{NAME}
Takke (Cleverness) Aide

{ALIASES}
N/A

{AGE}
26

{GENDER, SEXUALITY}
Male, YES.

{SPECIES/ETHNICITY}
Human, Cortlan, Adelan

{HEIGHT/BUILD}
5'9", wiry build

{OCCUPATION}
Scout

{RESIDENCE}
Everybody else's couch, Skythread City, Cortla, Adela



{PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION}
Build; Slim and built for getting in quick and quiet. Takke is a scout, and it's far more important for him to get there and back again without being caught than it is for him to get into direct fights. Still, he's no pushover, and can hold his own long enough to get the hell away.

Color; Months of being out in the elements have left Takke's naturally brown skin an even darker copper, with hints of a sunburn over his nose and cheeks. He wears his thick black hair long and loose, with only one braid in front of his left ear. His eyes are a lovely forest green, and are constantly lit up in mischief.

Alterations; You'd think that, having the more dangerous job, Takke would have been the sibling to lose an eye. But nope.

Modifications; Banding tattoos around his neck, wrists and ankles in an earthy red color. Several piercings, including a bridge piercing and twin spiderbites and more below the neck.

Dress; When out of uniform, Takke favors simple, easy comforts. A long, light tunic, leggings and boots, with a woven poncho over top. Not very flashy, he prefers to keep his fabrics muted with minimal patterning.

{PERSONALITY}
Irreverent, witty, too smart for his own good, believes in doing the right thing but the "right thing" is up for debate, will challenge you in the most roundabout way possible, kinky, outdoorsy, go-with-the-flow, quick, sneaky, patient, durable

Fun Facts!:

• Walking shitpost.
• Fake Laughter Hiding Real Tears.
• Was Left Unsupervised.
• Can I crash here for a couple days?

{SPECIAL ABILITIES}
Trapdoor training

{RELATIONSHIPS}

Imthraime of the Serha Plains - Paternal great-grandmother, a severe elf woman who cares deeply for her family and regularly gets in their business.

Takan (Diligence) Imthraime - Father, a sullen-looking quarter-elf with a sharp sense of humor.

Ronah (Peace) Aide - Mother, deceased, once a celebrated member of the Trapdoors. Takke looked up to her greatly, and continues to hold her memory and her stories near and dear to his heart.

Ilke (Glory) Aide - Elder sister, the eldest of the three siblings and a fierce fighter in the Funnel.

Haran (Laughter) Aide - Elder brother, a sweet man who prefers the quieter, non-violent life.

{HISTORY}

Local troublemaker does his best to honor mama's memory, but can't bench-press a ram.

[map here]

Protected from Gushui's stormwinds in the east by tall, jagged mountains, the Nhoplani live a blessed life. Their mountain home curves in a crescent, providing their bay with ample protection from invasion. To the west of the bay is a large island city, crowned with a temple palace in the center that glitters with ever-shifting colors in the light.

Government: Matrilineal theocratic monarchy
Official Leadership Title: Holy Dynast (name), Daughter of Creation
National colors: Black, Cerulean, Gold
National Flag: Black field, golden woven borders, cerulean dot in the center
Capital: Issyrimati
Demonym: Nhoplani
Pronunciation: NOPE-lahn, Nope-LAH-knee
Location: Southwestern Panzhong

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To the north of Nhoplan and west of Songtu lies a marshland cut by numerous rivers and streams. The land is primarily flat with an open view of the dim, dusky sky, though the terrain becomes more mountainous the further north one travels. In Rulastinia, the simplest means of transportation is by boat, with several “river roads” leading from one prefecture into another right up to the main city gates. With a constant flow of water both from freshwater lakes and the ocean to the west, and caught at the edge of the considerable Gushui winds, Rulastinia is not an easy place to keep dry… or alive.

Government: Monarchy
Official Leadership Title: King/Queen
National Colors: Black, green and silver
National Flag: A black field, with eleven green reeds under a silver crescent moon
Capital: Tsubai
Demonym: Rulastinian for nationality, Anathanati for ethnicity
Pronunciation: ROO-lah-stih-nyah
Location: Southwestern Panzhong

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   The second most southern province, and the spiritual center of the Empire. Songtu is marked by peaceful pine forests neighboring an inland sea, with its capital seated on a large floating island just off shore. Great mediators, the Songtu value patience, diplomacy, justice and honesty— the guilty have no place here, and often become prey to terrible things should they choose to linger. The Songtu are ruled by committee, with High Judges presiding over the needs of the province.

   For Songtu, who value justice and judgment, the magic of the land works differently than in any other part of the Empire. In Songtu, victims of crime who perish as a result are transformed into massive, skull-faced wolves. Their antlers remain as they were in life, though they soon become covered in moss rather than seasonal velvet. These creatures, far from being a horror for the Province, are seen as near-holy agents of justice. The creatures can scent guilt, and are drawn to the guilty. They will pursue criminals, often the ones who caused the creature's initial death, for days upon weeks upon months, gathering more and more of their kind as the guilt compounds with every moment of avoided retribution. If a criminal runs for too long, they will find themselves trapped soon enough, and soon made the victim themselves as the creatures begin to feed.

   Everyday citizens recognize the valuable service these creatures provide, and will often build small shrines and shelters outside of their homes for the creatures to use if one happens to be passing by.

Pronunciation: SONG-too
Capital: Jingshen
Demonym: Songtu-ren
Kingdom Colors: Earthy green-brown, green and bright crimson red

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   The northernmost province and the seat of imperial power, the Sheng-gu value grace, scholarship, outward and inward beauty, and absolute ambition. Their province is highly fertile, with grassy rolling hills to the north and thick, bamboo forests to the southeast. As such, they produce most of the grain food for the empire, with trade lines established all the way down to the capital of Gushui. Sheng-gu leadership is the Emperor himself, and the considerable noble courts that dictate every citizen's place in life.

   As with all the Empire, the Provincial lands run deep with magic, and as such there is a residual effect on anyone who remains within their borders. For Sheng-gu, they live in fear of being too greedy in life, too hypocritical and power-hungry just for the sake of meaningless material gain.

   People who die wanting more riches, more power, more status, are morphed into gorgeous white deer. These deer look almost as if they are carved from alabaster, slim and delicate and hauntingly beautiful. However, getting too close to one shows what they're really like-- the deer's face splits open like a carnivorous, tooth-filled flower, and long, spiked tendrils shoot out to ensnare their prey and pull victims in for consumption.

Pronunciation: SHUNG-goo
Capital: Tanhuang
Demonym: Sheng-gu-ren
Kingdom Colors: Lavender and pink

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   On the eastern end of the Shijie Empire sits a land teeming with life. Hot, dense jungles choke the landscapes, with red-barked trees pushing ever higher to reach the sunlight. Beneath this canopy is a plethora of different plant and animal species, each one more brightly colored than the next. It's very hard to keep one's bearings, and even harder still to keep a careful watch for the predators that linger in the undergrowth.

   The Huohu-ren who live in this wild and dangerous place have learned to become dangerous themselves. Theirs is a highly militaristic society, relying on the mutual ability to fight off all that would threaten them. Their antlers are far shorter than any of their imperial kin, short and curved backwards more like goat horns than actual antlers. This has helped them not get tangled in the many twisting, living vines of the jungle, many of which linger in wait for someone foolish enough to step in their snare.

   The opposite of their southern cousins, the Huohu-ren have adapted to the jungle climate by becoming impervious to higher temperatures, able to withstand the worst heats the jungle can throw at them. This has made them far more susceptible to cold, and they will develop hypothermia rapidly at temperatures of 50 degrees or less without proper insulation. Travel to other climates, especially in the winter months, requires that the Huohu-ren utilize warming oils and multiple layers on their clothing to prevent freezing.

   Providing the bulk of the imperial army, the Huohu-ren value glory, strength, and martial prowess. They keep their hair relatively short and often pulled back into tight buns to prevent it from getting in their face. Their clothing style is loose and unisex, with all genders sporting pleated, wide bottomed shorts that only pass their knees, with wide-necked short sleeve tunics and brightly colored sashes tied around their midsection. For personal decoration, the Huohu-ren favor strings of brightly colored beads, matching the vibrancy of the jungle life around them. These beads serve a dual purpose, as they also are used as meditation tools, allowing the Huohu-ren to calm their minds and ease their tempers, and for a very good reason.

   Though capable and proud warriors, the fear that lurks in the back of each Huohu-ren's mind is the fear of becoming too bloodthirsty. Warmongers, those filled with so much rage and fury that they can't help but start conflict after conflict, are twisted by the magic of the land upon their (often bloody) deaths. The corpses reanimate, twisting into fearsome tigers with blood-red stripes and snarled, thorny antlers. These tigers roam the jungles, killing everything that moves - not for food or survival, but for the sheer thrill of it.

Pronunciation: hw'OH-hoo
Capital: Xialing (sh'YAH-ling)
Demonym: Huohu-ren
Kingdom Colors: Fuschia, orange and yellow



   Sitting alone on an island separate from the main continent is the massive fortress-temple of Huoyan. Rather than being a singularly Huohu stronghold, Huoyan is instead the meetingplace for all four Provinces of the Shijie Empire. The main road connecting Huoyan to the mainland only goes so far onto the island itself, stopping at an impressive, impenetrable cliff-face. Instead, there are four tunnels that lead deeper into the cliffs and up to the fortress itself.

   This tunnel is known as the Path of Mirrors. Only the leader of each land is permitted to enter the Path, and only their specific one as marked on the tunnel entrance. So, the King of Gushui would enter the path marked for Gushui, the High Judge the path for Songtu, the Lord General the path for Huohu, and the Emperor himself the path for Sheng-gu. Inside the Path is a semi-winding road lined with glassy, motionless pools of water, which reflect a person's past deeds and future aspirations. The unworthy are known to go mad in these tunnels, haunted by their own ambitions and former actions, while the worthy emerge out the end to a set of stairs that lead up to the fortress proper.

