Haelorin Saga: Sanctuary Shatters OOC [M]

[StormWolf]

This RP is rated M for all the usual suspects: violence, racism, possible sexual themes, language, possible substance abuse

The Haelorin Saga
I
Sanctuary Shatters

Ages come and pass as the nations of the world rise and fall, borders fluid through the merciless march of time. Aeons of war mark the world, scars and festering wounds shaping the land and those who call it home. What should not have been forgotten, has slipped into legend and myth, or lost forever to unstoppable progression of time.

This, the Ninth Age of Haelorin, is a time of tension. The world and its inhabitants still reel from the Shattering, the cataclysm that tore the World That Was apart and weakened the veil between what is and what cannot be. Monsters from children stories, long since thought extinct or unmade by medicine, return with a ravenous thirst for blood. The threat of uncontrolled magicks drive the icy nail of an all-too-familiar terror into the hearts and minds of all. The frightening progressions of technology hearten some while gravely threatening others.
Shadows of war loom - long, dark, and unfathomable.

It takes more courage to suffer than to die

The many kingdoms, empires, and republics of Haelorin all know that the world is already teetering near the brink, and that the heavy shadow of war may very well provide the scales with the final tip they needed. In a last-ditch effort to try and assuage the bristling hostility between nations, the many powers-that-be have ordered a peace summit at the independent island-nation of Sanctuary. Behind the curtains of black wool and iron, forces have been set to sinister purpose, bringing with them a darkness that has not been seen since the Shattering. The city-state of Sanctuary, adamant and gleaming in the light of the sea, is the flickering light of hope for peace in Haelorin. A chance to end the cruel cycle of war, once and for all. All eyes fall upon Sanctuary’s gleaming spires in anxiety, for not in over ten thousand years, have the world’s leaders met under those golden towers.
Hither came our heroes. From various corners of the world and walks of life, filling the ranks and retinue of their lords and ladies. From what lands will they hail?

Sanctuary, City of the Golden Spires

The Known Realms of Haelorin
and their inhabitants

Spoiler: The Human Kingdoms 

Spoiler: Sonnengard 

Sonnengrad, the steely heart of the North

One of the greatest powers in the known world, Sonnengard has established themselves in the tribulations of the past few Ages with grit and ferocity, establishing their dominance both militaristically and economically. Their government is a totalitarian empire, ruled strictly by a Kaiser, as it has been for generations, ever since they annexed their first neighbors.

Their capital is the majestic city of Sonnengrad, lorded over by their current Kaiser, Uthur Valkenschild. His rule is one of iron, strong and harsh. He sits upon the Solar Throne, and has for decades. His wife of nearly twnety years is the lovely Moirianne Suverdt, the youngest daughter of the Empress of Eresia. Together, they have had three children - Princess Anissa, Prince Leion, and Prince Thommen.

The heraldry of Sonnengard is simplistic, but elegantly regal, immediately recognizable at a single glance. It is a silver eight-point star centered on a scarlet field edged in gold, a bright blue gem set in the heart of the star. It is a standard that commands respect and reverence, while inspiring fear into even the hardest of enemies, especially when said regal standard flies above the grim company of the Iron Lions, a hundred of the most dangerous men and women in the Empire.

As a nation, Sonnengard’s population is almost entirely human simply to the sense of pro-human superiority the Empire retains. In most other Realms, non-humans are treated no differently under the law, most glancing at non-humans in an equal measure of fear and reverence. In Sonnengard, however, non-humans are treated as unwelcome outsiders, at best. Most Sonnenmensch (the people of Sonnengard) have been conditioned to believe that the magical trappings of non-humans are the cause of the Shattering, and that non-humans are solely responsible for the slow downward spiral of the world. Recently, there have been parties pushing for progressive social reform as the world grows smaller and smaller.

It is common knowledge across Haelorin that it was unfettered magic that brought about the Shattering, a calamity that weakened the veil between the material plane and those beyond, as well as literally breaking an entire continent apart into what is now the “Sea of One Thousand Kings”. As such, magic use in Sonnengard is extremely monitored. The Gleaming Tower, the sum of Sonnengard’s magical knowledge and power, is responsible for the training of magi that the Iron Lions seek out. Those who resist, or practice without a Tower Sanction, are subject to the harshest of Sonnengard’s laws. Hexenwilder - Magi who flee the Tower’s reach - are to be burned at the stake or put to the sword.

Access to the Gleaming Tower is extremely limited - only the higher echelons of the Sonnengard hierarchy (aside from the Iron Lions) are ever permitted to enter, and they are only allowed on an invite from the Hexenfuhrer himself. Security is such a priority simply because of the great wealth of eldritch power, knowledge, and relics that are locked away within the Tower’s adamant walls.

Punishment for breaking Tower Law as a magi is [usually] burning at the stake. When a magi is burned at a wychpyre, their magical energies imbue the ashes of their physical remains. This ash, called Wychdust or Arcane Ash, is a potent reagent used by the finest craftsmen in the Empire, nominally the Exalted Smiths of the Iron Lions.

Spoiler: The Iron Lions 

Isenlöwen are a company (100 strong at all times) of the Empire’s finest soldiers, each of them a blademaster in their own right once they earn the Black Mantle. In war, they serve as the Kaiser’s special forces, oftentimes able to infiltrate opposed fortifications and break their defenses from within. During times of peace, they are the royal guard of the Kaiser’s Palace. In addition to these duties, it is a sworn duty of the Iron Lions to seek magi who flee or resist the Gleaming Tower, and bring them to Imperial justice.

Note: Sonnengard has a strong influence from the Holy Roman Empire mixed with Imperial Britain and Czarist Russia as a secondary inspirations. Annexed territories are from a more saxon variety.

Spoiler: Eresia 

Fleuris, Jewel of the Coast

Eastward from Sonnengard, nestled by the sea, is shimmering Eresia. She is a graceful nation beloved and envied by many for her opulence, chevaliers, and legendary bard college. Long have Eresian’s been exalted artisan craftsmen, retaining some of the techniques lost by many during the Shattering, or safeguarded by cultural creeds.

Like her neighbor, Eresia has a strict class system, though the overflow of wealth by Eresia’s bustling trade ensures that even the lowborn have houses sturdy houses. The middle-class is nominally craftsmen and tradesmen, often part of a guild or patron by one of the many extravagant nobles. The nobility of bloodlines is subject to the decree of the Empress, giving her the power to elevate or condemn entire families.

This makes socialization among the highborn an extremely dangerous game, the players of which are masters of deception and deceit, able to speak the truth while still managing to confuse and mislead as if they spoke false. A wrong step or fumbled word in an Eresian court can kill as readily as a blade on the battlefield. The only merit of death in battle is that it is guaranteed to be faster than the doom to befall one in the Great Game.

Illustrious Eresia is ruled by the venerable Empress Elise Suverdt, a woman older than united Sonnengard itself. She sits upon the Sapphire Throne of Fleuris, the golden-spired capital of their wealthy land. She has two children to succeed her, should she ever decide to die. The eldest is Prince Davian, a pompous priss of a man with poor manners. Many, from the commoner to the courtier, dread the day that Davian takes the throne of Eresia. Despite maintaining the title of prince, Davian is well into his middle years, with several children from multiple wives and mistresses. Davian is a bitter and cruel man with twisted pleasures and tastes, despite the court’s best efforts to hide it. His younger sister, Moirianne, was wed to the current Kaiser of Sonnengard, elevating her status to one comparable to her mother.

While Eresian views on magic are much more lax than their neighbors to the north, practitioners without College training are essentially shackled, limiting their power to a mere spark, only ample enough for the simplest of sorcery. The Eresian College is not only a place of magical discipline, but also an institution of higher learning. Many highborn houses from across Haelorin send their children to the College to learn the high arts, like history, genealogy, linguistics, and so on.

Eresia’s national colors plainly display the riches and regalia of the nation for all to see, a boasting of their power atop opal roof tiles or on gleaming bronze standards. The field is a regal purple, crossed thrice diagonally by azure ribbons, the golden lily of Erezia woven on the flag with thread-of-gold and pearls. Each noble house in Erezia must feature the golden lily in their coat of arms, the royal house has the addition of a crown wreathing the lily.

Spoiler: Chevaliers 

The Eresian Chevaliers mark some of the finest heavy infantry and cavalry in the world, and have held that well-deserved title for centuries. Each Chevalier is a noble sworn to the Empress, their House, and their Nation… in that order. While their skill as cavalry is arguably one of the finest in the land, it is the disunity of the Chevalier that have seen them bested often in the modern era. Regardless, they are still a frightful foe

Note: Eresia is inspired by both Imperial and Revolutionary France in architecture, fashion, and political structure

Spoiler: Lux Aeterna 

Holy Solarion, the soul of the West

The literal and spiritual heart of the human Realms, Lux Aeterna is the secular capital of humanity's most practiced faith. Home to devouts and pilgrims, Lux Aeterna has a booming economy, its coffers bolstered by those seeking salvation through generous donations to the church. More than any other human Realm, the wealth of Lux Aeterna is spread evenly to the people, allowing its people to live comfortably in the graces of their gods, harbored under roofs of pale marble.

