation is rooted deep within these halls. Many of the nobles here have difficulty with the concept of amnesty, and it will keep the kingdom from progress. Keep at it, my friends. This is work worth doing. “ Once more, they all looked upon one another, sighed, and smiled.
Axiana Lockmoore- Crossroads
Usually hard work and determination led to the realization of dreams and goals.
That didn’t seem to be the case for Axiana Lockmoore.
With what seemed like a single stroke of a pen, the ship was decommissioned and the Navy downsized. Her hands shook as she read the letter. Just like that; all the work she had done, what she had accomplished, erased by a single notice. This wasn’t sadness; this was anger. Her chance to become a captain and head her own ship dashed by the cold piece of parchment in her hands. Which isn’t to say her dreams were totally crushed; of course there were other ways to captain her own ship. But this felt different. She didn’t talk to anyone the rest of that day; in fact she didn’t remember most of it.
Two days later and she had effectively resigned. It's not like they would want to keep her around. Now all that was left was to make her next move and say goodbye. Saying goodbye to the crew was hard, but she managed. Packing was far easier; she didn't have very much to her name to begin with. All that was left was to tell the Captain.
She hadn’t even closed the door to her quarters before coming face to face with Albine Duchamp, leaning up against the creaking wood of the ship. Startled and face a bit red, she offered the chief the best smile she could muster. “I wasn’t aware you were there Duchamp.” Axiana stated plainly. Duchamp simply nodded and, with a raised eyebrow, gestured to the packed bag resting on Axiana’s bed.
“So, you’re off as well. Have you told the Captain yet?” Duchamp inquired.
Axiana shook her head, “ No, I was on my way to tell him now.” She pauses for a long time, staring at her fellow sailor. “Albine, it’s been an honor serving with you. And thank you for putting your trust in me. I wish you only the best going forward,” she flashes her a brief lopsided smile, “And who knows? Perhaps our paths will cross again. It’s been far too long since my last trip to Coast Haven.”
Duchamp offers Axiana a rueful smile in return. “It was an honor to fight by your side. Take care of yourself out there Axiana. And good luck." Axiana stuck her hand out to clasp Duchamp's and while the other woman reciprocated, she soon pulled the young lieutenant into a hug. They parted ways not long after.
She found him in his quarters, door open as he stood overlooking the port from his window. Announcing her approach with a knock on the door frame, Cobus turns around to face her. It was not hard to tell how the Captain was taking the news. It was one thing to have had all his hard work be for naught, but it was another thing entirely to watch as his close knit crew had the rug pulled out from under them. It wasn’t an easy thing to accept for any of them.
Seeing the look on her face, he could easily tell where this conversation was heading as his features dropped. "XO, I was wondering when you would come around. Planning on staying until the end?" He asks, but she knows he already knows her answer.
“No,” she shook her head and offered him a small, somber smile, “No I'm afraid I won’t be sticking around to watch as the axe drops. I already bid Duchamp, Moran, Collins and the crew farewell. You were the last on my stop, sir.” She pauses for a moment before continuing, “I got my affairs in order ahead of time. There doesn’t really seem to be a need for plucky, chaotic lieutenants right now. And we both know how bad I am at clerical work.” she says with a small laugh in a failed attempt to lighten the mood.
With her laugh dying down her face takes on a more serious expression. Reaching her closed fist out, she opens it, revealing her crossed pistol pins.
“Since I’m no longer-”
Cobus shuts her down quickly with a shake of his head. "No. You've earned those, Axiana. They were not given freely. Keep them with you, they can serve as a reminder. You said it yourself, you're far better where you are than where you have been. Remember that."
"I...thank you, sir." Is all she can say as she places her pins into her jacket pocket. There is a very long silence between the pair. "You've taught me some valuable lessons over these past years. And I couldn't ask for a better friend. Please be good to yourself, sir. I can't always be watching your back now can I? You've got a lot of people who care about you out there." She laughs.
He chuckles at her response. "Well you're still my XO, after all, peace be damned. You be good to yourself out there as well, Axiana."
Axiana nods her head. "I'll be okay. Always am." She snaps him one final salute. "It's been an honor, Cobus."
Cobus returns her salute. "The honor has been all mine, Axiana." The two linger here for a moment before she heads back towards the door.
"Be proud of the leader you have become."
Back in her quarters, she pens a quick letter to send before she heads out. Once the writing is complete, she grabs her bag and takes one last look at the quarters she has called home the past several years. The only place stable enough for her to call home; the first place she could call her own.
And with a deep breath, she departs, leaving behind the life she had known for what could only be an unsure future.
Kanas,
It seems that with peace brings me more time to dedicate to being your squire, on a more permanent basis. I’ll be making my way to Alieander this evening. I will see you in a few days time.
Lieu
Axiana Lockmoore
Verity E. Arkwright – Condolences
(CW: Death of family, emotional abuse) This was the third bouquet of flowers that had made its way into Verity’s hands this morning. She rubbed a thumb against the rough stem, somewhat perturbed and confused by the bundle of viscaria presented to her by some philistine clad in finery beyond his station. Bending gently at the knee, she laid the bouquet on the pew behind her, freeing up her hands to accept the barrage of apologies and melodramatic condolences that had plagued her for the past two hours. History is always written by the victor, or so she was told. Perhaps that explained the gilded tales of her mother that wafted from the mouths of the shifting crowd. They settled into the cathedral’s vaulted ceiling as a soft din, but the weight of their words pressed down on Verity’s shoulders. “You knew very well that the moment you set foot in that room, every eye would be upon you,” her mother scolded between clenched teeth, removing her jewel-encrusted hand from Verity’s shoulder. She towered over Verity, who found a child’s diadem rolling over her fidgeting fingers. The diadem vanished as a set of black shoes entered Verity’s vision. “My deepest condolences, Consul.” lamented the elderly, bespectacled elf before her. “She was always such a kind woman. Did excellent work for the children, such charity.” “By the Gods!” she spit, as though each word were a droplet of venom on her tongue, “I told them I had a trained lady-in-waiting. ‘Afraid’ has no place in your vocabulary. If I’d known you’d have referred to the host as ‘sir,’ I’d have sooner sent a donkey to give an appropriate introduction for our household.” Verity inhaled sharply, quickly punctuating the moment with a hasty smile. “Thank you for your kind words,” she replied. It felt so performative, but then again, wasn’t everything else? “I’m afr- I wouldn’t be where I am today without her guidance.” She paused. Would she? Here she stood today, a respected advisor, an unparalleled strategist, a diplomat known in her own right and sought after by a King’s Candidate -she ought to respond to that missive tonight - and surely the envy of her sisters. She’d made great strides in the circles her mother frequented and beyond, and yet... was this her success? More importantly, was this what success meant to her? Lady Arkwright soon realized she’d balled her gown into clenched fists. Wide eyed, she loosened her grip, fervently smoothing out the shimmering material. She sighed and straightened her back, looking more like a statue than the mother of the little girl before her. “Consider yourself lucky that this is a charity gala for the gentry, so I can make up for the damage you caused from that excuse of a conversation.” “I’m sure that right now, she’s looking down and smiling on you,” said the man, the corners of his eyes crinkling with his halfhearted smile. This wasn’t palliative, it was patronizing. “Death doesn’t bestow the mantle of a hero on the backs of those it welcomes,“ she thought to herself, “nor does it wash away a lifetime of misdeeds.” Fearing her thoughts may have betrayed her and escaped her lips, Verity looked back at the man, whose warm countenance remained unbothered. “Now, unless you want to continue making good on your commitment to being a malignant blemish on this family’s name, I suggest you go out there and convince every lord and lady of the court that I didn’t just lie to them about my daughter’s ability to conduct herself.” “I’m glad you share her faith in me.” After swallowing several additional sorries from the gentleman, she began to wonder if she were better suited to the screened side of a confessional box for these tirades. After all, this was for their sake, not her own. Eventually, he continued to his seat, satisfied with the pleasantries exchanged, and another took his place shortly after. Eventually, the throngs of people funneled past her and into their seats. Verity waited forever for silence to fall, and then solemnly approached the podium. The seats were filled, the air fresh and still. She didn’t look left, even though the silhouette of that box screamed for her attention. Her mother was right, she conceded, she was prepared for this moment. Time for an introduction. Her lips parted.
Adventure (Kanas Part 1)
It was midday. Kanas was sitting at a cafe table in the heart of Aliander with coffee in hand. He was watching a pair of minstrels entertaining the crowds coming and going, his foot tapping along with the beat. He used to do this back when he was adventuring in Travance. It helped him center himself. A reminder of the people he fought for. Not kings. Not great concepts beyond his ken. But for people, so that they can live out their lives happy and free. But things change. The great evil is no more. There’s peace. He was no longer needed in Travance.
With peace in Travance came peace within the kingdom as a whole. Kormyre was entering a state of stability, and while there was no sitting king on the throne there was a feeling of reassurance. The tension in the air was starting to dissipate, and he was able to breathe a sigh of relief. In a way, his purpose as a knight was complete. He helped Kormyre in its time of need, to find a way through the storm. But knighthood never truly suited him, and like the paladins of ages past, he knew it was time to step away. He’ll have words with Piper and Magnus. Point his squire in their direction. Axiana had served him for a few years now, and she has grown leaps and bounds since they started. He knew she was ready. He’ll give her the Queen’s Shield too. It belongs with the kingdom, not with him.
He wasn’t sure where he would end up after this. Part of him wanted to settle down. But he knew there’s always people in need and he’s never been the settling down type. He never liked staying in one place for too long and while Kormyre was nice there’s a whole world to explore. He didn’t know how much of the wanderlust was Fiona guiding him or was his own. He just knew to follow it. Though this time he didn’t want to do this alone.