   At the very top of this fortress is an open circle with a dome in the center. Each leader is considered equal in this space, and may approach the center to speak to their fellows, granting everyone the right to state their concerns as necessary. Bloodshed is expressly forbidden here, as any physical violence turns the holy site against those within it, and their path back out the tunnels becomes filled with monstrous, hungry eels.

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   The southernmost province, Gushui is a harsh tundra landscape populated by harsh, determined people. The Gushui-ren have one goal in this life— survive. Proud, independent, and with little patience for frivolous things like courtly manners, the Gushui-ren have a longstanding mutual rivalry with the delicate Sheng-gu-ren, who view them as barbarians. They are led by a Hunter-King, one who has proven himself worthy over a lifetime on the snow.

   Gushui does not favor soft people-- besides the natural cold of the region and all the hardships this creates, there is also the presence of constant snowstorms, with high speed winds that can easily knock over those who are unprepared for them. The Gushui-ren have adapted to this climate, being impervious to cold and hypothermia at the expense of experiencing heat exhaustion and similar effects at temperatures at 80 degrees and above. Travel to other climates often requires a Gushui-ren to wear long robes infused with cold oil to keep their temperatures lowered.

   Gushui-ren are paler than any of their northern cousins, with eyes that range from steely greys to icy blues. They tend to be rougher in appearance, as the constant winds lend to burnt skin and tangled hair, and every Gushui-ren regardless of rank shows the signs of a life of hard work. Soft hands are, to them, the signs of a layabout.

   For the Gushui-ren, their greatest fear is the near-constant threat of starvation. Gushui is a harsh land, and with the year-round winter storms, growing food not adapted to the climate is difficult. Food sources must come from hunting and fishing, as well as grain subsidies from Sheng-gu. This is more than just about survival, however. In Gushui, magic in the land twists any sapient being who dies from hunger. The corpses reanimate and gobble up their own skin before beginning a relentless pursuit for more food. As these skeletal beings eat, they grow, quickly becoming gigantic monsters capable of wiping out entire villages before moving onto the next source of food.

(Note: These creatures are borrowed from Japanese folklore bone giants. They are not wendigo. They are not based on wendigo, and should not be referred to as such.)

Pronunciation: Goo-sh’way
Capital: Kongdong (kung-TONG)
Demonym: Gushui-ren
Kingdom Colors: Grey, pale blue and black

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TW: At any point in any Explorer thread there may be obscene language, violence, blood, threats, bodily harm and seasickness.


   It had been an... interesting few months, to say the least. The first day's rocky start had somewhat cemented a few opinions amongst both passengers and crew, and though the wind continued to remain on their side, close quarter animosities were bound to grow. Still, fear of punishment served to keep many in line, and it was with some relief that Amryth didn't actually have to make anyone swim home. Several of her guests had found ways to make themselves consistently useful, a much greater bonus to the venture than she had ever expected.

   Still, despite the fact that they had made it thus far with great speed, there was no hiding the bodily relief that washed over her frame as the call rang out from above:

   "Land ho!"

   Immediately, the deck was alive with a flurry of crowded movement. The entire crew looked a bit like a shaggy carpet; as they had continued south, the winds and water had grown colder and colder. Breathing through wool cloth tied around their faces had proven invaluable, as several sailors had coughed up an alarming amount of blood after being above deck in the frosty air for too long. Others still learned to wrap their hands and fingers as well, and though it felt treacherous to many to put slippery cloth over their feet, it was more treacherous indeed to go barefoot as in warmer climes. A dead foot couldn't find purchase any better, and more than a few moments in the water proved any rescue attempt fruitless.

   The mages on board had been relegated to providing heat whenever possible in between keeping the sails full of wind, and Amryth was still under the effects of a warming charm as she pulled a spyglass from her many coats and peered out onto the horizon. Though it was clouded with heavy fog, she could make out the outline of raised earth, small mounds curving like an idle drawing against the backdrop of a grey sky. As the Solar Halo continued her approach, the nearest of the mounds seemed to be part of the source of the fog: huge plumes of white vapour was pouring out from the top, and Amryth had been around Yoreiq enough times to recognize volcanic activity when she saw it.

   The thought of hot steam seemed almost a siren song. Amryth tucked her spyglass away again and turned to the helmsman.

   "Bring us into the steam. Give the mages a rest from keeping our bones from freezing over."

   The helmsman nodded silently, shivering lightly as he turned the Solar Halo in the path of the fog. Moving southeast would help keep them from going against the winds directly, and hopefully wouldn't drain the mages too terribly to keep them going forward. However, the closer they got, the more Amryth realized what a futile hope this had been: the winds practically roared towards them, and while the air had warmed by quite a bit, the bite of the air remained the same for sheer force. The mast groaned, caught between both magical and naturally generated winds, and the sails snapped back and forth an alarming amount.

   "Flatten the mainsail!"

   "We're trying captain!"

   What had once been a gathering to view the horizon, it was now utter chaos as the sailors scrambled against the sudden elements. Where had this wind even come from? It seemed like in the span of only a few minutes they went from coasting along to being battered from the south, the waters growing frothy like a rabid dog's jaws. Amryth continued to shout orders, and through the shrieking winds she could only just make out similar shouts from the other three ships. All four vessels pulled east to curve around one of what appeared to be a series of small islands, each one black and glowing with liquid fire, more heavy steam rocketing from bubbling crevices.

   It was... unnatural. She'd seen volcanoes before, of course, but never in such a sequence where every last island in the chain seemed in constant eruption. Even the smallest was showing violence.

   "Get us away from here," she growled, eyes fixed on the islands. It would take some doing; while they couldn't dare approach any closer to the islands, they also couldn't afford to present the starboard side to the rough waves. One bad swell and they could very well capsize.

   Luck, however, seemed to be on their side, and Amryth muttered a prayer under her breath for their good fortune as each ship curved to pass the smallest of the isles. The winds hadn't let up one bit, but at the least they wouldn't run the risk of catching any molten spray.

   "Good job, gentlemen," she began, when a deafening groan cracked through the air from somewhere right beneath their feet. Amryth's eyes widened, her blood running icy cold as she realized only moments before what was about to occur.

   "FULL AHEAD!" she yelled to the mages filling the sails, but it was entirely too late. The groan intensified, only to snap as the bottom of the ship was pushed up and inwards. There was a short burst of screams below deck, before they too were consumed by the cacophony of the Solar Halo being snapped in half. Scalding hot water jettisoned upwards in a small but entirely destructive geyser.

   Calls to abandon ship rang out, and as if through a haze, Amryth saw in slow motion the smallest of their escorting ships was similarly engulfed. Sharp shards of wood scattered into the air as if shot out of a cannon, at such a velocity that nearby ships' sails were shredded on impact. Several dark, limp bodies fall to the decks below. What crew that hadn't been in the path of the boiling stream scrambled for the lifeboats, crowding onto them in a fevered hurry to get out of danger. Several more men were toppled over the deck and down into the water, and for a horrified moment Amryth wondered if they burned or froze. None of them resurfaced.

   There was no structure anymore, she already knew that. No amount of barked orders could be heard over the screams of terrified men, the roaring of the winds and the sounds of wooden shrapnel clattering to the water's surface. Still on autopilot, Amryth stepped to the helm and took hold of the wheel, staring at her helmsman for a long moment before jerking her head to the side and towards the lifeboats. Not to be told twice, he bolted from his station, allowing Amryth to take over holding the Solar Halo steady.

   All she needed to do was keep them steady. Just for a few minutes more.

{NAME}
Haran (Laughter) Aide

{ALIASES}
N/A

{AGE}
32

{GENDER, SEXUALITY}
Male, pansexual

{SPECIES/ETHNICITY}
Human, Cortlan, Adelan

{HEIGHT/BUILD}
6', climber's build

{OCCUPATION}
Spider shepherd

{RESIDENCE}
Skythread City, Cortla, Adela



{PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION}

Build; Haran has spent many years in the mountains and cliffsides, and often has to climb up to hidden crevices to tend to his flock. As such he's well built for climbing without rope ladders, with strong shoulders and arms and a lean physique.

Color; Haran has warm, brown skin and long, thick black hair. When he's in direct sunlight, his hair shines with rich red undertones. His one remaining eye is a pale green color, and might be considered sharp and piercing if he ever wore a serious expression in his life.

Alterations; As with his siblings, Haran is an eighth elven. While his elf heritage is not very strong, it shows in small ways, such as the ease of his movements and the slightest point to the tips of his ears. The latter, however, are often hidden by his hair.

Modifications; Like many of his people, Haran has special tattooing, mimicking spider patterning. The most prominent ones is the marking under his mouth and along his chin, though he also possesses several darker banding tattoos around his wrists and ankles. Haran is also missing his left eye, though he will be the first to tell you the story is really not that interesting.

Dress; Haran dresses for necessity. Being out in the mountains requires sturdy footwear, and he pairs tall boots with light breeches worn under a thicker, knee length shenti. He dresses in layers up top as well, wearing a fitted sleeveless shirt underneath a thick woolen poncho. The dyes on his poncho have faded somewhat over the years, but there still remains distinct patterning in the weave, a gift from his father when he first began his journey as a shepherd. His staff is made of ebonywood, sturdy and forked at the top to string several silver bells between the prongs. It's easily his most treasured item, and he takes extraordinary care of it.

{PERSONALITY}

Good-humored, calm, compassionate, adventurous, impulsive, mischievous, unpolished, and self-identifies as a "formerly very angry young man".

Fun Facts!:

• Likes to play the pan flute in his spare time, which is a lot.
• Is a regular smoker, and carries a pipe wherever he goes.
• Has A Thing for strong personalities.
• Can hold his own in a fistfight despite his overall 'pacifist' vibe.

{SPECIAL ABILITIES}

Beastspeaking; Like all spider-shepherds, Haran possesses the ability to telepathically communicate with animals. It's through this ability that he's able to maneuver large numbers of spiders from place to place, as well as coordinate their web-making efforts. His power isn't limited to just spiders, however, and has saved his hide on more than one occasion of wandering through dark cliffs.

