I'm in the process of writing an in-depth backstory for Virro and it's going to be [i]extremely[i] lengthy. :) Then I will work on Cricket's.
Okay, this might be ALL over the place, but I am working on more details and deepening Virro's background, but here is a rough draft? I'll definitely have to make improvements, but its a rough idea of his past.
Virro is a firbolg who grew up on the island of Wila in the Geshora Isles. As a member of the firbolg race, Virro is known for his strength and intelligence, as well as his innate magical abilities. He was raised in a small village on Wila, where he spent his youth exploring the island's forests and mountains, learning the ways of the land and the secrets of its magic. Despite his young age, Virro has already proven himself to be a skilled hunter and tracker, and has earned the respect of his community as a capable and reliable member of the village. Virro's parents were both skilled in herbalism and cooking, and they passed on their knowledge and expertise to their son. Growing up in a small village on the island of Wila in the Geshora Isles, Virro learned the art of herbalism from his parents, who used their knowledge of plants and herbs to create remedies and potions for the community. He also learned how to cook a variety of dishes using fresh ingredients from the island's forests and fields, mastering the art of blending flavors and spices to create delicious meals. These skills have proved to be invaluable to Virro, both in his daily life and in his adventures, as he is able to use his knowledge of herbalism to create healing potions and other useful remedies, and his cooking skills allow him to feed himself and his companions on long journeys. The forest fire on Wila was a turning point in Virro's life. As a young firbolg growing up on the island, he had always taken the beauty and bounty of the forests for granted. But when the fire broke out, he was forced to confront the devastating power of nature, and the fragility of the ecosystem that he had grown up in. The fire raged for days, engulfing the forests and fields, and leaving destruction and devastation in its wake. Many of the plants and animals that Virro had known and loved were lost, and the landscape of the island was forever changed. For Virro, the fire was a wake-up call, and it sparked a desire in him to learn more about the natural world, and to protect it from harm. He began to study the ways of the land more deeply, learning about the relationships between different plants and animals, and the ways in which they interacted with each other and the environment. He also learned how to identify the signs of danger, and how to prevent and combat forest fires. Over time, he became a respected member of his community, known for his knowledge and expertise in the ways of the land. He continues to use his skills to protect the island of Wila and its inhabitants, working to preserve the natural beauty of the Geshora Isles for future generations. Despite his knowledge and expertise in the ways of the land, Virro found himself struggling with feelings of loss and isolation after the forest fire on Wila. The destruction of the forests and the loss of many of the plants and animals that he had known and loved left him feeling empty and alone. He struggled to come to terms with the fact that a member of his own tribe had caused the fire, and the guilt and shame weighed heavily on him. As a result of these feelings, Virro began to spiral into a deep depression, and he was plagued by nightmares of the fire, reliving the horror and devastation over and over again. He withdrew from his community, preferring to spend his days alone in the forests, lost in his own thoughts and memories. He struggled to find meaning and purpose in his life, and he felt lost and adrift. After much soul-searching and contemplation, Virro came to the realization that he could no longer stay in his tribe and live as he had before. The memories of the forest fire and the betrayal of one of his own people were too fresh and painful, and he knew that he needed to find a new path in life. With this in mind, Virro decided to pledge himself to the druidic ways, and to dedicate himself to the protection and preservation of the natural world. He began to travel around the Geshora Isles alone, using his knowledge and skills to help those in need, and to combat the forces of destruction and chaos that threatened the land. He wandered from place to place, offering his services and knowledge to those who needed it, and seeking out new challenges and adventures wherever he went. Despite the loneliness and isolation that came with his chosen path, Virro found a sense of fulfillment and purpose in his travels, and he continued to wander the Geshora Isles, using his knowledge and skills to make the world a better place. After many years of wandering and adventure, Virro began to feel the pull of a deeper, more contemplative life. He yearned for a sense of solitude and isolation, a chance to reconnect with the natural world and to reflect on the lessons he had learned over the years. With this in mind, Virro decided to go into isolation for a handful of decades, retreating to a remote corner of the Geshora Isles where he could live in peace and solitude. He cut off all contact with other people, choosing instead to spend his days in quiet contemplation and meditation, communing with the plants and animals around him. During this time, Virro deepened his connection with the natural world, and he learned to see the beauty and wisdom in all things. He gained new insights and perspectives, and he emerged from his isolation with a renewed sense of purpose and determination. Though he still felt the occasional pang of loneliness, he knew that he had made the right choice, and he continued to wander the Geshora Isles, using his knowledge and skills to help those in need. During his time in isolation, Virro devoted himself to advancing his knowledge of the druidic ways, studying ancient texts and seeking out the wisdom of the natural world. He learned many new spells and abilities, and he grew more powerful and skilled as a result. However, despite his best efforts, Virro found himself struggling to fully connect with the druidic path. He struggled with the idea of taking the life of animals, and he found it difficult to use their remains as a source of power for his spells. These moral qualms weighed heavily on him, and he often felt like an outsider within the druidic community. Despite these challenges, Virro continued to study and practice the druidic arts, determined to find a way to reconcile his own morals with the demands of his chosen path. He spent many long hours in meditation and contemplation, seeking guidance and understanding from the natural world. In time, he came to realize that the key to his success lay in finding his own unique path within the druidic tradition, one that allowed him to stay true to his own beliefs and values. With this newfound understanding, Virro emerged from his isolation a wiser and more powerful druid, ready to face the challenges and adventures that awaited him in the world outside. Virro's struggle with the moral implications of using the remains of animals as a source of power for his druidic spells ultimately led him to never fully attune to this ability. Despite his best efforts, he could not bring himself to use the remains of animals in this way, and as a result he was unable to fully tap into the power of this aspect of the druidic tradition. However, this did not diminish Virro's skill or power as a druid. He continued to study and practice the druidic arts, and he developed many other abilities and spells that allowed him to harness the power of the natural world in other ways. He became a master of plant magic, able to call forth the power of the earth and the sky to aid him in his endeavors. He also learned to commune with the spirits of the natural world, gaining valuable insight and wisdom from the animals and plants around him. In the end, Virro's decision to forgo the use of animal remains in his druidic spells did not hold him back. He remained a powerful and respected druid, known for his wisdom and his deep connection to the natural world. And though he sometimes felt a sense of loss for the abilities he had never fully attained, he was content with the path he had chosen, knowing that it was the right one for him. Upon reaching the mainland, Virro found himself in a world vastly different from the isolated islands he had grown up on. The cities and towns were bustling with people, and he was confronted with the many complex social and political issues facing the world. Despite these challenges, Virro remained true to his druidic principles, using his skills and knowledge to help those in need and to protect the natural world from those who would harm it. He traveled far and wide, encountering many different people and cultures along the way, and he learned much from these experiences. Eventually, Virro came to understand that his role as a druid was not just to protect the natural world, but also to help people and communities coexist with it in harmony. He began to work with others to create sustainable, eco-friendly communities, using his knowledge of plants and the earth to create green spaces and gardens that could provide food and shelter for those who lived there. In this way, Virro continued to serve as a guardian of the natural world, using his abilities and wisdom to promote harmony and balance between people and the environment. And though he still sometimes struggled with the moral dilemmas that came with being a druid, he remained dedicated to his cause, knowing that his work was essential to the health and well-being of both the natural world and the people who lived within it. As Virro traveled with the caravan, he found himself drawn to its diverse group of individuals, each with their own unique backgrounds and stories. He enjoyed getting to know them and learning about their lives, and he was happy to be able to use his skills and knowledge to help them on their journey. Despite his initial reservations about joining the caravan, Virro quickly found that he fit in well with the group and was able to contribute to their mission in meaningful ways. He used his knowledge of plants and the earth to help the group find food and shelter, and he used his druidic abilities to protect them from danger and to heal those who were injured. As the group traveled together, Virro came to see the value in working with others towards a common goal, and he began to open up and share more of his own story with the group. He found that they were a supportive and understanding group, and he began to form strong bonds with many of them. In time, Virro came to see the caravan as his new home, and he was grateful for the companionship and purpose it provided. Though he still sometimes missed the solitude of his isolation on the Geshora isles, he knew that he had found a new, fulfilling path in life, one that allowed him to continue to serve as a guardian of the natural world and to make a positive impact on the lives of those around him. As the group gathered around the campfire at night, Virro would occasionally share stories from his past, speaking of the Geshora isles and the years he spent in isolation. Though he didn't share many details about his life or the events that led him to leave his tribe, he enjoyed telling stories about the animals and plants he encountered during his time in the isles, and the lessons he learned from them. The other members of the caravan were always eager to hear Virro's stories, and they would listen intently as he spoke of the beauty and wisdom of the natural world. His stories often inspired them to appreciate the world around them and to respect the earth and its inhabitants. Despite his reluctance to talk about his past, Virro found that sharing his stories was a way to connect with the other members of the caravan and to share his knowledge and experiences with them. And as he listened to their own stories in return, he came to see that they all had their own unique backgrounds and experiences, and that each of them had something valuable to contribute to the group. In the five decades that Virro has been with the caravan, he has seen many individuals come and go. Some stayed for only a few weeks or months before moving on to other adventures, while others became lifelong members of the caravan. Through it all, Virro has remained a constant presence, lending his wisdom and knowledge to the group and helping to guide them on their journey. Despite the many changes he has witnessed over the years, Virro has remained true to his druidic beliefs and continues to respect and honor the natural world. He often spends his time meditating in the forests or tending to the plants and animals that the caravan encounters on their travels. As the years have passed, Virro has come to view the caravan as his family, and he has formed strong bonds with many of its members. Though he still keeps to himself much of the time, he is always willing to help those in need and to offer his guidance and support to those who seek it. Virro is always willing to lend a listening ear to those who need it, and he often offers his wisdom and advice to those who seek it. He is a calm and measured individual, and he is not easily swayed by the opinions or actions of others. Instead, he prefers to take a measured approach to any situation, carefully considering all sides before making a decision. Virro is also a fiercely independent individual, and he values his solitude greatly. He often spends his free time meditating in the forests or tending to the plants and animals around him, and he relishes the peace and quiet that these moments provide. However, despite his love of solitude, Virro is not a solitary being. He is a kind and caring individual, and he is always willing to lend a helping hand to those in need. Despite his initial annoyance at being disturbed during his meditation, Virro is actually grateful for the company of others. He may not always show it, but he values the connections he has made with the members of the caravan and he enjoys spending time with them. He understands that, as a member of a close-knit community, it is important to support and help each other, and he is always willing to do his part. Virro's stoicism and independent nature may sometimes make him come across as cold or distant, but those who know him well know that this is not the case. He is a loyal and supportive friend, and he is always there for those who need him. Although he may not always express his emotions openly, he cares deeply for the people around him and will do whatever it takes to protect them and ensure their well-being.
