For centuries this world has known only suffering: death, disease, famine. Ithea rots and erodes as effete and broken kings wage petty wars to enshrine their name in the minds of fools. The traditions that once guided our peoples are dead. Our oceans blacken with taint while we squabble over the morality of power. It is not strength what corrupts you. What weakens the hearts of men is an inability to wield that strength as your sword and thrust it at the world. It is not Cristo or Therest that will save you. Your false gods sit on empty thrones. It is time that men of sense and innovation take hold of the reigns that steer Ithea and her waters. The power we've eschewed for fear of what might happen when we become the makers of our own destiny can no longer go to waste. If it is us who must carve out a future worth dying for then so be it. For those who stand in the way of progress there is only fire and blood.
May logic guide us ever-forward, and may our works light the path. For the odyssey is dark and hastened in chaos.
Medium Interna
The year is 41 in the Age of Owls. Intrepid wanderers, you have found yourselves in the land of spices. For some of you, it may be home, and for others an exotic reprieve from the monotony of life beyond the veil. Regardless, you come to this place to repay what is owed. But not all is what it seems. There are forces at work in the shadows. You have stumbled into a war that was not yours. Can you cast out the whispering hands that grasp for power?
And what will you do should the task of shaping Ithea be thrust upon you? What would anyone do?
This is a tale of owls and wolves, and your stories begin in the rose-petal city, Caracas.
Avoid power playing or god-modding. If you're unsure about taking a certain action ask the group/GM through the OOC or in PMs respectively.
Please do not harass or insult your fellow players. If you are running into a problem please message the GMs in a private message.
Consult fellow players before making sweeping decisions about the World State. Choices that change the world or impact multiple characters requires the agreement/consideration of the party.
Secrets among characters are fine, but make sure to message the GM to ensure they can prepare properly.
Try to avoid OOC chat in the IC
When creating characters and posts please stick to the lore as best you can. The Compendium is an ever-updating tool for you to use, and I'm always a PM away!
Please alert the GM if you are expecting to be away for an extended period of time. This is totally okay, but it's nice to know before you head off. Emergencies happen, and the GM reserves the right to use your character and your related NPCs to progress the story forward as to avoid the RP stalling.
Please try to avoid anime art if possible for your character images. This is more strict for specific well-known characters. I love anime, but when it doesn't fit it doesn't fit.
Honestly, I really hate writing rules but they help maintain a certain standard of decency. So, please just do me a favor and swear allegiance to one of the Ithean countries or continents so I know you've read them!
*Feel free to take design liberties with the CS Sheet. I've found this sheet to be a useful skeleton, but as long as you include the information most relevant to your character in a concise and readable way you're clear.*
[h1][b][i][color=6ecff6][center]Character Name[/center][/color][/i][/b][/h1] [center][img]Character Image[/img][/center] [h3][b][i][color=6ecff6][center]Character Summary[/center][/color][/i][/b][/h3] [b][color=6ecff6]Name:[/color][/b](Full Name) [b][color=6ecff6]Titles:[/color][/b] [b][color=6ecff6]Aliases:[/color][/b](Nicknames, previous names, maiden names, etc.) [b][color=6ecff6]Age:[/color][/b] [b][color=6ecff6]Race/Ethnicty:[/color][/b] (Human, Elven, Dwarven, Orcish) [b][color=6ecff6]Continent of Origin:[/color][/b](Carthian, Penultish, High Mister, Valenndalic/Dalic) [b][color=6ecff6]Gender:[/color][/b] [b][color=6ecff6]Class/Subclass:[/color][/b]
[color=6ecff6][i][center]Though we will not be rolling dice for feats, this will give a base line to run off of for your character. Max for any stat is 20, average is 10. You have 75 stat point to assign between the six stats. [/center][/i][/color]
[h3][b][i][color=6ecff6][center]Physical Attributes[/center][/color][/i][/b][/h3] [b][color=6ecff6]Height:[/color][/b] [b][color=6ecff6]Weight:[/color][/b] [b][color=6ecff6]Appearance Description:[/color][/b] [b][color=6ecff6]Day To Day Attire:[/color][/b] [b][color=6ecff6]Strengths:[/color][/b] Max of 3[list][*][*][*][/list] [b][color=6ecff6]Weaknesses:[/color][/b] Minimal of 3[list][*][*][*][/list]
[b][color=6ecff6]Sexuality:[/color][/b] [b][color=6ecff6]Relationship Status:[/color][/b] [b][color=6ecff6]Personality:[/color][/b] Minimal 2 paragraphs [b][color=6ecff6]Habits:[/color][/b] Minimal 2 [list][*][*][/list] [b][color=6ecff6]Hobbies:[/color][/b] At least 1 [b][color=6ecff6]Fears:[/color][/b] 3 real fears that make your character unhinged [list][*][*][*][/list] [b][color=6ecff6]Likes:[/color][/b] 6 minimal[list][*][*][*][*][*][*][/list] [b][color=6ecff6]Dislikes:[/color][/b] 6 minimal[list][*][*][*][*][*][*][/list]
[h3][b][i][color=6ecff6][center]Skills[/center][/color][/i][/b][/h3] [color=6ecff6][i][center]A listing of skills, such as horseback riding, and natural abilities, such as night vision. [/center][/i][/color]
[h3][b][i][color=6ecff6][center]Magic[/center][/color][/i][/b][/h3] [color=6ecff6][i][center]Feel free to create spells, their descriptions - casting times, elements needed to cast, expected damage, any draw packs to casting[/center][/i][/color] You'll find a good baseline for spells: [url=engl393-dnd5th.wikia.com/wiki/Spells]…. Feel free to message me if you have any of your own ideas. This section, however, is more for determining your character's arcane focus. Any legally trained mage has a specific focus (while witches can draw from multiple classes, but with less formal training). You can choose from Constitution (healing), Divination (divine), Ruination (destruction), Apparition (illusion), Adjuration (summoning, conjuring), Cultivation (primal/druid).