Telepathy; Haran also is able to read and project his own thoughts to another individual, though he does his best to avoid doing such a thing, instead preferring to hear other individuals speak up rather than have him go prying. His siblings are, of course, something of an exception, because there is nothing more satisfying than being able to call your siblings out on their bullshit.

{RELATIONSHIPS}

Imthraime of the Serha Plains - Haran's paternal great-grandmother, a severe elf woman who cares deeply for her family and regularly gets in their business.

Takan (Diligence) Imthraime - Haran's father, a sullen-looking quarter-elf with a sharp sense of humor.

Ronah (Peace) Aide - Haran's mother, deceased, once a celebrated member of the Trapdoors.

Ilke (Glory) Aide - Haran's sister, the eldest of the three siblings and a fierce fighter in the Funnel.

Takke (Cleverness) Aide - Haran's younger brother, a walking ball of chaos.

{HISTORY}
Heeeee has one!

   Senvari was awake before the knock at the door came. The tiny gate that separated the short walk from the city streets to their door was rusted over in several places and made a terrible squeaking sound no matter how many times oil was applied to it. It was one of those little annoyances that they simply did not have the time to repair, nor the funds necessary to replace the gate entirely.

   It certainly did not impress the neighbors, but it did do the job of masking the sound of a alarm bell just inside the house itself. Years of conditioning had Senvari awake in an instant. They sat up in their bed, arms wrapped around their knees, and waited.

   Five steps from the gate to the door. Four. Three. Two. One— the rapid sound of knuckles against thick wood rang out through the hall. Senvari breathed out, and slid out of bed. Rather than going immediately to the door, however, they stepped across the hall and into another room, where another pair of eyes stared back at them from just under the blankets.

   Neither Senvari nor their son spoke in words. They watched in the darkness, their hands moving in signs. By the time the knock at the door came again, Iraevo was out of bed and down through a trick floorboard to a hidden tunnel. Satisfied, Senvari moved away from the room and took a deep breath, before finally making their way to the front door just as the third knock was beginning. The man seemed a bit startled to have the door move so suddenly, but he quickly amended his expression to an apologetic smile.

   "Ah. Sorry to disturb you so late in the evening, miss." He began, hands clasped in front of him in a pleading sort of gesture. "I'm trying to get to Sweet Street, and I seem to have lost my way. It's been hours."

   "Sweet Street," Senvari echoed, brows knit as they thought for a moment. "Oh, the baker's ward."

   "Yes, yes, exactly so, miss. Would you mind pointing the way?"

   "Ah. Well, you're a bit far off. That's all the way up near the markets. You'll need to follow this road out," they gestured vaguely, speaking a bit louder now through a wider crack in the door. "Take a left at the next large corridor, and then another and follow it straight up. There should be signs by that point."

   "Thank you very much, miss."

   "Don't mention it," Senvari stated, already beginning to close the door.

   "Ah," the man said suddenly, holding his hand out to keep the door from shutting once again, "I really am sorry, but like I've said, it's been hours. Might I trouble you to ask for some water?"

   "...No, I'm sorry. I can't help you."

   "Just a bit of water, and I'll be on my way."

   "It won't take long to get where you're going, you'll be fine." Senvari stated, more firmly. A light in one of the neighboring shacks went on, flickering a bit as the candle struggled to remain alight. Senvari looked back at the man before him, and went to close the door once more. "Good evening."

   "Right," he said, niceties dropped and hand cracking against the door. The sudden force shocked Senvari, the door swinging back hard against them and pushing them away from the entrance. Before they could so much as catch their breath, the man was inside the hall, and he slammed them up against the wall by their shoulders. "Make a fuckin' peep, bird, and I'll slit your throat, got me?"

   Senvari stared up at him with wide eyes, before snarling and slamming their knee into his unguarded belly. His breath rushed out in a cloud that reeked of cheap Kotan bourbon, shortly followed by a string of curses. Senvari kneed him again, only to have their knee caught by rough hands and pulled upwards. Balance lost, they hit the wall and dropped to the ground, and began to kick in earnest at the sudden vulnerable position.

   The man cursed even louder as their heels cracked against his outstretched hands, bending a few fingers back enough to have him take a step back in retreat. Senvari scrambled to their feet and ducked to his left, bolting down the hall towards the kitchen. Heavy bootfalls were all the warning they had before a heavy weight crashed into them, sending them into the kitchen table. Senvari gasped for air as the wind was knocked out of them, lungs screaming as that weight pressed even harder as the man pinned them to the rough wood surface.

   "You fuckin' deaf or just stupid?" he growled, hand at the back of their neck and giving them a firm squeeze. "I said one peep and you're dead!"

   Senvari howled, and reached for a tankard that had been left on the table. They flung it back, and the pottery crashed loud above them, raining down bits and pieces as the weight disappeared. The man hit the floor yelling, clutching at where his forehead was bleeding. Senvari scrambled over the table, and ran for the counter where the knives were, just as another large shadow appeared in the adjacent doorway. A second man was stepping in, and he grabbed up one of the knives that Senvari had tried to get at. Brandishing it in their face, he gave a wide and terrible grin.

   "Lookin' for this?"

   Senvari sucked in a breath and scuttled back, just as a loud crash of broken glass rang out in the kitchen. The man with the knife dropped like a sack of potatoes, and behind him was Senvari's son holding what was left of a wine bottle in both hands. The wine was everywhere, pooling in a dark stain around the fallen man just as an even louder commotion started outside. There were shouts, and finally, thankfully, the ringing of the alarm bell out in the street. The first man cussed loudly, and quickly got to his feet, bolting back out the way he came and leaving the three of them in the kitchen. Senvari nudged at the fallen man with their foot, making sure he was absolutely down for the count before reaching out to their son. He had dropped the bit of bottle, and clutched onto his parent, allowing them to lift him over the prone body at their feet.

   "Go, get to the street. Stay with the neighbors, now." Senvari commanded, and with a nod he was out the door, his thin frame disappearing into the growing light from the wide-open door. The commotion was getting even louder now as more people were woken up by the racket, and Senvari could hear snatches of frantic conversation as their son was questioned by the neighbors.

   Senvari stepped around the prone man, and crouched down beside him so as to not get wine all over their knees. They pressed two fingers to his throat while eyeing his ribcage, and only pulled back when they felt his heartbeat still pulsing. Senvari backed away quickly, and made their way down the hall just as a few of their neighbors came spilling into the household, brandishing makeshift weapons like a pot or a bit of wood. One of them very nearly made to swing at them, and Senvari had to fling their hands up.

   "It's me, it's me, he's down there," they shouted, out of breath and voice high. They looked between the men, eyes wide. "Iraevo, where's Iraevo?"

   "Outside, come on," said one of the neighbors, a gruff and muscular woman who had chosen a meat tenderizer as her weapon of choice. She grabbed them by the arm and pulled them back against her broad chest, shielding them from the kitchen entrance as the rest of the group continued on.

   "Fuck me, is he dead?" asked one of them, but Senvari didn't have a chance to answer before they were pulled out into the open air. There was a large gathering outside their house, with several neighbors clustered protectively around Iraevo. The flickering candlelight did not help differentiate the wine stains on his nightshirt from blood, though as Senvari and his escort got closer, the smell certainly became more obvious.

   "Don't worry, love, guard's on their way," said an elderly woman as Senvari stepped in to pull their son tight to their chest.

   "Fucking thieves, running amok," said the woman with the hammer, slapping the smooth side of it against the palm of her hand. "Can't get the guard to even look in our direction until they've already been in and out."

   Senvari didn't have it in them to join in on the conversation. All they could manage was to hug their son tight, and wait for the guard to arrive.

      
   It was well into the next morning by the time the guards had gotten the burglar out of Senvari's kitchen and done their sweep of the area. The neighbors had filtered out one by one, the excitement of the evening bleeding into exhaustion until all that was left was Senvari and Iraevo. The guards were similarly exhausted, a few of them more than a little gruff to find little to no leads beyond the prone man on the floor, the other having fled off into the night without anyone so much as catching a good look. It took several more hours just for Senvari to run through what they could remember of the man who had escaped, but the hall had been so dark and it had all happened so suddenly, they couldn't be much help, either.

   The lieutenant in charge seemed frustrated, but at least kept his frustrations to himself, going so far as to keep watch as Senvari called for a carriage to empty their home of belongings.

   "Where will you and the lad go?" he asked, and Senvari pressed their lips into a thin line in thought.

   "The market district," they said, finally, looking directly into his eyes with every word. Their tone was calm and even, and they took special care to be perfectly clear. "It's better for business, at any rate, we should be able to make up for the loss on this place fairly quickly. There's an inn we can stay at for the time being."

   "Aye, that sounds like a solid plan," the lieutenant said, his own eyes taking on a slightly glossy look, much to Senvari's satisfaction. "It's easier to set up consistent patrols there, with all the shops in one place."

   Senvari smiled, not breaking eye contact. "That is quite the relief. How many break-ins has it been?"

   "Five just this month. They haven't been so brazen to get up to the higher parts of the city yet, though."

   "You and your men must be working at all hours, with so many incidents."

   "If you like, I can set up a patrol closer to your new home. Just for a short time, mind you, but if it would help you sleep easier, let me know where it is—"

   "No, no," Senvari said, holding a hand up and looking a bit embarrassed. "Don't trouble yourself on my account. I'm sure the change in scenery will do the job, and you've already arrested one of those horrible men. We will be fine."

   The glossy look seemed to fade ever so slightly, but another, sweeter smile aimed at him seemed to do the trick and the lieutenant nodded in agreement. Thankfully, Iraevo arrived at that exact moment, a large chest the size of his own torso in his arms. Senvari turned away from the lieutenant to take the chest from their son, who immediately shook out and rubbed at his arms. Senvari gave him a small smile, and turned to place the chest on the carriage, the last of their personal belongings finally stowed and secured.

   When they turned back, it was to see that the lieutenant's attention had been effectively adjusted to Iraevo himself, and Senvari stepped close just in time to hear what appeared to be quite the lecture.

   "You should be proud of yourself, son, for thinking quick with that bottle. But you're nearly a grown man, now. It shouldn't be your mother who's opening the doors to the house so late at night. Take some responsibility for her protection, you understand?"