Birch Bayberry "Cricket" Pluma Oakenstorm is a mushroom fairy that grew up in the fungi clan. She was born into a family of mushroom fairies, who were known for their skill in herbalism and healing. Cricket's parents taught her everything they knew, and she quickly became a skilled healer herself.
Despite her abilities, Cricket faced challenges in her community. She was born without wings, which made it difficult for her to fly and participate in many of the activities that other mushroom fairies enjoyed. This often made her feel left out and isolated, but she refused to let it get her down.
Cricket spent most of her time in the forest, learning all she could about the plants and animals that lived there. She was fascinated by the natural world, and she spent countless hours studying and observing the creatures that lived around her. She also continued to hone her skills as a healer, using the knowledge she had gained from her parents to help others.
Eventually, Cricket grew tired of life in the fungi clan. She yearned for adventure and excitement, and she decided to leave her home and venture out into the world. She packed a small bag with some essentials and set out on her journey, determined to make a name for herself and explore all that the world had to offer.
Despite the challenges she faced, Cricket was determined and resourceful. She made her way through the forest, using her knowledge of plants and animals to help her survive. She also used her skills as a healer to help those in need, earning the respect and admiration of those she met along the way.
Now, Cricket travels the land, helping those in need and learning all she can about the world around her. She may not have wings, but she is strong and brave, and she is determined to make the most of her life and fulfill her dreams.
She travelled for many months, exploring the land of giants and encountering all sorts of strange and wonderful creatures. She quickly learned to be resourceful and adaptable, using her quick wits and clever nature to survive in a world that was often hostile to her kind.
Eventually, Cricket came across the caravan, a group of nomadic traders who travelled the land of giants selling their wares. She quickly realized that this was the perfect place for her, a community of like-minded individuals who shared her love of adventure and exploration. She joined the caravan and quickly found her place among its members, using her knowledge of the forest and her quick thinking to help the traders in their travels.
Cricket now spends her days travelling the land of giants with the caravan, always on the lookout for new and exciting opportunities. She may be small and wingless, but she is fierce and determined, and she will stop at nothing to achieve her dreams.
Cricket has a particular fondness for Virro, the stoic firbolg who is a member of the caravan. She enjoys climbing on his shoulder and teasing him, calling him a "living tree" and claiming that she feels safe and protected when she is with him. Despite Virro's gruff exterior, Cricket knows that he cares for her and the rest of the caravan members, and she is grateful to have found a new family in the traveling group.
Cricket will bother Virro when he is meditating, often causing him to become frustrated. However, Virro has come to accept Cricket's presence and sometimes even enjoys her company. Despite his initial annoyance, he has grown to appreciate her sassy and spunky personality. Although Cricket does not have wings, she is still able to navigate the land of giants with ease, thanks to her climbing skills. She has recently found her place in the caravan and is excited to continue her journey with the group.
Cricket has a love for adventure and discovery, often exploring the surrounding areas on her own or with other members of the caravan. Despite her small size, she is not afraid to speak her mind and can sometimes be quite feisty. She is also known for her love of mushrooms, often incorporating them into her meals or using them in her herbal remedies. Despite her playful and mischievous nature, Cricket is a valued member of the caravan and is well-respected for her skills and knowledge. Cricket has only been a part of the caravan for a year or so, but she has quickly become a beloved member of the group. She is known for her spunky and sassy personality, and for her love of climbing on people's shoulders. Despite her small size, she is fearless and always willing to explore new places and try new things. She is particularly fond of Virro, and can often be found bothering him while he meditates. Despite his stoicism, it is clear that Virro enjoys her company, and she has become a sort of mini-companion to him. Overall, Cricket is a lively and energetic presence in the caravan, and she believes everyone is glad to have her around.
Cricket is a mushroom fairy who grew up in the fungi clan. She is a sassy and spunky individual who loves to climb things and bother others, especially Virro. She does not have wings, but she has excellent climbing skills and can often be found climbing members of the caravan. Cricket is addicted to sugar and has only been part of the caravan for a year or so. She is still finding her place in the group, but she enjoys the company of the other members and loves to share her experiences and stories with them. Despite her mischievous nature, Cricket is a loyal companion and will always stand by her friends.
The more I write, the more I realize --- I might have repeated a handful of things, but these are ROUGHLY rough drafts. Extremely rough. lmao. Nowhere near to being done.
Whew! Save for a grammar once over my characters should be done, lemme know if something needs to change @Tortoise
Race, Age, Time in the Caravan: Thozna is a Gnoll, one of the hyenafolk that live in the plains, swamps, savannahs and deserts. While specific cultural practices vary from clan to clan they're a generally nomadic people, living a lifestyle of hunting, herding and raiding. Gnolls can be found in a variety of environments, their thick pelts and hardy constitutions making them well-suited for mercenary work. Indeed it's not uncommon for a petty lord to hire on a band of them for use as shock troops or terror squads.
While they can reach the age of 120 or even past that in rare cases they generally die far earlier to illness or violence. Scrapblast is fairly old for one still fighting, estimating herself to be somewhere past eighty years old. She had an earlier stint with the caravan of about four months, and her second tour has just passed the two-year mark.
Appearance: Gnolls are much taller and much broader than humans are, and Scrapblast is no exception. She weighs in at a stocky three hundred and eighty pounds, standing seven feet and eight inches tall while hunched over in the trademark Gnoll slouch. Her thick pelt is colored in a range of browns, the fur on her back having a reddish tint while that of her front lightens into a creamier shade.
While she has a range of scars across her body the vast majority of them are hidden by the tunics and capes she's taken a liking to, save for the wound running down her muzzle. The nasty gash left by a falchion strike tends to dry out and irritate her, so it's not uncommon to catch her running her long tongue up the channel.
Thozna tries to dress presentably by "civilized" standards on a day-to-day basis but feels she is under no compulsion to do so when she puts on her armor for whatever reason. Her war gear was designed to induce fear as much as it was to provide protection, almost deceptively crude. Harsh, rugged steel plates are layered over thick mail, her helmet hugging close to her skull while leaving her jaw free to bite people with.
History: Thozna was born into the Norplain pack, a Gnollish tribe occupying, unsurprisingly, the Norplain region of the Asvenkal Savanah. At that time the Norplainer gnolls had two main industries: the herding of livestock, mainly cattle and sheep, and raiding. Of course there were other professions such as healers to care for the sick or blacksmiths to produce tools but by and large, they slaughtered animals and enemies. Thozna's mother was a noted warband leader while her father was somewhat infamous in the nearby human settlements for his skill with a javelin, and thus her fate was decided.
Gnolls mature quickly compared to humans, becoming adults at around ten years of age. Even before then Thozna accompanied her parents in the field, scoring her first kill in a fight against a party of dog-like Ainok. Thozna likely would have gone on to an impressive but ultimately ordinary career as a warrior, save for one thing.
Gnolls believe that magic is the realm of Mus the Weaver, the mysterious many-eyed patron of seers, tacticians, and clothmakers. Those marked by her lead auspicious lives and it's considered bad luck to not nurture her gift. Thozna first began to unconsciously levitate objects as a cub. starting with nails before moving knives and pots.
As she got older and gained more control over her magic she chose a personal name in the Gnollish tradition, Scrapblast. It reflected her preferred method of fighting: spraying the enemy with shards of jagged metal. With this power she set out to make a name for herself, battling against rival warbands and raiding the nearby Human and Ainok settlements.
As she got older Scrapblast got bigger, faster and more magically empowered. The months of experience turned into years and the years into decades, Thozna outliving her parents and many of her peers. While Gnolls are naturally long-lived the lifestyle tends to cull the pack, especially those who find themselves on the front. Scrapblast's band, formed when she was fifteen, had seen a complete turnover of members two times over by the time she was thirty.
She was an extremely talented soldier, one with enough stolen wealth to happily retire. But Scrapblast found herself growing bored. The Norplainers had gone through a series of small disasters during her third decade, droughts and outbreaks of disease and pyrrhic victories all adding up. As quickly as they reproduced the pack was still hemorrhaging manpower and those that survived were more cautious. Why throw their lives away when people needed them at home? Scrapblast couldn't blame them for this subtle shift in sensibilities but she couldn't stand by either.
As an accomplished raid leader she had the right to gather a small band of friends, family and various connected men-at-arms, Scrapblast sewing together her banner and leading them to seek their fortunes in service of others. The various headmen and warlords of the Asvenkal always had a need for hired blades and were none too picky about where they came from. Even those whose territory Scrapblast had pillaged in the past were happy to have her on their side.
But by that point in her career, she found those battles boring. Most of the time the band was deployed against disobedient peasants and bandit gangs, only occasionally called to fight against the armies of a rival lord or an outside force that dared to intrude on the Dragon-Sultan's lands. The pay was solid enough to keep her crew interested but Scrapblast was too old to be bought by baubles alone.
So she walked out of the Asvenkal and into wider Alwyne. Scrapblast haggled with merchants in the bustling temple-cities of Velkinir, and searched for abandoned treasures in the ghost towns of the old Costal Elf homelands. One day she was part of a hunting party high in the Ironpeaks hunting for roc eggs, the next she was a guest of a giant who dwelled in a cavern of quartz.
It was freeing in a way, but still the passage of time needled at Scrapblast. She was about fifty when she decided to return to the Norplain, having spent so long away from home that she had almost forgotten what it looked like. Her homecoming was awkward, most of those she met having been born too late to know of her save for stories from their elders.