The capital of Lux Aeterna is Holy Solarion. It is a mixture of old and new architecture, the eldest of which is the revered Celestine Temple, a time tested marvel of engineering that rises higher than any other man-made structure in the Realm. It is said that no matter how lost someone is, they only need to look up to find guidance in their faith.

The master of Lux Aeterna’s government and the dominant figure of the human faith is the High Diviner. Not demanded to be male or female, the High Diviner is chosen at a young age from any of the Realms by the Seekers. The Diviner-to-be must be pure of heart, mind, and body to hold the Scepter of Daina. Being the head of a whole religion, the High Diviner holds power without borders, commanding the faith of over fifty million souls. Once a High Diviner takes the Holy Throne, they are to serve their station until they die. It is a lonely and barren crown to bear, but it is one of the most sought seats in all the human Realms.

Spoiler: Clerics 

Part of the Celestine Cathedral is the Silver Steeple; a mage tower of sorts that has dedicated itself to the quasi-magical discipline of daemonology. Clerics and Seekers of the Silver Steeple are the true believers of their faith, working tirelessly to combat the all-too-real threat of daemons and those with the power to summon them.

While other magical lores may be taxing on the body, daemonology can end only in madness. Even the most ironclad will ultimately crumbles, buckling under the crushing vastness of the abyss. In each major city, the Silver Steeple has a chapter of Clerics, so long as the city is Aeternan in faith and is large enough to justify having Celestine Chapel. Clerics are trained as priests and soldiers, and will not take up arms in war unless Lux Aeterna itself is threatened, or the High Diviner makes a decree naming enemies of the Faith.

The only nation in which Clerics are not welcome (by mandate) is the Realm of Tal-Hussar. Their religion is of a different make than the Aeterna, and their differences have lead to several holy wars through the ages.

Note: The flavor and feel of Lux Aeterna is that of a renaissance/enlightenment period Italy and Vatican with the slight flare of grandeur from the Byzantines of the same period.

Spoiler: Tal-Hussar 

Dha'maask, glory of the Dunes

A harsh land of mountainous dunes and shadow-stepped temples lost to the progress of time, said to be the cradle of human civilization. Not unlike the Western Lands, the Tal-Hussar are ruled by five different kings - Sultans - each presiding over a kingdom of their own. They are united only by their faith and the creed such faith dictates. They are a proud people, balking at the notion of even associating with devils from the West. The Tal-Hussar states are as different from each other as the four seasons, though they all worship the same gods and adhere to the same cultural creeds. The Sultans are the patriarchal heads of their hierarchy, ruling with absolute authority in their respective lands.

Theirs is a culture steeped in rigorous tradition, their ways left unchanging across the spanning of the Ages and the spreading of mankind across the world. Most Hussari see outsiders as a poison, their ways and customs, even mere affiliation, unwanted. There are few Sultans who would freely interact with the West. One Sultan, Al’Sohil, is the youngest and more progressive of his ilk, and has developed an interest in developing peace with the Western Lands.

It is in Tal-Hussar that one will find the strictest hate against magic and those with the talent to use it. Each year, the Sultans initiate a Culling, where all those accused of practitioning magic, or charged with arcane affiliation, are rounded up and executed. Those who escape are said to be picked up by a nomadic tribe called the Shi’djin. The Shi’djin worship the oldest of gods, the lost and cyclopean temples of the desert being their houses of worship. Unknown to those outside their tribe, the Shi’djin rotate their places of worship according to a complicated cosmic chart, the likes of which are known nowhere else.

Spoiler: Shi’djin 

It is the Shi’djin who founded the very concept of Black Magic when their progenitor wrote the most sinister of arcane scrolls, the likes of which violated the very laws of creation. This cult is nearly universally hated by the whole of Haelorin for the wicked deeds of their master. Cults of the Shi’djin can be found in nearly every city in every Hussari kingdom, despite the denial of the Sultans. They are fanatics, through and through, the likes of which have never been seen in Haelorin before, and likely never again.

Note: As implied, the Tal-Hussar are extremely middle-eastern in influence - primarily the persians and egyptians.

Spoiler: Ryujin & The Sea of One Thousand Kings 

Ryujin, scion of Ages lost

The Sea of One Thousand Kings, also known as the Rift Sea, is the broken remnants of what was once the greatest Empire in Haelorin’s history. This empire was destroyed by Ansyf the Mad, whose terrible power resulted in what is now known as the Shattering. It is now a scattered series of innumerable islands, each with their own rulers, customs, and cultures derived from the Great Dynasty of Ryujin

Ryujin is the largest of these islands, and ultimately the only one whose authority is recognized by the East and West. Ryujin was the heart of the Great Dynasty, and was protected from the Shattering by the Dragon Emperor’s sacrifice. Ever since, it has remained relatively unchanged, and as a result, is a teeming wealth of ancient and lost knowledge. This remains their nations prize resource, and would never share it willingly.

Presently, they have no Emperor, as they await him (or her) to be reincarnated. In the Dragon’s stead, the Ryujin Shogunate maintain the Jade Palace and the land in martial law until the Emperor’s glorious return. The Shogunate are a council of warlords, all with their own lands and men within Ryujin, and often several islands to call their own.

Those of the Rift Sea follow a form of the Old Ways through the worship of celestial spirits, all of which have a connection to patterns in astrology (zodiac). Each of these astral spirits represent an animal or hero of their culture, often associated with some kind of paragon trait.

Spoiler: Asha’san 

The Asha’san are the sworn swords of the Ryujin warlords, trained and hardened since youth in the arts of warfare. Unlike the many Westeron armies, they Asha’san carry no shields, instead employing a wide variety of unorthodox weaponry. Like the Iron Lions, the Asha’san are indoctrinated to follow their masters without fault, but to a ridiculous degree. Should and Asha’san fail in a task assigned by his master, the Asha’san must take their own life or be exiled from the protected Isle.

Note: The Rift Sea folk (Rifters) are very oriental, dominantly Japanese and Chinese. The Rift Sea is also a vast land of fantastical beings, including Beastmen, merfolk, and all other sorts of glorious creatures.

Spoiler: The Eldar Realms 

Much remains yet unknown about elvenkind, and will be revealed and filled out as play ensues or player input flows in.

Spoiler: Valorin (High Elves) 

Valorin, the eternal city

Secluded in the crystalline north, beyond the World’s Crown Mountains, lies the last of the High Elves’ gleaming cities. Valorin’s spires have endured the Ages of Haelorin since its dawn. The High Elves know the price of power, and that power is gained through knowledge. Because of this, they rarely leave the walls of their city unless the world needs their direct intervention. Such intervention is oftentimes the act of spiriting away lore that could prove cataclysmic in the hands of those unworthy of it, which is most mortals, in their eyes.

The High Elves have had the same ruler since the 7th Age - Everqueen Auriel. While most elves live to be several centuries old (after the Shattering undid their immortality), those with prodigal connections to the Power can multiply their longevity. The everqueen is possibly the strongest sorceress to have lived, ruling her people for over 15 millenia. Those who have met the Everqueen say that she is graceful, motherly, and patient.

Spoiler: Wilderglen (Wyld Elves) 

The World Tree, root of all life

Dark woods wreath the World’s Crown on all sides, creatures of legend, once thought extinct, have been said to lurk among the moaning oaks and weeping willows. The most powerful of the forest denizens are the Wyld Elves, the fleet and furious cousins of their northern neighbors. The Wyld Elves have an innate connection to the primal spirits of the wilderness, their Power drawn from the sap of the World Tree itself. The sap is extremely potent - concentrated magical energy - but it is also highly addictive, oftentimes shattering the minds of the weak willed.

Due to the coveted sap and amber of the World Tree, the Wyld Elves are extremely isolated and lethally hostile to outsiders. The population of the Wilderglen has been kept loyal through the iron fist and substance control of the Erlking. The Erlking is an enigmatic and ferocious individual, known across the world through stone carvings of ‘the horned god’. He is the last of the immortal elves, eternally clad in his ancient armor and elk-horned helm.
As the Everqueen is the scion of feminine power and control, the Erlking is the embodiment of masculine ferocity. They are equals and opposites, both the destiny and doom of the other.

Spoiler: i’Shâd’ür (Dark Elves) 

Khai'nan, the black city

Beyond the Veil lie the Outsiders, heralds of the Endless Ones, creatures and entities mankind has dubbed ‘daemons’. The Nilfnir, or Dark Elves, are those who have been fighting the slow, losing battle against daemonic corruption for aeons. Each of their souls is stained at birth by the curse their king, Maeliketh, wrought. Banished underground by their kinsmen, they are hated and forsaken, often slain on sight if seen outside their underground Realm of i’Shâd’ür. Despite such prosecution, the Dark Elves maintain their vigil, though many have given in to fighting hatred with hatred.