Kanas’ afternoon date was to arrive any minute. He didn’t plan for this day to be special. It wasn’t an anniversary nor a holiday for them. It just felt right to do this now. He nervously played with a silver ring in his hand as he saw Laric walk through the crowd. Fiona grant me courage.
Annora - Family
The Drake Queen sat in front of her house on the outskirts of New Avondale, staring off into the swamps and watching two drake hatchlings play-wrestle. They really did grow up so fast, despite how slowly time was passing these days.
Annora had always been a loner, by fate rather than choice, but she saw other humanoids even less than usual lately. It seemed no one needed her skills now. Drega'mire, at this point, was an administrative entity and she had never had a talent for paperwork. Talaniel and Angelica had that well in hand, Annora was sure. Kanas had grown into his role as a traveling protector of the people so well, that she had faith the common folk had a stalwart defender to turn to.
Annora let out a deep, mopey sigh. In this new era of peace, with the Dark Clandestine and its aura of evil gone, she was a protector with nothing to protect.
Lost in her own thoughts, she misses the warning signs of chirps and a waving tail. One of the hatchlings charges and knocks her into the mud in its attempt to rub his face against her horns. Laughing, Annora shakes herself out and shifts from bipedal to quadrupedal form, before chirping back at the hatchling. Mock-snapping at him, she playfully chases him into the marshes, while the other hatchling begins attempting to grab her tail.
Grinning a lizard smile, Annora runs after the young ones. At least she had her family.
"MEEOOOOW."
Maria looked up from her book. “What?”
The housecat sized black panther stared at her pointedly from across the room.
"MEOOOW."
“Look, if you want attention you’re going to have to come over here,” she sighed. “I’m in the middle of something.”
The cat hopped up onto the windowsill. Following it with her eyes, Maria noticed past it the colors of the setting sun on the horizon. “Oh. Alright, alright, we’ll get a move on. I’ll finish my notations at home.” She stuffed the book into her satchel alongside the tarot deck that had been in her lap. She stood up with a slight wince. Her body protested from being curled up in a chair since lunch.
The sound of bells chimed in through the open window. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. It was getting late. She could always continue her studying at home. And she still had some shopping to do on the way. Political meetings ran long that morning, barring her from getting that done during her midday break. If she hurried, she could still get back before Darius finished dinner. A smile crossed her lips, and she flicked her left hand to get a bit of stray ink off the gold band on her ring finger.
She paused twice when walking out of her office, a few seconds apart, thinking a question in that direction just in case.
‘Hey love, I’m stopping by the market on my way home to pick up some extra birthday treats for Storm. Do you need anything?’
Ravani - Progress
A blue-haired elf walks into the back room of Galladelights Bakery, Auralion, Kaladonia, with a large rolled up parchment in hand. She clears off the kitchen's counter, moving mixing bowls and knives, before unraveling her treasure.
Ravani peers over the incredibly detailed map of the Barony of Travance, muttering to herself. "Pendarvin seems the most likely option? Lady Ilana is partial to our treats. She could be convinced very easily to give us prime real estate. She's the annoying honorable sort, but if we play this right, the promise of regular baked goods deliveries will only sound like an offer of friendship, not bribery." The elf taps a finger against her lips, deep in thought. "Stonefall could also have potential, but Elric needs to widen their line of blood treats before we start a branch there."
Ravani looks up, a smirk on her face, as she speaks to the starlight swan that forms out of mist and sits on top of the map. "First, the Proper. And then, all of Korymre. It's time for a new Empire. And a Bakery Empress!"
Year have gone by. Deepwood has fortified their position and Cyan has expanded his trade empire. Aliester gave command of part of the Glomm Legion over to Cyan to protect the southern boarder. Fortresses, outpost and castles are being built all over the area to control the lands. Cyan frequently is giving food and other items to the peasanty. Fel spends the years tending to their son Amir and spreading the word of Glomm through the province. Indigo spends times traveling with Ireni to various ports making deals and wielding the influance they as a church continmue to grow. Henchman travels between the southern fortifications and their main stronnghold. Training and preparing forces.
Indigo and Cyan stand on the battlements of Cyans shadow fortress looking over the area talking about next steps and plans in whispered tones.
"Its been three years since Glomm came and claimed Jed." Indigo states
"Yes and we are almost ready. Money pours in from around the world from trade and we never stopped preparing. Tari is now with us and feels much better about herself and he new state." Cyan states.
As they discuss further fortifications and militerization Addy shows up on the battlements.
"Your back Addy how was your trip?" Indigo askes. Her responce is to hand him a letter. He reads it and hands it over to Cyan to read as well. "Its all ready" Ingigo muses.
"Yes gather everyone. The fun is about to begin. Its been quite for way to long." Cyan responds. As they reenter the showdowy fortress on a wind swept ridge overlooking the Deepwood.
Magnus- without connection "...496" Magnus closed his eyes trying to reach out to Fiona, to tell him where he was needed next, as he lowered his body closer to the floor but there was no call to action. This has become a common occurrence, for months now Magnus had reached out to the power that once guided him with no response. His connection to the greater good had not weakened, he still had all the powers granted to paladins, but there was no direction given with it. "...497" Sweat dripped from his forehead hitting the cold stone floor of his home in the United territory of Corvancia. The territory he was sworn to protect was located underground situated between a major city of Deepholm and Travance. O.nce a lively place full of adventurers, now it was peaceful and quiet. His retainers scattered to the winds. His first knight was out looking for adventure by land, his second knight keeping peace on the seas, and his third he had not heard from in some time. Friends, council members and squires were all scattered across Aarwyn living their lives, yet magnus could not figure out what to do. "...498" Magnus' muscles strained realizing he has not seen the sun in almost a week, and he wasn't needed in the capitol for another week. He looked over at his tattered General's coat, a small layer of dust has begun to form over it. In the beginning he would spend a great deal of time in the Capitol playing the roll he always has, of the brutish commoner at the nobles table, making a scene so Alister could actually get some work done, but this has become less and less common. "...499" Magnus wondered if he should have just went with Astraea to the high elven capitol. Magnus paused for a brief second, the thought he just had tugged at something. What it tugged at magnus could no longer tell, but it was something he was once quiet familiar with. "...500" Magnus stood up from his prone position and reached for a towel to wipe off the sweat, his mind spinning with everything he had just considered. "Does this world even need a creature like me and more... no not creature, you are a person magnus, remember she said you are a person" He finished drying off and walked towards the bath, "maybe sneaking out with the good prince to drink at the dragons claw will remind me of that, you know for old times sake"
Jackdaw - Bane of the Corrupt There was a cold silence in the Dragon’s Claw. The only sound Jackdaw could hear was the clack of his boots on the floor as he walked through it. Soft light from the occasional candle and the slowly dying fireplace left spots of orange glow throughout the otherwise darkened building. He had seen the building like this before, in the early hours of the morning just before the sun rose, when most of the town was sleeping off the latest battle. However this pre-dawn lull had lasted for months. Usually there was the occasional adventurer still awake, but now the building was just empty. After all of the work that had been done to see this town functional, the pieces began drifting away. It was quiet here, and Jackdaw abhorred the quiet. Travance it seemed had become distinctly dull.
By the end of the first year, in the most respectful way possible, he abandoned the responsibilities he had accepted to help ensure Travance kept running, and he began wandering. Quiet in Travance did not translate to quiet in the rest of the world. There was still evil, and terrible dangers, and that meant adventure and wealth. He rejoined the crew of the Winged Victory, and sailed to Sevenlore to test their mettle against the weavestorm. After barely escaping the Dreadiron fleet he saw to it that word of their activities made it to the right hero types. A few more adventures saw a few scrapes and death defying escapes (and maybe one or two deaths, but he’d apparently learned how to walk those off.)
By the end of the second year, he had a pile of treasures, and trophies from enemies defeated. The lack of Travance as a base of operations had made it clear that he and those who had been roped into his criminal enterprises would need some level of infrastructure. He began purchasing a few manors and estates dotted around the eastern side of the rift, and turning them into places to get supplies, and hide out. He built up contacts, and resources. It was draining funds, but one tended to commit crimes to gain the resources to commit bigger crimes. He still had friends that cared about laws that he wanted to stay in the good graces of. He still had Talaniel Starling who could deconstruct him with a glance. It became clear that he would have to be careful about who he targeted. However if he targeted people who deserved it not only would his allies cover for him, but the law would be less likely to come hunting him.
It was during the third year, while visiting Starling and getting into yet another deep discussion over dinner about the shape of the world, and how one could best help that he began to consider a new venture. Sure, there were no world ending events now, and the plethora of well intentioned heroes with nothing better to do were out and about stopping the easy to spot villainy. That meant a lot of hard to spot villainy was free to run rampant. People in power in Londwyn, Coast Haven, and even Kormyre who used their wealth and power to do what they liked, to hurt people that had no way to defend themselves, people the law had forgotten. Much as he didn’t like to admit it, Jackdaw was a person who cared, but he wasn’t good. He didn’t believe in doing what was right, he believed people should get what they deserved. That what you thought it was okay to do to others should be done to you. With a list of people in power who used that power to destroy others, he resolved to do the same to them. Not only steal from them, but to take everything. To take their money and power and see that it was used to help the people they hurt. To use the resources of vile people to destroy other vile people. This…. Was not a plan he could accomplish alone. He had always worked best with a team of heroes, and he knew a few people from Travance who would appreciate the work. A few invitations were sent out via letter, a few people were invited in person, a few just randomly showed up.
By the fourth year there was a small team of people directly working to undo the damage done to the world. There were even people still tied to official work who helped out when they could. This included getting a monastery to use as a safe house when things got bad. By the fifth year, the small group was locked into debate over who to focus on next. Now that the threats to Travance that no longer united them, there were former friends who warranted examination.