Moreover, in her absence the pack had elected to settle down entirely. The series of setbacks that they had suffered decades before had put them in a precarious position, forcing them to cooperate more with the nearby settlements. At some point the group stopped traveling their circuit of hunting grounds to move into the outskirts of a trade post, given a place to raise their flocks in exchange for serving as an auxiliary defense.
Once more Scrapblast found herself alienated from her people with no one to blame but poor circumstances. Her half-hearted attempts to form a new warband failed, and she said her final goodbyes.
She planned to make her way to one of the other, more traditional Gnoll tribes and seek entrance on the strength of her storied career but each time she encountered one she couldn't bring herself to pop the question. She had left her pack, yes, but she was still too fond of it to renounce her allegiance. So Scrapblast went back to wandering, working as a mercenary at some times and a simple brigand at others.
She never once considered putting her weapons down. In her eyes it would have been a disservice to her legacy to die quietly in a bed somewhere, someone as experienced as she was deserved to die with axe in hand. Her quest for a noble death continued through her sixties and into her seventies, coming to a pause in a twist of fate.
A cunning, underhanded merchant had passed a tip onto her as part of her payment for services rendered: a competitor of his would be traveling through a relatively empty part of the Sheepshead Isles, and with him he'd have a good stash of gold and some valuables. If Scrapblast were to hit said competitor she'd get his loot and the merchant would have one less problem to deal with.
So hit him she did. It was a simple matter to lay an ambush, his guards merely local toughs he had equipped for that leg of the journey. What complicated matters was the fact that the trader had been accompanied by his family. He and his wife were killed in the initial charge while his eldest child was cut down when she attempted to slash Scrapblast with a razor.
That left the youngest, a boy of not more than two or three years. While Gnolls don't take much issue with the killing of outsiders they're not actively genocidal. Thozna's raids were nearly always smash-and-grab affairs, fatalities would occur but not enough to doom a bloodline or a village to extinction. Leaving the boy to the elements wasn't an option and there was no orphanage around that would take kindly to a bloody Gnoll dropping off the survivor of its raid.
She named him Ryt-kiltu-Sheepshead (roughly translating to "Ryt, found in Sheepshead") and raised him as her own. Scrapblast never hid Ryt's origins from him and he didn't outwardly question her actions, although as he grew up she detected some unspoken angst. Raising a human boy meant settling down again, the pair moving into a small farming community named Alstow.
Scrapblast found work as a rancher, having grown up with animals as a cub in the Norplain. The humans she lived among were understandably cautious of her but she proved her good nature the first time a bear strayed too close to the village. After that she was treated with some amount of respect and allowed to raise Ryt in peace. As soon as he was old enough she placed him under the tutelage of the old 'witch' who lived just outside of Alstow.
Another decade passed, Scrapblast finding herself on the wrong side of eighty and once again plagued by restlessness. In her eyes Ryt was an adult, a young man capable of surviving life on the road. There was no need for them to stay huddled up with pigs, not anymore. So they gathered their things and set out in search of his future and her glorious death, whatever forms they would take.
The Pilgrim's Caravan was a natural fit for them, Scrapblast had in fact traveled with it in the past. Rejoining was as simple as falling into line.
Personality: Scrapblast is old in a profession and species that generally die young, so she likes to think that she has a handle on things. Age has tempered her aggression into something more akin to a dry, morbid sense of humor. While she isn't interested in bloodshed for its own sake she is hardly opposed to it either. She prefers practicality to honor, because what good is being righteous if you're dead?
Thozna misses the vivid storytelling of her people and thus is drawn to bards, griots, and poets of all types. This love of story extends to art in all its forms, a good painting or interesting sculpture being quick ways to grab her attention.
She has no time for cowards and, despite her being one herself, doesn't care much for mercenaries. In her eyes most sellswords are people who lack purpose, else they would be fighting for a lord or cause they believed in.
Also, she eats corpses. Gnolls are scavengers to the extreme, as far as Thozna is concerned a dead human is basically the same as a dead pig. She isn't dumb enough to hunt two-legged game for the sake of it but if someone happens to cross her and she's left with a body? Snack time.
While she has the good grace to keep from just ripping into a freshly slain stranger while others are watching sometimes it's best not to question what sort of meat she's eating.
Motivation: Boredom. Scrapblast has lived long enough to watch the rest of the Norplain Gnolls die or become sedentary, giving up pillaging for farming and laboring in the burgeoning human settlements nearby. While she can hardly blame her people for choosing a safer path she does find it dreadfully uninteresting. The Caravan represents an opportunity to keep moving until she finds her final battle. Until she's slain in glorious combat she can make a little money trading odds and ends.
Skills, Strengths and Weaknesses, and Tools: Gnolls are as intelligent as any other sapient species, capable of building tools and making art. But physically and culturally they are still very much wild animals. Thozna is far larger than any man and stronger than all but a rare few, capable of running down animals and stripping their hide from their flesh with her claws alone. She's built to survive harsh environments and is quite content to trudge through blazing deserts or frozen tundras.
Her relatively long life has also given her plenty of time to develop skills suiting a professional ravager. Like pretty much every "wild" Gnoll out there she was trained to fight since birth, mastering the use of simple one-handed weapons like hammers, axes and knives. Where she differs from her spear-chucking peers is her training with heavy armor and shields. She can track game and navigate by the stars, has enough first aid knowledge to keep herself from bleeding to death after a fight and has a keen eye for the value of items she comes across in her travels.
But while Scrapblast has a lifetime of experience in the field she's never spent a day in any classroom. She is, by the standards of the civilized world, entirely uneducated. While she can read the common tongue if given time and is capable of the basic arithmetic required for cash transactions don't expect her to chew through epic poems or perform complex calculations. While this wasn't a problem when she's roaming through arid plains and rundown city slums she does suffer a great deal when she has to admit her lack of schooling.
Scrapblast has yet to really understand the civilized world, and she doesn't really care to. She grew up robbing trespassers and forming raiding parties, spent her adult life seeking bigger and bigger bounties and is now looking for a bloody death so that her corpse can feed the carrion birds and other scavengers. This unrepentant might makes right mentality is reigned in for the most part when entering occupied territory but it can lead her to conflict with those who take offense.
Thozna is nearly entirely incapable of handling accusations of dishonesty, disloyalty or cowardice. If someone were to call her any of the above she'd handle it the Gnoll way: knocking them over and stomping their face in.
Her real talent is the magical gift she's worked to nurture throughout her career. Her chosen name of "Scrapblast" reflects her chosen arcane art: the manipulation of magnetic fields. She naturally manipulate objects to her will, pulling them closer to her or launching them away. In combat she makes use of this by disarming opponents and using their own weapons against them, ripping swords out of the enemy's hands before plunging them into their necks.
While such magic isn't strictly limited to ferrous metals that sort of material is much easier to work with. She can lift a few hundred pounds of steel or pig iron without much difficulty and could conceivably lift up a couple tons of the same (provided it was all one solid object, and with great strain) but her capacity is limited with non-metallic objects.
-Armor and Shield: She doesn't actually adorn herself with grisly trophies...usually. -Weapons: Has her axe and a variety of knives for skinning people and animals alike. In addition to proper blades, she likes to carry a grab bag of metal shards and a pair of solid iron ingots to pelt the enemy with. -Net: A blanket of steel rings that she can launch at someone to disable them, now more commonly used for mundane fishing. -Bedding -Mess Kit -Money: A variety of coins, most of them looted or stolen. -Moron: An Elkitir, a magically-bred cross between horse and elk originating with the druids of the Tildretti forest. At twenty hands tall he's pretty much the only equine big enough for Scrapblast to ride and he's as smart as any donkey. The problem is that he's just as stubborn to boot, thus the name.
What They Most Want: For Ryt to find purpose before she finds a proper death.
If They Had a DnD Alignment, It Would Be: Chaotic Neutral
Three Likes: Stories, strong drink, those who are bold
Three Dislikes: Being bored, coffee, cowards
Do They Follow Their Heart or Their Mind?: Her heart
Worst Fear: Dying peacefully
Favorite Color: Brown
Most Like The Animal: Unsurprisingly, hyenas That is, which animal they are most like- not which one they like the most.
Favorite Time of Day: Dawn and dusk, Gnolls are naturally crepuscular.
How They Dress: Practically.
Favorite Season: Summer
What Gods/Spirits/Whatevers They Worship (If Any): Primarily Mus the Weaver and Tel the Hunter No, M., Jesus isn't an option
Race, Age, Time in the Caravan: Ryt's actual age is unknown, his best guess is somewhere between 12 and 14. He's a half-Orc, a somewhat rare and not always liked crossbreed. He's been traveling with the caravan with his 'mother' for the last two years.
Appearance: Ryt's mother was an Orc but his father was a Halfing, and it shows. He's only four feet tall, barely weighing above sixty pounds soaking wet. He looks young for his age, much to his chagrin as he tries to grow up into a proper man.
History: Ryt doesn't know his parents' names. He doesn't know where they lived, how they met one another, if they had any family or close friends nearby. He couldn't even tell you if has any surviving relatives. All the information he has is what Thozna gave him: they were merchants who threatened the local monopoly of some rich trader, and the trader had her take them out. His mother, father, and older sister all died within minutes of each other, and she adopted him. The sole survivor.
Wherever he was from originally, his home was Alstow. A quaint farming town, the vast majority of which was human. While there were some Halflings and the odd Dwarf here and there a Gnoll and her Orcish charge stood out. Ryt's earliest memories are of being the Other, not shunned by his peers but regarded with curiosity.
Despite his odd circumstances, Ryt did have a relatively normal childhood. His adoptive caretaker was employed as a ranch hand on one of the larger farmsteads and he helped her with her chores, namely feeding the chickens and mucking out the stalls. When Thozna allowed him to knock off from work early (which was often) he played with his peers, his strangeness not enough to exclude him from circles.