Living beneath the other Elder Realms, the Nilfnir are forced to share their territory with the dwarves of Dragûzar, who constantly seek to take what the Nilfnir have safeguarded for eons. The coveted bauble is a large fragment of the Blackstone, the calcified ingot of unfettered power left in the wake of Ansyf’s Shattering. This fragment is the duty and burden of the Nilfnir. It is their sole chance at salvation, yet it is their only source of Power, the same power that continues to taint them with each generation.

Note:The Blackstone Shard is not common knowledge outside the i’Shâd’ür

Spoiler: Dwarven Kingdoms 

Spoiler: Dragûzar - World’s Crown Dwarves 

The last peak of Dragûzar

The Dragari are the most artful of all the dwarf kingdoms, having been surrounded by elves for untold Ages. They are a sure and proud clan, always seeking to better themselves and further the agenda of their Jarl. Despite being operational as a dwarven city-mine ever since the Third Age, the Dragari have yet to trek all of the catacombs of the vast World’s Crown Mountains.

Once, Dragûzar had many dwarven neighbors, but one by one, they all fall without so much more than a raven’s letter. Some collapsed during the Shattering, swallowed up by the earth, while others bled slowly in the chaotic aftermath. Ravenous warbands of Tuskmaws and armies of Nilfnir constantly assailed the dwarf-folk of the World’s Crown, driving many clans and kinbands to utter annihilation.

Jarl Berek Ironbrow is the current Jarl of Dragûzar, a silver-haired dwarf said to be consumed with vengeance. He seeks the power to save his kinband and wipe out the Nilfnir and orcs that have stripped so many family trees bare. He knows of the powerful artifact that the Nilfnir possess and is obsessed with obtaining it as the current Age grows ever more chaotic. He is willing to sacrifice anything for the security of his Hold, willing to let that end justify whatever means are necessary.

Spoiler: Keltair - Dragonspire Mountain Dwarves 

Heart of the Dragonspire

The Hold of Keltair, like their Imperial neighbors, Sonnengard and Eresia, is militaristic in the extreme. Having had to stand against the tyranny of dragons in ages long forgotten by all but them, the Keltair hold themselves high despite their stature, and demand respect from anyone, no matter their status. Keltari dwarves are some of the most ornery and cantankerous of their ilk, putting stock in actions rather than words, for oaths may always be broken.

Their Jarl, Valkha Steelsheen, the Keeper of Grudges, is a paragon of her kinband in all ways, both good and ill. She, like her forebears, is a dragonslayer. She drapes across her broad shoulder the ebon hide of her greatest nemesis. Valkha holds no love for humans, for she only bothers to remember the worst of her neighbors. Ever since her reign began, she has severed all trade with Eresia and Sonnengard, seeking to return to the proud warrior-poet culture that served as a bastion against the tyranny of dragons.

While she has a steady following with the younger, more idealistic dwarves of her hold, there are many who resent her isolationist policy, speaking out against her and her claim to the Hold. She was elevated to the rank of Jarl for her popularity with the warrior kinbands alone. However, due to her merit or detriment, she is too much of an imbecile of manipulate. Those who show anything but the most devout loyalty are outcast from Keltair to the Dragonbrand Foothills.

As a result, Keltair has erupted into civil war between the Outcastes and the Loyalists. Thane Skal Steelsheen, the Jarl’s own cousin, leads the Outcastes, believing that integration with human culture is inevitable, and should be embraced to secure a better future for the Hold. He knows that doing so will likely sacrifice a great deal of national pride and identity, but in his mind, a long life as a craftsman is better than a short life as a dragonslayer.

Spoiler: Movaria - Dwarves of The Scar 

The Scar, diamond in the rough

The Scar - one of the largest natural landmarks in the world. It is a great canyon that nearly splits the Realm of Tul-Hussar in half. For Ages, the Scar has been colonized by dwarves, finding shelter from the cruel sun beneath the shifting sands. Nearly every face of the vast canyon has been carved and shaped into a beautiful city by dwarven hands, great bridges of red stone spanning the yawning maw of the gorge, wide enough for four carriages to move abreast.

The wisest, and arguably the best tempered dwarf Jarl sits in leadership of Movaria - Jarl Lokan Bronzebeard. Having grown in such an unforgiving wasteland, surrounded by fanatical human and savage beasts, he weighs what is truly most important to give life meaning. Lokan seeks comfort and security for his Hold, and has achieved it with equal parts tenacity, cunning, and cruelty. While other dwarven kinbands fight and die for shiny baubles, Lokan’s mines have a nearly absolute monopoly on the singular treasure that all creatures truly need to survive - water.

His hoard is the crystalline reservoir of a freshwater sea running beneath the dunes. Many sultans and vagabonds alike have traded their greatest treasures to Lokan so they may access the water in his hoard. Should a town or city cease to pay Lokan’s tribute each month, they will see their wells run dry within a week. No one dares wage war on Movaria, for he need simply wait as the enemy withers on the dunes, just as their loved ones back home dry up in the baking sun without a drop to quench their thirst. Lokan Bronzebeard is, quite simply, a thug who became a tyrant by playing his cards right.

Spoiler: Savage Folk 

These are those who shirk away from the glaring light of civilization, whether by choice or circumstance. They find bliss in the raw, wild nature of a world untamed.

Spoiler: Seaxons 

While there are many lands annexed by the Imperial might of Sonnengard, very few ever see any evidence of Imperial sovereignty except when tax collectors come about for tributes. The Seaxons are an example of such people who live a simple life in the fjords of northern Sonnengard, left to their ways unless they cause too much trouble. In the reign of Kaiser Uthur, he has taken to hiring Seaxon barbarians as mercenaries to bolster the ranks of his armies, a questionable tactic, but one that has paid off handsomely.

Spoiler: Tuskmaws 

Orcs and Goblins, to put it simply. They are wholefully disliked by the greater sum of humanity and the Elderkind, though it is namely the dwarves who hold an ongoing feud of blood with the Tuskmaw tribes that seeps into the blood and marrow of each clan.
Ever since the Tuskmaw Scourge, when orcish hordes flooded across the land in ravenous hordes, raping and ravaging, they are violently pushed away from any human settlement on pain of death. Some orc tribes still maintain the marauding and warlike creed of their forebears, while others seek a more peaceful way of life, simply wanting to live away from those who would wish them harm.

In the wake of the Scourge, especially in the human lands, many bloodlines have been forever altered after their family trees were ravaged with orc blood. The rapes of the Scourge lead to several generations of half-orc, the shamed offspring of a terrible time in human history. Those saddled with a half-orc child often abandon the infant soon after birth, either leaving it at the mercy of the wild or on the steps of a church. If given sanctuary by a church or temple, the half-orc child will be cast out once they reach adulthood, if not before, to fend for themselves. As a result, many half-orcs develop foster-families in the form of nomadic caravan tribes, staying far away from human settlements and roads if they can manage.

Spoiler: Half-blood Caravans 

The Half-Blood Caravans are rather self explanatory, as a whole, though each community has its own cultural nuances. Where family is often defined by blood among the larger civilizations of the world, the Half-Bloods are a nation of outcasts. To them, family is someone whom you can trust implicitly with your life. To survive, the half-bloods need that level of undoubting trust.

Generally, the Caravans are rather harmless, moving from province to province, Realm to Realm, never stopping in one place for too long. They free-graze their livestock, hunt, gather, and trade as they pass through. Most militant individuals in the caravans are mercenaries, though there may be the grizzled veteran among the reclusive denizens. By principle alone, the Half-Blood Caravans are very reclusive, but they will not turn away those in dire need of help. If they did, they would see themselves as no different than those who have mistreated them. Half-orcs and half-elves fill the ranks, as well as many bastards, fugitives, orphans, and deserters. The Caravans see themselves as a means for a fresh start and will not deny anyone their chance for a better life.

In times such as these, where the fanatics scream and holler as self-proclaimed heralds of the End, the people of Haelorin will cling to something - anything - as a means to give them security, safety, and peace of mind. Despite the advances in technology in the modern Age, there has been a resurgence of spirituality as all people, mortal or long-lived, look to something beyond the blood-stained soil of their plane to find the answers to the hard questions. There are some, though, who seek such answers through the clamor of metal and the murmur of alchemist's tools. None are right or wrong, but all are desperate to find sanctuary in the bosom of faith.