Julia- Two Forward, Three Back Femurs were difficult to carve into engagement rings. This is what the most recent hunt had taught Julia. Damned idiot. Her pocket knife slipped yet again as she attempted to chisel away portions of the bone, causing her to grimace. Maybe it was the wrong kind of knife? The wrong kind of bone? No, maybe she should get an actually bloody craftsman to do this kind of damn--
As the blade dug into the gleaming white surface yet again, it hit an odd angle, causing the femur to crack and split in two. Julia exhaled through gritted teeth, her eyes shutting tight. The remnants of the bone hit the ground as she hurled them in frustration, kicking up a small cloud of dirt in a ring round her feet.
The familiar feelings of rage bubbled in her chest. Immediately making her flush red, threatening to swell even further as her ears buzzed and a series of small, phantom pains attacked her clavicle. Her hand clawed instinctually at a necklace that no longer lay around her throat. Not finding it, the panic rose. However, she was prepared for this. She counted her breaths, steady and even. Between them were mantras, taught to her by Damien. Some in common. Others in Celestial. Over and over, muttered in a forced calm whisper as she leant forward, over the knees brought up to her chest. In several seconds, the frustration died, the burning in her belly fading to nothing but a mild flame.
Shoulders slumping in relief, she revelled in the calm. The rage never lasted nearly as long these days. If she could nip it in the bud before it grew, that is. Julia glared at the remnants of the bone, sitting in the dusty dirt of the forest path. She glared at it like it had slighted her personally. Horribly. Why did people propose anyway? They had already been dating nearly six years. Why not stay there? She already had plenty of rings. Surely she could just give Nalick one of those. He was a bloody Andorran, after all. Why would he ever go for a ring made of bone, for gods’ sake? He wouldn’t. Right?
There wasn’t time to linger on this long, she decided. Twilight was beginning to fall, the sunlight casting its last, long shadows across the forest floor. The usual group of children was coming around tomorrow for another lesson. If she wanted to teach them proper shelter craftsmanship, she’d have to collect materials for them ahead of time. In her head, she quickly counted how many branches she’d have to collect so they could each have a lean-to of their own. Dammit. Being a teacher was hard. Looking down, she sighed at the body lying next to her. It was cold by now. Right. Burying it would have to come before any gathering. Julia groaned at the inconvenience, but stood and began dragging the man further into the woods. It’d be a long night.
Allyce
Blood dripped down her forehead, obscuring her vision on the left side. Annoying.
Brushing her fingers over the trickle, she casually glanced at her hand to gauge the steadiness of the stream. Not bad. A typical head wound then likely. Not truly a concern, but still in this company not the best. Whispering under her breath, she mustered a bit of darkness to heal the wound and cleansed the blood from her skin smoothly and efficiently, careful to make no noise.
That fact addressed, she continued to monitor the situation. Two down, one up and moving with a slight limp on the right side. It, too, bled from the head and torso but much more slowly- but then, undead really didn't have a pulse much less blood flow. Still, not yet taken care of. Easily rectified.
Briskly, she proceeded to wrap the undead up in her magic and beheaded it. Releasing her magical bonds, she turned to review the situation, nodding her head as she determined this raid was finished. Nice, neat, complete. And before the rest arrived as well- but the witch hunters could deal with those. They kept complaining of boredom- they could clean up the mess. Besides, she had other things to take care of.
Turning her head, she viewed the small city she had helped found years ago- the inhabitants had no idea who she was but she added to their ranks from time to time.
"Slavery", she thought. "Not nearly as easy to deal with as vampires but just as satisfying."
Reminded of an appointment to keep, she pivoted on one foot and casually stepped through the portal that opened in midair for her. Emerging on the other side, she walked to her desk and checked her missives. Her bat flew around her face, but its movements were more satisfied than urgent and she spared it a fond glance. How strange it seemed to remember a time when she had hated magic and its uses- and now her bat was as much a part of her as her breath.
Overall, she decided, even losing the opportunity to help with Amatoth had barely affected her- she hadn't really had enough time to really get used to the idea before it seemed to have been taken care of. A part of her had been relieved while another part had regretted the disappearance. VIM vanishing seemed to her to be suitable- his task was done and she mentally saluted him as she had that day she felt him leave. As strange as others found it, she was happy for him- she had wondered before what would happen when his obsession was over. She still kept a thought for him but she had felt nothing since the day he left and so she felt sure that he was at rest. Glancing around her small domain, she rested her hands on her desktop for a moment. Maybe one day, she would be ready for the same.
Bitzzz had spent enough time following the banners of Duke Belial across the continent. Those of her kin who had joined him, sent to Enax. Those who worked for the human who brought dishonor to Galderon tried to hind, but she found many of them. He left behind so many of his devoted. They were delicious.
returning to Travance, she learned of the knight Winks, and how his grandfather was leading the army trying to depose those who allied with the stupid human.
Though he worships Galadell, he is a good, honorable kin. Galadell not wrong god, like Valos. Bitzzz will go to Galderan and offer her swords to those who want to being honor back to Galderan.
Myrdiz Dar’hana had dutifully manned the clinic in Vadalis Crossroads as per Count Everest’s request for many years. the lack of dangers had led to many new emigrants to Travance, but also those who wanted to work the clinic. She trained a few, and then, knowing the passage was now well guarded from disease, travelled away from there, back to her homeland.
no bounty on her family under the newest leader, she felt confident she would be able to reclaim the family place in the new government. Hopefully Sir Cinder would still be at his father’s side.
Ilana: Breaking the Chain (Part 1) It did not end in a grand battle between whatever Aleister was expecting to become and Amatoth.
It did not end with VIM appearing, maybe being purged of the void corruption and making a last stand? It did not end in failure and the world being devoured. It just ended.
The odd calm that was felt hearing the news was a relief and a strain. Ilana knew she had placed a shackle on herself long ago with a promise she found so important. Now, she finally had a key, a chance to be rid of it for good. Well, there were other things weighing her down. The new tree that loomed in the distance stood between her and freedom. She whispered to Sam her thoughts of leaving but knew that she needed to continue her work in Pendarvin. Once she was rid of the strange creature that wailed unnaturally on particularly dark nights, she could begin plotting out her real adventure. Ilana unfurled the detailed map of the crater that surrounded the strange tree, the border that had been detailed by her dear vassals and the wall that was still in the process of being erected at the slope of an entrance that existed in the small cratered valley. There was clearly something in that mist, gnarled wood and bone. Fortunately, it did not leave the mist. Unfortunately, the mist ever so slightly spread and each darker night, the further it tried to press, retreating into place when the sun shined.
--- The first year was the hardest, some had expected things to be worst around Galladel’s Watch but it was just like any other evening. No, it seemed the dark was its interest and nothing about spirits. Ilana had prepared for Solstice, the longest night, the best she could but even she did not quite expect what happened. Fortunately, with less of the ‘world’ to worry about, she was able to put out a call and those eager adventurers with nothing to do meandered their way into Pendarvin the next Winter. With researching, planning, and probably a lot of luck, the next longest night was a much brilliant, violent battle. Maybe they had truly defeated the creature or simply beat it down. Ilana took the reprieve from the strange threat to prepare her own future plans but she delayed herself to not leave *too* soon, in case it came back. Pendarvin had been a relatively self-sufficient land and as they established their allies to the north, in the mountains, and rooted themselves in, Ilana was comfortable with her choice and let others know her interests of leaving in a few years.
With the new 'free time' Ilana began to work on a project she had always wished to but was always interrupted: The Gates of Passage. She reached out, seeing who was still around and still interested. decided to continue working on determining more of the dials and quirks of the interesting device. She had helped with it in the past and had a decent amount of knowledge, but was happy for any help offered. It seemed some of the old friendly faces were not around as much nowadays. Ilana knew that things did not just end. One day an answer of some kind would be found as to what actually happened. She could enjoy the time she had though. Maybe somewhere through the gates there was an answer. Maybe there was somewhere else that needed help, inheriting Arawyn's problem. Or, maybe there was just a new place to find.
Despite these preparations, Ilana kept herself available to Darkwood Academy, the Proper, whomever still hovered around the Barony and wanted an ear to listen to them or maybe a small light to reignite theirs. She knew one day she would carry her light elsewhere but, until then, she left her door open to any who would want to step in. She noticed over time, even before the tower had disappeared, there were less and less people who seemed to care. Maybe it would be a good time to leave, to keep the memory of people the way she enjoyed them instead of what they might become.
After she found someone she trusted to take her place, she would begin the adventure she had always wanted.
She had a lot of work to do.
Tari
Peace began to wear on Tari, others appeared happy and relieved, they went on to have full lives. Tari on the other hand, she was left uneasy. Tari never trusted the peace and she was left weary with nothing to fight, and nothing to do. She began to spend more and more time with the Glomm clergy, particularly Cyan. He was all to happy to welcome her. Cyan reinforced to not trust the peace, to embrace the unease that she felt. Cyan spoke often about what he was, and what he could help her accomplish if only she would listen. Cyan began to speak of things, undead and power. At first Tari resisted, however as time went on, she began to listen. With peace continuing and no where for Tari to go, she began to wonder if white sorcery was even needed any longer…the world was peaceful, and there seemed to be nothing to defend the weave from.
One day Cyan came to Tari and said today was the day. He stated that it was time to follow in the family footsteps, it was time to become a lich. Cyan promised her that she could become a lich and still be like her great grandfather, Tari had learned a lot from Cennius over the years and thought the power boost could be useful. Cyan also reminded Tari that the peace would not last and when it did, something terrible would be coming and she had to be ready. Tari was reluctant to admit even to herself that there was a twinge of excitement, she had always wondered what the other side felt like, what no rules and no one to answer to. With one last breath, Cyan began the ritual.