The interesting part of his upbringing was his education. Thozna, embarrassed by her lack of book smarts and wanting better for her charge, arranged for him to be educated by the white witch who lived on the outskirts of Alstow. Old Lady Moira, or Miss Moi as she preferred, was a druid and alchemist. She was the town's healer in addition to providing blessings for the crops, a well-liked if not quite understood figure.
Ryt learned mundane skills like reading and herbalism but was also given instruction in Miss Moi's brand of magic, a subtler, kinder art than that which Thozna practiced. Most of Ryt's lessons were based on working with the flow of magic as opposed to muscling it into doing what he wanted, gently coaxing it into closing small wounds or invigorating sickly animals.
He was a quick study, almost too quick. He was only eleven or twelve when he had learned all that Moi could teach him, the rest would he would have to pick up from more experienced teachers and practice in the field. Thozna, already anxious to be on the move, packed up their things without a second thought.
Since joining the caravan Ryt has continued to work on nurturing his gift, supported by an approving Thozna. But as he gets older he chafes under her guardianship. Now a man by the old Gnoll's standards he can't help but feel bitter over his circumstances. Time will tell what, if anything he does about it.
Personality: For a boy raised by a crusty old mercenary with few qualms or compunctions, Ryt turned out remarkably well. He's soft-spoken and polite as can be, greeting most people with a smile. He's mature for his age, level-headed and very careful to avoid confrontation.
He's actually too careful for Thozna's liking which is a point of contention simmering between them. She's never once apologized or even acknowledged wrongdoing in slaying Ryt's family, and he's grown to quietly resent her for it. Thozna knows he does, he knows she knows he does, but she refuses to give him what he wants without him demanding it of her. This attempt to make him man up has failed thus far, only serving to slowly poison their still-loving relationship.
All this to say, he clings to friends. Whether or not he can say it aloud Ryt desperately wants a family of his choosing, not one that's forced on him. Being snatched away from his peers in Alstow had a profound effect on him so any new friends he makes can expect to be doted on.
Motivation: Purpose. He's still hanging around Scrapblast because, as much as he wishes he never met her, she's the only constant in his life. Until he finds something else to devote himself to he'll just keep tagging along.
Skills, Strengths and Weaknesses, and Tools: He's a pretty good herbalist and a remarkably talented druid, for his age. While he can't get detailed information out of them he's able to communicate basic thoughts and feelings with animals, a useful trick since he's small enough to look like a snack to a wolf.
He's also extremely tricky to find when he doesn't want to be. His halfling blood has given him near-silent steps and an eye for hidey-holes while his orcish endurance means that he can probably outrun whoever's chasing him if stealth fails.
But being nimble and sneaky means little when you can be hoisted with little trouble. Ryt has all the strength of a particularly ornery kitten, just about capable of carrying small creatures that aren't struggling too much. He'd lose a wrestling match against any reasonably healthy child his age, and if it's an adult grabbing him he's done. Being in his early teens at the oldest also means that he lacks life experience, his worldview still fairly naïve.
Sometimes in situations of extreme stress, he can regress into the primal fury used by Orc berserkers, lashing out like a cornered animal. This can be a good or bad thing depending on the circumstances. Best case scenario the mugger or whoever is warded off by a flurry of scratches and bites. Worst case, they get angry and smash his head against the nearest wall.
The druid-in-training can't perform much in the way of big, showy spells yet, instead relying on more mundane but still useful magic tricks. With a little bit of focus he can restore life to failing crops or sick creatures, giving them some extra strength with which to fight on. Small cuts and gashes can be healed with a quiet song, and he knows how to produce a number of useful tinctures and tonics.
In dangerous situations he can instinctively call upon nature to defend him, although he has little control over the shape it takes. A cloud of flies might suddenly buzz out of nowhere to blind an attack, a shower of sparks might singe their hair or they might find the solid ground they walk on is now a quagmire.
And while he's not hurling around armored knights like Ol' Scrapblast he is really good at skipping rocks. Like, magically good. Sometimes he can bounce one ten times in a row. That counts for something, right?
-Buford: Ryt's pet and almost-familiar. Buford is still a bit too obstinate to be an assistant but his connection with Ryt does make the boy's magic a little more potent when he's around. -Knife: Designed for pruning plants and sawing through small branches as opposed to fighting but Thozna makes him wear it on his belt anyway. -Druid's Kit: Put together by Miss Moi as a parting gift. Contains a mortar, pestle, measuring spoons, vials for samples, seeds and various other bits and pieces. -Money: Thozna gives him a little pocket change here and there. -Trelawney: Thozna's giant horse-deer thing is too smart and stubborn to pull the cart so it falls on the smaller, stupider mule to do so. Sometimes carries Ryt in addition to a million other bits and pieces.
What They Most Want: A family of some kind.
If They Had a DnD Alignment, It Would Be: Chaotic Good
Three Likes: Animals, fresh air, Thozna
Three Dislikes: Cruelty, bullies, Thozna (it's complicated)
Do They Follow Their Heart or Their Mind?: Mind
Worst Fear: Depending on the day, Thozna being disappointed or proud of what direction he takes.
Favorite Color: Purple
Most Like The Animal: Badger That is, which animal they are most like- not which one they like the most.
Favorite Time of Day: Twilight
How They Dress: In simple, loose peasant's clothes
Favorite Season: Spring
What Gods/Spirits/Whatevers They Worship (If Any): A variety of nature spirits and Mus the Weaver No, M., Jesus isn't an option
Approved, obviously, these are two near-perfect sheets. I really look forward to seeing how Ryt and Thozna's relationship flows through the RP
Race, Age, Time in the Caravan: Malleck belongs to the Ainok- a race of humanoid canines indigenous to Alywne's savannahs and deserts, with significant variety between individual specimens. A quick way to irritate almost all of them is to mistake them for Gnolls, their bitter enemies. He's young for most races, at 20, but reached maturity five years prior, and has been travelling with the caravan for three years.
Appearance: Malleck has dusty fur, blotched with natural camoflague in hues that range from sandy khakis to deep blacks, with a noticable cross pattern that stretches from his muzzle to his nose, the crossbar reaching to the ends of his brows. He has a shaggy plume of hair that's been braided and tied with baubles and other accessories in an attempt to tame it, and bright amber eyes with black sclera. He stands at around 5'5", a normal height for Ainoks, with the typical tight-wound muscle. His fur serves double duty to both cool him in warm environments and warm him in cool ones, meaning he usually eschews more clothing than a simple tunic, covered in straps and bags to help him carry anything he needs on the road.
History & Personality: The Ainok are a semi-nomadic peoples who live as a periphery ally of the desert's great Dinnin kingdoms. Travelling throughout the dry seasons, Ainok clans, usually made from extended family units settle into temporary pastoral settlements during the wet season to reap the benefits of nature's sudden flourishing. A true-blood Ainok through and through, Malleck has grown up with this cycle- from his time as a pup on his mother's back to an adult of fifteen, expected to be able to hunt and provide for his family.
But, Malleck always sought out more than this. He was born under the light of Otota the dancing star, his paws always itched during the wet season, eager to be on the road again, eating up the dusty miles. He bid farewell to his family when he was sixteen, departing alongside a merchant caravan returning from trade with one of the Great Clans deeper into the desert. Although he had had brief interactions with outsiders before- the Ainok are no strangers to traders, caravaneers, hunters and even the occasional hostile band, this was the first time he had been truly exposed to different cultures and ways of thinking, and he loved it.
He drank in the diversity and the uniqueness, adding their tales sand stories to his own mind, and whenever he could took the opportunity to tell them and retell them at the fire, enhancing his own tales as he did so. It is one thing to have a firm grasp of a single method of storytelling- quite another to begin to understand the universal traits that sapient species use in their myths and legends, and to weave them together.
Soon after the caravan arrived in settled lands however, one of the guards informed him that there was an even better option out there. The Pilgrim's Caravan was, coincidentally, in the same city they were, and with thanks to his previous travelling companions, he joined up, bringing with him his stories, while being always eager to learn more.
Motivation: Malleck is a classic example of someone filled with wanderlust, and travels both out of a desire to see the world and to imitate the passage the Dancing Star of Otota makes across the skies. He knows not when his wandering will end, or if it even will at all, but is more than happy to stick with the Pilgrim's Caravan for as long as it stops his feet from itching.
Skills, Strengths and Weaknesses, and Tools: As an open and gleeful follower of Otota, Malleck is expected to be able to bring cheer wherever he wanders. to this end, he has immersed himself in the entertaining arts- music, singing, storytelling and dance. He can work his magic with only a willing audience, but any instrument is obviously a boon. A not-insignificant part of his memory is dedicated to the countless tales he's heard and repeated across his pilgrimage, but for all this knowledge, he is undoubtably rather 'book dumb.' Coming from an oral culture, Malleck can neither read nor write, and he has neither inclination nor patience to dedicate himself to learning how to do so. He also cannot swim and easily and violently becomes motion sick, preferring to walk if at all possible over sitting in a caravan or boat.
As with most long time travellers, Malleck can defend himself- after all, he comes from a community of hunters and herdsmen, frequently in conflict, but fighting against other sapients always sat wrong with him. It felt wrong- dirty, almost indivine in a way, and so instead he much prefers to laugh off an insult than to take a swing. For self-defence, he prefers anything that can extend his reach, distance between himself and his foe- be that a spear, stave or simply a sufficiently long and durable stick. When it comes to magic, Malleck's powers are extremely limited- he is neither a shaman nor wizard- although he practices the Ainok's typical astronomical fortune-telling and can produce a few minor illusions, mend a broken rope or help seal a small cut, anything greater than this is beyond his abilities.
What They Most Want: They'll figure it out at some point!
If They Had a DnD Alignment, It Would Be: Chaotic Good
Three Likes: The sound of laughter, a well cooked meal, a new story to learn.
Three Dislikes: Gnolls, betraying his trust, being unable to see the stars at night.
Do They Follow Their Heart or Their Mind?: Heart! Part of the job, honestly.
Worst Fear: Forgetting
Favorite Color: All of them!
Most Like The Animal: 'Dog' would be pretty stereotypical, but also wrong. Malleck's more like a songbird of some kind.