Faiths of Haelorin
The Light in the Darkness

Spoiler: Human Spirituality 

Spoiler: Aeternism 

Mark of Daina

Aeternism (pronounced Eternism) is the religion of Lux Aeterna and the Realms drawn adjacent. It is the faith of the Western Lands, the faith of the Three-Faced Goddess Daina. As the seasons wax and wane through the annual cycle, the goddess Daina goes through her three phases. As these phases come and go, statues of Daina in their respective chapel courtyards or town squares are cycled in a great solstice ceremony, each lasting three days. One day to take the old figure away, one day to erect the new one, and the final day to honor, reflect, and prepare for the next season.

First is the Maiden. Young, virginal, and pure in all aspects, the Maiden Daina gives rise to the new year. She marks the fade of winter and the gradual thaw of spring. It is in the Season of the Maiden that green returns to the world, crops and sown and the creatures of the land grow fruitful and make plenty. The Statue of the Maiden is an effigy carved from white oak, signifying her natural purity and lightness in the new year.

As Spring matures into Summer, the Maiden too ages into the Mother Daina. It is under the Mother’s caring watch that harvests flourish and the young of all manner of man and beast are born. The Mother is patient and wise, though every mother’s wrath may be turned should her children be threatened. It is the teachings of the Mother that brash action achieves nothing, that violence is to be only used in the cause of preserving the life of kin. The visage of the Mother is cast in bronze, giving her the gleam of motherhood, the resistance to the world around her, and accentuating her stern features.

Finally, as Summer fades and all that is green in the world fades, Daina the Crone takes up the heavenly vigil over the world. The Crone, like the world in Winter, is weathered and weary of the year, her face lined by joy and hardship, yet she remains strong. The Crone is one to act with a steady and practiced hand, using the knowledge of her age to overcome even the greatest of enemies while her body hunches under the weight of years. The Crone is a statue cast in iron, showing that she has grown heavy with the burdens of time, but is at her strongest.

Common Oaths/Swears:
-By the Maiden/Mother/Crone: A common exclamation, can be positive or negative. Similar to “Oh my God!”
-Daina’s Tears: A somber, negative Oath. Similar to “Jesus Christ…”
-Maiden’s Joy: Positive oath/blessing
-Mother’s Mercy: Common oath, can go both ways.
-Crone’s Bones: Common oath, can go both ways.
-Iron and blood: oath/curse
-Hel’s Bells: oath/curse
… You get the idea.

Spoiler: Sephyrism 

Lotus and Crescent of Sephyr

The monotheistic faith of the Tal-Hussar, Sephyrism is the religion of their one, great and powerful Almighty, known as Sephyr. He is the sole figure of their faith, the beginning and end of all that is, was, and will be. Sephyr is the master of life and time, master of the High Heavens and the sole creator of mankind. Other races and faiths, according to Sephyric doctrine, are the spawn and influence of daemons on a dying world. The greatest of all these evils is the taint of the Power, or magic. Few know if this hatred of the arcane came before or after the Shattering, only that this all devout followers truly believe magic to be the mark of evil and seek to purge it from the world.

While the Westerners follow a calendar of season in their worship, the Tal-Hussar are called to prayer at each iconic position of the sun - dawn, mid-morning, mid-day, mid-afternoon, and dusk. No worship is to be publicly made during the night for fear of attracting the daemons who lurk in the night. Failure to follow this strict schedule will often result in a harsh punishment, often a public flogging or even a stoning.

The core beliefs of Sephyrism were never so severe, but aeons of loss and hardship heaped upon the Tal-Hussar have made them a severe people with a strong hatred for outsiders and things they do not understand. The Mad Sorcerer Ansyf, perpetrator of the Shattering, was of their blood and the fact that the world still weeps from his actions are a great shame upon all who bear Hussari blood.

Common Oaths/Swears:
-Sephyr illumine you: Blessing
-[Sephyr] Burn you: Oath/curse
-Shi’djin take you: Oath/Curse
-Walk in Sephyr’s Light: Blessing
… and so on/

Spoiler: Elven Beliefs 

Spoiler: C’staalir 

Crest of the C'staalir

In the human tongue, this would mean Word of the Stars. The High Elven belief system is less of a religion and more of a philosophy. Originally penned in the First Age by High Elf scholar Rhen Alantir, it is the creed of deciphering celestial messages and omens, even allowing some to predict the future. Their belief is that each soul that is, was, and will be living on Haelorin is represented by a star or other astral body.

Rather than priests or shamans, the High Elves entrust the interpretation of the stars to Visalar, or Wisdoms. These individuals are Elves who have trained their entire lives in the art of celestial prophecy and the creed of C’staalir. The sole duty of the Visalar is to chart the stars each night, reading what the Heavens have to tell. Should something dramatic or drastic come to them in their deciphering, they will convene the people and read out the decryption to the public, as well as advise them as who what the best course of action would be.
It can be argued that it is the art of reading the stars that has allowed the High Elves to survive for so long. Despite crisis and calamity, they have endure. While their numbers may be slight in the current age, they are arguably at their most powerful, the wounds of the past turning into wisdom.

Common Oaths/Swears:
-Stars and Stones: oath/curse
-May the sky light your way: blessing
-May the Watcher always find you: blessing
-Nei’staalin: Meaning “starless”. oath/curse
… et cetra.

Spoiler: Ahniim 

The World Tree's Mark

The spiritual belief of the Wyld Elves predates any faith of any established religion, setting the footwork for tribal human animism and other spiritual methodologies. The belief of Ahniim is that everything in the world has a Spirit, and that one’s Spirit is their source of power and vitality. Spirit gives things purpose and potential. Without that purpose, all is empty. Respect and reverence for these spirits makes the core of Wyld Elf belief, never taking too much from the world without great need, always maintaining balance in nature.

Sentient beings have their own spirit, but they are also said to have a spirit guide or animal from beyond the Veil. In most Ahniim societies, the First Communion is a time when one first finds and connects to their spirit guide. It marks one's maturation into adulthood, oftentimes.


Common Oaths/Swears:
Quite honestly too many combinations. They swear, bless, and curse all by the various spirits and what they represent.

Spoiler: Khai’nei 

Khai'nei's Mark

While not spiritual like their wyld-kin or celestial as their elder-kin, the Dark Elves keep the faith in their cause, honoring the hard choice of their patron by the retelling of his story and the renewal of his vigil. Khai’nei was destined for the path he walked at his name-day, dooming himself to a world of darkness, with no stars to guide his way. It was in the infinite caverns of the World’s Crown that Kain’nei learned the lesson that defines the faith he founded: There cannot be light without darkness, and it is in total darkness that all lights shine brighter. It was of his own volition that Khai’nei sought out the Blackstone Shard and kept watch over it, knowing full well what it would do to him and those who followed him.

The Dark Elves honor Khai’nei’s sacrifice with their reverence. They do not worship him, nor do they worship the Blackstone, they simply hold Khai’nei as a paragon, each Dark Elf seeking to be of the same cloth as their founder. They know history will always paint them as the villain, simply for the growing daemonic taint that marks them all. That may well be, too - each Dark Elf is a ticking time bomb of daemonic influence - but they hold fast to the belief that the Makers will repay the i’Shad’ûr for their great sacrifice.

Common Oaths/Swears:
-May the shadows cloak your path: blessing
-Light burn you: oath/curse
-Khai’nei’s strength be with you: blessing
-Night!: Exclamation
-May daemons fester in your mind: oath/curse
… you know the drill...

Spoiler: Dwarven Deities 

Seal of the Exalted

Unlike the rest of Haelorin and its people, the dwarves have adhered to one spiritual belief system since they had spirituality. Theirs is a fairly simple, yet infinitely complex, system of belief and faith that revolves around the reverence of one's ancestors. For each dwarven family, each household, there will likely be different individual spirits worshiped. These ancestors are seen as paragons, despite their faults or follies in life. To go to the Halls of the Forebears is a reward in itself, shedding off the failures of flesh and joining your kin in eternity.

However, shame and dishonor are taints of the spirit. They are stains that mark not only the individual, but the entire lineage of the kindband. To be dishonorable or cowardly is to be excommunicated and exiled from the dwarven lands and the Halls, yet stupidity is excusable, so long as it is courageous.

Common Oaths/Swears: Dwarven oaths, swears, and blessings revolve around the exaltation or defacing of one’s ancestors. It is rather basic.

Technology
The bloodied promise of progress

Spoiler: Drake Powder 

Ever since the discovery of drake powder, the way war is waged has been changed on the face of Haelorin. Every major modern power has powder weapons employed in their legions in some manner. Powder is, however, rather expensive and still a relatively unknown substance. It is not like the simple black powder of Earth; that must be abundantly clear. Drake powder must be treated by alchemists, some of the more daring have even discovered ways to imbue the powder and the leaden projectiles they fire with magical properties. The source of Drake Powder - and the reason for its price - is from fossilised dragon bones. Grind those black bones into a fine powder and treat them with the proper alchemical supplements, and the bone powder transforms into a lethal and volatile propellant.