Tari opened her eyes with a new sense of power. Looking around, it was like seeing the world for the first time. Tari smiled and slowly got up. Looking at Cyan, her expression said it all, why had she waited so long to do this? This was such a great feeling; Tari finally understood the draw and need for power.
The Next Chapter Pt 1
“Step forward, kneel, and repeat after me…”
Kel took a deep breath before following the command. How long had she been on this journey? Here do I swear by mouth and hand
Fealty and service to the King and Crown
Nearly three years with Tristram and then six more with Winks; a long time to be a squire.
To speak and to be silent
Nearly a decade doing her best learning to be an example - a paragon for the people.
To do and to let be
From all the fantastical adventures in Travance, the last few years serving in Kormyre seemed like a vacation.
To come and to go
Yet even still, when she closed her eyes, her heart twisted at the thought of Tristram still trapped in his cursed sleep.
To serve and to teach
Five years now, trapped in that nightmare...
In matters that concern this Realm
The tip of the blade touched her shoulder, and she knew well that sword; the one taken from Baliol.
In need or in plenty
She had taken that blade from him and turned it from a tool weighted with ambition into one wreathed in the passion of her desire to protect.
In peace or in war
With each vow she repeated, the fight to hold back her tears of joy and accomplishment waged.
In living or in dying
The blade fell to her other shoulder. This was the moment of all her work coming to fruition.
Until the King departs his throne
From this day she would be the shield, the protector, the person others could turn to that she had always dreamed about.
Death take me
She opened her eyes to see Aleister before her, sword in hand, and her knight, Winks, behind him beaming with pride.
Or the world end
Once more she opened her mouth to speak the oath to the nobility before her with renewed vigor and determination to her cause. So say I, Keladry Aybara
“Now rise… and be recognized!”
Winks - Decisions
“I’ve been down here a lot lately…”
His weapons left at the entrance out of respect, Winks stood in the large underground cavern, in front of the stone altar in the shape of a large turtle shell. He knelt at the end of the damp paved walkway, one green-skinned hand resting on the carving in front of him.
“It’s been a couple years. Since the battle during the war when you woke up. And then that war ended, and not long after everything just became...quiet. I started coming down, and I know you’re either asleep again, possibly dead again, or just not bothering to respond to anything I say, but that’s ok. I know you’re here, I’ve kind of always known, always had the feeling, ever since Aleister first told me about you.”
He sighs and sits back, easing off his slightly aching knees and crossing his legs in front of him. “This city, it means a lot to me, and I think that’s where our connection came from. I moved here a decade ago, after the Sharpthorn Holdings were destroyed, and I just wanted a home where I could keep my family safe. I got that, because I worked to make it that way. Drega’Mire, and Oringard in particular, has become my first real home since leaving Gaaldron, and I love everything about it. I love the streets during the day and the dark alleys at night. I love the bridges over the River Aris and the tall walls that help to protect us. And I love the people of this city, all those who have accepted me over the years and supported me and eventually welcomed me as not just their representative and protector, but as one of their own.”
A tear rolls down his cheek as he sits in front of the altar. “And that’s what makes this difficult. That quiet that I mentioned. Just because things are so much calmer here in Travance, doesn’t mean there isn’t still work to be done elsewhere. The rebellion is still going in Gaaldron, led in part by my own grandfather. I still feel like Kormyre could really make a difference up there, but only if I work to make it happen. So I’ve finally accepted Aleister’s standing invitation to join him in Aleander, as one of his knights there. I know I’ll have support there, not just Aleister but also Stonewall and a few of the other council lords. There’s been real change here in Travance and Kormyre since I’ve been here, and I’m hoping we can bring that change to Gaaldron as well. My family will be coming with me of course, as will Keladry. Hells, with full immersion into the affairs of the capitol and greater diplomatic exposure, she probably won’t even be my squire for much longer. She’s already come so far…”
Winks uncrosses his legs and stands once again. Placing both hands on the large carved shell in front of him, he bows his head. “I know I’m leaving Drega’Mire in good hands. The remaining members of the court will do everything they need to to protect this land. And I’ve lost count of how many skirmishers and worg riders I’ve trained over the years. And then there’s you. I know you’re still here, and you will be long after we’re all gone, in some form or another. I don’t know how I know that, but I just do. Just like I know that when I leave for Loez, I’m taking a piece of you with me in my heart. I just hope I know how to use it, and that I’m worthy of it.”
He stands up straight, wipes his eyes, and turns to leave the cavern. Halfway to the entrance he stops, feeling an added weight on his chest. Looking down he sees, hanging next to his Galladelian holy symbol, a small amulet in the shape of a turtle shell. Winks looks back to the altar over his shoulder, smiling softly, then continues to the entrance where he gathers up his weapons and makes his way back to the surface.
Damien- "Homecoming"
The large wooden doors of the former Marcain estate creaked open, welcoming home one of the last two descendants of the once-noble house. It was never too much, even at the height of its glory- it was based out of Angst, after all, but, for the first eighteen years of Damien’s life, this place was everything. Now, the rooms and hallways were silent. No siblings, older or younger, would greet him. No loving mother would scold him, overcome with worry as to where he had been all this time. He would hope Julia would come home as well, and join him, but he didn’t believe too strongly that it would happen. No, this place was terrible.
He climbed the stairs in the main entrance hall, proceeding past the study, the library, and the hall that used to contain his and all his siblings’ bedrooms. He unlocked the door to the third floor, and proceeded upwards further. Down the dusty hall of the top floor, and through one final door, he stepped into his mother’s former office. He’d been through every drawer of the desk, every lockbox on the shelves, and every page of every ledger she had left behind, and still, he could hardly wrap his head around how she used to run this whole empire by herself. But… with no imminent dangers to the world, no more feasts with friends and fellow heroes to occupy himself… he could no longer avoid confronting this large, empty house, and all that it used to contain. Perhaps out of a desperation for something familiar, he would learn. He would dedicate himself to building what his family used to own. Etching his name on Inheritor, the sword held by every head of the Marcain household, he sat down to begin his work.
… “I don’t much care for your tone, Marcain.” An imposing figure slammed his fist on the dining room table in frustration. “And I don’t much care for slavers.” Damien’s response was cold, calculated, emotionless. “So I’m simply being forward with you.” “We’ll take our business elsewhere then, and you’ll be-“ “Following you. I don’t think you quite understand, Captain. I’m not turning down your offer. I’m shutting you down entirely.” Placing his wine glass on the table, Damien stands. “I practically own this gods-awful city, whether the rest of the families realize it or not. And I will not have scum like you abducting children off my streets.” A moment of shocked silence hung in the air for several long, tension-filled moments. Filling with anger, Damien’s guest reached for his sword. “I don’t listen to the likes of-“ *BANG.* Damien sighed. He would’ve preferred to not waste the bullet.
… As he took the sealed letter to the window, he didn’t expect to find one waiting for him. Swapping the parchments with the well-trained messenger, Damien spoke clearly- “Julia.”
She hadn’t been visiting as often, recently, but she checked in enough, so he was at ease. And a letter asking for help cleaning up the remnants of the good captain’s crew would certainly bring her home quickly. Still, with that sent, his attention curiously shifted to the letter that had been waiting for him.
“…Jackdaw? What’ve you been up to these past few years, eh? …Ah, I see… I’d best polish my weapons.”
Dale - Happily ever after "So my time in the war ended, and wouldn't ya know it? The great vermin at the bottom of the upside down tower doo-hickey left too! Whooowheee. That's a bonafide one two buckle my shoe punch! There wasn't much to do there anymore in Travance so I just done packed up my stuff, said goodbye to my cousin and thanked him for all the help he gave me gettin' on my feet after the war. I let 'im know that I wouldn't ever be able to repay his kindness and that he and his always have a seat at my table back home! But with that, time was a-wastin' and I moved back across the rift with nothing but the bag on my shoulder and the gold in my pouch. When I arrived home, it was just as beautiful as I remembered it! The town threw me a big ole party upon my arrival and all the kiddies gathered 'round to hear my stories of the war and the great battles in Travance! I felt like the Bell of the ball! I guess I was literally 'n' such... But that's only the beginning of my story! That night I got back I asked Rachel if we could stop beatin' 'round the bush and I got on my knee and asked if she'd wanna live with me for the rest of our lives, build ourselves a simple cottage little bit outside town, raise some sheep and grow some crops. She told me she would only say yes if I was done with that adventurin' lifestyle and such. I told her I'd burn my bow and melt my daggers that self same night, but I couldn't lie to her: She was the adventure I'd been waiting for my whole life. I'd never be done with the adventurin' life if she said yes! I guess that isn't what she meant because she laughed at me and I didn't really understand the joke.... But anyhow! The cottage is complete now and I'm working on the fencin' so them sheep don't wile out. It's going great! Rachel made me one of her village famous roasts on that boar I caught a day'r'two ago that was tryna get in our carrot patch. DEEEEEEELishous. Oh? Did I forget to tell ya? Well of course she said yes!"
Tsula looked out over the ocean far below, watching the sunrise once again. A quiet prayer passed her lips as the sun broke over the horizon. She sighed softly as she turned to go back into the warmth of the cottage.
A bright fire welcomed her in the hearth, she sat and poured water from the kettle into her waiting cup of tea leaves. a few sips later and she was pacing the room, her eyes kept looking out the eastern window. She tried once again to settle down in her chair but again the restlessness brought her back to her feet.
"Perhaps it is truly time to go home" even as the words left her lips a rightness settled in her mind... yes, home.
Over the ocean the island changed course in the brightening morning sky drifting ponderously towards the rising sun.
A Home- Mae
“Finally.”
Mae sat back on her heels for one moment, tilting her head back in the sun to feel its warmth on her face before scanning her surroundings. Finally, indeed.