[h3][b][i][color=6ecff6][center]Extras[/center][/color][/i][/b][/h3] [b][color=6ecff6]Character Quote:[/color][/b] Something they say a lot or live by [b][color=6ecff6]Anything Else:[/color][/b]
@Dead Cruiser Ohh a high elf, awesome. I like this idea, and I’m sure we can work something out. Glimdale is one of the city state’s in the union, and while it’s mostly humans who live there it’s essentially a puppet stare for the high elves. They have an embassy there so perhaps your character (or their family) could have been ousted from their position there.
Otherwise, the Ellvenaan kingdom is ruled by a council with smaller noble houses (almost always mages) in each hold vying for political relevance in the eyes of said council. In Ellvenaan, unless given special designation, those with little to no magic capacity are second class citizens. I don’t want to flood the post with anymore lore you didn’t ask for lol, but if you have questions I can answer them in a DM or here.
@Fetzen Yes, there’s absolutely still space! Thank you! Since there seems to be some interest I’m going to start an OOC. I think once more lore is posted and the character sheet is up- the campaign will be a bit clearer for everyone. I’m not exactly in a rush to have character sheets all submitted quickly here, especially given the time of the year. But it would be good for folks to be able to start formulating ideas and asking questions.
Thank you everyone for the interest. I’ll post an ooc link once it’s finished. Meanwhile, I’ll be checking in if there’s any questions from anyone!
I should probably add that the debt to the Astorian Trading Company is more a mechanism to get all of the characters together without defining a backstory for the characters players create. I wanted there to be relative freedom in working out backstories, ideologies, morality, etc. Hope that clarifies things.
@Dead Cruiser You'll essentially be playing characters that are paying a debt to the North Astorian Company, a joint-stock trading company who controls (or has their hands in) most trade throughout the world. They call themselves a guild in common parlance, but are much more than that. They have a tight strange hold on a number of industries and enforcers that do their bidding. Some noble houses are indebted to the company, as well. Others have a stock in the company and thus have a vested interest.
Because of this it's assumed that your characters already have at least some combat or other such experiences that would make them valuable to the company as a contracted mercenary (for lack of a better word). However, this is pretty flexible. Your characters will serve as "indentured mercenaries" working on behalf of the company (if you all so choose). What that means will become more evident at the beginning of the campaign. I've added some info about races and species, and I have a ton more info. If you have any specific questions please feel free to ask me!
You'd been pacing for what felt like hours as it sat there mocking your trepidation. You were hardly to blame, of course; a letter bearing the seal of The North Astorian Trading Company would give most anyone pause. You should never have indebted yourself to them. Surely they'd already sent an assassin to kill you or at the very least some ruffian to make sure you'd never work again. No, don't be ridiculous. The company wouldn't have sent a letter if they'd meant you ill will. Taking a few deep breaths you collected yourself before shambling over towards the letter. You picked at the seal as the red wax sliped smoothly from the papyrus.
To our most trusted and loyal of beneficiaries,
It is, today on the 1st of Merrus, 41 Owl that we humbly request your presence in a meeting with our representatives. The North Astorian Trading Company is an honored and respected guild that prides itself on compassion and civic duty above all else. As such, it is most imperative to our efforts that the debts that our patrons incur be returned to us in full. We understand that, of course, the scarcity of coin in such uncertain times means you may not have the funds necessary to return to us what is owed. It is for this reason, that instead, we've arranged a deal that is beneficial for both parties.
You are to arrive at Lo Porto de Caracas on the 18th of Summerhill in this same year, 41 Owl. Your traveling and lodging expenses will be satisfied per our arrangement. Your passage to the city will see you arrive early in the morrow. Once there, you’re to meet with one Tali Riverend, a reliable contact. You’ll recognize her by nipped ears and white hair. She’ll await you at the local caupona- La Resplenda, and will be expecting your prompt arrival. Come, and enjoy all that the rose-petal city has to offer!
We assure you there is little promise in the lives you lead at present. Adventure beyond the familiar, and return your favors in the process. There is so little to lose, and everything to gain. Secure your future with The North Astorian Trading Company.
