(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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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