Favorite Time of Day: Deepest night- where the stars shine the clearest, and the fire seems that much brighter.
How They Dress: As minimally as possible so other peoples aren't offended. He has fur for a reason.
Favorite Season: The dry season! What do you mean most places don't count a 'wet' and 'dry' season?
What Gods/Spirits/Whatevers They Worship (If Any): The Ainoks of the savannah worship the stars- which come into view so brightly and clearly each night when the sun sets. They believe that these stars are each Gods in their own right, and that those born under the light and influence of various celestial bodies are favoured or disfavoured by these Gods. Born under the light of the so-called 'Dancing Star,' otherwise known as the Goddess Otota. Being both an incredibly bright star, and one that appears to be the most mobile in the night sky Otota holds a special place within the Ainok pantheon as the Goddess of gaity, enjoyment, fertility, pleasure, and so on and so forth. Malleck considers himself a staunch follower of Otota's light, and it is under her auspex that he travels.
Ainok do not traditionally use last names, as by and large they stay within small familial groups, and even during interactions between groups, misunderstandings are easily avoided. 'Freepaw' is a rough translation of the Ainok term for a wanderer who has willingly left their family, distinguishing Malleck from a banished and disgraced Ainok.
Took me longer than anticipated, but here it is!
You already know you're approved.
Yours and Smike's charactes already have some tension bubbling. I love it, and also will attempt to subtly add to it, because stirring the pot is the most fun a GM has.
"You wanna tell me your story? Go ahead, but I don't give a shit. If you wanna my respect, put'em up and fight! That's how I work."
Name: Korzan Alias: The Fanged Fighter Age: 27 Gender: Male Race: Beastkin (Werewolf) Alignment: Chaotic Neutral Time in the Caravan: 9 months, after being defeated by the Caravan.
Appearance and Fashion
Appearance: Korzan is a 1.82m (5'11) tall werewolf. He is very muscular and has pride in being that way, doing exercises day after day in order to grow more "ripped", as he himself says. His fur is grayish-blue and white, and his eyes are sky blue. His hands are humanoid and don't grow into claws, but his feet are wolf-like and his claws are sharp.
Dressing Style: As someone who doesn't care about fashion, Korzan's style is very simplistic. He wears a belt around his torso and some bandages on his arms, as well as baggy pants, with the only thing preventing them from falling being the belt that he also doesn't close. The pants also have a hole in the butt for his tail, and the hole wasn't prepared beforehand but ripped by Korzan. The only armor he actually wears is a pair of leg guards. He wears two earrings on his right ear.
History: While Korzan doesn't like talking about his past, he comes from a hidden beastkin village located in the near-central southwest region of Alwyne. The name of the village? He forgot and doesn't bother remembering it. Neither the name nor the exact location of the village, which he was supposed to know since he lived that. If bothered enough to talk about it, Korzan simply resumes his home as a "boring shithole of weaklings", meaning that the village he came from doesn't emphasize fighting and rather prefers a peaceful setting.
When it comes to his journey, though, Korzan left home simply because he didn't want to spend his life away "rotting in silence", as he says, so he departed to have some fun. He traveled throughout the world trying to find people to pick up fights with and to declare himself the strongest in all Alwyne. This also means that he ended up in trouble with several places and has been banned from kingdoms and villages because of his troublemaker nature. That, and the fact that he always ended up causing chaos at pubs, his favorite place to spend the night.
At the places that enjoy a good brawl as a sport, he always sought to win, entering every arena or tournament he could. While winning some and losing some, Korzan ended up building a name for himself, getting known as The Fanged Fighter. Known as a powerful pugilist, vicious respectable opponent, and sore fair loser, people love watching his fights whenever some event of the sort happens.
That's when, during his travels, Korzan ended up meeting the Caravan. After seeing some people like Virro, Jormon, Hoogarth, and Roter, he foolishly bravely challenged them to a fight, making it clear that it didn't matter who came at him, he would defeat all of them. He demanded that they would pay for a party in the next town's pub if he won, and would join them if he lost, which he was sure would never happen.
... Well, the results speak for themselves, because it's been 9 months that he's been in the Caravan. If you ask him, though, he'll never admit his loss.
Personality: If not something obvious, Korzan's a fighting maniac that loves a good brawl. He's the type that speaks with his fists and not with his mouth. He also loves when things get even more chaotic, which is when he gets overly excited and far more dangerous since he loses all self-control and just goes berserk without any sort of restraint or consideration for those around him. This makes him entirely problematic because teamwork isn't his specialty.
There's also the fact that Korzan doesn't respect people who haven't shown their strength or made an effort to fight. This means that he won't listen to people who are too pacifist even to try a punch, no matter how weak they are. Mages and archers are also included on this list because Korzan hates people who "are too scared to face everything forward". This doesn't apply to swords or other weapons like axes, he makes an exception because he thinks that knights and mercenaries are on the frontlines, just like him.
Even so, Korzan isn't a rule, law, or orders follower. He does whatever he wants based on his morals, likes, and values. He also has the intricate "hobby" of not only disobeying people but doing exactly what they told him not to do, just for the fun of it. There were other instances where the other members of the Caravan had to bail him out because he did exactly what they told him NOT to do. This makes him get on the nerves of other people quite easily.
Deep down, though, Korzan's really happy to be a part of a new group, even though he's pretty dishonest with his emotions and doesn't tend to show his weak sides. He's also very fond of kids and likes to play around with them as a big brother or something. That, and at his most profound point, he has a thing for being pet and ruffled, though he doesn't publically let people do those things, being caught off-guard most of the time.
Fights. The more chaotic, the better;
Drinking and smoking. He's a heavyweight on drinking, but abuses that fact and drinks without end;
Kids. He likes to play around with them;
Being pet and ruffled. Yes, Korzan has a weakness for that.
Peace and quiet. Korzan hates the stillness;
People who don't put an effort of strength;
Magicians and archers.
Worst Fear: Not being able to fight anymore. Favorite Color: Gray blue. Favorite Time of Day: Nighttime. Favorite Season: Has no preference. Heart/Will or Mind/Reason?: Korzan follows his heart/will. Motivation: Other than losing a bet with the Caravan, Korzan is going with them to grow stronger and to try his hand at them again. Lifelong Dream: Korzan's lifelong dream is to be recognized as the strongest being in the entire world. Spirit Animal: He doesn't have a spirit animal because he is one. Faith and Beliefs: He doesn't have any faith.
Battle and Equipment Information
Skills: Korzan's main skills are all related to combat. First of all, he's a great fighter and dedicated martial artist. His style is really varied, but it mixes styles like kung-fu, karate, and judo, with a bit of muay Thai. His movements are very nimble and fast, as well as focused considering he takes fighting to win, despite his rather violent and cocky personality. He's also very good at outdoor activities such as running, climbing, etc, considering how much he's a physique enthusiast.
Werewolves, in particular, are born with a special "power" that allows them to heal faster than other races so their regenerative functions are naturally better than a human, elf, or even some other beastkin.
There's also the fact that werewolves are far more powerful under the influence of the full moon, so Korzan gets even stronger, faster and wilder than before.
Korzan's also pretty good at walking around in nature, such as forests, mountains, and other non-manmade places. Because of his heightened senses as a beastkin, he has good eyesight, hearing, and smell, which becomes really useful in cases where somehow the groups split into those sorts of places.
Strengths and Weaknesses: Beastkins have a better constitution than most races so Korzan has inhuman strength, speed and is more resilient to damage than humans. This also means that he can jump higher and reach places that humans normally can't, like the roof of a house without any stairs. And because of his athletic prowess, he doesn't get easily tired like other people, being able to go for hours on exercise without getting too much strain.
The problem is that, outside of battle, Korzan isn't useful. He's not the best talker, his impulsive nature is more of a hindrance than anything, and the fact that he does whatever he wants whenever he wants doesn't help at all. He's also not smart so he avoids complicated stuff or just sleeps through it because it isn't interesting to him.
Another singular problem is that Korzan falls for the most stupid taunts known to live beings. It doesn't help that he's short-fused, but he gets possessed like a bull seeing red once you provoke him.
It's also important to notify that, while he gets stronger on the full moon, Korzan's animal instincts overwhelm any reasoning he has and he starts to behave like a savage animal that doesn't have control. Of course, one can make him stop by treating him like an animal, but they have to be quick to do it, otherwise, they're dead.
Weapons and Tools: Korzan uses no other weapons, and has no extra tools or even a bag. If anything, he's just walking around with what he has now and just leaves whatever money he gets on some quest or whatnot with someone more careful and organized that actually cares about money.
Approved. Really, I shoulda read this one in the same batch as @Smike and @Irredeemable. We seem to have lots of canine-types hanging around. I don't know if you'll form a three-way friendship to last the eons or rip each other to pieces.
With the talk about getting ripped and the over-emphasis on being stronk, your werewolf has got some gym-bro vibes. I don't know how I feel about it, but I hope to at least once hear him asking Malleck "BRO, do you even lift??"
Approved. Really, I shoulda read this one in the same batch as @Smike and @Irredeemable. We seem to have lots of canine-types hanging around. I don't know if you'll form a three-way friendship to last the eons or rip each other to pieces.
With the talk about getting ripped and the over-emphasis on being stronk, your werewolf has got some gym-bro vibes. I don't know how I feel about it, but I hope to at least once hear him asking Malleck "BRO, do you even lift??"
I'm just sadge that my canine is just a werewolf, though I'm the last person to be creative in that sense. I was tempted to call him Wolfskin too, but that's another race being ripped off somewhere else. Also, a three-way-rivalry is more Korzan's style.
Also, he's way more of the "I had the whole gym to myself last night bro!", he's that much of a convinced prick. I mean, that's his character in a nutshell: a self-absorbed, battle maniac, troublemaker, drunkard, low fuse, sore loser, arrogant as F asshole.
Approved. Really, I shoulda read this one in the same batch as @Smike and @Irredeemable. We seem to have lots of canine-types hanging around. I don't know if you'll form a three-way friendship to last the eons or rip each other to pieces.