Should you fail to comply with our requests please know that The North Astorian Trading Company is determined to uphold its reputation as a forceful presence in Ithea no matter the cost. Do be sure to brush up on your Caracan!
Your eyes and ears, Mikael ibn Da'ud
Refusing the Trading Company was futile, that much you knew. Folding the letter, you sighed deeply. Why would a company operating in Astoria send you to the Dales?. You shook the thought from your head. There was much to prepare in the coming months. You'd be leaving behind family and friends, and only the Gods could know for how long. Even still, there was little use in feigning protest.
The rose-petal city awaits you.
"Valenndale...the envy of the world. Its lush and mysterious forests make scenic routes equally breathtaking and dangerous. The elven kingdom is truly marvelous- shrouded in archaic magics and ancient architecture. The Horned Peaks, where most wood elves call home, tower above the Dalic Heartlands. To the west lie a number of human city states diverse in their rich cultures. To the south lie the independent Argola, and even further are The Torn Isles and Bastion- the Anchor City. " Professor Copernicus Plumbottom-- The Essential Ithean Atlas
Valenndale (commonly called the Dales) is a continent that is home, largely, to the elven people. Ellvenaan, the kingdom of the elves, is one of the largest nations in Ithea. It rivals the dwarven kingdom of Otmanguard in size. Valenndale is also home to a number of human city-states often referred to colloquially as The Union. The Dorvanhun or the Dalic Heartlands are home to the largest wood-elf encampment in all of Ithea. Not all tribes are friendly to outsiders, beware. Argola is the only human settlement in the Dales not allied with the other union states. It instead has allied itself with Bastion, the anchor city. Bastion is home to the Copper Vaults, the largest bank in all of Ithea.
Valenndale has a moderate-to-warm climate. The lands feature mostly heavy forest areas. The Union's decision to remain neutral in The War of Splitting Branches has gained them favor with the Ellvaani. While they are indepedent, and are economically powerful they are still subject to taxation from the high elves. The Ellvaani of Valenndale also get resources from their mercantile colony in Penault.
Human Humans are the most populous race in all of Ithea. In previous eras humans had kingdoms that stretched from across the Oceana Abyssal. Now, many of those kingdoms have come to ruin or have changed beyond recognition. Still, the human species is populated throughout a number of states and kingdoms.The most populous of these include: Le Feu Mot, Astoria, Vicelles, and the Union city-states. Humans are known for their ability to adapt and survive. Humans, on average, aren't as physically strong as the common Orc or Brith. Nor are they typically as magically attuned as an Elf. However, they make up for it by showing promise in all fields (strength, nimbleness, magic, etc.). Average Heights:5'6''-6'0''
Barbarian While they aren't much different from humans, culturally speaking, the barbarians in northern Carcus are considered a different race to humans. For humans race is defined more by culture than any physical characteristic. The barbarians rule the Shattered Kingdoms, old remnants of a dead era. They typically have strong resistance to cold and frost magic due to their geographic location. Average Heights:5'6''-6'0''
High Elves The ellvaani, or high elves in the common tongue, are a species known for their propensity for magic. Should you ask most other peoples around the world high-elves crave only one thing, to rule and dominate most everyone else. The ellvaani hold an impressive kingdom in Valenndale that spans nearly half of the continent. High-elves are known for their taller height and petite figure; this is accompanied by sharp facial features. Their ears are far shorter than their elven cousins. Not all high-elves possess magic, but it is slightly more common among this species. Average Heights:5'11''-6'3''
Wood Elves Wood-elven culture is widely misunderstood by most peoples in Ithea. Even the term "wood-elf" fails to encompass all of the elves that call the Dalic Heartlands their home. In reality there are a number of united tribers: the Endaani (people of the heart), Tarcaani (people of the horn), Naldaani (people of the valley), and Tavaani (people of the wood). These tribes of elves are oft regarded by high-elves as a separate race. Wood Elves have historically been pushed back- their territories reduced to encampments in The Dalic Heartlands. They are typically adept at survival. Wood elves have much larger ears with softer, often pudgier, features when compared to high-elves. They also often have tattoo markings representative of the clan or family that they hail from.