For obvious reasons, firearms of any sort are banned to all but the higher echelons of nobility and the military. The peasantry and middle class will have to resort to nefarious means to get their hands on a powder weapon. In the eyes of many, this is for the better. Many still prefer the bow and arrow or spear for hunting, simply because it is something they have grown accustomed to, and they are not hindered by the long reloading process. Still, warehouses have been raided from time to time, the rifles and pistols of the national army added to the usual weapons of the previous age. The underground markets have recently become absolutely abuzz with the new toys.

Drake Powder weapons are broken down rather simply. Those favoring closer range may prefer pistols (and dagger-pistols) and blunderbusts. Rifles will favor those with range, while mortars and cannons are often pitted against ships and settlements alike. Simpler incarnations of drake powder include grenades and bombs. Experimentation with these firearms have lead to pistols and rifles sporting several barrels. The most ridiculous being “volley boxes” or “pepper boxes” who sport four or more barrels. Such firearms are extremely rare, and often of a dwarven make. The Ryujin have been said to have such an abundance (or utter lack of need) of drake powder that they use it in fireworks for their festivals. Inversely, some societies are too primitive still to work powder weapons without endangering themselves, but that won’t stop them from trying. Tuskmaws, northrons, and certain Tal’hussar states fall under this category. The elves refuse to use powder weapons for unknown reasons, but they are by no means suffering from it.

Iron and steel weapons and armor are still very commonplace, making up the greater majority of most armies while powder is most often seen employed in siege engines and front line forces. Many city guard can be seen armed with a rifle, pistol, and sword for their peacekeeping. The one downside of the powder and the weapons that use it is that they are quite dense. To have a soldier equipped for any sustained combat, armor had to be sacrificed for the sake of mobility.

Finally, the discovery of powder has given rise to a new school of magic that is quickly building steam. These so-called “Powder Mages” are part magi and part alchemist, using the various flavors of drake powder as components in their spells. Some particularly gifted Powder Mages have even crafted themselves rifle-staves as their primary foci. A Powder Magi is ultimately a telekinetic of refined power and practice. They use the flows of air and kinetic energy to manipulate bullets and cannonballs fired by the modern machines of war.

Being in an era of technological transition, the world is slowly shedding parts of its old self as the cultures that inhabit it continue to evolve. Many technologies, such as travel, construction, agriculture, and so on remain more or less the same as they ever have. While some mines have enjoyed the drake powder for digging, it was very short lived. The risk of detonating a buried, fossilized dragon is far too great to justify the risk. There are some who seek to propel the world forward while others cling stubbornly to the familiarity of the past. Such violent and sudden change has rocked the nations of the world, already teetering on the brink of war. Many seek social reform in some way or another, the various parties lobbying for such evolution vary in ideal and motive, but they are all potentially dangerous.

Spoiler: Fantastical Materials 

In the world of Haelorin, and the Planes beyond, there are all manner of materials of superb quality and rarity. Some cultures safely guard their craft secrets, while others will share them for a price. Commonly, anything made from these materials are far beyond the affordable range of any but the highest in status, or are otherwise restricted through weapons and craft control laws. These will not be available to any player character at the beginning.

Spoiler: Starmetal 

Occasionally, fire will fall from the sky and strike the world like the arrow of some ancient Forge God. These meteors carry in them an extremely coveted ore that, when properly tempered, is lighter than steel and several times stronger. The High Elves hold the ancient art of Starmetal forging sacred, keeping it secret from all but the most trusted of friends. Due to the star-reading nature of their ideology, they are able to predict when and where these meteors will fall.

Weapons or armor made of Starmetal will have a slight blue sheen with shimmering veins of crystalline splendor. Throughout the known Mortal Realms, it is one of the most beautiful and durable metals. Aesthetic grace aside, it also remains one of the easiest metals to enchant, thanks in part to the crystals that form in the tempering process. Due to the metal not being of Haelorin, as well as its innate magical properties, it is not of the ‘fae-bane’ family.

Spoiler: Æsirite 

Mined deep in the bowels of the World’s Crown Mountains, this abyssal black ore has been used by the Dragari dwarves since time immemorial. When tempered by the secretive smithies of Dragûzar or the reclusive Nilfnir, Æsirite weapons and armor appear to be hewn of immaculate obsidian. The edge of such weapons are so fine that they can split the finest of Sonnengard’s plate armor. While extremely durable and low maintenance, the true value of Æsirite, and arguably the sole purpose of its value, is that it nulls magic.

Alchemists and metallurgists have bent their minds to the point of breaking, yet they cannot definitely surmise why this is. The leading hypothesis is that the or and metal are constantly vibrating, even though mortal senses cannot sense it. It vibrates at such a frequency that it can disrupt the delicate weaves of magic at a manageable level. While active thaumaturgic magics in a large enough concentration can overcome the nulling effect of Æsirite, the metal can easily dismantle enchantments and magical constructs like barriers, wards, and even specters from the Veil. Like iron and steel, it is a bane of the Fair Folk.

Spoiler: Wychsteel/Wychpowder 

Pioneered by the smithies of Sonnengard, Wychsteel is a highly controversial practice that involves using the life-force of a mage in the forging process. At face value, Wychsteel is no different than any other steel one may purchase from a smithy. It has the same vices and virtues as standard steel, but it is imbued with a singular magical property at a molecular level.

This is achieved by, quite simply, stoking the fires of of the forge with the ashes of a magic user. Sonnengard remains one of the few remaining cultures that still burns rogue magi at the stake as a form of execution. When a magi is burned, their life essence is imbued in the ashes of their physical remains. Depending on what school the executed magi was privy to, their chosen craft of magic will give their ashes special, dormant properties. These ashes will then be used to greatly amplify the steel as it is forged. For example, a rogue fire magi will have the essence of fire ingrained into their very matter. Using the fire magi’s ashes to forge steel will cause the blade to constantly burn.

In addition, this same practice has recently been adopted by the Powder Mages and Alchemists. They have found that mixing ‘wych ashes’ with drake powder will amplify the power of the shot. This development, and Sonnengard’s willingness to use it, is what has put them ahead of the curve in military might. Since the magic is imbued with the steel at its very essence, it is not an enchantment by any definition, which has lead to the bafflement of many Dragari dwarves.

Spoiler: Veilirium 

A sickly green crystalline growth that sprouts in the wake of a tear in the Veil, veilirium is a mysterious and distrusted material by most magic-weary nations. It constantly thrums with a kind of power, the kind that can magnify the flow of magic like a seeing glass. The smallest sliver set in a ring could turn the paltry spark of a Eresian street magician into a scalding fireball as large as a man’s head, hot enough to atomize flesh or turn stone to slag.

Like all things from the Veil, it bears a hefty price the longer it is used. Channeling magic through veilirium opens a miniscule portal through the Veil whenever it is used, allowing unfettered tapping of magic, but also drawing the attention of those that lurk on the other side. Using the green crystal too liberally will make a magi a beacon to the outsiders, warm and welcoming to those entities that would wish to possess such a fertile and potent minds.

Technical Matters
When you have read the lore and ready to play

Spoiler: Rules 

-All RPA rules and regulations apply
-I, the GM, am the alpha and omega of this world. Those I deem co-GM will bear my authority should I be absent.
-This RP has a ‘long haul’ intent with multiple planned installations. Keep in mind that your character will develop over time, and that could be very well over several years in-game. Play your cards right, you could very well die of old age.
-Character death is not a gimmick, but a result of poor decision making both IC and OOC. Play your character poorly or make an ass of yourself in the OOC and your character runs the risk of a violent death. Only one of these will allow you to re-roll.
-No godmodding, railroading, or powerplaying
-No OOC drama, bullying, or shitposting. Seriously. If something happens that is awry, PM me or a co-GM and it will be dealt with.
-The aesthetic of this world, while high fantasy, is something that is very important to maintain continuity and immersion. Think a mixture of 16-18th century fashions with armor still present, but steadily going out of fashion. Look at The Witcher, Sharpe’s Rifles, the Powder Mage trilogy, and The Order: 1886 to get a feeling of the clothing aesthetic I am striving for.
-This RP will be touching some potentially sensitive subjects, if the OOC thus far has not made it evident yet.
-Players are free and welcome to suggest changes and revisions, but they must be run by me first. -Please do so in PM so the OOC is not cluttered with discussion and peanut gallery. This includes personal character plotlines you may wish to be integrated into the story. I will be more than happy to work with you. I strive for each character to be a star in this.
-Character Submission for this RP follows a three-strike rule. If you cannot hit the right mark in three shots, then you will be asked to leave.
-However, if a character submission is so off-target that I question if you even bothered to read/retain the Lore, you will be asked to leave immediately.
-If I tell you to make an edit, do it.
-When posting, post well. Put thought and feeling into your posts. I don’t want to see copy/pasta of -Napoleon. If you are constantly submitting posts that are lackluster, we will have a talk. I know sometimes things get tough, and I’m cool with that. If you are hesitant because of my standards, I will be happy to assist my players with whatever then need.
-To show that you have read the rules, put “It takes more courage to suffer than to die” centered on top of your CS.
-I would like people to post once a week if able. Again, just give a heads up if you cannot.
-I’m a stickler for realistic combat. Don’t cheeseball it or go anime with it. If your character has a particular weapon, look up how that weapon in used and do it justice.
-I am a firm believer in the “Rule of Cool”. If you write something so kickass - and write it well - I will be willing to bend rules of the RP and the world. Just don’t tryhard for this, as everyone will be able to tell. Let it flow naturally.
-Not everyone in this RP has to be a warrior or a noble. Depending on one’s life and status, any kind of character can bring something of value.
-Be creative, for the love of Daina! Good posts perpetuate good posts.
-No one is above critique. If I produce something below the quality standard or get something wrong, call me out on it. Just remember to treat your fellow players with respect.
-Sometimes, you will find yourself in a tough spot that can be thought out of easily, but your character may not think like you do. Good/Great roleplaying will be rewarded, and yes, that may involve making things more difficult for the party.
-I reserve the right to change, add, or remove rules as I see fit.
-Get messy, make mistakes, and have fun!