With the talk about getting ripped and the over-emphasis on being stronk, your werewolf has got some gym-bro vibes. I don't know how I feel about it, but I hope to at least once hear him asking Malleck "BRO, do you even lift??"
Hey, Thozna is closer to a cat than she is a dog thank you very much. She’s nothing like those stinky, tasty, easily-caught Ainok
But really, thanks for the kind words, I’ll move my sheets in not too long!
@Tortoise So I tried to shorten the concept to having been in three cults of any note, to keep things simple. Meanwhile I am not intending him to be OP or anything, but I also worry I could haver overlooked something as well, so if I need to fix or change anything then please do let me know!
Warning, the history section has some 'building' sections tossed in there along the way to try to help build context...messier than I had hoped, but I'll get to see what you think about it all at least. Whew.
Was how it came out of my brain and onto the google doc I prepared a lot of this in though.
Otherwise...here is the first of potentially two, the second I am having a lot of trouble deciding on the concept of horribly so, characters for the RP! :3
Race, Age, Time in the Caravan:
Human, 72, 17 years with the Pilgrim's Caravan
Knossos is a man who was born to a small village family in the humble farming village of Aktí within the Kingdom of Ordos, a coastal nation with a large eastern coastline and access to the sea since seemingly time immemorial. A kingdom that had little access to the outside by land, save for a pair of crucial northern and western mountain passes respectively dubbed the "Chióni" (Greek for "ice", aka the 'northern pass' out from the nation's northern border) and the "Fiume" (Italian for "river", named such due to the great river flowing alongside the pass down a steep cliff as one passes through it), it had been in the middle of various issues or conflicts over the years as well as notably involved at sea. Yet even with having the sea so accessible, the growing of crops and rearing of livestock was still very much important. Indeed, this would be the task the family of young Knossos had taken up for many generations within the inner land region of the kingdom proper.
At birth Knossos's surname, as was his family's already, continued on in the same old local tradition of one's surname being taken from the work and job they had. However, this surname was not without nuance either. Farmers would add differentiating spellings or emphasis in their surname to separate themselves, or even use different words related to their occupation that by tradition made their heritage clear. Likewise, this made record keeping in the kingdom easier and more accessible, though it also brought about legal cases of 'who claimed what surname idea first' at times as well (inevitably). Yet with this all in mind it would make the 'easier' or more straightforward surnames that much harder to get ahold of...usually only held by nobility or very old family lines indeed. In the case of Knossos' family of birth, Faermer (a corruption of "farmer") was their particular surname and made them one of the oldest families to live in their area. A family that, indeed, had stuck about stubbornly as mules and long tilled the land and lived in the same spot in the central region of the kingdom since before the kingdom itself had even been born into existence.
So long had they been around they were among those in the kingdom's population who still possessed what is called an "Ancestor Stone", a practice from even pre-kingdom times that saw family members were buried around or underneath a great stone or boulder rolled down from the mountains to one's home. Such a stone marked one's place of settlement and the center of their property, and the effort of getting one was seen as a labor that showed respect to one's ancestors and the land itself. The larger it was, the more awe-inspiring and respectable it was seen to be. In that vein the Faermer Family was known more notably...having the largest one in their region of the kingdom, rumored to have been brought down by an ancestor granted strength by a spirit living within the boulder to help him on his way. From this, it is said the family was ever bound to this spirit that watched over the bodies of their dead and the land of their descendants. Further, upon Ancestor stones the names of the dead ancestors would be etched, and burials would continue to radiate out from the stone at the 'center' of this impromptu graveyard but would always remain pointed back at it...to point the dead back to those who came before so their spirits may join them in the afterlife.
Meanwhile, Knossos' first name was selected for the constellation he was born under. Whilst the first names of children would originate from anything ranging from figures in legend, to places they were born, to those who the family or parents wished to honor in their lives or pay respects to, and so forth, trends in this naming structure trended toward certain lines of things depending on one's place and status of birth. Farmers and Woodcutters and such would usually use more land and terrain-focused names, whilst those such as scholars and magic users might get names based on famous authors or constellations or other phenomena that sounded fancy and sophisticated to use as a name, etc. So in this vein Knossos' own name was something of an oddity, only chosen when a passing magic scholar was hosted by the family on a journey to the north and assisted in his birth when one of the local midwives or the village doctor would not be able to make it in time. So grateful were Knossos' parents that the traveling magic scholar was given the chance to name him out of respect. No small honor to be sure, no matter one's class! Thus the newborn was named for the constellation locals called 'Knossos', which looked like a king sitting on a throne, named for a great and wise king who once ruled the region in legend and solved a series of 'unsolvable riddles'. Indeed a great warlord of the Minotaur species, an army in tow, had arrived from across the sea and balked at the strength of the inhabitants of the region. The future king of the region then approached him boldly, despite others holding back in fear as the enemy raided the coast, said that, "what we have not in arms, we have yet in wisdom". Amused at this, the monster challenged this young man to a game. Three divine riddles, handed down by the gods of the warlord's homeland, would be given to the young man. None had ever solved them, but any who did would be granted great fortune and blessing on their bloodline forever for their wit and wisdom.
...Safe to say, the future king would win this contest and a divine revelation would come down upon the assembled group present at the contest. It was such that the warlord would withdraw from the region to attack another place out of respect for the gods of his own people. This future king would then become a greater leader, possessing almost supernatural wisdom and gifts in whatever he put his mind to. He would thus be named the "many-gifted", or "Knossos", and eventually gain enough influence and power to found a capital in the same place on the coast he'd won the contest with the warlord. It would be in this same place the very throne of his future palace, and the throne of all future kings that would rise even when the Kingdom of Ordos formed, would be reverently placed...and where the constellation of Knossos, said to be the king's immortalized spirit in the stars, watches over and grants wisdom to rulers of the land on the same day each year that the contest was won by the original Knossos. Even with the fact the Kingdom of Ordos' line was once invaders who blended in with locals, they would outright forcibly marry into them the last of the old king's bloodline and keep the tradition in order to assert authority as well as gain the seemingly palpable supernatural benefits gained from it (which is actually real tbh).
With all of this in mind, Knossos seemed poised merely to inherit the family farm and land in life. He had nothing going for him otherwise, and he felt a restlessness within him from a young age. Indeed his young mind would wander to things greater than himself and the old stories, and his parents were often sore with him or given myriad headaches simply trying to deal with him. In the end they would not need to worry, however, as the new village doctor to arrive at the village when Knossos was just five would begin to influence the boy in a different direction. Secretly a member of a cult dedicated to an alien being from a far-flung dimension/plane dubbed "iL'Thris the Deep Lord", whose home was a warped and corrupted ocean that spanned seemingly across infinity and whose true form was imperceptible to mortals and caused them to descend into madness. This cult's founder was the one mortal the Deep Lord had shown its true and aberrant form to, being curious about mortals after a one in a billion chance it would ever take notice of another dimension/plane at all, but the chain reaction resulting from this had led the maddened cult leader to form and cult and begin spreading it in secret...with maddened plans to one day overthrow the kingdom and summon a great monster to ravage the land. Said cult would influence Knossos until he was ten, after which he was taken away and assumed dead in the woods by his home as the cult prepared him more rigorously for adulthood in their ranks after faking his death. By the time he turned twenty one, he had learned all the magic of the cult that he could absorb (acquired from iL'Thris) and reached the upper ranks of the cult and then been infused with part of iL'Thris as other upper-ranks had (iL'Thris taking pity on their 'fragile mortal lives', thinking this was their request for help in that sense and it seeking to be merciful to help the seemingly 'good friends' of the one it had made contact with). All went according to plan, though, at least until the time when the long-foretold "Day of Summoning" came along.
The ritual kicked off, and disaster came, but a brave band of heroes that had formed and begun to rise amidst the pre-ritual period would take the fight to the cult before destroying them in a climactic final battle. Neighbors of the Kingdom of Ordos had even sent in reinforcements to help in order to avoid the spread of chaos deeper into their lands. Such was how terrifying and drastic the effect and impact of this all was. What would follow is the lead hero of the group of heroes marrying the kingdom's princess, who was about his age, and the Kingdom of Ordos rebuilding as it bloodily purged out the remnants of the cult. Among the scant few people, able to be counted on one hand at the very most, Knossos managed to survive and flee by land to a land far away. Somehow. Even he questioned harshly how many died and how his escape happened to work out despite the odds...yet in the end the reasons did not matter. He had lived and survived another day, but the cult had not.
But what of the enlightenment the cult had promised? What of the power, the truth, everything? Something like the cult, yes, it had to be true. But if this route to truth did not manifest for them, perhaps the next would? Yes! Another had to work! It had to. There was no other way, it was all he'd ever known. So he would have to find another route! Yes! Truth lied beyond the veil of any of this, it had to, and he would find it for the benefit of all this time!
Thus Knossos would desperately claw his way to a land far away from his own, that being of the desert Kingdom of Khamsin in the vast and expensive Khamsin Desert. An ancient land that had begun as a cradle of civilization on the far northwestern coast of its continent, placed right on the equator, it had been inhabited at first only by the ancient Iwiw (a jackal-like canine beastman race) who had built up the origina Kingdom of Uat there between the fertile Nilei and Ma'at rivers coming in from the northwestern coast to build up a civilization of their own. The Uat civilization lasted over three and a half thousand years before it would be broken and put under the yoke, though some such foreign-conquering rulers would maintain some of the land's practices and such to help maintain power, and the land saw civilization there going from fledgling kingdom in super ancient times to ancient empire, to being subjugated by others and breaking free each a few times over, to ultimately lingering as a modest but notable kingdom by current times. A kingdom known for its mix of ancient ways and modern innovations and so forth, a melting pot of trade and harsh landscape and so forth, it was a pale call of the original Kingdom of Uat in ways to be sure. Even so, it was more stable, advanced, and enduring than it had ever been before as a 'breadbasket' of past nations.