The Tavaani are the most easily recognizable by outsiders. They are a hunter and gatherer society that is adept in agriculture and cultivation magic. The Naldaani are a fishing society that lives in huts along the Horn Valley, they host an annual festival where other wood-elf tribes come together. The Tarcaani are mountain dwelling elves that make up the bulk of the wood-elf defensive force. They are usually more broad-shouldered and muscular than their counterparts, but the many miners that make up their ranks tend to lead shorter lives. Finally are the Endaani, the elves occupying the Dregs. These elves are considered more extremist and hostile towards non-elves (this includes high-elves), and only perform blood magic. Average Heights:5'4''-5'11''
The Dark Elves The Ashaani, or the dark elves, are another race of elves that were forcefully migrated to Penault. Dark elves are perhaps one of the most persecuted groups in Ithean history. In Ellvenaan they held very few rights, and were subject to false narratives through propaganda. Religious elven text named the ashaani as the descendants of those elder mages which betrayed the Old Gods. This usually only served to further justify bigotry against them. Despite this, within a few generations in the Penaultish Wilds the ashaani began to make a foothold. The ashaani migrated from one of the most advanced civilizations in the world after all. The domestication of elephants for the purposes of war allowed the Ashaani to assert themselves against the peoples of the Wilds. When the great 'War of the Splitting Branches' decimated most of the human kingdoms to the north the Ashaani expanded further. This would eventually lead to a standstill rivalry with the Otmon dwarves to the west that continues to this day. Average Heights:6'1" (185.5cm)- 6'6" (198cm)
Dwarves are oft recognized by their short and burly stature. Three dwarven kingdoms span all of Ithea. Two of these kingdoms are situated in the western hemisphere (Ostguard and Viguard), while the third is located in the eastern hemisphere (Otmonguard) While the dwarves of the west are known for their craftsmanship, infrastructure, and defense the Otmon are known for their innovations in magics and proficiency in war. What they lack in stature they make up for in endurance and durability.
The Dwarves don't recognize "race" as a concept aside from different species. The genetic relationship between humans and dwarves is still debated in common society, but there is a large academic consensus that they are in fact the same species.
Average Heights:4'5"-4'10"
Orcs are one of the least populated races in all of Ithea. Their kingdom is located in High Mist where they dominate the northern region. Orcs are culturally seen to be cowardly and untrustworthy by most societies throughout Ithea. This is largely due to the "betrayal" of the Brith and Elves in the 'War of Splitting Branches', and by the number of foreign-born orcs that end up taking mercenary work. In reality the Orcs were enslaved by the Brith and used the war as an opportunity to rebel. Despite the stigma Orcs have a deep-cultural admiration of honor and combat. Their ferocity in combat, their overwhelming strength, and a culture that has an aversion to retreat establish the Orcish people as incredibly skilled warriors. Average Heights:6'5"-6'8"
The Gnomes of High Mist are another of the least populated races in Ithea. Their territory is unique in that most of their major cities are located underground. The Gnomes are considered to be the pioneers of technological advancement, particularly in architecture and transforming their environment (controlled demolitions, black powder, etc.) Gnomes are similar in height to dwarves, but are far less robust. Where as dwarves are hardy and sturdy, gnomes are much frailer. Gnomes also have ears more akin to wood-elves than dwarves or humans. Average Heights:3'10"-4'6"
Tieflings are a race of people that live predominantly in the Pillar Cities of High Mist. This race is the least common of all races throughout Ithea, but they still boast an impressive population (especially in High Mist). Many people believe that the Tieflings are a people cursed by Gods (hence their red skin, and horns). Tieflings have a misotheistic religion which proselytizes aversion to the Dread God's corruption. It is for this reason that all tieflings (particularly mages) are sent on a pilgrimage to the monastic temples scattered around the wasteland to be cleansed of the Dread God's influence. Such traditions have also influenced their language. Tieflings often speak in low whispers, and tend to have a lisp with an air of anachronism when speaking in common tongue.
There are also many Tiefling who have migrated throughout Ithea- typically for fear of persecution by the monastic order. Saldona in Valenndale have the highest population of tieflings outside of the Pillar Cities. Average Height: 6'1"-6'7"
The Brith are a powerful race of feline-humanoids (resembling bulky leopards or tigers). Many reside in the frozen wastes of Crysteria in the empire known as Brythantium. Natural conquerors, the Brith at one point held large amounts of territory throughout all of Ithea. Their defeat at the hands of a Dwarven and Human alliance forced the Brith's empire to shrink. Still a mighty empire in its own right, the Brith are renowned for their naval capabilities. Brith are typically very large (though not always), rivaling Orcs in size. Despite the average, among their race, the Brith are about as diverse as humans in color, height, weight and facial differences.
The Brith society is a stratocracy where military officials fill leadership roles. Only soldiers, veterans, and special citizens are afforded the right to vote. Holds are given more power the larger their population. Average Heights:5'11''-6'8''
The Sirens are one part mystery and the other part misery. For as many truths that exist about the Sirens there are just as many myths; this is more than likely by design. Sirens are a dying race of aquatic beings that blur the line between human and creature. Fiercely protective of their waters it is rare to see one of their kind outside of warded territory. Many Sirens are capable of weaving 'Siren Glass' an adhesive and glossy string with magical properties that can serve as a protective ward against magic and unwanted guests. The corruption of the Oceana Abyssal to the west has forced a great migration. What is known of these beings is thattheir differences to humans and elves are somewhat subtle, but still noticeable in most instances. Even now so many details about them remain elusive.
Average Height:5'9"-5'11"
Hello, and welcome to Ithea (or at least the interest check). I'm hoping to run a small campaign based on a fictional high-fantasy setting that I've created. I've tried participating in some RPs in the past, but due to a combination of various factors it proved difficult for many of them to get off the ground. For this RP I want to remain dedicated should there be consistent interest from all parties involved. The RP will see a small party travel throughout The Dales (Valenndale) as they explore ancient elven ruins, play diplomat with the various factions and states throughout the continent, and take on a powerful cult bent on dominating all of Ithea.
