[Characters] The last redoubt

[Wynamoinen]

Here you will paste your application, and link your character sheet.

I said no backstories in your application, but at this point if you have one written out that you'd like to store here, feel free to include it. "No backstories" is a philosophy of application-creation, moreso than a principle of character writing.

[Menzo]

Raemka Names: Raemka of Khem; Raemka of the Shifting Sands; The Desert Storm Race: Tabaxi Gender Identity: But accepting of other gender identities.Cis male, bisexual Class: Barbarian (Desert AuraPath of the Storm Herald) Character sheet Appearance: Although only of average height, Raemka is much sturdier and muscular than most tabaxi. Many have made the mistake of believing that this makes him slow and cumbersome, but the reality is that he is as adroit and graceful as all his race tend to be. His fur is dark. Depending on the light, it can seem either black or a very dark blue—what the Domanites call caeruleum. His eyes are normally yellow and slitted, but when he is in the midst of a rage they darken to an intense sienna and flicker like the flames of a campfire. His dress is minimal—some simple strips of white and blue fabric, and light brown pants. Bulky clothing would only impede his movement, anyway. He wears ornate bronze vambraces and greaves that double as ornamentation and practical armor. He likes to keep himself and his clothing clean, and bathes as often as is practical.   One night you were in desperate need. You could not solve your problems alone. Help came from an unexpected corner, forging a lifelong bond. During the day, the ancient, disreputable city of Khasut baked under Aten's gaze. Its citizens lay sprawled in the shade, smoking and drinking thick, black kahve. Many nursed hangovers from the previous night. But at night the city came alive—night markets, taverns, brothels, gambling dens, fighting pits. Even the temples did most of their business at night. Raemka ran through the night streets. He had a little distance on his pursuers, but they were dogged and knew the streets of Khasut better than he. It was only a matter of time until he made a mistake or his luck ran out. As he rounded a corner, a curtain twitched open in invitation. The hand that held it open was tabaxi. Without thinking, he dodged into the offered refuge. The curtain fell closed. He remained perfectly still, waiting. Footsteps approached—a dozen pursuers, at least—then receded. As he let out a tense breath, he became aware that he was in a narrow hallway, and that by instinct rather than intent he had pressed his savior up against the wall to prevent movement that might alert his pursuers to their presence. She, he—it was impossible to determine gender, even at this close quarter—was about half a head shorter than him, and about half the mass. They had their eyes locked on his. Big eyes, wide with excitement and amusement. Eyes that seemed to say, 'Well, what now?' He leaned back, releasing them. They danced away down the hallway. He followed them up a flight of stairs, through another curtain, and into a spacious living area. There was very little in the way of furniture; instead, there were rugs and cushions for reclining on. It looked comfortable and clean and surprisingly prosperous. Raemka watched them as they set about boiling some water for kahve. Either a slender, effeminate male, or a lean, athletic female. It was still impossible to be certain, and probably wasn't important. Except... well, something about way they moved excited him, made his pulse quicken. "Thank you," he said. "You're welcome," they replied, without turning around. "My name is Raemka." They nodded. "I know. I've seen you fight in the pits. The Desert Storm, they call you." Raemka blushed. "Please don't call me that. It's embarrassing." "I'm sorry. But it is what they call out, when you fight." After a slight pause, they added, "I am called Aat. Why were you being pursued?" Raemka let out a long breath. "I was supposed to throw a fight, and I didn't." "I guess that might piss the organisers off. Still, it hardly warrants sending a dozen men after you." "I bet on myself." Aat chuckled at that, and he found himself laughing along with them. "Forgive me," he said, "but you don't seem the sort to frequent pit fights." "I go where my work takes me," Aat replied. Then, reaching in under their shirt, they drew out a money purse and tossed it to him. He inspected it. It was his own purse. Aat must have taken it in the hallway; he hadn't noticed a thing. "You're a thief, a... a cutpurse." He mulled that over, and decided it didn't change anything. His own methods of making a living were hardly honorable. The kahve was complete by then. Aat turned with two mugs of the brew, offering one to Raemka. "It'll be dangerous for you for a while. You're welcome to remain here for the night. Tomorrow..." They paused in thought. "Well, tomorrow can wait for tomorrow." He took the offered mug. "I'm very grateful." The side of Aat's mouth lifted in a half-smile. "We'll see."   