   It was all Senvari could do to contain their own face, but Iraevo was clearly having none of it. His brows were knit, and his eyes were lowered with the rest of his head, looking quite ashamed. Through his shock of dark hair, Senvari could even see the tips of his ears turning very, very pink.

   "Yes, sir," was all that Iraevo mumbled, before turning and scuttling up into the carriage, not looking at either of the adults as he did.

   Senvari hummed quietly, and looked from the carriage to the lieutenant. They pushed the corners of their mouth upwards in a small smile, though they hardly felt like there was much to smile about.

   "Thank you for your assistance, lieutenant. Hopefully, you'll never have to hear from either of us again."

   "Just doing my duty, miss." He replied, though Senvari could see the way his chest puffed up beneath his armored uniform. "If it's not poor manners for me to say, I wouldn't mind speaking with you again. Under better circumstances, of course."

   Senvari ducked their head a bit, their smile widening slightly. "Good afternoon, lieutenant."

   They turned to the carriage then, climbing in beside their son and shutting the door behind themself. Once they were settled in, the driver snapped the reins, and the cart lumbered on down the road, leaving their former abode long behind. Once they were out of earshot, Senvari turned to their son, one eyebrow raised high and mouth slowly twisting into a grin.

   Iraevo stared up at them right back, his arms still crossed like a scolded child. Eventually, though, even he couldn't help himself, and his shoulders began to shake the more he fought down his own laughter. Senvari put a hand over their mouth to stifle themself as well, and slowly the pair calmed, taking even breaths so to avoid making too much noise over the clopping of the horses' hooves. Senvari raised their hands up, and cycled through congratulatory signs.

   'You did very, very well. I am proud.'

   Iraevo grinned wide, slowly easing out of his sullen body language and sprawling across the opposite carriage seat, giving a mock bow as he did so.

   'Bax passed me the stuff before we headed for the kitchen. I did not have the chance to check it, you and Locks were moving too quick.'

   'It should be fine. Anything missing is on them.'

   'Do you think Bax will be okay?' Iraevo signed back, brows raised in question.

   'He will be fine. Out by the week end.'

   'I hit him really hard, I was not sure the glass would break.'

   'He has taken harder hits than that. Good job. Locks will take care of getting him back to Maxton.' Senvari paused for a moment, before pushing their hand through the air to brush the subject aside, and continued. 'You did very well with the guard. Your acting is getting better and better.'

   Iraevo smirked wide. 'I just thought really hard about how much I wanted to deck him with a bottle.'

   Senvari clapped their hand to their mouth to stifle a sudden bark of laughter, a struggle that the pair soon had to spend the rest of the carriage ride keeping well under control.

   
   "Do you ever miss having my dad around?" Iraevo asked, so suddenly that for a moment Senvari hadn't registered what was said. Confusion quickly melted into amusement, however, and they scoffed lightly.

   "What? No. What's brought this on?"

   Iraevo shrugged nonchalantly, quiet for a long moment before barreling on again. "It's what that piss-stain said. About being the man of the house and answering the door."

   "I don't want you answering the door, Ray. We have a system."

   "I know we do. But, I mean, if he were around, we'd have an even better system, wouldn't we?"

   "Ray..."

   "Like, you could take shifts, I could go on runs more, too, and there'd still be someone to keep a lookout. We'd have more help with the tripwires, and with two of you, he could answer the door so..."

   "Sounds a bit like you're volunteering a man to get cracked on the head for a living."

   Iraevo shrugged again, though a bit more huffily. "Well, you won't let me answer the door."

   Senvari paused in unpacking the dishware and sat beside Iraevo at their new kitchen table. Draping an arm around his narrow shoulders, Senvari pulled him into a tight hug against their side.

   "We have a system, Ray. So long as we keep to that system, we'll be fine. No one gets in here unless we want them to."

   "You don't miss him at all?"

   Senvari sighed. "I don't know what I would miss, Ray. It was a long time ago, and we barely knew one another." They gave him a wry little smile and another squeeze, and stood up to return to unpacking the rest of the kitchen. "I'd just have to pay him for bodyguard detail, and that's a hard story to sell."

   "Is that why you don't talk about him?"

   "That's why."

   "Oh."

   "You sound disappointed."

   Iraevo made a noncommittal sound, and fidgeted with the tea kettle, popping the lid off and on to make a rhythmic clang clang clang.

   "Ray."

   The clanging stopped immediately, and Iraevo sighed dramatically as he lay back on the kitchen bench, limbs sprawled like a marionette with its strings cut.

   "It's hardly romantic, is it?"

   "Romantic?" Senvari couldn't help another laugh, stopping in their task again to fully face their son, who was pointedly not looking at them. "Since when are you interested in what's romantic or not?"

   "You don't look happy."

   Senvari's eyebrows shot right up into their hairline. "What gives you that impression?"

   "Loads of things. You don't keep friends—"

   "I do keep friends."

   "Not real ones. You talk to the neighbors but you don't do it because you want to, and anyone else you do want to talk to it's because it's Family business."

   "I have a cover to keep, Ray. That's part of it."

   "Yeah, I know. But..."

   "But?"

   Iraevo mumbled under his breath and sat up again, looking Senvari right in the eye. "But at least with someone else around, they'd be part of the cover, so you'd get to talk to them too. It wouldn't have to be just us."

   "I like it as 'just us'."

   "I don't." The admission was quiet, and Iraevo dipped his head, looking far more ashamed than he had for the guard earlier that day. Senvari watched him for a long moment, and stepped forward to kneel in front of him so they could be eye to eye again.

   "I'm sorry, Ray. I know this has been hard. ...I could talk to Grandma and Grandpa, see if they need some help around the house, and there'd be other kids your age—"

   "I don't want to leave you on your own, either! You won't have a lookout, you'll have to keep the house all by yourself, and what if someone actually does sneak around the back next time? What if they get you?"

   Senvari cupped Iraevo's face in their hands, and brought him forward so their foreheads could rest together. "No one's going to get me, Ray. I promise."

   Iraevo was still for a long moment, before leaning in further to hug his arms around his parent tight. "Not while I'm around."

   It was remarkable, how much could happen in two days. What little peace Anastolyr had thought he might be able to enjoy was shattered in a matter of mere hours. By the time he had arrived back into the castle, his kin's temper tantrum was in full swing. Ana still did not understand what exactly had caused it, but if he was being honest, it need not have been much.

   Life was stressful enough, however, without having to resort to very firm words to keep the peace, especially since that peace was the least the elves could do for such hospitable hosts. It would have been a grave insult to let things carry on. Once it was done, however, Ana was left with the unenviable task of dealing with his own thoughts.

   Segari had thought him a lady. In retrospect, Ana should have realized it sooner. It had been a hard lesson to understand how humans treated one another and all their little customs, but still certain things had fallen through the cracks. Like how it was not terribly common for a man to talk about how pretty another man was, or be bashful around his bare skin, or offer his arm.

   Which was... more than a little embarrassing for Ana. He hadn't realized, and had incidentally allowed Segari to carry on behaving as if he were, in fact, a fine lady and not just a wordsmith from the north. The embarrassment was only underlined when Ana finally had a chance to sort through his belongings, to discover that Segari had not used any of the coins Ana had given him for the stew, but rather had returned it all in full to the elf without him realizing it.

   Which was, from what Ana understood of the culture, very gentlemanly. But Ana was not a fine lady. Unwittingly or not, he'd taken advantage of the giant's kindness, and that was not something that he could stand by and allow to remain unresolved.

   And so, two days later, Ana found himself headed back into the market district and to the bazaar. It had taken him a bit longer to decide on what to wear, as his robes had probably not assisted matters for the giant and been far to reminiscent of the... dresses? That was the word. The dresses that ladies wore.

   He had to borrow a tunic from one of his kin, leaving his own longer clothing behind save for another pair of trousers. The shirt itself was a bit overlong, still, but decidedly less dress-like than his robes had been. Lest he be robbed yet again, he also forewent his usual satchel, instead keeping the coins he intended to repay Segari with tucked inside of his shirt.

   He'd already purchased two of the crabapples from the stall, those similarly tucked away while he waited in the market for a much, much taller man with much, much brighter hair than anyone around. Assuming, of course, that Segari had not taken insult to the unintentional ruse and had decided against coming.

   Ana's stomach did a small roll at the idea and twisted into a knot for good measure. He hated the thought of leaving such a poor impression.

{NAME}
Senvari Arc

{ALIASES}
Miss/ter Arc to most, Vari to their family

{AGE}
30

{GENDER, SEXUALITY}
Agender, uses any pronouns

{SPECIES/ETHNICITY}
Human, Adelan

{HEIGHT/BUILD}
5'9", runner's build

{OCCUPATION}
Underworld informant Courier

{RESIDENCE}
Ketra, Adela
Formerly the city of Maxton in northeastern Adela



{PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION}
Build; Tall and lean, Senvari is built for running across long distances very quickly, and they've put that skill to great use in their career. Though slender, they possess muscled curvature around their thighs and calves, with slim shoulders. Their face is similarly slim, with high cheekbones and a pointed chin. Their nose is slender, leading down to full lips.

Color; Like many in their hometown, Senvari possesses a medium tan to their skin, though a bit darker in their case from spending a lot of their time outdoors and traveling from one place to another. This has also given them a small amount of freckling around their nose. Their hair is a deep jet black, and their eyes are a pale seafoam green.

Alterations; Otherwise very lovely, Senvari's face is marred by two scars, the first of which carries from the right side of their forehead all the way down to their jaw. Another gash goes from their chin and up in a diagonal, over their lips and onto their right cheekbone. The scars are clearly very old and have healed completely, and are faintest around their chin and mouth.

Modifications; Senvari does not possess any tattoos or piercings, nor do they apply any makeup products.

Dress; Senvari favors simple elegance - just enough quality to not draw attention as a beggar, without being too ostentatious to draw attention as being flashy. They tend to wear light, cream colored shirts beneath dark brown vests, with brown slim trousers tucked into tall dark brown boots. As is the fashion in their home town, they still wear long black socks over their trousers that end just above their boots, and long black fingerless gloves that end just below their elbow. Senvari doesn't bother with jewelry, and keeps their hair tied in a loose braid they wear over their shoulder.