I have a rather large archive of information regarding the world. If there's enough interest for this I'll post relevant information in a post in the OOC. Additionally, I will answer any and all questions for people looking to make a character. There are a number of races and classes; most of the ones you'd expect in a high-fantasy setting. If you're interested please don't hesitate to express it in a post! There are no expectations on my end until the characters are in the characters tab on the OOC, and even then I try to be very flexible. Hope to see some interest from you lovely peeps!
Aemma studied the newest arrival from the corner of her eyes. He was dressed down unlike the others; fine clothes to be sure, but not likely the furs of a nobleman. Perhaps a local or at least someone who’d been here for a time. The man was hardy and tall for a human; she figured him for a soldier. Adjusting her glance to meet his she found that he was already observing the group. She felt his gaze linger on the one called Javiyah for longer than the two men. Before his eyes could meet hers she shifted her attention away; checking pouches she’d already scrutinized meticulously. His glaring was rather obvious even with her sight obscured. It lasted nearly long enough for her to speak up. Before she could think to his eyes changed focus again, and he cleared his throat.
"I am Hugon. I arrived here a few days ago at the same request of Lord Lochborne's as you all. He has told me nothing more than what he has told you all, I'm afraid, so we will simply have to wait for him to return."
The elven medic looked to Hugon once again this time offering a small smile. Any pleasantries she could’ve offered were interrupted by the clanging of metal against stone. As if moths entranced by burning wick the servants made their way towards the window. Their screams were nearly enough to force Aemma from her seat as her attention turned to them. Only when the dim of candle fire was snuffed out did dread rise; ushered in by the darkness. Closing her eyes for a moment and taking a breath the elven woman was ready to lend aid to the two screaming servants. The creaks from an opening door were enough to keep her in place.
It was a shadow. A mass of bones and something other. It floated like some sort of apparition, but even still it made an otherworldly sound with its advance. As if by its command, the two servants dropped to the floor. By the whites of their eyes, whatever this...creature did to them might have been fatal. As quickly as they dropped, and the being drew closer, did Hugon unsheathe his weapon. The cold noise rang out as the dagger, the iron shining amidst the darkness, cut against its holster. Most of the others seemed enraptured in the horrors of the spectacle before them. Even more so when the creature began to speak.
“Ye will all die,” it uttered. The specter’s voice was hoarse; as if its throat had been cut open. For any being of this realm such strain would reveal a weakness of the lungs. But this creature still managed to echo throughout the room. As if the voice was coming from within Aemma’s very soul. Even obscured in darkness she could see the shadow lean over Hugon. It spoke again.
“A being of righteous violence, soon to lose faith and be damned.” In the mystique of the shadow’s voice, the words felt like a prophecy, but Aemma saw them for what they were. A warning.
As if stirred by her thought the creature’s attention turned to her.
“A mother of the dead, defying my wishes,” the rest of the specter’s words faded to dust in her mouth. So too did the words of her allies fade from her periphery.
Elfroot, Swampseed, two cups of Blight Milk
She saw the trickery before her. An illusion wearing her face. Once again the elven woman closed her eyes, but only for a brief moment. She felt her heart sinking like a sack of stones tossed to sea. The words had gripped her in a way she understood all too well. For a moment the look of despair about her face broke into some sort of contentment. Her fist tightened in the arm of her chair, and in that instant she could feel the table before her turn to nothingness. She inhaled, unintentionally breathing in bits of the floating sawdust as she returned her focus to the imminent threat.
“Proclaim my doom all you want, you are not the first to try to see me into an early grave and by my will, you won't be the last. Now I stand by Lord Locheborne, leave or face the bite of cold steel,” the young warrior warned as he rose to meet the shadow and stand by Hugon. His words were enough to bring her to reality. She’d let them be the ones to make their declarations and threats. They were much more convincing at it than she. Even still her aged hands moved swiftly to her pouches as she rose to join them. She looked to Auric, nodding to him; a silent vindication of his defiance.
"All physicians, mage or otherwise, bear the scars of their patients. We carry them for the rest of our days. That is what it means to be a healer. That is our burden."
Detailed Appearance: Aemma's appearance is far from foreboding. She stands much shorter than most of her kind. Her lithe shape, old age, and declining physical prowess have left her hunched over slightly most of the time. Even still, buried beneath mounds of ragged clothes, an overcoat and hood, there is a roguish streak about her. Her skin, the color of cinnamon spices, is tough and wrinkled. Calloused hands from years of service as a combat medic are still her best ally despite their slight shakiness. Aemma's weary eyes are a deep black, but made somehow more soft nestled between crows-feet and bags. Her smile is warm, but even at her happiest there is a melancholy she carries with her.