Spoiler: Character Skeleton 

Name: Character name; keep in mind the culture of your homeland.
Titles or Ranks: If your character has any titles/ranks, place them here. ie Lord, Lady, Duke, Lion-Captain, etc.
Race: Human, Elf, Dwarf, half-elf, half-orc, etc (this can be apparent Race, as well. If you have any character secrets, PM me about them.)
Nationality: Which nation you have hailed from
Age: Your character’s age. If they are long-lived, list their exact and apparent age.
Appearance: I ask that players do a full, detailed, written description, regardless of image or not. Include any necessary information about them, but you don’t need to reveal everything all at once. Only use an image if it is truly spot-on for your character. If you cannot bother to write a detailed description for your character, you really shouldn’t be writing them. *unpopular opinion puffin*
Keep in mind the world aesthetic and the particular aesthetic of your race/nation.
Weapons: Your character is not required to have weapons, but if they do, what are they? Despite being high fantasy, I expect these weapons to be somewhat practical in reality. This includes the carrying of these weapons, as well.

Creed: Give a brief inward look on your character’s most valuable ideal. This is their bottom line, something they will never break without great sacrifice to themselves.
Personality: Who they are and how they act as a person. Take care with this and stick to it.
Skills and Talents: What is your character naturally talented in and what have they been trained in? Be as in-depth as you can, please. “Swords” is not an appropriate example. Magic and the ability to channel the Power will go in here, as well as your particular schools of magic.
Banes: What are your weaknesses?
Biography: This is not optional, but posting it is. If you want to remain somewhat mysterious, send me the whole of your background and post as much/little as you like in the OOC. This is mainly so you don’t BS the background as you go.
RP Sample: 3 paragraph minimum to show that you can write as your character. This will be the bar that I hold you to, and the ultimate make-or-break of your CS. Handle with extreme care.

Spoiler: StormWolf’s Characters & Important NPCs 

Spoiler: The Lion’s Son 

Name: Alastyr Löwensonne
Titles or Ranks: Acolyte by other Isenlöwen or Sonnengard hierarchy, Ser by others.
Race: Human
Nationality: Sonnengard
Age: Mid-to-late twenties

Spoiler: Appearance 

Raised and reared in the Isenlöwen barracks in Sonnengrad, Alastyr is as iron. The weaknesses and imperfections perceived by his mentors have been beaten from his flesh, spirit, and mind. His body has been tempered over a lifetime of rigorous military training, turned into a weapon for the Kaiser to wield. One can tell his physique is one to be admired simply by how he fills out his uniform; all sinew and steel-corded cables of a working professional.

To many, Alastyr is a poster-child of the ideal Sonnengard male, and it is no accident. The young man stands at a solid six feet and two inches with a strong, but not too large, jaw. His complexion is healthy and fair despite the scar that splits his right eyebrow and forms a constant bald spot on his cheek. Alastyr’s eyes are the color of Sonnengard military dress, a stormy grey-blue, and appear to be as hard and keen as a wychsteel blade, far too tried for a man of his age. Per the regulations of his station, the young man remains clean shaven, his flaxen hair cut short, extremely so on the back and sides of his head. Many have described his expression as one carved from marble - it is hard and unmoving, bearing a degree of agelessness. Both the young man and the hardened veteran existing in tandem. His expression is often one of calm and collected contempt as he keeps a strict watch over his post. Upon close inspection, the beholder may see the rough, pale patches of scarring at the ridges of Alastyr's ears.

Dressed in the military regalia of the Iron Lions, Alastyr dons the black uniform of the grim company with pride. A simple cotton tunic is tucked into black wool trousers, those trousers in turn are tucked into calf-high black leather boots and armored half-chaps, polished to perfection. The standard black dolman jacket is fastened over Alastyr’s tunic, the scarlet high collar just short of his jaw. The coat is waist length with eighteen rows of silver-threaded braiding acting as the loops for three rows abreast of steel buttons, counting eighteen rows down. Minimalist embroidery decorates the hems of the jacket, bearing a design reminiscent of thorns. Crossing from left shoulder and under his right armpit was a thick braid of white, fastened on the breast by a pewter brooch bearing the stylized motif of a roaring lion. Finally, a sash of red cotton is tied around his waist, the footman’s black belt over that. Atop the Iron Lions uniform, Alastyr dons the ashen grey mantled greatcoat of the Acolyte.

Like the rest of the Iron Lions, Alastyr’s armor permits protection without overencumbering him. Steel gauntlets and greaves are fastened to his uniform, a gorget collar clasped around his neck. His gloves are a black moleskin with hardened leather demi-gauntlets guarding the back of his hands and reinforcing his knuckles with steel caps. A baldric crosses his chest from right shoulder to left hip, where his sword hangs. His right hip sports two pistol holsters while the back of his baldric keeps his longknife hidden. Throwing knives are hidden up his gauntlets, in his boots, and in the back of his belt. Pouches of powder, shot, smoke bombs, and other various utilities are hooked to his belt.

Spoiler: Weapons 

Spoiler: Isenlöwen Blade 

Spoiler: Close-up of guard 

It is a blade of artful, utilitarian simplicity. Every part of the sword, while still beautiful, has a direct purpose. The basket guard is blackened and etched steel, the grip wrapped in red velvet over twisted steel cable. The blade is a flamberge style, giving it a threatening and deadly look. The balance of the sword rests directly above the quillions of the guard, allowing for easy parries, flourishes, and swings that such a weapon require. Alastyr could lop off a man's hand below the wrist with little more than a flick of the wrist.

The total length of the sword in 38.5", 31" of which being keen-edged steel.

Spoiler: Arming Dagger/bayonette 

His longknife (also considered a bayonette) is little more than a single-edged blade the length of his arm from the elbow to the tip of his hand.

Spoiler: Twin pistols 

Hewn of cherrywood and iron with inlays of pewter, these pistols are elegant and effective without being overtly ostentatious.

Spoiler: Throwing Knives 

More of a holdout option than anything else, these steel throwing knives are hidden in various places on Alastyr’s person, numbering five in total.

Creed: ”I won't hesitate to die for my country, but I would rather make the enemy die for theirs”

Spoiler: Personality 

Being raised around career soldiers in the Isenlöwen barracks, Alastyr has been surrounded by the best and worst of his ilk. His mentor, Lord-Captain Yarick, has always been something of an idealist, and ingrained in Alastyr an indomitable faith in his fellow mortals. He taught Alastyr that the only true heroism is absent desires of glory, and that war must always be a last resort. Inversely, the Iron Lion’s have their fair share of sociopaths and thugs in their ranks, all of whom had a turn instructing Alastyr and the other Acolytes. It was from them he learned his near-fanatical devotion and patriotism to Sonnengard as well as his distrust of those outside their borders.

He is evenly split between the Old Ways and the New Order, steadily finding balance between the two. Doing so has made him not unlike the beast that is the namesake of his order. He watches silent and patient, studying the outsider to determine if they are predator or prey. Should they be a threat, he strikes without hesitation, mercy, or remorse. Such a self-disciplined method and unwavering dedication has tailored Alastyr to be a prime candidate for the Blackguard, the Solar Throne’s personal guard and secret police.

Spoiler: Skills and Talents 

Every part the soldier, Alastyr has been well versed in most modern tools of war; how to use them and how to best them. While his training is far from complete, he commands more than enough know-how to put him well above most soldiers, even some of Eresia's chevaliers. The manner of his schooling has given Alastyr an appreciation of the arts, even something of a dabbler himself, if he can ever afford the time.

Able to maintain a stoic poker face to hide ones thoughts and being able to read the expressions of others is an invaluable trick for anyone in the royal guard business. Alastyr's naturally keen senses made such a feat quite easy, his natural hunter's senses able to see much farther than his peers. The nature and cause of these naturally strong senses have Yarick and several physicians perplexed, summing it up to 'a gift from Daina'.