{PERSONALITY}
Stoic, diplomatic, careful, alert, aloof, slow to trust, but a very, very good listener

Fun Facts!:

• Has one hell of an appetite, and it's a bit shocking to see exactly how much Senvari can eat in one sitting.
• Can hold their liquor like a champ, but mostly plays drunk when appropriate.
• Keeps very clean but actively avoids heavily perfumed soaps and oils.
• Is pretty good at making apple tarts.

{SPECIAL ABILITIES}
Very persuasive — Senvari has a particular talent for telling people things they want to believe. It's hard to describe, but there's a compulsion involved that makes you think what they say must be true. This is all within reason, of course, as they cannot speak a well known lie and make people believe that. But little things can add up to a very good cover story, and this is enough to shake off most suspicions.

{RELATIONSHIPS}
A mother and father from back home. Senvari was their only child, and their mother is responsible for the cuts on their face.
Iraevo, Senvari's teenage son, and a chip off the old block in terms of cleverness and care.

{HISTORY}
Senvari arrived in Ketra when they were still fairly young and with a small child in tow. The pair settled in a small house and kept mostly to themselves except for what work Senvari could find, eventually becoming a courier carrying messages between different businesses across the city. A very good reputation for swift work and discretion led to better opportunities carrying messages between upperclass families and nobility. Senvari hasn't let that go to their head, however: they still live in that small house and don't overspend on their own appearance, rather focusing on upkeep and minor housing projects to make their home a comfortable haven with plenty of hidden compartments and tunnels.

TW: At any point in any Explorer thread there may be obscene language, violence, blood, threats, bodily harm and seasickness.


   
   The tang of the salty air carried a current of electricity that sank deep into your bones and settled in your ribcage. Even the most hardened sailors had to agree. There was always a small thrill when a ship moved out to sea, but this particular moment had everyone moving as if raw lightning was under their feet. It was a heady cocktail— a mix of trepidation, a dash of exhilaration, and a pinch of hesitation... all shaken up with the knowledge that their benefactor had deemed it necessary to set sail at night rather than in the daylight hours when everyone could see.

   Scuttlebutt was it was part of some ritual, as it had to wait until the full moon. Others still said it was for security, as it was hard to hide four ships pulling out of port and all heading in the same direction. This last part seemed to be the favorite of the rumors, as even the Captain believed it to be true. This was no small task they were setting off on, after all. Anyone who had known anyone who had seen that obelisk in the Meeting Place knew something big was happening, and not everyone who had an interest in treasure had seen fit to sign up. By setting off at night, it would be easier to douse the lights and disappear on the open ocean if the Solar Halo and her escorts appeared to be being followed.

   Either way, it was far too late for second thoughts. Everyone aboard had had plenty of time between the signing of their contracts until now, and the Captain had made it crystal clear that this would be no pleasure cruise. Which was more than obvious, given that the sailors not only needed to turn to their duties in dim lighting, but they also had the added challenge of working around just so many passengers.

   The Solar Halo was no small ship, thankfully. There was space plenty in the crew's quarters, hammocks set up between posts to bed down in with ladders leading up the posts three hammocks high. The cargo hold held only the essentials, carefully calculated to last the long journey once final stops had been made and leaving plenty of room for whatever would be brought back. But while the Solar Halo was a beautifully crafted ship (truly, their benefactor had spared no expense), it was not made for leisure. The deck, alive with the flurried movements of the crew, did not hold much space for idle congregation. The three other, smaller ships that had also been commissioned had even less space for such things.

   This was the part that made the Captain most nervous. An added passenger or two was no issue, but for this many... at least for a fair share of them there could be assigned chores such as helping in the kitchen or scrubbing the floors, but the voyage was calculated to be a very long one, and there was nothing in the world that Captain Amryth hated more than bored, useless, whining, useless passengers. She almost wished that the group had been placed on the other accompanying vessels, but she knew such a feat would have been impossible. It was far easier to keep a group in one place on the largest of the four, rather than attempting to make work difficult for all the vessels involved. Plus, the additional money for care and keeping was too good to pass up.

   Surely, looking at the state of her guests, any behavioral discrepancies was nothing a few barked orders couldn't cure. Squaring her narrow shoulders, Amryth took a deep breath and stepped forward, descending the stairs to the main deck and leveling a stern, harsh glare to the gathered group still lingering by the banisters as the port shrank further and further into the late night gloom.

   "If you are all done sight-seeing, we have work to do. Usel— mm." She took a moment to collect herself, her full lips pursed in careful thought. "Esteemed guests, if you would direct yourselves to either the crew's quarters or the mess. I'm sure with such a distinguished and varied collection such as yourselves you will find a way to keep one another occupied. Quietly."

   Amryth began to ascend back up the stairs, when seemingly struck by another thought. She looked over her shoulder, a dark thin eyebrow raised as she stared at each one of the gathered gaggle.

   "I have supplies for registered passengers and crew only. I will not tolerate the sudden addition of another, is that clear?" She scowled at the group. "So keep it in your trousers."

   Another pointed glare, and Amryth ascended again, returning to her actual duties of managing her crew and hopefully never to return to another moment of babysitting again.


Summary: All of our brave explorers have been loaded into the flagship, the Solar Halo, and summarily been banished belowdecks to keep the hell out of the way once the ship has left the port far behind. The Solar Halo and her three companion vessels are now in the open ocean headed due south with no expectations of stopping until they find what they are looking for. This presents all player characters with an equal opportunity to mingle and get to know one another, and I highly suggest your characters do so in case they find a problem only one of them can solve. B)

April 18, 2020 Stream

Aeyt is working on releasing SotE native species to create some concrete canon for both old and new members to use. He's currently wrapping up different subspecies of Elves along with their main cities and then will be moving onto dwarves.

So what does this mean for you?

First and foremost, the rule of cool is still in effect. If you wish to make your own races, you are STILL more than welcome to and we encourage it! Secondly, our SotE canon species are to provide a foundation for members to use if they so choose. You are more than welcome to keep your current characters as they are, or revamp them to fit what Aeyt has made. There is a specific subspecies of elves that have also been created as a catch all to assist with grandfathering current characters in IF members choose to use it. This inclusion will be open for the next species we are also working on creating.

These SotE canon races are simply native to the planet, and to the specific creation myths and lore present in SotE. If you don't want to have to create your own creatures, feel free to utilize these! They exist to help provide backstory and information for your characters in a way that is ingrained into the lore of SotE, making it much easier to navigate lore-breaking. These species are not required for you to use or to stop you from creating your own races. They are instead just another option of play for you should you choose to use it.

What is World Breaking and Why Isn't It Allowed:

For SotE, a lot of the limits are your own imagination. We don't like to set down hard yes or no answers, because we do understand that a lot of things are more nuanced, and we wish for this community to be able to express their creativity to its fullest potential. That being said, we are a community, which means that there are many members that have to also be considered when something major occurs. It would be impossible to demand that every member keep up to date with all the plots made by other members and adjust their own plots accordingly. Moreover, this would provide an ever-increasing history that new members would have to look into prior to joining, and let's be real we already have a lot of reading for members to do. :P

This isn't to say that you can't do big plots! Members are always welcome to reach out to the mod team if they have an idea for an event that they want to host and manage for other members. Your mod team is here and willing to assist you in making the event fit, and become part of the canon history of the site!

So about them canon races:

As stated, eventually each traditional fantasy race will be worked into the lore to make their presence fit. Each canon race will have their own main attributes across the race, plus subcultures and races that are basically small evolutionary differences based on biomes and history.

ELVES ELVES ELVES!:
   
The information presented here is up to further development as Aeyt continues to work on each elf society, to provide them with as much detail as possible. Far more detailed descriptions will follow when the lore is completed for each society. You may recognise the similarities of some of these subspecies to creatures you might find from DnD. Consider this SotE's spin on those species and our means of creating equivalents that work best with our lore.


Boreal Elves - Boreal elves are highly magical beings who are rigid in their traditions and think of themselves as superior to all others.

Jungle Elves - A semi-nomadic people, Jungle elves are a tribal society who utilize many animal furs and plant fibers in the construction of their homes and dress.

Woad Elves - Secretive for the most part, Woad elves live in "tree sung" structures made from living forest. They have a friendlier outlook towards those who show respect to their forest homes.

Plains Elves - The most common elves found in mixed societies, friendliest toward other races. They vary in complexion and appearance, and are easily the most diverse of the elven societies. If your elf character doesn't fit anywhere else, they will fit with the Plains elves.

Desert Elves - A divided people, the Desert elves dwell in the Moraki desert, either in luxurious spired cities, or in nomadic bands.

Alpine Elves - An elusive, proud people, the winged elves of the Alpines are rarely seen by the more short-lived races.

Bothraron Elves - Pale and fierce predators, the Bothraron elves were once known as the gentle Crystal Elves. Long centuries underground have robbed them of both their pigment and their softness, leaving behind a fearsome society forged by the challenges of living in the deep darks of the world.

Q&A: Per questions asked in the stream by our users.

Q: So canonly why aren't any of these new elf cities and their people not more prevalent in the population?

Great question! Aside from the Plains elves these subspecies are incredibly reclusive and hide their societies away from human eyes. They do not interact much with the outside world which accounts for their lack of presence to date.

Q: I want to use some SotE lore for a homebrew tabletop game. Is this allowed?

Absolutely! Eventually, when the staff is able to do so, it's hoped that we'll even be able to put out our own tapletop rpg using the d20 system. This is a good ways away, however. In the meantime, if you'd like to utilize a part of the SotE canon for your personal enjoyment, by all means do so. The only stipulation is that, by law, the canon lore and races within SotE are the property of Rhi, so utilizing the canon for financial gain in any format is not allowed.

Q: So the fae came to Le'raana and mingled with the humans to create the Serenians. Does that mean the feywild exists?

