(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.
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.
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.
...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.
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?"
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.
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.
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.
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.”
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.
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.
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.
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~
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.”
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.
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.