Typically her linen are without color, a dull grey. Her overcoat and hood are a mix of steel grey and black. She wears knee high boots leather boots. On her person at all time are a number of medicinal supplies and recipes stored in pouches and pockets that line her clothing. Torn gloves do little to hide the bandages that wrap around her hands and wrists beneath. Her tattered coat flows to her shins, and her hood obscures most of her white whittling hair save for parts of her bangs.
Aemma's body is scarred nearly everywhere because of her healing magic. Her face has finer scars, save for a healed gash on her cheek, as most people who have injuries to the head either don't survive them or don't have injuries that practical medicine can't fix. Lining most of her body are stab wounds, burns, gashes, and other manner of scars from injuries she never personally received. The clothing manages to hide most of them save for the occasional wrist or neck scar.
Detailed Personality:Aemma's experiences never really changed who she was, not really. Rather, they only exaggerated many of the traits she'd had. Of course her naivete has been stripped away with age, but she still remains hopeful of better tomorrows. There is a melancholy that shadows Aemma most days. She is thoughtful- sometimes noticeably so. She often gazes longingly ahead of her. Reflection and introspection are important to Aemma, and she finds it hard to respect those incapable of facing their own faults. Aemma is very protective, not just of friends, but of everyone she deems to be innocent or good. She isn't loud or brash, but is sharp. She doesn't use wit or clever barbs to interact with undesirables. Instead, her persistent calmness, compassion, and wisdom tend to win out. She usually has an answer for most things. Even if it isn't the correct one.
She believes in treating everyone with a basic level of respect until they do something to warrant taking away said respect. She is often rather sweet, and enjoys humming elven hymns. She is a terrible cook, but enjoys it all the same. She often laughs at others being unwilling to tell her how awful her food tastes for fear of upsetting her. Not much offends her, but she is quick to defend someone who might be hurt by words. Perhaps the darkest side of Aemma is her fixation with order in the face of disaster. She will murmur spells and medical recipes to herself obsessively in times of crisis, and unfortunately may lash out at others in dire situations should they get something wrong. This isn't out of anger, but out of a compulsion no doubt brought on by her trauma.
Aemma is a caretaker above all else. She doesn't like being looked after or pitied, especially in her old age. She tends to get impatient when people pay her too much attention. She'd much rather listen- to a friend, a stranger, or a gentle breeze- than talk about herself. Her input is almost usually advice, anecdotal or otherwise. She enjoys the company of people. She likes crowds and feels safest surrounded by others- especially strangers.
Elfroot, Swampseed, two cups of Blight Milk
Like most born in Baldock, I was a child forged by blood oaths and swords. An empire who accounted not for souls, for people, but for the shields they'd soon carry. I suppose that explains the naivete of my mother and father, Maker keep them. They were elves born to foreign lands poor and tired of rule under the Elven Matriarchs. They'd hoped Baldock would be different. Tis often I reflect on the failings of old wisdom, and how comfortable it is to simply exist. Consistency. That is what Myrran and Paeral sought in foreign lands. A sense of normalcy away from the realities of home. A neutral peace.
For a time that is what they had. I was born on the eve of the latest excursion into Orc territory. Myrran, my mother, had taken to working as a handmaiden to petty nobles. Paeral, my father, was a sheep herder. Our humble home stored one bed with a kitchen no larger than a merchant stand. I remember my father would read me stories of their homeland. Of the triumphs of our elven ancestors. He never had the courage to tell my mother that he regretted coming here. My mother was a stern women so, for that, I could not fault my father. She spent much time away from our cottage. Still, she always managed to return home with fresh bread and a new lecture.
Of all of the lessons she imparted there remained one constant. Keep your nose down, and stay out of trouble. I was never great at listening. I had little want for keeping to the shadows of the world that was. It was a different kind of naivete than my parents'. I would see the soldiers coming back from failed excursions. I watched as the physicians treated them with leeches and controlled magic. It was the same kind of power that I possessed. I could feel their life force humming in their hands.
In this world very few are blessed with the tools to change their circumstances. By the time I was old enough, I traveled into the city of Dalton. I'd heard of their academy, and I had already learned to use the magic I possessed in small ways. My father pleaded that I reconsider. My mother refused every time I begged. I'd trail behind her every morning on her way into the city. It took months of my pestering, but eventually she permitted me to go.
The things I learned in that school were not at all what I expected. Instead of a place to harness my power it was a place of fear-mongering. A place that taught me to fear my capabilities rather than teach me how to use them safely. Luckily there were those in the city who disagreed with such methods of teaching. I learned what I could from them, and from the academy. I trained closely with Dalton physicians. Suturing, bloodletting, needling, alchemy, barrier projection, and of course calling on magic as treatment. I'd even managed to see a trepanning procedure before it fell out of practice. I couldn't mentor under a doctor in any official capacity, of course, I was an academy student. I was not meant to be taking lessons from mages outside of the orthodoxy. Nevertheless more practical doctors would allow me to assist them, fetch supplies, and take notes. I do remember an older physician. I never learned of his name. I remember I'd sit high on the fences overlooking the marketplace watching him work. He was the fastest I'd ever seen. I wanted so badly to speak with him. I never got the chance.