Standing up straight, she moved with quiet joy through the garden she had planted so long ago in Travance. Her home here was finally put to rights- hopefully this time, it would remain so. She could not fault anyone but herself really. Traveling the world in search of knowledge that both she and Namisar craved now took its toll. Still, here and her home in Khajian were settled equitably well- and at least in Khajian, she had her family to help her. Her family.
She grinned, unable to bear the overwhelming gratitude and love at the thought of her family members she had discovered were still alive after… everything. Children at the time 4 years ago and tied to her through only a thin thread, but still hers. The shame she’d bore at the time for not realizing they existed had since faded as their understanding brought her own and now she was only filled with pride in their accomplishments. The gold she’d gathered in Travance had gone some way to making a new household for herself and them back home- a safe and secure place for them to learn and grow. Her name as an Exemplar had garnered less scorn than she expected- especially as her name as Ambassador had also grown at the same speed. The Emperor had been kind to her family, even as she left the title Ambassador behind to someone else just as deserving and started her studies into magic and healing in earnest. It was something that had aided her homeland more than once with it being so near to Doth Moria. She could rest happily each night knowing that she had finally learned how to balance her two homes and grow from both of them.
Looking towards the sun as it began its slow decline, she wrapped her arms around her shoulders against the wind blowing from the mountains. Chilly wind, she pondered. Fall was coming. Turning her head, she gazed at the road that led to Sagewood and felt a slight pang of sadness. Not everyone was so lucky as she. She was able to grow at long last and unite her two halves in harmony as she blossomed. And yet, some were lost. She could feel it as she encountered them, as she walked amongst them. And she would be there for when they needed her, she knew. The world needed its balance. She had found hers- it was only right that she assist them to find theirs. No matter what road it led her on.
MERIKH
For the first year or two of peace, Merikh felt somewhat lost. The strong souls that he used to escort on a daily basis no longer needed the escort as often as before. It takes time to get used to this fact and he spent many of these days reverting to what he used to do before he was named His Will. He went on preaching in all towns of Travance, spreading the word of his God. This time was different though. Others have seen the ways his God truly works and many were more receptive of his teachings than they would have been before.
After only a short time, even the common people who lived in Travance grew to understand enough that some became clergy. Over this time Merikh realized his duty here was done. There were enough people here who fully understood the ways of his God that he could move on from this place and trust that the good words would be spread with no issue. So that posed an internal question. Where does he go now? This one question is a question that Merikh has never had to ask before, because Fate always guided him.
With that thought he realized he had his answer. Fate has always guided him before, it will continue to do so. He gathered his personal items from Albrair and headed for the Rift Gate.
To wherever Fate may take him.
CAELVAN Caelvan collected his arrows from their targets. It’s been a year since he was reinstated as a Warden of Selendrias and he is back home protecting his homeland, serving it’s people. Regularly during his downtime he makes his way to the ancient library in the Selendrian Capital. Even after all this time he still hasn’t been able to get into the Bleakwood. The problem now of course is all of those who were powerful enough for an excursion into it have gone their separate ways. He still sees a few of them. When he goes on his visits to the Hunter’s Den in Travance he says hello to all those who decided to stay. But it’s not enough for what he would need to ask. Not enough former heroes that weren’t tied to lands or duties that could pack up for an excursion that could kill them all. It appears the knowledge buried in the Bleakwood will forever stay there at this rate. Often his thoughts trail to starting the Coven from scratch with nothing pointing the correct way.
A voice is heard behind him as he reflects on all of this. Another March Warden has come up behind him while he was stuck in thought. “Caelvan. You’re needed by the Lord Marshal.” Caelvan puts his arrows in his quiver and his bow on his back and heads away from the range.
As he walks he hears another voice, this one female, in his head. “We’ll be able to do it you know. It might not be today, tomorrow or next year. But we’ll figure it out.” Caelvan slightly nods his head as he replies to himself. “You’re right. But first we have work to do.”
There is no peace in stillness,
There is no peace in this stillness that lays bare upon this land, we were told to come here, to run. Yet we found that it was complacency. Whatever this power was that beheld us here, it breaths no longer. One would assume we found peace, but in truth as has always been, there is only monotony and madness.
Such a fickle word they deem it, they beckon to a madman once we show our colors. Yet this road is befitting of us, for we are and always have been the thing that sits at the fork of the road, we have been that which makes your hair stand on end when in danger, we are the voice in your head that tells you to be free. So to continue to wander we must, lest we succumb to the monotony.
These demons, these abominations that have multiplied in their number. Those profane siblings of three, we hope you understand our position pains us. We truly love our people, so much as we are able, and you with your afflictions and stubbornness cannot nor will not be met with our blessings. Monotony will come to you as you lock yourselves away in stone castles, and close the granite doors to your lonely crypts. You may think you're alone, but should you find yourselves perplexed as it feels as though you're being watched; we are thinking fondly of your memories and truly wish you could come home. Though we must be without impunity, we must right the wrongs of our people, so we will save you few last, as we will rid this plane of your sickness, your disease. Finally if we are to do no more good for our people, then we trust you would end us.
Unfortunately for you, concepts such as “good” and “evil” are matters of popular opinion. What would the people say? What would our people say? Those who truly matter, those we now take in and bring home.
We left Valdalas on fire, no one could save it, or it’s unfortunate inhabitants. For it’s madness which moves this world, and we still crave our vengeance against it. Our people, we will make sure with every speck of energy that creates us that you will live in lavishness and luxury, It is only what you deserve after how we have been treated. To those who are not of our kin, we must find resolve, and you should run. Though as of this moment we will not chase you, for we still seek to end the Matron of Hope. ~Moostrav~
Seth - Purpose He really did screw it all up, didn't he? Ever since Enzarond fell, the whole world fell out of whack. The Tower finally fell apart, the Dark Clandestine finally grew quiet. No, he wasn't so egotistical to believe Enzarond was the Dark Clandestine, or that he was the sole purpose, but he was sure about one thing. Fate told him he couldn't. The odds were stacked entirely against him. And yet, with the power of his allies, Seth won. Was it the catalyst that threw the world out of balance, or was it merely a sign that it already was? Either way, it was clear. Seth was never meant to win. Power cannot be created. Power cannot be destroyed. It can only be taken, and given. Enzarond had taken power over the course of decades. Through Val'Ixtal Vai, through manipulation to be a councilor of the late King Alaras. To removing the king himself when his mind proved too ironclad to control. He found a new king, a new throne to control. Seth gained his own power, though far quicker. He found this power with allies, with effort, with will, he convinced people to his cause. Though, with such great focus and two wills going head to head, had one created the other? Or were they the natural response. One had stepped on and snuffed out far too many lights before one finally rose up in opposition. The teachings of Algrave plagued Seth's thought at every waking moment. The confusion of how things are meant to be, how effort and will create power, draw it to yourself, how the great lie always rears in opposition. These thoughts near drove him mad before he finally accepted that it was beyond him. After all, it didn't really matter did it? He won. He was alive. Whether it was in part his actions that the great barrier keeping the world in place was chipped, or that the chipped barrier was what allowed him to enact his will didn't matter. He came out the other side, and his purpose was clear. With the Dark Clandestine fallen there would be far less of the "greater evil". In the world. There would be no more exact easy excuse for war. There would be no more instant and clear answer to who was the enemy. And that was precisely what would allow for the far greater evil to arise. Mortals. When the enemy is beyond you, it's easy to unify against it. But when it's one of you, the lines get far more blurred. The mercenary knew his days of calling himself that were over. It wouldn't be long before the rest of the kingdoms would catch up with Kormyre in branding him an Outlaw. It didn't matter. Seth would speak out against injustice, not that he was ever one to spare words or feelings. Starting in Kormyre, he made it very clear of his opposition to the new king being a traitor to the very Kingdom he was now being propped up to protect and lead. Lord Hystern was an enemy, and Seth made it very clear that while redemption is possible, the King of the leader of Arawyn on the political scene could not afford to have such a sordid past and provenly dastardly tendencies. This would, of course, put him at direct odds with whoever was in charge of Kormyre at the time, and he would for sure remind them that corrupt people love to put corrupt leaders in office. These words would likely lead to allegations, fighting, or some sort of attempt at an arrest. And then Seth would likely have to take matters into his own hands, and keep on the move and out of sight. He didn't mind though. He was never meant to win. He was always at odds with the authority of the land, whom he deemed too corrupt, too easily willing to step on the down trodden as long as they fed their fat bellies. Too quickly able to claim it was in the name of their false god of light, or justice. Didn't matter. They all had to go. Seth knew his purpose.
Nath'riia - Charity
Though the world had changed, it did not mean that people did not struggle.
Though the world had changed it did not mean that people did not raise hands to each other.
Though the tower and its inhabitant was a threat no longer it did not mean that all suffering had left.
It did not mean that Nath'riia's penance was over.
Though she was not constrained to large violent threats, she did not stop following what she knew was right. She still helped in the fields when farmers asked. Or watched their crop to keep it safe from those who may harm it.
She continued to escort those who needed it so they would arrive to and from safely. She continued to intervene whenever she saw a bandit extorting an Innocent.
Peace made it easier to prevent crimes from ever occurring, which she was truly thankful for. Most people could not withstand the daily troubles, let alone the troubles of a force so much greater than them.
She was glad, that even in peace she could share the burden. That was the purpose of having an heroic soul.
And as she hears suspicious growling in the chicken coop of an elderly farmer she knew:
Big or small she would continue to improve the world.
She would not waste the gift given to her.