In your life, you learned that nature is cruel and indifferent to our plans. How did you learn this lesson? The sand was warm against his back. The night air drifted coolly over his face and arms, teasing him, and the stars glittered in the night sky like the great river Iteru at sunset. It was beautiful, and Raemka might have appreciated it more if he wasn't dying... It was possible to cross the desert and live. A camel to carry your supplies helped, but it could be done without one if you were strong and fit and knew the locations of waterholes. Raemka knew this, because he had done it before. Five times had he crossed the desert, on foot and unaided. But sometimes luck doesn't go your way. It was bad enough when that happened in cities and towns, but in the desert bad luck could be fatal. He found the first waterhole, drank his fill and filled his waterskin. But at the second waterhole there was a pack of gnolls. He heard them early—sound travelled a long way in the desert—and approached with caution. There were six of them. Five he could have handled, but six was too many. Knowing what it would mean to be captured by the gnolls, Raemka bypassed the waterhole and pressed on. But, distracted by the mocking laughter of the gnolls behind him and fretting over his dwindling supplies, he missed the way. By the time he realised he did not recognise his surroundings, Raemka had been walking for almost an hour. Not willing to backtrack, and figuring he had just veered slightly southwards, he corrected to the north. But it made no difference. Several hours later, and with the dawn almost upon him, he had to concede that he was completely lost. Not one to give up, however, Raemka continued eastwards. That way lay the Iteru River. But he found no waterhole, and his water ran out. One night, exhausted, badly dehydrated and heart sick, he lay down in the lee of a dune and prepared himself to die. His only regret was than the coin he had earned would not make its way to his family. Some passing stranger would be enriched by it. But what was there to do? After a while—maybe a minute, maybe an hour—he became aware that a figure had joined him on the side of the dune. A beautiful, dark-furred tabaxi in fine, white robes, and sporting a broad collar, a usekh, of gold and lapis lazuli. "My lady, am I dead already?" he enquired. She turned her head in his direction, condescending to notice him, but saying nothing. Her eyes were dark, like the night sky, and filled with stars. "I don't mind, not really." He laid his hand on his money pouch. "Only, I would have liked for this to reach my family." He looked at her hopefully. After a long while, the figure spoke. "Do you think She would come to the death of one such as you? Pit fighter, street fighter, fighter for hire, thief. You are nobody." Raemka let the truth of that sink in to his soul. "I am nobody," he agreed. His admission seemed to please her. "Come," she said peremptorily, and ascended the dune. He scrabbled to his feet, swaying unsteadily, and followed her. When they reached the dune's peak, she gestured at the vista before them. "See?" And Raemka did see. There, on the other side of the dune, were irrigated fields, laid out with geometrical precision. And beyond them, mud huts and cooking fires. And beyond those, the slow, leisurely waters of the Iteru River. It was so close. If only he hadn't given up so soon. … Raemka woke with a start, the vision of those fields and the river still fresh in his mind. Marshalling his strength, he crawled up the side of the dune. Up, up, his heart swelling, until he reached the peak and gazed forth on the lands on the far side. Sand, as far as the eye could see. Hope died. But in its place was not apathy, but anger. Rage. It fuelled him. He lurched to his feet like a drunkard. One foot forward. Then another. Then another. That's all he needed to do, one foot at a time, all the way to the great river. And each time, he found that the new fire that burnt within him was enough for that next step. Grinning like a maniac, Raemka made his way home.   Haemon the Elean: complicated Raemka and Haemon have met many times, as Haemon is often summoned to tend to his injuries after a pit fight. Raemka admires and appreciates Haemon's skill in this area, but the Elean's views about pit fighting make little impression on Raemka, who views such idealism as a luxury. Pit fighting pays well. Very well. The coin he earns, and brings back to his family in Khem, is the only thing that makes being separated from them bearable. Still, he understands Haemon is well-meaning and mostly harmless. Heliae Eshe: friendly Raemka and Heliae have not previously met. When they first meet, Raemka is likely to form an initial impression of Heliae as intelligent and unconventional, but lacking experience and street savvy. This unconventionality, and Heliae's lean physique, is likely to remind Raemka of Aat, his companion and After encountering Aat, for a while Raemka became a thief. Although he had no natural talent as a cutpurse, he had considerable talent as a distraction, enabling Aat to go about their business unhindered. It was a very profitable relationship.partner in crime back in Khasut. Coming from a large family, Raemka will probably treat Heliae as a younger sibling in need of protection. Kyai Applecore: wary, negative Not long after Applecore became the new Kyai, Raemka was by a Domanite that refused to give his nameoffered a sizeable reward to sneak into the academy and kill Applecore. Although Raemka was no stranger to violence—at various times he'd been a pit fighter, a bodyguard, and an enforcer for tax and debt collectors—he decided that assassination was a step too far and declined the offer. However, the unnamed Domanite had already painted an unflattering picture of the new Kyai as an ambitious, ruthless individual whose predecessor had died in suspicious circumstances. Furthermore, when the pair meet in person, it is likely that Raemka will form an initial impression of Applecore as arrogant and condescending. This is a relationship which will likely start out very rocky. Only time will tell if the two can learn to get along. Altrix Dunyazad: dismissive Raemka and Dunyazad have not previously met. When they first meet, Raemka is likely to form an initial impression of the Altrix as a mild, good-natured servant of little consequence. He will be polite, as you always should be to your elders, regardless of station, but otherwise not give much thought to her.