All of my greatest lessons came from my work as a medic in combat. I served as doctor to soldiers in the field. Fear of bleeding out leaves little room for error or for nerves. It was here that I would meet my husband. Lambert the Toad Knight, they called him. The old fool was a novice in soldier's armor. I think back on those days with a bittersweet nostalgia. I can remember the sting of desert sun against my youthful face. There was one particular night, I remember braving the Badlands. Our camp was forced to fall back for another water source. I remember coming face-to-face with an orcish unit- it was my first time. The orcs ripped through half of our party in minutes. We were lucky that any of us managed to escape the ambush. I remember Lambert sitting with me beneath the stars all night, after it was over. He took a hard fall, and was hardly great company. Even still, that was the night I fell in love with him. Love didn't make him a better warrior. Among my amputee patients, those with plague or rashes, was almost always Lamber with some new injury. It was how I came to know him so well. He was under my tent more than I was. I watched the fire fall from his eyes when the injuries never stopped coming. It wasn't long before he was forced to retire his sword. After returning home to him I found little reason to endanger myself again in direct combat. I saw how the Orcs brutalized our forces. At the time I had hated their kind, for it. Seeing men ripped asunder time after time will break you in ways unimaginable to most. Even the most righteous men seem monsters when they cast large shadows.
Elfroot, Swampseed, two cups of Blight Milk
There was another reason I chose to stay home. I was with child. I moved from my parents' cottage into the city with Lambert. My mother was overjoyed to see me settled down. But she would never see her wishes for me fulfilled. She passed away a fortnight before I delivered my son, Orym. Named for one of the fabled elven mages in the stories his grandfather read to me as a child. My mother's death left my father touched. He locked himself away in their cottage. Lambert and I ensured that the livestock, and my father, kept from starving. Eventually my father refused to eat. He passed on when Orym was but four months old. With my parents gone I was left feeling empty. I buried myself in research, and in doing so was confronted with the vision of the world I once had. I'd settled for comfort. For the world the way it was. I enlisted as a medic when Orym was seven months old.
Like my mother before me I spent most of my time away from home. I worked in the barracks, mostly. I treated soldiers returning home, but I also treated war prisoners when they got sick. It was in caring for these patients that I met some of my closest friends. Somehow it was easier forming bonds with people who never really got better. There is wisdom in a waning soul. Especially in one that had seen what they'd seen. One such Orc prisoner, Xalen, was a scholar before Baldock forces pushed into orc lands. He told me of the beautiful vistas to the south. Of his home, and of his family. The reasons he fought. Xalen was resilient. He was a brutish figure, but as the wrinkles thickened on our faces so too did our health decline. The conditions wore him down. It was a cough first, and then lesions next. I applied the treatments I'd given to every sick prisoner brought into the ward. What they ordered me to give them. It never changed much. They always lost their fight, in the end.
Elfroot, Swampseed, two cups of Blight Milk
Xalen soon lost his fight too. The assistant physicians carried him off like so many others. But he wasn't the others. He was one of the brightest men I'd ever met. I refused to let his body be burned without given him a prayer to our Maker. I went to the morgue at midnight. What I saw changed me forever. Xalen's body, among the other orcs, was bloated and the lesions where gangrenous. I studied his body for what felt like hours. I never studied orc physiology, but I knew what poison looked like. The reality was that I already had my answer. I wasn't studying them for some other explanation. I was trying to justify what I'd done. The orders I followed. We were't treating these people. We were killing them.
In my fumbling I was sloppy, careless. I was found by night patrol guards, and imprisoned. I knew the barracks and the cells better than any of them. By the time I escaped however, it was too late. I'd returned home to a house rummaged through. Lambert was nowhere to be seen. I found my Orym, just shy of twenty, ran through on the floor. His coughs were dry and hoarse. He was burning up. I knew I needed to stop the bleeding and bring down his fever. I used my magic to try to close his wounds. As the hole in his chest closed I felt a tearing and burning at my own chest. The pain was unbearable. Through that I managed to close most of the wound, but he still was choking up blood. He'd become ill. In that moment I thought of my Orym laying there for hours crying for his mother. Shaking the thought I searched for the ingredients to try and soothe him.
Elfroot, Swampseed, two cups of Blight Milk. Most of my equipment and supplies was smashed on the floor. No doubt Orym tried to fight back. A fool just as his father was. I'd managed to scrape some of the elfroot from the floor, and I had a spare bundle of swamp-seeds. In that moment I was panicked. I was careless.
Elfroot, Swampseed, two cups of Blight Milk, and Nightshade. Maker, I swear I could never forget it again.
I couldn't save my son. I certainly couldn't cut through armed guards and save my husband. I contemplated residing myself to the same fate as my father. That's what my mind commanded me to do. Unfortunately, I was never great at listening.
Now I wander the realm using my body and my magic to set things right. I will atone for my mistakes. I am a healer to the sick and the oppressed. Each scar that curses this withering body is a small redemption for the lives I took. Never did I think my newfound purpose would bring me back to the Kingdom of Baldock willingly, no less under the employ of a noble family. The Lochborne's offered me clemency to move freely through their hold in return for my services. A darkness is coming.