Keola: Borrowed Time (Part 1)
Keola was good at keeping herself distracted. She avoided the ‘heroes’ of the Proper, keeping to the commonfolk and children she remained the forest guardian to. The small dragonfly that would flit about teaching them how to treat the forest with respect, what was safe to eat, maybe even a little bit of druidics if they were genuinely interested. Those children got a little old or found out she was more than just a sprite and she would simply explain that it was a perspective: It was easier to talk to children as a fantastical thing their parents trusted and she gave them lessons that they could spread to the other kids because she wouldn’t always be around. The dragonfly would succeed to keep the children safe, especially now that the usual threats were much more mundane than the vicious beasts of the dark. She never forgot what she truly wanted, even if it seemed everyone else did. Her contacts to reach the Faerie Queens of Water and Fire seemed to be gone, left when the infernal tower did. She had lost her leads and was starting to get restless. How long did a Sylph live now? Did time catch up? She felt fine, but even humans felt fine and suddenly… weren’t. Keola trusted in her skills as a healer and druid to give her more time but how much time could she give Nigel? Nigel, fortunately, was also very good at keeping himself distracted. He continued his experiments, usually making progress. He had withdrawn from the Proper a bit longer than Keola and now that the world no longer was potentially ending every other year, he was able to find real steps in his work, though it needed more unique materials. Keola and Nigel were considering how to acquire these things, perhaps setting off on their own small adventure, maybe to the land Keola could create the starry sky of but could not remember. This place was possibly somewhere in the Southern Seas she was told but never got more information. Instead, one day, they were met with an interesting proposal from an old… friend. Keola would not necessarily have called anyone thralled in Alok Malagan a friend automatically but they were given a more sincere consideration of what they were than most people did. Sure, she had her commoners, her children she cared for, but that was because they deserved a chance ‘heroes’ did not. Human lives were so short and she needed to keep that thought in mind and ignore that time ticked for her now as well.
Their friend made promises: A proper meeting with the Water and Fire Queens; A chance to really harm those undead that harmed them before. Keola and Nigel, admittedly, were excited. A chance to really test their alchemy and trapping skills sounded perfect.
One day they may travel the sea together, but it would wait. They had a friend to help and a chance to see some dreams become reality.
After a warm goodbye and a nod from her Contact, Ravyn departed back up the path she had tread a few hours earlier. She touched her left pocket and checked to make sure the documents were there. One last stop before she departed for Sagewood. She oriented herself toward the Cairn and took slow, measured steps. Her gait balanced and her steps true while her pack swayed as she took the path. At first, she felt the familiar presence again. Softly at first, then rising swiftly until it flooded her mind. The wave of familiarity overwhelmed Ravyn and she dropped to her knees on the path. She wept openly and clutched her hands to her heart, feeling true oneness and safety for the first time in months.
Ravyn removed her pack and weapons and dropped them outside of the Cairn before stepping to the edge and bowing. She stepped inside with a single dirk at her hip and made her way in a circle, paying respects to all of the colors before stopping before the pile of stones which marked the place for amethyst. She bowed, then knelt in front of the stones. Placing one hand upon her heart and the other upon the stones, she sent up a few words of thanks.
Ravyn removed the dirk at her hip and cut open the meaty underside of her thumb on her left hand, dripping the blood onto the base of the stones for amethyst for a few moments before tracing the path to the center and placing her bleeding hand upon the stones in the middle as she sang. A rush of energy ran up her arm, familiar as the first day she made her sacrifice. She bowed her head then returned to the stones which represent amethyst. She sat down before them and crossed her legs. From her pocket, she pulled out a bloodied cloth and wrapped her thumb before placing her hands on her knees and sitting up straight. Ravyn took a deep breath and began to enter into the meditation sequence. She breathed slowly, deeply, and with purpose...feeling the energy inside her swirl and awaken the Spirit which co-existed with her.
As she meditated, she envisioned the threads of Fate and all that had transpired since the Aphonics had laid waste to the surrounding towns, and, somehow since the world had gone quite still. She looked over the work she had done to set things right and gather the aid needed for those she protected. It was a strange existence now to say the least. The days were quieter for sure, but the work was no less rewarding. The people of Sagewood still needed her, the Order of the Sagewardens always seemed to have a mission, despite the quiet, and the fractured state of the Kingdom meant that supplies and components were always a high priority. Her mind was calm, but not at ease. It always felt as if something was off, but Ravyn couldn’t figure out what it was. Nonetheless, trips to the Cairn whenever she could make it back to Travance meant the world to her. She paid her respects and, when she felt it was time to go, she gathered her things and stepped back onto the path, but instead of walking toward the Inn as she had done so many times before, she drew a doorway and activated her rune - stepping through to Sagewood and the people she had come to call her own.
----
After dropping off her pack, checking in with her security forces, and ensuring that all was well, Ravyn made her way to Dirge’s quarters in Sagewood to drop off what he had requested. A quick triple tap on the study door indicated that it was her, but she imagined that he knew she was there before she even made it to the doorway in the first place.
“Dirge, a moment if you have it,” she said, leaning against the wall.
“I have all of them if you need them,” he replied, opening the heavy wooden door and swinging it wide. “You’re back faster than I anticipated - and that’s saying something!”
Ravyn scoffed and walked inside, slinging the canvas bag onto a chair that was partially covered in this-and-that. “I have what you asked for...well...most of it,” she said, calling over her shoulder as she flipped open the satchel. “The maps weren’t too difficult to come by since my Contact happens to pass by there quite often. The movements were a bit more dicey since that took a day or two longer to observe, but I paid them well for their time.”
The maps, rolled and tied with leather cord, were removed from the bag and placed on the desk, along with two velvet bags.
“And these are-” Dirge asked, selecting the green velvet bag on the left and opening it. “Oh! This is a nice surprise, though not exactly what I’m looking for.”
“I figured as much, but it was as close as I could get given the supply chain I’m working with. I know your research is probably very particular, so if you can’t use it, I understand,” Ravyn replied, shrugging her shoulders and placing the last two scrolls on the desk before closing the satchel. “Your research is beyond me, Dirge, but I figure it’s gotta be amazing,” Ravyn remarked, chuckling to herself and scratching her head.
Dirge smiled back, eyes twinkling, and hands Ravyn a bag of gold for her trouble.
“Yes - that it is.”
Obsession Part 1
Robert sat in a dungeon with a group of people. People he considered friends. To his left, Tari, to his right, Dr Hawkes. Another row of friends in front of him. Further ahead, Aleister, the Count, and Lucius in chains sat, seemingly defeated.
Robert pondered regarding Lucian's body language... Though he was beaten, he remained confident. Surely he had to know what was coming, that there was no rescue for him. There was no True Warlock, who's essence resided in a bottle, to save him. No Esper, bound in dragon Ice, to aid him in commanding respect. No Djinn... What was his third wish...
Robert Morgan's mind started racing, realizing the implications... was there time to react? To warn them of what was to come?
"I wish..."
Dirge tried to speak, but in this moment, he realized his mouth was glued shut. He tried to wave, but his arms felt like lead. He tried to think at Aleister, to warn him in time, but the cell was warded so heavily, he could not get through. Panic set in as he watched the cell begin to crumble, smashing down on Lucian, The Count, and Aleister. Every time...
Dirge woke from another nightmare, covered in sweat. After collecting himself for a few minutes, he walked to his study. He apparently wasn't going back to sleep tonight.
The study was sparcely decorated, except for maps of the north western region of what he still considered to be Kormyre, and diagrams of various implements of sabotage on the walls. Reports from his network about troop strength in various towns, including Althawyne lay on his desk. Dirge sat down at the desk to review his plans one more time.
Father Ephrem (part I)
The quiet is comforting. The snows of winter have started to recede, but not enough to put an end to the dampening of sound up the windless mountains of early spring. The monastery has become a place of prayer, meditation, healing. Fewer initiates have come this spring, compared to those who flocked here two years ago. Those adventurous scores who had enrolled to train for battle in a world filled with injustices have also receded; gone from the Barony that once lured danger to itself. As Abbott, his daily routine sifts through the memories of adventure during these past four years in Travance. Thoughts wander from Faila at the Drum Works in Culpeper, to his halfing friends who aided in the construction of this new abbey built upon the remnants of the old Valosian holy site.
The quiet has become disconcerting. Late spring surges forth as the melting snow swells the mountain streams. There is a restlessness beneath the peace of the monastery; perhaps not in the place, but in the keeper. No longer rushing to the Baronial Feast each moon in the Proper, he gives more time to the measured pace of the monastery. However, there still remains a feeling of some missing resistance; as if the weights that are used in the training rooms have been clipped by a few pounds each.
Ephrem views the valley where Alomiolande slowly reveals itself, the fog of the morning burned off by the light of the sun. What lay ahead? What happened below? His thoughts are disturbed by a friendly voice; the curator of the monastery’s library peeks her head through the door leading out to the overlook.
“Ephrem do NOT forget again that you have a meeting with the new initiates in your locutory at eleven bells.”
“Thank you, Giselle. What would I do without you?” as his head turns slightly.
“Be late, perhaps” is her only response as she peers over her reading glasses and recedes back.
In less than a minute another disturbance, this time a knock. To have knocked, this must not be one of the head staff. “Enter!” though the door is really an exit to the overlook. “Primus, I beg your pardon. There is someone come to the monastery who wishes to speak with you.” Stuttering for a moment the monk adds, “They said that you would know them. They seem a tad unsavory. Shall I send them away?”
“No, no. Please, lead them up to my sitting room. I will be up in a minute. Send for coffee and food for our guest, please.”
Perhaps things are not so quiet after all.
ABBATRE VOLKNER
Keeping Your Cut, pt1.
SHUNK!...
sssHUNK--
thump
The burly woman set her cimeter down with an exasperated sigh. She reaches up to wipe her forehead with the purchase of her head wrap, before looking out from her porch to the bog beyond.
A cacophony of croaks and trills fills her ears, but to her, this is the sound of peace. These chirps, these whistles are nothing compared to the disquiet in her mind... The crackling of brimstone and bombardment of thunder.
Still. The horns and horrors of the last decade's wars grow fainter by the day in this place.