[Elanir]

Character Sheet: Work in Progress

Haemon the Iatros/Physician Name: Haemon, son of Kephalos Race: Human (Variant) [Elean/Greek] Gender: Male (he/his/him) Class: Warlock (Celestial) [Demeter and daughterKore] Appearance: Haemon is a man of Elean descent in his late forties. He is of medium height though the proud way he stands and walks makes him appear somewhat taller. Aspiring to the Elean ideal of a healthy mind inside a healthy body, he often performs exercises to keep himself in form and bathes regularly. His beard is neatly trimmed for he visits the barber as often as possible, as is expected from a man of his station. His skin is tanned, though still fairer than that of the native Anykhetans or those living in the lands to the south. He strives to appear dignified, wearing the chiton and chlamys of his forefathers proudly. His voice is kind and his manner gentle to those that deserve his compassion or respect and firm to those that do not.   Question 3: Haemon kneeled before the patch of silfion plants he grew in the small garden at his house’s inner courtyard, picked one of the plant’s leaves and brought it close to his eyes to be able to better see it. The goddess Eos had not yet appeared in the horizon to paint the heavens a soft pink and guide her brother, Helios, on his journey to the land of the westHesperides. The light of his oil lamp was poor and Haemon’s eyes at least two decades past their prime. Still, the physician didn’t need to see the leaf to know that the plant was dying. The lack of its characteristic scent when separated from the main plant was the first indication, the second its dryness, as if he were holding a scroll made of papyrus between his fingers. The Elean sighed and brought the leaf to his mouth. Chewing it a few times confirmed his suspicion, the plant could not be used for medicinal purposes in this state. The great Aristarchos, Haemon’s late teacher in the art of medicine, had taught him at least five separate conditions that could be treated with this wondrous plant: coughing, sore throat, fever, indigestion and aching bones. Haemon himself had added two further uses for silfion to his teacher’s list: insomnia and contraception. Even in cooking could this valuable plant be used or at least could have been used if anyone was still able to grow it. The middle-aged man spat out the bitter pulp in his mouth and rose to his feet, dusting his short chiton. The earth felt parched like that of the desert and despite the early hour, his dexterous fingers detected absolutely no signs of moisture in it. It hadn’t always been like that. Ten years ago things had been very different indeed. As a good physician Haemon knew that the dying of the plants was only a symptom, not the actual disease. For the actual cause one would have to look no further than the nearest Domantine castrum. It is not that they wanted Haemon’s town to die like it was doing these last few years. It was merely in their nature to disregard the natural order to serve their own purposes. Haemon looked around his house’s inner courtyard and sighed deeply once more. These days he was surrounded more stone, clay and marble than wood and leaves. Gone were the two fig trees that had been so bountiful, their figs so juicy and sweet. Gone were the flowers his late wife had insisted on growing herself, despite his own objections that she was spoiling the servants. Now there were only patches of bare earth were green had once dominated. An ancient olive tree the only one managing to survive the drought. The physician gently caressed the tree’s rough bark. The goddess Athena must have been watching over it. It was a pity she wasn’t also watching over the town of Paralimnos or Ba-Harat as the Anykhetans called it. It never had the glory one of the Five Cities, the Elean Pentapolis, but it had a charm entirely of its own. The town was built next to a lake