In terms of a distinct, separate fae dimension (such as similar to the feywild in other IPs) it does exist. However we have no plans on opening that up for exploration, utilizing it instead as flavor text. It exists and the world has been affected by it and the fae are present in the SotE world. But there is not going to be developed areas of the fae dimension itself.

Q: So these other dimensions exist, what does that mean for the Meeting Place?

The Meeting Place is a special case. It does not operate in a completely different parallel dimension, but exists as a kind of pocket space. Think of the Meeting Place like a room you can walk into via a door. It's still part of the world, but in a kind of overlapping fashion.

Q: What does magic casting look like? Is there a set way magic is done that is the "canon" norm?

The Rule of Cool applies, and however you wish to write your magic casting is up to you. If you prefer your characters to use magical components in their spellcasting, or if you want them to be able to call up magical spells with a few words, that's up to you! SotE has no, and never will have, a hard and set rule for what magic casting "looks like".

Q: What is the common language of Le'raana?

There is none! Each country is going to have its own language and specific dialects based on the region. For instance, Adela is made up of the joined territories of what once were separate and distinct tribes. Each of those territories then, will have their own distinct Adelan dialect, which may become more of a mix of Serenian the further north into Adela one goes. This is the same for other countries as well: Connlaoth and Serendipity share a common ancestor, and their languages are related, but have deviated from one another over time.

The closest to "Common" that we get is the Trader's Tongue, which is a mixture of different languages to form a kind of Creole to better understand one another during trade.

As far as the logistical, meta side of it... when you're writing in an area with two characters who should know the language of that area, it's understood that the two characters will understand one another as the post is written. However, you DO have the ability to roleplay language barriers! A native of Thanatos may not know the Trader's Tongue, and the same could be said of a farmer in Connlaoth! If those two characters were to meet, they might need a translator.

Things to Follow!: The other topics that are currently in the works and will be discussed at a later date.

• Adela's territories and their specific cultures
• The Kishahn Jungle
• The Serha Plains
• A canon concept of time via a calendar
• Canon magic materials and metals
• In depth discussions of demonic/celestial forces
• More canon races!
• -New continent lore
• Updated country lore

We're currently batting around the idea of making these streams happen more regularly, to show updates as they're being introduced as well as to get member feedback and answer any of your questions! This thread will contain updates of when those streams will take place as well as condensed summaries of what was discussed in those streams and questions that were answered for those that may have missed out. Stay tuned for further updates and future sneak peeks at all the work we're putting in to expand the world of Spirits of the Earth as you know and love it.

Got questions you want to be addressed in a future stream? Feel free to message Aeyt#8066 on Discord or any of our other mods and we will be sure to add it to the queue.

{NAME}
Clarence Walker

{ALIASES}
"Meatface", "Medic!"

{AGE}
32

{GENDER, SEXUALITY}
Male, homosexual

{SPECIES/ETHNICITY}
Human, Connlaothian

{HEIGHT/BUILD}
5'9", stocky

{OCCUPATION}
Physician, "keeping you idiots alive and on most of your two legs."

{RESIDENCE}
Anywhere but home.



{PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION}
Build; Of average height, it's more Clarence's build that is intimidating. Thick with muscle, Clarence has broad shoulders and strong arms, with a firmly built core leading to powerful legs. He has a thick brow and a stern jaw, leading him to appear like he's scowling most of the time. Which he actually is, but that's besides the point.
Color; Like many Connlaothians, Clarence has a very pale complexion, prone to burning and only rarely tanning. His hair is a pale, ginger-red, which he wears in long waves and periodically braids back to keep it out of his face while working. He has a fair amount of scruff, his beard a darker ginger than the rest of his hair. He keeps this cut short, rather than having a massive beard that might get in the way of delicate work.

Alterations; Life has not been easy for Clarence. His face is heavily marred by several scars, costing him the use of his left eye. The socket is empty, and he'll usually wear a patch or strip of cloth over it to keep it free of dirt and also prevent as much staring as possible. His body is similarly pocked and knicked, with the worst being a deep puncture wound on his right ribcage. His hands are rough and sword-calloused, and the skin of his knuckles are prone to cracking.

Modifications; Clarence doesn't possess any tattoos or piercings.

Dress; As is the typical fashion in Connlaoth, Clarence wears a high-necked leather vest overtop of a long sleeved shirt, both of which have been heavily patched and repaired in several places. It's clear his clothes have seen better days, with his shirt being a dingy grey where the original fabric can be seen, and his pants showing considerable overlap of stitching. His jacket is more patch than jacket, with mismatched leather pieces. His boots are worn, and he takes great pains to keep them in working order. The only thing he treats with as much care as his boots is his satchel bag, where he keeps many of his instruments. He also wears a small linen bag stuffed with fresh herbs on a leather thong around his neck.

{PERSONALITY}
Gruff, direct, stern, sarcastic, determined, caring, outspoken, charitable, tough, intelligent

Clarence will absolutely inform you of your stupid-ass decisions even as he's sewing you back up, he does not have a gentle bedside manner.

Fun Facts!:

• Light sleeper, and broadly dependent on tea and tobacco to keep himself moving.
• Aggressively clean.
• Loves cats.
• Carries a witchbottle wherever he goes, topped with a coin featuring a saint, though the features are well worn.

{SPECIAL ABILITIES}
Clarence is a master of the art of battlefield medicine, and knows exactly how to take a limb off whenever necessary.

{RELATIONSHIPS}
A mother and father, aunts and uncles and cousins. Clarence hasn't seen any of them in many, many years.

His horse, Echo!

{HISTORY}
A deserter, Clarence will be put to death should he ever set foot in his country again. Though, if you were to get him drunk enough to ask about it, he'd tell you it's better to be exiled than to make a home in hell. Nowadays, he moves from place to place as a traveling physician, tending to sign on with ships and trading crews in brief contract work rather than settle down into a stationary practice.

   In a flash, it was over.

   The work crew had arrived just before dawn, muscles pulling like ropes under skin as they pushed carts through the portal into the Meeting Place. The sun's rays had only just begun to flood over the landscape, staining it a dim, comfortable pink. By the time the morning glorys opened, the crew had already set to work. Ropes creaked in an odd harmony to the first bits of birdsong, and sharp grunts caused more than their fair share of startled wings.

   And then, just like that, the crew was gone, leaving only their work and the smallest trace of Essyrni sand to prove they had been there at all.

   A large, gleaming obelisk stood, catching the growing daylight on its smooth, polished sides. The only interruption to its geometric perfection were the golden metal plaques on each of its directionals, polished to rival the sun itself for brightness. Each one carried a script, carefully carved thousands of miles away, one for each of the tongues of the world-- Thanati, the dialects of Adela, Essyrni, Yoreiqi, Serenian, the Trader's Tongue-- and still several more:

   
   Almost as an afterthought, on one of the plaques, a lone sheet of parchment waved in the mild morning breeze. On it were no grand proclamations, but rather a carefully scrawled drawing, depicting a statuette with sweeping antlers coated in delicate blossoms. Lower still, much quicker written and with far less grandeur - '5,000 gold pieces'.

   Saddle up cowfolks, as we open up a previously undiscovered segment of the world of Spirits of the Earth! This event will involve a DnD/choose your own adventure-like experience, where your character's actions will affect the progression of the history of the world.

   Due to the scope of this event, I'm currently only able to fit five members for the group threads that will follow, first come first serve. Please see the rules below to see if this is going to be a fit for your schedule and commitment ability.

• While the OOC group is limited to five members, character rosters are not. One player may utilize several characters if they wish, for reasons I will explain.
• The timeframe will be as follows: a new group thread every two-three months, introducing a new aspect of a previously undiscovered continent. The group threads will be given backstory/narrative by myself to aid in your character's decisions
• We ask for a commitment of at least one post a week at the bare minimum. Turns may be skipped.
• I will be running OOC discussions in the SotE discord server's World Events tab: there, members can discuss how they want to move as a group, any splitting up they want to choose to do, or any other key decisions that may crop up along their journey.
• This will be a CONSEQUENCE HEAVY plot - what your explorers do will shape the interactions between the people of Le'raana and this new land. Not all interactions are going to be positive experiences, and you will face some very tough choices. Don't be worried about the "right" answer or the way to "win" I'm asking for sincere In Character Actions.
• Obligatory disclaimer, characters may experience one or more of the following: nausea, fatigue, lacerations, broken limbs, starvation, cannibalization, murder by plant, poisoning, psychological trauma, frostbite, incineration by lava, disembowelment, exsanguination, kidnapping, enslavement, and many other conditions not previously listed. :) Utilize your backups.

   If you have any questions, please feel free to reach out to Nephero, either by on-site PM or discord!

{NAME}
Van Hvethrungson

{ALIASES}
n/a

{AGE}
30

{GENDER, SEXUALITY}
Male, pansexual, and very opportunistic about that fact.

{SPECIES/ETHNICITY}
Lycanthrope, Sionadyaki

{HEIGHT/BUILD}
6', powerful build

{OCCUPATION}
Mostly REVENGE

{RESIDENCE}
Where he can not get that there wet dog smell



{PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION}

Build; Van is a big boy. He grew up gangly on the tundra, long-limbed and a little awkward, but has since grown into his build with ease. He maintains a heavy coating of muscle, though it's clear there has been rapid back and forth, with stretch marks from when he grew too fast for his skin, or possibly from periods after famine. He doesn't have much of a fat layer on him to help, used to lean winters and hard work.

Color; Van doesn't spend much time in direct sunlight, and it shows. He prefers to move during twilight or late hours if he can help it, and keeps under trees when he can't. His skin is pale as a result, a sharp contrast to his hair, which is a deep, rich black. He wears his hair long, and keeps it miraculously clean and combed, to where if given some proper lighting it would downright shimmer in the sun. His eyes are a sharp pale gold, much like the color of wheat, lined in brown and deeply unsettling to stare into.

Alterations; There's a good few hints to what must have been a rough life. Van has a deep scar over one side of his mouth, deep enough to have split the lip at a point and rather poorly tended after the fact. As such he seems to wear a near-permanent snarl, and it doesn't take much to expose just how sharp his canines are.