She had made the right call. Only here, in Travance--the most constantly threatened place on all of Arawyn--would she ever find any semblance of Peace. This'll be the last shop I ever build, she thinks to herself. It better be! she grimaces, before returning to the beautiful shank of drake before her, blooding her block for the first time of many.
MANTEL WARRANE Inverting the Chains, part 1 The old sylph waved their tired hand one more time, manipulating the cerulean glyph hovering before their students. "When scribing Position 17, you want to be very careful not to..." their mind trails off again, as it had for five years now. Diligent and simple, it pilots a lone boat, ferrying aspirant arcanists across the treacherous sea to the answers they seek. It was the thing to do, they supposed. But some years ago, the thing to do was to dive into that treacherous sea in a desperate attempt to save their drowning classmates, was it not? It couldn't be too late for all of them, could it? They all shared two things in common with one another at least: the vengeance Necrophitus Arcane swore upon the heroes of Travance, and the unwavering lure of Amatoth the Void Spider. Between these, Mantel was certain that they would find their mates. For all in due patience, each would inevitably come to them, whether driven by their master or snared by the beast. Seven years now--12, if you count the five that never happened--in Travance at least. Hells, twenty-two centuries and more, False Prophet be damned. How much longer would they be content to wait? The heroes of Travance are gone. Amatoth has vanished. The Inverted Tower is inert. No one is coming for you, now, insignificant little sprite. Their heart aches, frozen solid in memories of that farago mountain. "Where am I?.." they look deludedly about the room. "Pos... Position sevente.. ah yes, that's quite enough today isn't it? Thank you," they dismiss, rapping an ashen fist against their lecture like a gavel. Solitary again, Mantel dimly adjourned themselves, and took their recess down the road to somewhere they hadn't visited in quite some time. Ducking their head into the drafty cellar, they surveyed through the shadows of the Blackbird Tavern. Unfamiliar faces took up every familiar corner--save for one. "Ninnyhammer?"
...unknown toxin, which proved incurable before they expired. No soul was found around the body, and in fact we believe their soul was likely not hardy enough to survive the body’s death, meaning that interrogation is impossible.
The assassin carried no insignia or distinguishing elements which allow for easy identification of their employer, though their weaponry does appear Kormyrian in design. Descriptions of the assassin and their tools have been sent to the Guard and the Inquisition, but given the steps they took to hide their trail as well as how far they were able to get through our defenses they were clearly a professional. As such, I do not anticipate a trail being easy to find, if it even exists.
Extra steps have been taken to fortify Winterdark, and I would like to formally request allocation of additional resources to the position until the method of entry can be fully identified and secured.
In service to the crown,
Sir Darius Goldmane
Emerald Knight of Kaladin
Darius replaced the quill in the inkwell and leaned back in his chair with a sigh. Filling out reports like this always seemed so much less useful than reporting the information in person, where questions could be asked and answered instantly. He understood the importance of a paper trail, that had been drummed into his head many times during his time on the Travancian guard, but that didn’t make it any less annoying.
Still today had been more exciting than most. This was to date the ninth attempt on Count Sebastian Everest’s life in the last 5 years, and this assassin had gotten far closer to their mark than any other had before. They’d actually made it into his room before the body of the guard they’d been impersonating had been discovered, and they’d put up a hell of a fight before Darius had managed to incapacitate them. And then, of course, they’d had to go and crack their poison capsule before he could knock them unconscious. Darius grimaced. He wasn’t sure what kind of poison the assassin had used, but whatever it was had been far too complex for his druidic abilities to neutralize before it was too late. The physician stationed at Winterdark was hoping to get a sample of the poison used but Darius wasn’t too hopeful. Assassins this well trained in his experience made sure to not leave loose ends like traceable poisons.
Folding up the report, he slid it into its envelope and sealed it shut. Tucking it into his tunic, he stood and made his way back to the royal chamber. The six guards currently stationed there saluted as he approached. Nodding to them in turn, he opened the door and stepped inside. The two guards stationed on either side of the bed also saluted as he entered. Walking up to the bed, he looked down at the occupant. Count Everest lay there, unmoving save for the gentle rising and falling of his chest, as he had for the last five and a half years. Darius watched him for a few moments, emerald light flaring in his eyes. Then he sighed and nodded, as if at some unheard conversation.
He had tried to persuade Stonewall that merely guarding the Count and waiting for him to wake up was the wrong choice. Indeed many times since he had been given his new position he had argued that the Knights of Kaladin should be trying to find Mirrormere, and that keeping them as mere bodyguards was a waste of their talent. But Stonewall remained unconvinced, stating again and again that he would not send them off on what might as well be a wild goose chase, and after a while Darius had stopped trying. He had been given a job, and he would do it to the best of his ability. No matter how much he and his spirit might disagree with it.
Outside the bells began to chime. Darius listened to them. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. He glanced out the window, surprised by how long the shadows had grown. He hadn’t realized how late it had gotten. If his replacement didn’t get there soon he wouldn’t be able to get home in time to start dinner before Maria got back. As if in answer to this thought, there came the sound of a portal opening from outside. Darius turned, and hurried from the room. If he were quick, he could finish his debrief in ten minutes. That would leave him with plenty of time to start cooking. His right hand strayed to his left, rubbing the gold band on the ring finger that held his gate rune home.
Uralt rarely knew what was going to come next, his few years in Travance showed him that something new is always around the corner. When things started to stay quiet, with no new threats coming month after month to face and people started slowly but surely not to return to the proper, he started to figure out what his next move was going to be.
After the new reality settled in his mind, he returned home to his parents in Morchrim. Seeing them again with no urgency to face the next great evil brought a calm over him. Everyone wanted to hear stories and wanted to talk to Eldegone, who slowly started to withdraw. Never gone just not as prominent in Uralt's mind. Helping his father’s blacksmithing business for a few months, when one day he stumbled across a box under the counter. The box contained a medium sized chunk of sardonyx, polished to a mirror finish. The stone gave off an energy that Uralt knew immediately. It was the piece he was found clutching, passed out on the ground the day his dragon spirit awakened within him. He clutched it to his heart as tears started streaming down his face.
The next morning he said goodbye to his family once more, bags packed and weapons polished. Uralt set out to travel the world, his first stop would always be the Dragon’s Claw Inn and the Dragoon Cairn. He stayed there for a couple of weeks, tracking down those he still calls his family, and planning routes to who he was going to visit first. He was sure he would find small “adventures” along the way, but that will never be why he started travelling in the first place. After all, he never imagined he would be chosen like he was.
Port Valandria
“The frigate Saguaro will be decommissioned, and the 1st Raider Force disbanded. You, Captain Puren, will hold yourself in readiness. You may retain your uniform and rank, and will remain on the Navy’s roster receiving half-pay until such time as you receive a command or posting again.” The clerk adjusted their pince-nez and peered owlishly up at Cobus. “Do you have any questions?”
Of course he did. Plenty. Why one of the Navy’s newest ships was being decommissioned. Why he didn’t get a say in where his people would go. What would happen to those gallant sailors who had served with him for so long?
And most importantly, what would happen to Cobus Puren without a war to fight?
Instead he said, “no.”
The clerk nodded, and with a slash of their quill on parchment, they wrote an end to an era.
Cobus gathered up his bicorn and cloak and stepped outside, past the line of other officers waiting to hear the terms of their own purgatory in this nasty outbreak of peace.
Albine Duchamp was waiting for him outside. His longtime senior NCO had exchanged her uniform for the practical garb of her home back in Coast Haven, and her previously well-styled hair was running wild and unruly. Cobus wasn’t used to it yet, but he didn’t blame her---he no longer had a ship, but Duchamp had been discharged from service.
“Come to see the condemned man off one last time, Chief?” he said, grinning ruefully.
Duchamp shrugged as they set off down the street, her wooden leg thunking in a staccato cadence on the cobblestones. “Figured I ought to say goodbye, skipper. I’m on the next boat back to Angst. Merchant marine’s always looking for good sailors, and it’ll be nice to put to sea without worrying about getting shot.”
“Where’s Dan?”
“Saw him talking to a recruiting sergeant from the Army, but who knows if he’ll have any luck.” Duchamp paused, something morose flicking over her features. “...he pretended not to see me. What about you?”
Cobus knew what she meant. Post-war drawdowns were always nasty, but Korymyre and Travance in particular had always had a need for massive standing forces with the danger and intrigue within their borders. Cobus shook his head. There were going to be plenty more like him out of a job as the Navy and Army shrank their ranks, and none of them were going to be happy about it. Some, like Duchamp, could find homes sailing elsewhere. Others, like Dan, would try to jump to a new service, a new war.
Ordinarily, Cobus would be among the latter. But that had been easy when it was from one petty ruler to another in the dunes, with few friends or loved ones to keep him tied down. Now he had a home and all that came with it, and to abandon it after all it had done for him would be wrong.
But Cobus knew he was going to need to find a new command, or a new posting of some sort fast.
“Not sure. Doesn’t look like there’s any openings for novice Captains, and with the Raiders gone…” Cobus shook his head. “I don’t know. But I’ll find something.”
“Maybe chat with the Old Man, see if he can help.” Duchamp nodded her understanding. “And the XO?”
Cobus shook his head. “Haven’t seen Axiana since the word came down about Saguaro. But she’ll be alright. Always is.”
They were at the docks now, near a pier that had a merchantman flying Coast Haven colors moored up next to it. Duchamp turned round to face Cobus, not bothering to hide the sad smile tugging at her usually wry features. “Aren’t we all? Guess this is it, Skipper.”
“Yeah.” Cobus wasn’t surprised at how hoarse his voice had gotten. All this time serving together, and now the calculus of some clerk in an office in Port Valandria had torn the brethren of Saguaro and the Raiders asunder. It wasn’t right. “Be good to yourself, Albine. Fair winds and following seas, eh?”