Yet it was within this new Kingdom of Khamsin proved to be where a new cult was found by Knossos, a group dedicating themselves to an Ancient Great Demon Lord named Ashtara who sought to take the region and transform it into a microcosm of where she had come from: A ravaged, demonic plane that to her and her followers would be transformed into a paradise. Or at least such a 'paradise' is what she promised. A paradise free of struggle, war, and turmoil. Nothing but the best pleasures of life and beyond, and for all eternity. Despite his former affiliation, he did join the cult and manage to rise the ranks to an extent once more as he pursued things with a new zeal. From Ashtara, he as well as other mid-rank and higher-up members would be granted to drink of some of her blood (and the higher-ups took in some of her essence to boot). Yet for how Knossos was concerned, only partaking of her blood infused him and others with a demonic dark magical power that allowed them to partake of certain magics. Conjuring/summoning demons, making use of curses, casting red energy attacks of tainted demonic magical energy, and conducting blood rituals would become the things he could do using this 'gift'. Yet it would be when this cult tried to rise up and cast their big 'summoning ritual' to bring forth their patron that things would eventually turn as they locals and a plucky band of mercenaries-turned-heroes would rise up and smite them back. Barely manifesting an arm of their patron to try to crush the heroes, Ashtara could see the writing on the wall and merely withdrew after it was clear the cult could not keep it up. The higher-ups who had absorbed her essence binding them to her in a way drinking her blood did not, would be sucked up by her alongside the dead bodies of deceased cult members as 'reparations' for her plan not succeeding. Those living members left behind, Knossos included, were pursued and killed and slain and put to the sword. Knossos was only thirty three years old at the time, and barely scraped through the desert with his life before collapsing at an oasis.
His strength in convictions was beginning to waver, but despite it all his desperation to find what he sought pushed him to travel far away once more as he sought another group. One more shot. Another route to truth, before he got old enough and died where he stood. He had to. By all the powers that were, he...he...if he didn't, then what would all of this be worth? The deaths, all in vain? Sacrifices, all falling on empty ears? No. No, he could not let it be. And thus he traveled to find the final group he'd end up joining.
In a land far in the northern hemisphere, farther north than he'd ever been in his life before, he came across a group seeking the power of an ancient civilization called the Vilkyn. Once a people who in rather ancient times owned the territory the group has set up in, in fact having originated from there in days long gone, the Vilkyn race and civilization had collapsed over a series of centuries and disasters and such that had brought them down into extinction. Yet according to some of their old records, something of great value lied where their capital had once been. Formulae to create unique crystalized mana gems, a unique creation differing from 'crytalized mana' or the like, and devices as well as magically-wrought constructs which were made to be powered and even partly shaped by these magical power sources...among which was one meant to revive the race from the dead that hadn't been able to be activated in time during the capital's fall over two thousand years ago. The group having been funded by a wealthy noble of a nearby kingdom, one who sought this power to use it for himself, they plucked away at things as Knossos joined on at first as a simple 'expert in obscure magical arts'. Then as the group became more obsessed and cultic, driven by a desire for power and made promises by the noble of becoming immortal, Knossos would see himself more and more involved as he sought to study the Vilkyn magical arts and records. He would gain the magical knowledge the group sought, at least, before eventually the group was caught by the kingdom the noble came from as the noble himself was outed by some means. The group lost all funding, an attempted half-activation of the great Vilkyn device saw a botched raising of undead that now inhabit the Vilkyn ruins and surrounding wastes there, those who were in the same kingdom as the noble were killed, and Knossos barely escaped with his life by braving the undead and making his way out in a different direction than most took.
...Even so, he could collapse on the ground of a vast northern forest to the southwest of where the group had been set up at the old Vilkyn capital's ruins. An old path merchants on rare occasion took was right before him, and yet his strength gave out seeking to make it onto the road itself. Collapsed in a bush next to it, his vision blurred, his wounds continued to worsen, and he would pass out expecting to finally die. His resolve to find 'truth' in the only way he'd known how, so indoctrinated into it he had become blind, would too finally break as his body did. Truth? He sought truth, but this path was not it. This way was not the one. And what had he done? Run about seeking all of this like a fool for decades of life? He, a fifty-four year old, was going to die here. He would not see the power of the Deep Lord transform the world into a utopia as the first cult had promised. He would not see a glorious paradise form as the second cult had promised. He would not see power and riches and glory in mortality as promised by the third and final cult he'd joined. Nothing. And so as he felt himself drift, the aging man would scoff at himself and allow himself to drift away.
But this was not to be his fate, it seemed.
Waking up in a shrine to the god Drothur (God of Travelers, Merchants, Wanderers, Transients, Homeless, and Foreigners), Knossos found himself cheating death once more. At least, this time it was so without his own choice in the matter. A passing cleric of Drothur had found him, the clothes on his back, and his magical satchel containing all his things, and brought them to the shrine to heal. Telling the confused and utterly depressed man they had been guided by a dream to take that road, in particular even seeing the location they had found Knossos in, the cleric said that the had felt the hand of their patron deity upon him. But why? Knossos would wonder this and ask as he was forced to heal up for some time, talking about everything to the cleric as they tended to him personally, but wasn't handed over to anyone else in the meantime as Drothur's will was seemingly to help him recover. The same cleric who had helped him would leave, returning to travel as was their calling, but would leave him with a parting message when he asked one last time the question that burned so brightly in his mind: "Why?" "Why save me? Why care for me despite all the things I've done?". The cleric merely responded, with a smile, that:
"My lord Drothur saw fit to save you, even one who seems to have long lost his way in life and done much in pursuit of many self-blinding and destructive paths. Most do not survive this sort of life, among those who have been in such a place as yourself that is. And yet you have come to see your own folly. The veil of ignorance has come up from your eyes, and this is a most precious gift indeed.
I believe...you are being given a chance. A great rebirth of purpose. An opportunity to take a new path, to pave a new road, now that you have been able to realize what so few like yourself have ever been able to.
Eh? As for my own personal reasons? Heh. I would not dare leave a lost wayfarer such as yourself to die in the wilderness...never again. I have made my own mistakes in the past, but I seek them not ever again.
So for forth, oh man named Knossos! Oh walker of dreams long broken! Go with my lord's blessing upon you, and see your new path to its very end without regrets! I shall see you there at the very end, my friend."
And so the cleric left.
Once a year had passed since Knossos having been brought to recover at the shrine, he would remove himself from the shrine and local area. Indeed, he would find himself joining the Pilgrim's Caravan as it was preparing to leave the location around where he'd been cared for throughout the prior year. Claiming to be a magical scholar of sorts, he would take his occult expertise and magic and skills and set about to make the world a better place in any way he could. He would also seek to gather knowledge along the way to this end. Ultimately on the road, and for the next fifteen years, Knossos would peddle his knowledge to assist others as an 'occult expert'. He would care for those dealing with haunted places or cursed items. He would be hired by nobles to investigate ruins, examine eclectic and rather niche 'magic items' for them, or try to assist with afflictions and issues caused by non-standard magical sources or origins. Such was his purpose. He would even buy up cursed items or such to 'contain' them safely, and for that he gained some reputation of a good but also wary sort. He even assisted areas with more 'zealous' beliefs investigate certain matters relating to his expertise and skills, if only to work with the law and try to form an amicable relationship with such groups to avoid trouble on his part. At the same time, however, it isn't as if he is without potential to get into trouble due to what he is skilled in dealing with. His skills have been of use to the Pilgrim's Caravan itself at times as well, making him a staple of the last decade and a half in regards to certain matters if nothing else, and yet to date he knows the danger never goes away. The next plot, the next oddity, the next obscure magical issue, the next place that could potentially be where he runs into his past again, whatever it may be...
...but he will see his new chosen path to the end, no matter what!
An older man usually of a calm, jovial, or relaxed type of mentality and way he holds himself. Even so, he inherently possesses a sober patience and calm in or outside of his work as well. He is generally well-spoken, and is well-read to a sometimes troubling extent when it comes to his area of expertise, but one won't find him being usually unfriendly to others unless they seriously manage to tap into his anger r get him to really not like them to a notable enough extent. Knossos is very meticulous about his work and frankly passionate and serious about it to boot when it comes down to it. Attempting to snatch anything of his is something he will more than sternly lecture someone else on, at the very least, though he truly loathes those who fumble about with the occult or such things with no regards for their lives or others’. Outside of his work, one can find him willing to share a hot meal or drink with others and even have a laugh and talk and such...or a shoulder to rest on if they need to unload something painful or so forth onto someone else. At his heart children do have a soft spot with him as well, due to what happened to him in his own childhood (or lack thereof to an extent due to what happened in his own childhood), and at his heart he truly is a kind man who seeks to do the best he can in regards to himself and others with nothing but sincerity. Yet it is also that same sincerity that sees his anger and other negative emotions being that much more hot, poignant, and fierce whenever they manage to peek out from behind the veil of his usual demeanor.
Whilst he is not of the mind that he knows everything, he’ll amidst that as bluntly as possible with a laugh if asked, he is still a very much knowledgeable man whose talents go as deep as the years of his life have gone on long.
"What is better? To be born good, or to overcome your evil nature through great effort?"
-Paarthunax, Skyim (2011) ((And this is a quote that IC would be something Knossos would actually think to say to be honest)
To assist others regarding matters of the occult…in a sense, a ‘guiding light’ to help them understand or deal with or even avoid danger from such things. De-cursing items, storing away dangerous occult objects/relics, advising or counseling people on how to deal with occult matters, keeping tomes of occult knowledge and scrolls of otherworldly wisdom away from others by taking them himself, etc. Likewise in this main goal he gets to travel and see the world, something he’s come to enjoy raiding along with the Caravan over the last decade and a half. Perhaps his goal is also evidence of seeking redemption of some kind for the years of woes and miseries he created or participated in prior, to atone for his once-evil life by seeking to do good with what he knows and can do, though he’d deny such a thing if asked about it or it was implied toward him or such.