Modifications; Has stick and poke tattoos of the sun and crescent moon, one on either hand right over the thumb. These have faded so fantastically with time that they're barely visible as anything distinct anymore.

Accessories; Van dresses fairly plain. Dark breeches, simple boots, and a long-sleeved tunic. When it's colder, he has a kind of cloak made from furs to wear over his shoulders, but not much else. The brightest part of his wardrobe are thin, woven braids of threading, bright red and appearing like they've only been put in place yesterday. He wears a single one around each wrist and ankle. There is no discernible knot to show where these braids begin or end, and nothing can cut through them. Van has tried. A lot.

{PERSONALITY}

So, guy's got a temper; But tell me you wouldn't be a bit quick to bite if you'd been kidnapped and experimented on for years?

Animal-lover; Van might hunt for his dinner, but he's genuinely gentle about the kill. He doesn't maim, and consistently takes the time to properly honor whatever creature keeps him going for the next couple of days. He likes to make things out of hides, furs, antlers and bones if he's forced to stay still for a long while, and will decorate his temporary home with what, at first glance, seems terribly devilish hanging chimes. His consideration for furry and feathered friends, however, does not at all extend to the more bipedal sorts, and he has a distinct distrust of humans and humanoid creatures until proven otherwise.

Energy to burn; Van acts like someone who is just constantly suffering from cabin fever. He needs to be moving, running, climbing, literally ANYTHING that means he can end the day sweaty and exhausted. When he gets pent up, he gets frustrated, and when he gets frustrated, he's more prone to losing his temper, and losing his temper means someone's about to get into a fistfight and Van ain't gonna let them win.

Fun Facts!:

• Is pretty good at fishing, though he doesn't really like the fish in Serendipity's river systems as much as oceanic fare.
• Bites his nails. A lot.
• Is spectacularly offended by certain smells, and will walk right out of a room without a word.
• Surprisingly, loves baths, and will wash as often as he can get away with it.

{SPECIAL ABILITIES}

Inherited Lycanthropy; Under normal circumstances, Van is capable of transforming at will into various "stages" of wolf. Currently, he's stuck as mostly human, and only if he's particularly worked up do more of his wolfish traits "bleed through" in the form of claws and teeth. It's never enough though, and the action ends up frustrating him more than not.

{RELATIONSHIPS}

The Mage; So this well-to-do Serenian mage makes this trip to Thanatos, looking to incorporate what he can learn there to his own arcane repertoire. So this guy, right, he goes and he speaks to a diviner, and finds out that he's gonna die in a werewolf attack back home. So, like any sane individual, this mage naturally decides, hey, can't do me a huge-ass murder if you can't become a huge-ass wolf-creature, right? And he starts experimenting on imported lycanthropes from other points in the continent, has a whole huge tower of horrors going on complete with dissections and pieces in jars. And then, to top it all off, as if this could not possibly get worse? Dude disappears. Just, up and never returns back to his studies one day. So now Van has to go FIND the guy in order to absolutely murder him.

The Bitch; Kharon was the mage's unfortunate apprentice at the time of Van's imprisonment. Their relationship is deeply complicated.

The Boys; Two massive shaggy black dogs that Van has picked up and who follow him everywhere. They're fiends for carrots, and the fact that they're easily bribed with them mean they're not as good of guard dogs as Van would prefer.

{HISTORY}
One day there's going to be epics told about how Van took a wizard's head off. One day.

   It had been months since the... incident... on the training grounds, and the extra bonus incident that had followed. Months since the abrupt and rather dissatisfying ending to said incident. Months since Rhosiris and Valys had been pulled out into the wilds to track down missing soldiers. Months since their return, and...

   Approximately two weeks since Rhosiris first heard the initial, tiny, hopeful instances of a song.

   It had been late, thankfully. Very late, way too late for him to still be awake, but the blasted southern winter weather had seen fit to gift him with the beginnings of a headache and the rolling stomach to go right with it. The sky was dark, though not entirely due to the time of the day— great black thunderclouds dominated the sky, and the constant pounding of distant thunder was doing his growing migraine no favors. If he had it in him to look out the window, he might have been witness to the imposing sight of flashes of lightning against the strong edifice of the Ketran castle's ramparts.

   As it was, Rhosiris was entirely more focused on curling up on the very edge of his bed, to better contain his illness to the pan on the floor just beside him. He didn't even bother trying to sleep— sleep it seemed had long since abandoned him for greener pastures, leaving him with nothing but his own suffering.

   He didn't even have anything left to give! Dinner had been hours ago, hours and hours, and even then he hadn't been feeling well enough to navigate the full length of a multi-course, entirely human-centric meal. He'd managed some soup, while Valys seemed to subsist entirely on wine and little else, and Ana had made an utterly stomach-churning attempt at being polite and eating whatever he was served. Either way, dealing with a loopy Valys while trying not to watch Ana chew had been entirely too much for Rhosiris to bear, and so he'd elected to retire early.

   It had nothing, of course, to do with his months-long attempts to avoid Herostratus.

   Their tryst had been a mistake, there was no doubt about it. How Rhosiris could even go through with it in the first place was a question that had dogged his steps ever since he'd left Hero's room. It hadn't been... bad. It could have been better, obviously, but it hadn't been bad. He'd enjoyed it, he'd enjoyed what they were doing— and if the thought didn't make him want to roll over the side of the bed to use the tin pot there, he wanted to do it again.

   Not with Hero. ...Maybe not with Hero. Possibly not. He couldn't.

   Rhosiris rolled, and proceeded to endure several seconds of rolling cramps as his stomach tried to empty what it didn't have.

   What he really wanted to do was cry— between the agony of his head and the pain of being sick and the sinking feeling that there was something deeply, terribly, awfully wrong with him, it was just entirely too much. Once the newest wave of nausea subsided, Rhosiris rolled back over onto the bed proper and just... sobbed.

   What if there really was something wrong with him?

   He shouldn't have been able to do something like that.

   This wasn't how his people worked.

   He'd come so far.

   He'd left his home, centuries of familiarity and family and belonging behind for the one thing that meant more than anything else in the world.

   He'd given everything to get here.

   And it had taken exactly ten minutes of flirting with a handsome human man to toss all that aside for a half-way decent romp.

   And worst of all, Rho knew it wasn't Hero's fault. It would have been easy if he could blame it on him— but no, Hero had been... utterly gentle. Careful. Considerate. Maybe not particularly considerate of Rhosiris' apparent carnal interests, but everything else had been... sweet. Sweet enough that Rhosiris couldn't trust himself to resist any future attempts at a rematch.
   What the hell was the matter with him?

   He only had one person out there for him. They all did— Valys had found his resonance in the Regent, all the stars above help the drunk with that mess. Ana, too. And as much of a pain in the ass Valys was, at least he had been loyal to his one and only. Rhosiris hadn't even waited a week.

   Thunder rumbled in the distance. Rhosiris sniffled hard, and let out a soft sigh.

   And something else answered.

   It was faint, so faint, like listening to something underwater. But in the relative quiet of his room, the song was unmistakable. A soft lilt, up and down again, up and sustained, tiny and chaotic and...

   New.

   Rhosiris' eyes snapped open, and he held completely still. Took a breath. Hummed out a note. Waited.

   He didn't have to wait long before the new sound responded in earnest. It was as if the first burst had been experimental, like stretching your foot out to test the solidity of river ice before adding your full weight. But now, with sure footing, the song returned with excitement: up and down and back and forth and fast and slow and soft and harsh and all over in the chaotic curiosity of

   A child.

   Stars all above, it was a child.

   Rhosiris' eyes burned as he brought shaking hands up to clamp over his mouth, trying to stifle the sudden shaking sobs that fought so hard to escape him. Suddenly, it all made terrible, horrible sense— his sensitivity to the local cuisine. His lingering illness. The lethargy in his movements he'd previously attributed to lack of sleep and a surplus of self loathing.

   He hummed again, and his baby responded. Hero's baby. Their baby.

   Their out-of-resonance baby.

   They were rare, back home, but everyone knew when it happened. It was unmistakable— no other House came into the world with such dark hair, with the void in their skin and the last glimmering remnants of fading stars in their eyes. There was no hiding who they were— and there was no hiding what Rhosiris had done.

   He'd come so far, journeyed so long, only to bring a Horizon into the world and their kind one step closer to the inevitable oblivion that would consume them all. Even if he found his resonance now, how could he justify this? How could he look his soulmate in the eyes and explain that, yes, they were the most important person to him, but not enough to wait.

   Not even a week.

   Agony rippled through his chest, from his upper heart to the one in his abdomen, and his child chimed in alarm, which only made the pain worse. Rhosiris rolled onto his side as hot tears welled up in his eyes, spilling out over his cheeks and onto the pillow beneath his head. He wasn't even concerned about not causing a ruckus, not anymore. He couldn't help it— the sorrow that gripped him was too great, because he'd done the worst thing he could have ever done— and he knew in his hearts that he probably would have done it again.

   He was a traitor. He was the worst kind of traitor. He was the worst, most awful kind of traitor and he had to spend the rest of eternity knowing he didn't deserve his other half.

   The little life chimed again, still alarmed, and Rhosiris pressed a hand over his abdomen like that would somehow get the little voice to go quiet. Like that would somehow be enough to undo what had been done. Like somehow, that would be enough to grant him a second chance.

   But that wasn't how fate worked. There were no second chances. And this was the song that High Prince Rhosiris Nyth had composed.

   The voice chimed, and he answered in tears.

The best things in life were free.

Want a new coat? You needn't look any further than the coatrack in the nearest tavern! Any busy night was sure to have its fill of warm garments, most of which weren't in that dire need of patching. A bit of dirt here, a little stitch there, and even its owner couldn't truly tell the difference.

Want a bit of breakfast but haven't got the coin to spare? Well, friend, good news! It's physically impossible for one person to mind every apple in the cart. Simply take a few pebbles, aim carefully, and knock down a few load bearing fruits in the pile. The resulting avalanche will all but guarantee no one will miss the ones that end up in the pockets of your (new and beautifully fashionable) coat.