Alastyr's tolerance to pain, fatigue, and toxins are something to be noted. Every Isenlöwen has these limits pushed and bolstered as they go through Ascension, but Alastyr's unmodified body is already near that. Many in the Lions see Alastyr as a freak because of these traits, others accusing him of slipping back the Ascension philters when no one was looking.

Spoiler: Banes 

Alastyr was raised to be a soldier and little else. While he excels in the ranks of the Lions, he lacks the social grace and tact required for the Great Game. He speaks plainly and to the point, making him extremely trustworthy, but at the same time a downright terrible liar. The extent of his socio-political dexterity is not speaking when in the presence of the Courts.

As per his life path, Alastyr has been conditioned to be fanatically dedicated to the Valkenschild’s and the Empire of Sonnengard. Even if they are in the wrong, he will bare steel on their behalf. So extreme is his oath, the Hexenfuhrer Bound Alastyr to the Imperial bloodline. Should the Valkenschild line end under Alastyr’s care, his fate will be sealed.

While a terrifying swordsman, Alastyr is not yet even a fully fledged member of the Isenlöwen brotherhood. Until undergoing the Rite of Ascension, he carries none of the authority, weight, or power of the Lions.

Spoiler: Biography 

So far as Alastyr is concerned, his blood began with the Iron Lions of Sonnengard. To them it is bound, and to them it will end. According to his mentor, Lord-Captain Yarick, he was abandoned at the steps of the Isenlöwen barracks as a sickly babe. How the parent was able to get in and out of the palace grounds was concerned enough, but the grim company was puzzled at one’s reasoning for leaving a child with some of the most feared individuals in Western Lands. Given the surname of Löwensonne, or “lion’s son”, Lord-Captain Yarick took primary care of the child until he was the age of seven. From then on, the Isenlöwen raised the child as a collective. They all became closer as a result, and in turn they created something truly frightful.

By the time Alastyr was old enough to become a legal Acolyte, he could best many of the other Lion’s in single combat with a blade. Whenever his ego became inflated on the matter, one of the officers, usually Lord-Captain Yarick, brought Alastyr back down to earth in short order. He had served eagerly as an Acolyte, but he never let the dreams of Ascension cloud his judgment. If an individual as accused of illegal magic used, Alastyr was always thorough, ensuring that the claims were justified rather than just letting his blade drop on an innocent citizen’s neck. In the instances where the accused was guilty, however, Alastyr did not balk from his duties. The wholesome dedication of the young man drew the attention of the powers-that-be in Sonnengrad’s hierarchy, to the point where the Kaiser commanded Yarick to tailor the lad for the Blackguard, destined to take Yarick’s place once he retires.

Spoiler: RP Sample 

It was another cold winter in Sonnengard. The night was still and dark as fresh snowfall danced down to the cobbled streets from the heavy clouds on high. All was silent in the Crone’s season as even the stray animals of Bastilletown sought shelter from the icy claws of winter. The silver discus of the moon peeked from behind the black clouds, painting the serene landscape a beautiful blue-white hue.

The serenity was broken as a man, gaunt, pale, and entirely unclad, stumbled through a mound of fresh powder. His hazel eyes were wide with panic as he peered over his knobby shoulder for the hellhounds that nipped at his heels. Finding his numbed feet, the gangly man put them to use once more. Bare soles slapped wetly against the cobbled stone and thin layer of hoarfrost, ragged breaths raking through burning lungs. Turning a corner, the man saw a black figure, stark against the ethereal glow of the moon-kissed snow, and let loose a strangled cry. He turned and slid, scuffing his reedy legs on the street. More shapes in black appeared, vomited forth by the shadows between towering buildings.

Surrounded and trapped, the fugitive drew the Power into himself, channeling the energies of creation and destruction through his body as if it were a lightning rod. Raw energy crackled between leathery fingers, already blackened from the cold. The man’s eyes were wild, glowing a golden amber as the Power coursed through him, setting all his nerves alight with nirvana.

“Stand back!” he commanded, the bitter chill all but banished from his bones by the Power. The shadow-men stopped, their posture tense and pensive, hands resting on weapons. “Just leave me alone! Let me leave, and you’ll never hear from me again!” cried the man, his voice hoarse, aquiline features stretched and strained.

The shadow-men made no response.
They didn’t even move.
They were as iron.

Snow crunched underfoot from behind the man. He turned, screeching, fingers curled like talons. Flickering red-white light filled his hands, ready to tear flesh and stone asunder. A pistol roared loudly, white light and the smell of burnt drake powder filled the night as a lead ball tore through the fugitive’s hand. As the metal passed through his charged flesh, the Power he had been holding backfired. The crackling power lashed back, atomizing the man’s arm in a cloud of pink mist, stripping the flesh from his flank until the ribs and the bony nub of his shoulder where exposed to the night. The hexenwilder fell in a shrill cry of agony, curling his nude figure into a fetal position.

“Daina’s Mercy…” one of the shadow-men breathed, casting a glance to the hand holding the smoking gun. “I didn’t know that could happen.” A firm swat upside the Acolyte’s head shut his mouth. The shooter, clad in the same grey coat, holstered the pistol under the heavy wool and approached the fugitive mage.

“Why is he undressed, Lord-Captain?” he asked as he approached the hexenwilder, inspecting the man to ensure he was no longer a threat. Another of the shadow-men stepped into the moonlight, a musket resting on his shoulder.

“Unfettered channeling, Alastyr. Rhein kicked in his door and he tossed so much Air her way it ripped his clothes right off. Blowback sent him through the window to where we found him.” said the Lord-Captain, dressed in all black and silver, a three-mantled greatcoat of black leather hung heavily on his shoulders. The mantles glinted as he walked, as they were woven with plates of steel.

“You reacted admirably, Acolyte.” said another voice, a woman with a strong northron burr. Her voice was strained as the thickly set woman favored her side, using her bearded axe as a crutch. Rhein, always the blunt instrument. “You take the front door next time, aye?”

A thin smile flashed on Alastyr’s stoic features as he rose, using his boot to roll the hexenwilder onto his back. A black puddle was already crawling lazily across the cobbled street, and the thunder of guns had no doubt woken up some of the citizens.

“Next time I shall, Lady Rhein, and I’ll make sure the accused will be apprehended with his clothes on.” Alastyr smirked as he hefted the fugitive up by one of his gangly arms. The smirk cracked into a wolfish grin when Rhein made a crude gesture with her hand and the haft of the axe.

“Enough,” Yarick’s voice cut through the air like a knife. “Take him away before citizens flood the street.”

“Take him where, Lord-Captian?” Alastyr asked, “Lucky sod will bleed out before the pyre takes him.” Silence reigned as they Iron Loins thought. Wychdust was far too valuable to let it slip through their fingers. Alastyr’s cold eyes looked to the man slumped on his shoulder, then to Yarick.

“What about Ammot?” Alastyr finally said.

“The Exalt Smith?” Rhein wheezed a laugh. “What? Are we going to hammer the poor shit into our steel?”.

“I was thinking we just toss him into the furnace.” Alastyr said flatly. Realization dawned on Rhein’s face and that of her Acolyte.

“The cock on you…” she chuckled, then nodded to Yarick. “Your Acolyte, your call. I’m heading to the medicus.” she murmurred. Alastyr simply gazed expectantly at Yarick, the young man’s face stark and hard as an anvil.

“Do it,” Yarick said finally, “Then report directly back to the barracks.” Alastyr nodded and mocked a curtsey with the long tail of his coat. Turning, he dragged his quarry off to his fiery end.

* * * *

Well into the morning, the warming rays of the sun flowed through the stained glass windows of the Solar Palace, painting the Diamond Hall’s marbled floors and columns as a kaleidoscope. Alastyr stood guard in the hall, hand resting idly on his sword and still clad in his coat. The Palace’s draperies did little to ward off the cold in the grandiose hall.

One of the silver-plated doors creaked open, the sound echoing through the hall long enough that the clamor of opening and closing overlapped. Despite the racket, Alastyr could still hear the light shuffle of silken slippers and winter robes. Remaining statuesque, he waited for some noble to cross his vision, but none did, at least until felt a tugging on his coat. Craning his neck downward, Alastyr was met with the round and youthful face of Prince Thommen, third in line to the Solar Throne.

“Maiden’s blessing upon you this morn, my lord.” Alastyr said to the child as seriously as if the boy were full grown and sporting a beard. Yarick stook across the doorway from Alastyr, his eyes watching the two of them. Wide with worry for some reason.