I will not fail these people. I cannot.
Weapons: Taran Jade- Aemma was never a skilled swordsman, but daggers were quick and discreet. A Taran dagger stolen from a patrol near the Orcish border. It's green hilt is covered by tattered bandages stained with old blood. Armor: Tattered Redeemer's Robes-Aemma's robes are worn, but offer protection from the elements. She wants for little, and needs only her tools. Armor: Wanderer's Coat-A sturdy overcoat, tattered and stained with dust. Its hood offers discretion in areas Aemma is better off unseen.
General Provisions:Medical Supplies- Aemma's coat and clothes are adorned with a number of pockets and pouches that hold a number of medicinal herbs and supplies. Small scrolls line her pockets as well. She keeps record of every recipe on her person, and can quickly refer to whichever one is needed in a given situation. Sutures, bandages, a small sterile blade, and other first aid essentials are among her supplies. Magical Items:
Magical Affinity: Aemma has very little offensive capability. Her magic is mostly used to heal the party, but can be used defensively to warn off attackers.
Spells:
Healing Hands: Aemma's primary minor healing ability. A minor spell that can heal small ailments quickly. This is particularly useful in combat as it has a very short cast time. While this ability can be used reliably, upon each use Aemma suffers from greater pain. This usually takes the form of migraines that become quite intense of repeated use. This can be enough to wear her down physically if she isn't careful.
Healer's Oath: The more potent of Aemma's healing capabilities. This is a sustained spell that can heal grave and potentially fatal wounds. There are a number of downsides to this spell. The spell has a longer cast time, and Aemma sustains damage when healing someone. Closing wounds on another may create the wound on her own body. She heals faster from these wounds than an actual injury, but still requires rest after using it.
Second Wind: A spell that allows Aemma to lend her magic to an ally. In this state the target has bolstered attack and defenses as well as limited replenished health. This comes at a harsh cost for Aemma who is rendered near immobile (often only mobile enough to try to find cover). This ability drains her of most of her magic for some time afterwards. She is also more vulnerable to attacks in this state, and has far weaker defenses in this state.
Aemma gave a small nod toward the servant as he helped her to her seat. Her gaze lingered with him for a few seconds too long. He seemed, almost ghastly, like a sort of phantom. Far too skinny and too pale by the elven doctor’s estimation. Her aged body shuffled against the satin trying to find a comfortable position. The carriage ride was not kind to her aching bones. In her weariness she couldn’t bother to force herself further under the table. Her wandering eyes traveled to each of the other guests for a moment. Perhaps under normal circumstances she would have made conversation on the ride through town, but the sights were far too distracting for Aemma. There were sick and starving children tucked away in dank alleyways, and what few doctors she saw seemed to be touched with a hint of madness. No doubt a case of overexertion on their part. Throngs of sickly denizens walked the streets, and there was a tension in the air nearly as thick as the ominous grey clouds painted in the skies overhead. The guards had resorted to brutality to maintain order; an unfortunate scene, to be sure. Her mind couldn’t help but drift back to the sounds of someone being gutted after an outburst. She could hardly see it, thankfully. Her position within the vehicle obscured the attack, but the familiar squish and ensuing panic did little to assuage her growing trepidation.
It was all somewhat bewildering. She had seen the rot of plague in other cities, but the sickness that haunted this city felt, almost, sentient. There was a malaise about the air that bore down on her upon venturing beyond the edges of the mountainside into Malcast. The fog was heavy, but the curls of smokey air moved with a sort of ferocity. It contorted with every step she took, and it carried the stench of the city with it. Years of hard lessons left Aemma without much room for superstitions, and in her old age there were few things that surprised her. A noble family spending resources to send for a fugitive; a fugitive who most old enough to remember, would’ve presumed dead? That was perplexing. But, the contents of the letter the Lochborne’s sent were even more so. The letter was written feverishly, or at least, the sloppy handwriting and stained parchment seemed to suggest it was. It wove quite the grizzly epic about monstrosities of flesh, and an evil encroaching on the town. The Lochborne family had little choice but to call on the help of foreigners and outlaws; outcasts and old men.
Her eyes studied her would-be companions again. Of them, only one looked to be as old as she was, at least relatively speaking. She’d not spent much time in the company of the insular dwarves, but knew they lived far longer than elvenkind. He was built broadly, and seemed quite physically capable despite this. It was the other two she paid particular mind to. If the Lord of Malcast spoke truly of the horrors plaguing the area it seemed unwise, at least to her, to call on children to solve the problem. Still, she wasn’t here to make demands or pass judgments. They were likely just as capable if Lord Lochborne arranged for them. Then again, that’s what she feared more. To see youth twisted and bent by the 'unpleasantries' of life made her more than uncomfortable.
Stirring from wandering thoughts she gave a smile as her eyes fell on each member of the party. “I suppose that’s enough silence for a lifetime,” she posited to the group. “My name is Aemma.”