Feeling a bit light in the purse strings? Want a bit of shine and status? Something to glint and glimmer and glamour? Why, there's entire fields of treasure to be found! Pearls and gold chains and jeweled rings, all beneath your feet and only waiting to be dug up. All it required was a shovel, some strength in your back, and no pesky moral misgivings about things like "disturbing the dead" or "violating the sanctity of the grave."

They were dead, Franz. They didn't need baubles. No one was hosting afternoon tea for the maggots in their eyes.

Though, considering the complex manners that went into even the simplest of garden parties, maybe some of the musty old mummies did want to look good for their own worms.

Luka was hungry.

This wasn't anything new, honestly. There just came the expectation that his life would be a series of hungers, great and small, satisfied and unsatisfied. Such was his lot, and the short end of the stick dictated that this month be particularly lean.

Lean enough that he lingered just outside of the garden wall, tucked in a narrow alley that separated a big, fancy house from yet another big, fancy house and... breathed it in.

Pastries. Meat pies. Cheese and fresh sliced bread. He could smell it all on the unseasonably warm afternoon air. It wafted, as if on purpose, up over the thick stone walls and right under his nose, setting his stomach to rumble angrily in his direction.

Luka licked his lips, and considered his options. The front gate was a no-go. He'd seen them checking invitations, the hosts of the little party greeting each guest as politeness dictated. Yes, Miss von Himmelsrand, it was lovely to see you again, and you've brought a gift of sweet cakes, how thoughtful!

Sweet cakes. Luka rubbed idly at his belly. He didn't remember the last time he'd had sweet cakes. Thick and flaky and dripping with honey and topped with chopped walnuts--

He was getting one of those fucking cakes if it killed him.

Luka eyed the garden wall he was presently leaning against, and considered the stone. It sounded like the main gathering was more towards the back of the house. He could climb up, drop over the side, and slip in around to the food before just as quickly beelining it out before anyone could breach social protocol and ask him just who the hell he was.

Yeah, that was a good plan. Worst case scenario, he awkwardly perched on the wall like a giant dirty bird and climbed back down again. He was quick, he could outrun a few chubby servants.

Checking to be sure he wouldn't be drawing any unnecessary attention from the neighbors, Luka leapt up, grabbed hold of the rough stone, and scrambled up and over and right into what appeared to be the household hydrangea bush. Which was great for breaking his fall but not so terribly graceful to climb out of.

Luckily, it seemed his original assessment had been right. The main party was a bit away, and several of the guests were at their tiny tables, backs turned to the buffet table that was, mercy of mercies, between them and him.

Oh, yes.

Sauntering over like he owned the place, Luka eyed the offerings with a fever, quickly snapping up a plate and taking thirds of everything he could fit. When the pile became a little precarious, he carefully and gracefully stuffed several spinach puffs into his mouth, hoarding them there like the daintiest chipmunk while he replenished his plate some more.

Now, all that was missing was the beautiful, wonderful, delicious, sticky, gooey, flakey, melty pinnacle of culinary creation--

Luka's eyes locked on to the serving dish. On the last, lonely sweet cake there. And he promptly reached to snatch up his prize.

The best things in life were free. And that included some silly rich snob's finger foods.

[content warning for violence typical of a raid on a port town, all that fun jazz.]

   You could always tell when they were about to make landfall. There was an energy to it, the same kind of crackling ozone you could taste on the air before the inevitable flash of lightning and clap of thunder. The Silverbloods were frothing, their limbs painted with sweat as they artfully pulled their oars, speeding the narrow-bottomed boat on and yet, through some subtle witchcraft all their own, never once splashing. As was their right, making their trade by the sea as they did, sharing in the same kind of salty wildness as their Bismuthblooded brethren. There, but for an accident of the light, themselves reflected in the spirits of the ocean they bartered with every day of their lives.

   The rest of the crew were less overworked. This was the calm before the storm; it was forbidden even to take part in any last-minute what-if farewells. Wedded soldiers kept chaste, as they all must, before the fight. Wasting their energy on late night endeavors, even the short, fleeting and utterly silent sorts that needed happen when you were on a ship with twenty-plus other men, was foolish. The kind of thing only done by the youngest and greenest amongst them. The kind of thing that you learned very quickly was a bad idea, either because you walked back to shore more sore than you wanted to be, or you never walked back at all.

   Theirs was the art of conservation. Of biding their time and waiting for the optimal moment to strike. Theirs was a will of Iron, their blood singing the hue and strength of it as they waited for the signal.

   Evaristo had been here many times before. When he was very young, on his first raid with his father, the excitement had left him shaking. His fingers had gone so cold, he had barely been able to keep a grip on his sword. He'd even dropped it a couple of times, the loud tanging THUD on the wooden planks deafening in the haunting quiet of their wait. No one had looked in his direction. Several of the older soldiers had tensed beneath their helmets, their jaws set diamond-hard in disdain for the nerves of a boy. But Evaristo knew better than to apologize: he had tightened his grip, and resumed his wait.

   It had taken years for the shakes to ebb away, worn down like a boulder against the tide. The corpse of his own fears eroded to the sands of time and experience until all that was left was the polished pebble on the deck. Still. Quiet. Unmoved by the clinging chill of early morning tidal mists. Unbothered by the thickness of the wisps, obscuring everything beyond himself and his closest neighbors. Surrounded by such stillness, Evaristo could hear everything.

   He heard the creak of weathered rope overhead. He heard the shift of breath as the Silverbloods rowed them onwards, one side taking a deep intake that preceded the shift starboard as they turned. It was no wonder, all those years ago, that the older men had been aggravated by his noise. In these quiet moments, the drop of a sword against the ship deck was louder than thunder. It wouldn't give them away, not at this distance just yet, but it broke focus.

   This was their art. Bismuth had their deep magics, Silver had their sea, Copper had their kingly fires, but Iron... only Iron knew the deep meditation before a war. The way your heart beat felt against your bones before they shattered. The way your breath felt before it stilled forever. The quiet of the grave before it was a grave, and the quiet of a victory before it was a victory. Here, they were all dead men. Here, they were all glorious. Here, the riches of the world were theirs and theirs alone, kings beyond kings, only waiting for the exact moment they would be able to reach out and take it.

   Only Iron knew patience. Was honed for it. Considered and carefully built for it, like the inspection of a sword before it's put to the test.

   The Silverbloods breathed again, and Evaristo shifted his weight, leaning to the right as the ship banked sharply left. There was a soft rustle ahead as helms were donned, the faintest whisper of metal touching metal that slid back like silk over sand as each row followed suit. The call of a bird sounded from somewhere off the bow— a bird that had no place this close to the savage mainlands, a bird that only meant anything to the men still hidden in the mists.

   L'usignuolo. Love and death. Glory and the end.

   Evaristo raised his shield, steadied himself as the ship shuddered ashore, and rushed forward as a drop in a tidal wave of forged steel. The mist did nothing against the sudden rush of sound, though it did obscure them just long enough to make it to the port town's gates without more than the sluggish confusion of the guards atop the wall in response. By the time the barbarians even knew what was happening, it was too late, and even the panicked yells of alarm did very little except to give the beasts time to light their lanterns— light that would only serve as a beacon for the storm of Iron at their doors, signaling just where it was most profitable to strike.

   Still, the element of surprise was always fleeting, and soon what forces the town had were mustered. This was where death met glory at its closest, like two dancers forbidden to touch but made to hold the same candle. They moved together, step for step, cutting wide arcs across the ballroom, each step precise, practiced, forceful. Meaningless babble shouted in terror and fury was the orchestra, with the lilting birdsong overhead as always.

   L'usignuolo.

   "Evaristo, Claudio! Dai, il dovere di contrassegnare il bestiame!"

   Evaristo spun on a pin's head, ducking low and bringing his sword with him as his abrupt change in direction dragged the edge across a thinly protected belly. He didn't pause to see if the damage had been done; he could hear it in the cascade of wet thuds that followed, and knew it had. Somewhere, someone's lantern had fallen over, or more likely, had been thrown against the dry thatch that made up much of the seaside rooftops. Crude, and effective against wet weather, but terribly weak to the ravages of fire. Smoke billowed with the ocean breeze to fuel it, coating everything in a burnt haze as the scent clung to everything it touched.

   It only made Evaristo think of home, a comfort in these foreign lands as gangly, ungainly creatures taller than he but fresh faced as babes rushed past, dodging like terrified beasts when they realized he was not one of their own. He didn't bother pursuing straight away— cattle duty required him to be picky, and he already had such a hard time telling these mainlanders apart without the cover of smoke and blood to disguise them further. More to the point was that their ship could only hold a certain number, and if the raid was to be successful, he needed to find ones worthy of the long trip home.

   The last thing he needed was his pick of tribute to end up at the bottom of the ocean on a second glance. Claudio was already kicking in doors to a chorus of shrieks, all of them too high pitched. Too young, or worse, the mainlander's forges. It was always a bit of an exercise in finesse to disarm a cornered mother without doing her any lasting harm, especially when it sounded like she was the only one between Claudio and several very small children.

   He had his work cut out for him, then. Which left the burden of a proper search to Evaristo. The bulk of the fighting was a ways away, where the mainlanders had hoped to fortify and were swiftly overrun. Which was just as well: soldiers didn't make for very good slaves. They had too much fire in their blood, and tended to be bolstered by the wholesale destruction of their homes. Too far away, there was a risk of running into families, as Claudio had, and while those tended to be on the more demure end of the spectrum, there was simply no market for human babies.

   No. If he kept just close and just far away enough, he would find the vein he needed; cowards hoping to hide out the worst of the fighting, tradesmen who'd never held a sword, soft-handed officials or, hope beyond hopes, a young poet or two. Well worth a share of the spoils when it came to dividing loot. Through the smoke, Evaristo caught sight of a swinging sign, though the words scrawled over it may as well have not been there at all. Still, the only places that ever labeled themselves were businesses, and businesses had businessmen, meek little merchants or skittish apprentices who, facing the end of a sword, would be very keen to do exactly as they were told.

   And so, Evaristo raised one steel-armored boot, and kicked in the door with a resounding crash.