-Occult Expertise (Occult Magic/Occult Knowledge): To be more specific about this area, his whole thing here and in general runs on the premise that even in a world of fantasy and magic and monsters and so forth existing there are ‘outliers’ even within the realm of magic itself. Obscure or unique magical arts/practices, forbidden or frankly taboo spells that were spells developed or discovered, magics tied to beings from abnormal otherworlds mages don't usually or haven't made contact with as a standard practice, socially/culturally unacceptable magical practices/arts, etc, along those lines. This realm of things is where Knossos’ expertise falls into the lines of, though even he admits he doesn’t know everything. How could he? He is just one man. What he does know has come from decades of experience and personal study, both during his cult-joining days and since then afterward, and his travels with the Pilgrim’s Caravan has assisted him in this by exposing him to new places and things to study and acquire and so forth along the way.
In terms of applications, his capabilities are more varied than they are specific. He can summon and command tentacled or oceanic-like beings from the space iL'Thris comes from, as well as summon and command demons from wherever Lady Ashtara came from. He can conjure unique magical/twisted alien waters from an alternate dimension to use to attack others, doing so in things like water jets and barriers and so forth, and unleash/conjure unusual black demonic fire that it would take magical means (or a lot more buckets of water than should be required normally for a fire) to put out. He is further steeped in curses and the mechanics of them and things such as cursed objects/items, and has knowledge of some tribal or obtuse/obscure/fringe magics from across the area’s he’s traveled through or learned from in the last one and a half decades.
In terms of outright skill and experience and self-discipline he's akin to a veteran old wizard working up in a tower or at some prestigious magical school somewhere in the world, but this is also his one greatest strength to boot.
-Magic-Infused Body: His body ages outwardly, but internally the quality of his body is still easily at the level of a prime 20-to-30-something year old due to what it has been infused with. He, in other words, isn't as old inside as he is outside. His mind is sharp, his body can handle the exertion, and so forth that a human in their 20-to-30-something prime could without a doubt. That and some minor regeneration capabilities that allow him to heal from a wider range of things than normally is possible and slightly increases his passive natural healing rate to boot.
His durability isn't beyond that of a normal human being, he isn't Wolverine in terms of healing speed or anything ridiculous like that (heck no), and so forth. But whilst his lifespan will be inevitably extended by an unknown amount of time, an extent even he has no idea of the length of, he will eventually in the longer term die of old age with everything just giving out due to the raw amount of time that has passed. Even then it isn't 'eternal youth' that he has either...really just slowed aging in regards to the quality of his body (but not his aesthetic appearance).
-General Survival Skills: Cooking, cleaning, foraging, handling weather, making a fire, creating basic or functioning shelter, fishing, and similar things are array of generalist survival skills he’s refined from necessity over the decades and years before and even during his caravan years. He’s a very well-seasoned hand in this regard without a doubt.
-He has no armor to speak of, and his physical capabilities are still very much human. He is just as mortal as anyone else to boot when it comes to being able to be killed.
-No weapons skills to speak of. Best he could use is maybe his knife, but eve then that is just for survival and travel and such general-use purposes.
-Whilst some of his magical capabilities and occult knowledge do overlap with actual standard magical practices or categorizations, don't expect him to know standard magic stuff and standard-type spells and so forth. His knowledge is nuanced and eclectic and frankly niche in nature, so whilst some overlap in how things are categorized and work can occur he is no scholastic wizard who got a proper magical education from some magic university or so forth. He can probably identify some things from being on the road for so long, and doing his own research, but he's no wizard. He's just your friendly caravan-traveling occult expert and magic user.
-Knossos' body was fused with part of an alien being and outright demonic power it now produces and can tap into. To any sort of zealous paladin, trained mage trying to detect magical sources, and the like, he stands out like a gigantic bonfire being lit up in the middle of total darkness. It is impossible not to notice him, as in being among the sorest of sore thumbs in terms of standing out in this way.
To this end, he commissioned and purchased a Magical Ring (see "Tools") that hides his magical presence/energy from detection by others. Second to the magical bag he carries his things in, it is the second most expensive item he openly wears or carries on himself. Despite obsessively wearing it all the time on his right hand, no matter what he is doing or in the middle of, it also isn't a perfect thing. High-tier, high-level, and top-tier types of magical detections spells or magics can see past his protection and pick up on him. Likewise, if one manages to get the ring off of him that is not good news either for him.
Of course in some areas, this ring might not be needed if no one can detect magic there. But especially in major cities or capitals or areas with magical schooling he has to keep this ring on.
-Due to the above weakness, he also has an inherent weakness to specifically holy magic(s). Healing magic of a holy sort still works on him, he isn't some full demonic being or so forth, but it leaves him feeling physically weaker as an end result. Meanwhile offensive holy magic does hurt him extra to a distinctly noticeable extent. Barriers of holy magic that protect from monsters or demons or such, etc, do not keep him out since he's not fully anything of the sort. On the other hand such things, depending on potency, do make him anywhere from uncomfortable to feeling a sense of passively-throbbing pain or potentially worse depending.
-Traveling/Professional Work Clothes (see the appearance picture at the top of his app)
-Water Skin (not seen in picture but he wears it around normally)
-Knife (for cutting rations and food and such, or whittling, or whatever general use thing it could be used for)
-Magical Ring (Hides the magical energies and such within him from being noticed by magical detection methods. This works all the way up to even a moderately strong sort of magical detection capability at most.)
-A Bag of Holding Expy type object, one he has had enchanted and reinforced and put more money into than anything else he wears or the like. It stands out like a sore thumb with him, made to last beyond a lifetime and then some, but does look about as well-traveled with all the work done to it. He can withdraw whatever he wishes out of the bag, but if damaged badly enough he has to get it repaired to access his things again. At the same time, between enchantments and runes and materials used to reinforce and augment it, this magical bag can be returned to his person or even into his hands with a thought and is harder to break than most things in the world. This is because he has put a lot of money into it over the years from his mercantile pursuits, as well as some back when he was in cults due to having had this bag as far back as then when he bought it for himself after fleeing the destruction of the first cult he was in.
It took all he had to get the back itself back then, in its original condition no less, but since then it has been a literal staple he even keeps on his person at all times even when bathing and sleeping and otherwise...maybe he's a tad too careful about the thing actually. He is touchy about this thing, and the investment he's made into it alone is, ah, not exactly normal for a person to do.
With this it contains: Food rations, regular clothing, a backup water skin, occult-related magical tomes/scolls, various mundane books related to both the occult and other subjects, clothing from when he was in those three cults in the past, magically-contained cursed items or other such dangerous objects, and all of his money.
-His surname, "Dreakwalker", was self-appointed and has stuck since. Inspired by the clerics parting words to him and his own reflection back on his own life. A poetic touch, as it were, which also makes him sound rther fancy and well-versed in what he knows (which he is well-versed in regardless of name anywho).
-NOTE: As far as the caravan knows at most, he's a roaming magical scholar who got experience on the road over many decades and is specialized in the occult. Was interested in such magic, and left his hometown to pursue his interest on the road. Wants to help people. Never said where he comes from, told his life story, etc.
-Yes, Knossos' homeland is based in some 'rough' part on Italy/Greece/the Mediterranean in terms of naming and such. No, I have not worked this all out. No, as of submitting Knossos' app I cannot say more than that at the moment.
Hey guys, still planning to kick off the RP tonight, but it's taking longer than I wanted, partially because I'm still wrapping up my own sheet. It's not very large or glamorous or anything. I've just been a lil under the weather, physically and mentally, this week, so stuff is running slower than I expected.
I am pretty proud of the hider I just finished for my dude's form of magic, tho.
Utterance has been described as a kind of cross-breed between druidism and elemental magic. It is a form of language, allowing one to speak (literally, with their voices) to the non-living aspects of nature, like stone, or sunlight. The obvious use for such a power would be to control natural elements; to tell a fire to cook or to burn down, to teach ice to freeze itself around a threat, to call on rain for the crops. It can do those things, though not so quickly or effectively as a true wizard often can.
Instead, the main reason the Uttering Monks study it is for learning from nature. Nature, after all, witnesses and knows many things mankind does not. One who speaks to the stars may learn from them the correct paths to travel, may hear of ancient history those stars' eyes have seen, may be told of great and secret things that happen in the heavens. Those who whisper to the wind may hear it whisper back, telling them of news from far-off lands, of secrets said in a king's chambers while the window was open and the night breeze whistling by. They cannot control the elements with the same precision as a mage, maybe, but a Sayer (that is, one who practices Utterance) knows far more.
And this learning goes deeper than head-knowledge, too. Finally, a Sayer has an Aura. Their Aura is based on the elements of nature they most often speak too, because as you commune with something such as fire, you will find that burning power seeping into your own soul. The Aura a Sayer has is felt almost tangibly around them, and heard in their voice, giving most of them a kind of unnatural charisma. One who speaks to stone seems strong and unbreakable, one who speaks to ice becomes coldly intellectual. All of them feel impossible to argue with. A good Sayer tends to get their way in conversations. Their voices carry a lot of weight.
As a last note: Utterance isn't one language, it's many. Each part of nature speaks its own tongue, after its own form. All these things have a secret language; twilight, shadows, thunder, time. But these tongues are not like the languages of men, that anyone can learn them if they just study enough. They are stranger.
Take the language of the stars, for one example: to hear it spoken feels like fire, like a burning light, full of wisdom and cold fury. It feels like you're hearing something from another world, something straight from the cold void of space. It is so much more than just sounds. So when someone speaks it, they do indeed form actual words with their tongue, but there's something deeper happening that everyone who hears it can sense.
That's no accident. Before one can speak the language of, say, water, they must spend months or years in silent and intense meditation, learning to think like water. The same goes for any other natural language. Someone who wishes to speak to the wind must think as quick and surely as the wind. And during this time, the student must take a vow of total silence; they cannot speak a word in any language, even an ordinary one. This can take much focus. Only after a long time has passed is the student ready for a proper Sayer-Teacher to be brought in, who will finally show them the real words and syntax of the language that they wished to learn. After that, their vow of silence can be broken, and it becomes like learning any mortal language.
Each natural language is different, so this process has to be repeated for every Utterance one learns. You may already know how to speak to lightning, but if you want to speak to thunder, you still have to go back and start your meditations from scratch. So only the very old or very dedicated can know more than a few Utterance languages.