Albine Duchamp laughed, and stepped forward to envelope Cobus in a backbreaking hug before taking an uneven step backward on her wooden leg. He matched it, of course, and when they’d released each other neither was bothering to hide their tears.
“Just remember, Cobus, you’ve made something for yourself here.” Duchamp gave him a sad smile. “Don’t go throwing it away because your trigger finger starts itching.”
“I’ll try, Albine. Good luck out there.”
Duchamp drew herself up to render one last salute to her old Captain, one Cobus returned. Then she was disappearing into the crush of people boarding the merchantman. Cobus stayed for as long as he could hear Albine Duchamp’s wooden leg, and then he turned to take his leave.
It was time to see what peacetime held for him.
Father Donald MacFhionnlaigh The Coursing Of Hounds (Part 1)
Father Donald ultimately left Travance, headed home to Glen Athyll. His mission presumably done, he hoped he could head back with his kin to his homeland finally. with no threats here drawing his people's great heroes to Kormyre, he decided to ward the Highlands against anything fell or deleterious coming from the Lowlanders. The Kormyrian heroes would ultimately come to know if Father Donald stepped off the soil he was born in, it was going to be for war, terrible and red, and that was a thing neither Lowlander nor the Good Father wanted.
Peace in the Highlands is a little different than in Kormyre. there is always a conflict brewing, though largely settled with nothing more than a bloody nose or a split lip. Hazel welcomed this change in pace, but others had found him. The artifact of times past, a piece of armor, led the Dawn Blade to his doorstep. While evil no longer was drawn to Travance, evil was still around, and the Athair Gaisgeach still had time and strength to lend to the fight.
Khala - The Descent (Part 1)
Thankfully, Khala still had something to focus on. With the Dark Clandestine gone, and things quieter, she threw herself into reintegrating herself back at the Sanctuary. While it was hard at first to earn back the trust of the other staff and students, after a year it was as if she had never left. The place ran smoothly and she was happy. Her days of dealing with the many threats to Travance were behind her, and the students became her main focus.
She never meant for it to happen though. It was three years in when the accident happened. An outing into the wilderness with some of the students to study animals in their natural habitat went south. They hadn’t heard the rumors of the dire wolf pack in the area and found out the hard way. While the school mourned the losses, Khala took it the hardest. If she hadn’t grown soft with the lack of regular threats, would things have gone differently? The following morning, no one saw her. When the staff went to check on her, all they found was an empty room and every weapon or piece of gear that anyone had ever used to track her before stacked in a pile on her bed. Storm was missing as well, although the warmoose turned up on the doorstep of Maria Quincy’s home a day later. Alone.
Narcissus - Pride
Narcissus holds a bundle of papers in his hand as he sits at the study in his keep. Many of his friends had brought him these. He sifted through them every night. There wasn’t much else for him to do and so he took to pondering all the information on these papers. He was pleaded at by his friends to put the papers to use. Make it easier for him to adjust to this new world.
In truth, he didn’t want to adjust. He was fine the way he was and no amount of notes and anecdotes about any sort of cure really changed his mind. He idly swirls a viscous red liquid in his cup as he goes over the pages, which he’s memorized by now.
His family were busy doing their own things. Occasionally He would travel to Doth Moira to attempt to enter Argentia, which he was given permission to, but found that his home land that he desperately wanted to be a part of… held nothing for him. A Disappointment. A Betrayal.
The Lands surrounding Travance held very little for him as well, with his refusal to follow what was on the papers, he knew he could not recover whatever good faith he had accumulated and late one night, left.
He spent a lot of time, breaking ground and finishing the Keep in the ruins of Alok Malagan. It meant he would be left mostly alone and that’s what he wanted. With an exasperated sigh he shoves the paper back into his desk as he finishes what was in his cup.
Memories of the last few years, the pleads of his friends mixed endlessly with the same amount of fervor as the hatred showed to him. He wasn’t completely sure which was true anymore and he didn’t much care to figure it out.
There were only a few facts that were true: His family was the most important thing to him.
That he terrorized small settlements around him to stay fed.
That occasionally an otherwise bored adventurer would try to fight their way into his keep and ultimately failed.
And almost right on time, did he hear the undead in front of his room shatter.
It was that time again.
Aleister - Tenuous (Part I) For the first year after Amatoth's disappearance, Aleister went searching for VIM, hoping to find answers to what seemed like it shouldn't have been a problem. The search was to no avail. No answers, no cause, no reason. He gave up his search empty handed, but did not let despair take him. Instead, he turned his attention back to the kingdom. With Count Everest still comatose, he refocused his attention to continuing his role. Upon his return, he formally announced his retirement of the Admiralty, passing it on to Owen Piper in full. From that day, his work stayed travelling back and forth between Alieander and Travance, though there was little else besides the busywork that came with his position. This would likely be the least troublesome years he would come to face.
Niko - Bitterness (Part I) Argentia was his home no longer. Once again, he was run out from the place he toiled to build and the bitterness in his heart grew stronger still. The final words he spoke were of an old language, but many who heard told tale that it spelled omen for the land. Severing his ties with the final populated place he would ever attempt, he left for the Nazogora Mountains and climbed high into their peaks. It was here he would begin building a place that none could take from him, a place few could enter unscathed, and a place many would likely see as a threat in time. Niko, however, no longer cared. High in the Nazogora Mountains, Nikola Malagan began building a fortress, one crafted with the years of experience and techniques he learned. It would be years before anyone outside his own family would see him again. Wrekk - Aching (Part I) The years of watching Adriel were no unusual task for Wrekk, but balancing his squireship with doing so presented itself as a new challenge. As time went on, he was getting more effective, hoping still to one day earn a knighthood. The knack for adventure was always a tugging feeling in the back of his mind, keeping his hand itching for the time he could once again face incredible encounters. Unfortunately, those sorts of things just weren't happening anymore. In his dedication, he continued to meditate and commune with the stars he called to - the long passed heroes of old whose spirits gave him strength - for even still, their might was necessary for smaller feats of daring. Perhaps one day, he would learn more of his own people, but in those early years, the yearning was not yet strong enough to tear him away from his duties. Tanner - Stillness (Part I) Day in, day out, he chases birds, he visits the long slumbering knight trapped beneath the inn. Tanner does not see the passage of time go by or experience each day as it would be by anyone else. Tanner had forgotten most things, by now. He had forgotten his two fellow creations, he had forgotten about the people of Travance who came and went as they pleased. Some days he would reach into his chest, through the hay to feel the humming of his core. He did not understand it, but it was a nice feeling - one he could actually understand - and then would carry on his way. The knight's chamber beneath the inn was full of so many comforts and luxuries. Had anyone a clue, they might think Tanner to have been a master thief. For whatever reason no one would ever know. He was just determined to continue bringing things to this place. Days turned to months, months turned to years, and Tanner carried on with his blissful and ignorant life. But as time passed, the hum of his core grew dimmer, though he did not know or understand what this meant. It was all the same to him, the feeling was good and that was that. Years had gone by and Tanner was standing by the doors to the inn of the basement, wondering if he would go to visit the slumbering skeleton or find a new creature comfort to bring with him. He looked to the door, then off to the distance, then back to the door. His head seemed to drift downward a little bit, likely as a decision to go downstairs. But on he stared, and that was that. Tanner looked downward at the door, never to move again.
Empty Chairs and Empty Tables (Camoztra's story)
The shuffle of tarot cards rang through the empty inn as Travance’s adventurous nature died down. With no Dark Clandestine, there is nothing drawing monsters, and no adventurers to make their stories known to the world. Camoztra watched as over a few months the home they found disappeared in front of their eyes. Gone was the noise of celebrating after a great battle, of sorrow as a hero draws their final breath, the din of drinking companions and the occasional bar fight. All of it slowly slipped away. They don’t fully know why they decided to stay. Maybe it was the memories that are keeping them here. Or the hope that new faces will bring new stories, and restore what made this place so magical. But here they sit, drinking cheap ale and doing the occasional reading to make ends meet. Their only drinking companions are the empty chairs and empty tables of the Dragon’s Claw inn.
As the moon rose to its highest, and the sounds of the creatures of the night filled the air, they had an idea. They took their drink, their tarot deck and a candle, and walked out into the brisk night air. Finding a flat spot of grass in front of the inn, they looked up at the stars. Travance’s story might be ending here, but the world’s story isn’t. “Where is it all going?” They asked the stars. A few seconds passed by, and no answer. They shuffled their deck, and arrayed out a series of cards. Six in the form of a cross, and four in a line next to the cross. They studied it all, stood up, and began to divine their fortune to the stars.
“In the center is the Ten of Cups. Our present is in harmony. The great evil is no more. There is nothing left to fight. Nothing more to claim. Which leads to our problem, the Hierophant. This is peace. Why question it?” They paused, as if waiting for a reply.
“The past is the Knight of Wands. This was a place of adventure. Many intrepid heroes came to this place. The future is the Eight of Coins, reversed. Nobody will come here. There’s no point. Nothing more to seek. Nothing at stake.” Again, no reply.
“The Empress suggests that we think this is a time of abundance. With no evil, there can be a golden age. But the reversed Fool suggests that we will lose ourselves to our new found peace and prosperity.” They turned their gaze to the last four cards, the wind blowing away the Knight of Wands and the Heirophant.
“I am the reversed Emperor. I am unwilling to change. Unwilling to accept that everything is going away. But the next card suggests that the world is celebrating this. That’s what the Three of Cups is. Celebration.” They stopped when they see the last two cards. The reversed High Priestess, and the Reversed King of Coins. They smile, and shuffle the cards back into their deck. “Was a pointless exercise, I admit. But it gave me an answer about myself. I am no longer needed.” They placed the tarot deck on the steps of the inn, left a quick note for the one who finds it, and walked into the night, never to be seen again.