“Maidenth belswing, ther.” the boy mumbled around a mouthful of sugar cake. “Whath thad?” he finally said, pointing to a stain on Alastyr’s coat. Looking over to the accused shoulder, Alastyr felt his heart quicken. In his rush, he hadn’t picked out a clean coat. This one still bore the black bloodstain of the man he had killed the night before. The Kaiser’s decrees were clear - his children were not to know of the Iron Lions’ operations beyond protectors of the crown. The heirs were to be sheltered from the ugliness of the world until he deemed it necessary… and here Alastyr was literally wearing evidence of dark dealings before the youngest of the heirs. Yarick’s expression finally made sense.

“‘Tis but a stain, my lord. Lord-Captain Yarick spilled a cup of wine my way during dinner last night.” Alastyr said, face steady. Thommen tilted his head to the side, then smiled.

“You better get rid of the stain, or da will get mad.” Thommen said, “He always get mad when I spill on my coat..” he muttered, walking away. Once the shuffling of the boy’s slippers were far enough away, Yarick crossed to Alastyr and slapped him upside the head.

Spoiler: The Lord-Captain 

Name: Adalstan Yarick
Titles or Ranks: Lord-Captain (of the Isenlöwen and the Blackguard)
Race: Human
Nationality: Sonnengard
Age: Late fifties

Spoiler: Appearance 

Adalstan is a firm and fit man, despite his abusive career and the weight of years. What had once been the Sonnengard alabaster complexion had tanned from years under the sun on the battlefield, a redness on his nose and cheeks from his homeland's bitter winds. He remains in well enough shape, far better than any noble or civilian his age. Adalstan stands at average height, about a hand or so shorter than his apprentice. Despite this, the cold seasons set an ache in his battered joints and scar-patched skin, stooping his shoulders in the Season of the Crone.

With a anvil jaw and thick neck, Adalstan's head looks rather boxy. The slope of his pronounced brow and beak of a nose, obviously broken several times over the years, only served to drive the image home. Spring green eyes smolder with a sagely intelligence in the dark recesses of their sockets, ever attentive and watchful. Hair that had once been a rich, inky black had long since greyed under the procession of time and the stresses of his station. The only black that remained could be found on his upper lip or bushy eyebrows. Stubble had grown into a short beard, despite the strict dress code of of the Company.

Like the rest of his brothers and sisters, Adalstan dresses in the plain tunic and black wool trousers, the pant legs are properly pressed and tucked into the armored half-chaps that rise up his calf, just below the knee. His dolman jacket is of a black velvet, the dark collar and sleeves are heavily embroidered with the same knotted thorn design. Eighteen rows of braided silver weave between five golden buttons running across his chest. A thickly braided rope of silver and gold thread crosses from left shoulder and under his right armpit, looping around his shoulder in a braid of rank, fastened by a steel lion brooch. Under the braid of rank crosses his baldric, on which his sword was fastened, hanging at his left hip. His sash is red-and-black patterned silk, a black belt buckled atop it, sporting holsters for several pistols. Gloves and gauntlets are sported on his hands in the same uniform fashion as all his ilk, the steel gorget collar fastened around his neck. Over it all is his armored greatcoat, a long-tailed leather garment with three overlapping mantles at the shoulders. The mantles are woven with small metallic plates in a brigandine style, providing a great deal of protection to his upper body.

Spoiler: Weapons 

Spoiler: Wychsteel longsword 

The blade is rather simple compared to the newer styles, but the metal has been tried and true through the ages. The sword, while having seen so much history, has no name. It is merely known as 'Yarick's Blade'. The sword was forged with the ashes of a hexenwilder with an affinity for fire magic. When the edge is bloodied, the Yarick's sword will burn scalding hot but without the licking tongues of flame, allowing it to cut through most conventional armors with greater ease.

Spoiler: Arming Dagger/Bayonet 

His longknife (also considered a bayonette) is little more than a single-edged blade the length of his arm from the elbow to the tip of his hand.

Spoiler: 4 pistols 

Four near-identical pistols, each with a redwood frame and twin iron barrels.

Spoiler: Service musket 

With a tigerwood frame and iron barrel held in place by brass fittings. The rifle is of a heavy caliber and built sturdy. It is shorter than usual regimental rifles, designed for ease of use in urban environments.

Creed: To live is to suffer, to survive is to find meaning in that suffering.

Spoiler: Personality 

Adalstan is a man of stern and noble bearing. Professional, calm, and collected. He is patient and focused, having learned the hard way many years ago the price of brash action and foolishness. His head will remain level and on task, regardless of the situation, making him a stellar battlefield leader.

His parade coat is adorned with so many medals, one could hardly see the braiding beneath the ribbons. To many, such decoration would inflate the ego, encourage them to retire while the getting was still good, and claiming the lands and titles owed to them after a service record like Adalstan's. He is not that kinds of man, though. Having lost family ties some time ago, the Isenlöwen became his family, and he tasked himself with the preparation of the Company's next generation. If Adalstan was sure of anything, it was that the world was going to get worse before it got better.

He hated being right all the time.

Spoiler: Skills and Talents 

Yarick prides himself on his dexterity and moxie above all else. Wear and tear had sapped the strength of youth, but it had ingrained in him a lightning-quick reaction speed. Out of all the currently serving Lions, Adalstan is the best shot out of all of them. With a pistol, he can put a lead ball through the bulls-eye of a target the size of an eyeball at a hundred yards. He is no magi of any sort, either. Just properly skilled.

Along that vein, he is a revered swordsman, capable of besting multiple opponents at once with his cat-like reflexes and masterfully timed ripostes. Proper swordplay required very little force to actually inflict a fatal wound, so long as one hit the right spot. Adalstan knew the spots to hit and just how hard to hit them. He had grown beyond the days of brute force and taken swordplay to a higher art all his own.

Being around the flows of magic for so long, Adalstan had developed something of a sixth sense when it came to the Power. When it was channeled around him, he would feel a tight pressure on his head, like it was trapped in a vice.

Spoiler: Banes 

The weight of years constantly saps Adalstan's stamina and vitality with each oppressive year in the Iron Lions. The honorable mantle of the Lions is a life sentence, and Aldalstan is never one to break oath or balk at the call of duty. He knows that at the rate he is going, he will likely retire in a year or two and finally grow fat in the civilian life.

Having broken so many bones and endured a great many wounds, cold air and humidity strike the aging soldier with needles of pain. Through his travels, he is convinced that that the finest weather he had ever experienced was in southern Eresia, their marble villas where he hopes to spend the twilight years of his life.

With no family of his own, Adalstan treats Alastyr more like a son than a true Acolyte. Despite the rough lessons and harsh words, he truly cares for the boy, wanting only to see him succeed. He knows a great deal about Alastyr's origins, and has gone to great lengths to keep it hidden from all, even Alastyr himself.

Spoiler: Accepted Characters 

NinjaOnTheRoof - Anissa Valkenschild von Sonnengard
Juicesir - Lieon Valkenschild von Sonnengard
Dnafein - Thommen Valkenschild von Sonnengard
Megilwen - Lady Lucie Suverdt
Persona - Lion-Captain Constance Hesbaye
NinjaOnTheRoof - Martellus Brimbly
SoulReaper - Dulrich Amouteru
Sunstrider - Nei’staalin
Avalon Hoef - Konick Salomon
LiveVoltage - Ryu Tokugawa
Cfavano - Jurgen von Dusselstad
Sikstaslathalin - Fidelma Redscar
Veloci - Valérian Arsène Lavoie

Map of the Known World

Link for High Res Map

[Megilwen]

Okay first question . For the Special Characters...would the Bastard of Davian have to be male?

[StormWolf]

Not necessarily, no. Davian is a fuck-head, and he has done little more than... pollinate.

[TheBarbarian]

Hey Storm resrve me a spot will try to get something up soon but it seems I am going to be busy for the next two days.

[StormWolf]

No rush, Barb.

[IronQuill]

I'm gonna go out on a limb and ask to reserve the role of Princess Anissa.

Also, what is the cap on the number of Characters you can have? I have an idea for a sibling duo of sorts, if you don't mind.

[Kicks]

It's looking great, Storm!

Here are a few resources to help you at any time to get some more players! You can submit a request over at the RPG Directory or submit your game into the RP of the Week that will be featured on the home page of RPA. Make sure to include a banner for your RP if you do send it in, and if you need help with that there is a Banner shop to help you out! Last but not least, you can ask for your game to be featured in the Tribune which is RPA's newspaper!

Good luck and have fun!

[Cfavano]

can I be the Royal Alchemist of Sonnengard? I would, of course, focus more on the scientific than magical aspect of it.

[Snotgirl]

Can I be a beautiful princess? <3

Srsly tho, I'd like to play the Princess of Sonnengard. Sign. Me. Up.


EDIT:NNOOOOOOO. I knew I should've reserved it last night when I had the chance I'll reserve a spot as an Iron Lion officer then.

[Megilwen]

Not necessarily, no. Davian is a fuck-head, and he has done little more than... pollinate.

Sounds good. I'd like to do that then probably I'll get to work on the character sheet presently