connected with the great river Iteru, which was Anykhet’s source of life and wealth. A mere decade ago Paralimnos was populated by both Eleans, who made approximately two thirds of the population, and Anykhetans, the former group mainly farmers, artisans and traders, the later fishers and workers for the most part. It might have seemed strange to a foreigner that so many Eleans lived in a formerly strictly Anykhetan community, but every Elean child knew the story of how their ancestors came to settle in the land. Centuries ago Pharaoh Nefraiton (Ne-Far-Aton in the Anykhetan tongue) had invited several mercenary groups from every part of Elea to aid him against his sister’s husband who was trying to usurp his throne. The Eleans came, they fought bravely and when the time came for their reward, the Pharaoh granted them land around Ba-Harat. In just a few years the town grew to five time its former size and was lovingly known by its inhabitants as the Sixth City. At first there had been many conflicts between the natives and the foreigners, but as the decades passed both groups learned to respect each other. The Eleans built their agoras, theatres and stadiums and took pleasure in musical competitions and athletic games, while the Anykhetans continued worshipping their gods as their fathers always had and prepared themselves for the eternal life in the realm of Osiris. Before long many Eleans too sought eternal life by mummifying their loved ones and performing the many rituals the gods of the underworld demanded and some open-minded Anykhetans came to enjoy theatrical plays and occasionally even philosophical discussions. The two groups remained distinct but the lines that separated them became blurred. The gods decreed that another ethnic group came to the land, this time to spell the death of the once prosperous town. The first Domantines soon realized that not only the people resented Anykhet’s occupation, the land itself hated them as well. The Domantine soldiers soon spoke of vengeful native gods when they saw their comrades grow ill with high fever and shaking chills. Oxen, goats and pigs were sacrificed by the dozens, then by the hundreds, and oracles and prophets were consulted. To no avail. The gods did not seem to be placated by the conquerors‘ offerings and continued to punish them. It was Haemon and other physicians like him that informed the Domantines about the true reason behind the illness: the foul wind from the west affected the mosquitoes and the insects in turn carried the disease to the Domantines. The native Anykhetans, and even the Eleans who had been living in the land for many generations, seemed resistant to the plague and even when they got sick, the course of the disease was usually mild. The Domantines, once they found out the truth, did what they usually did. They recruited Elean scholars, Anykhetan workers and their own engineers and planned to drain the Paralimnos’ lake and the swamps around it. Despite the logistical impossibility of such an action, within a few years the lake had been drained and the disease subsided. At the same time Paralimnos lost the one thing that had sustained it for hundreds of years. It didn’t take long for the people to realize it and abandon the town. Now only about two hundred people lived in a town that had in its good days housed five thousand souls. "FatherPater, what are you doing so early?" The voice startled Haemon who had lost all track of time as he was thinking about the town’s history. "Have you been summoned to help someone in need?" The physician looked at the innocent face of his daughter. A better question would be if he had slept at all. "Come, my child. I need to talk to you." Haemon’s voice was hard, as if he attempted not to show the sorrow that hid beneath the iron. "Let me bring you a chlamys first and have Eumelia prepare you something to eat. You must be cold and hungry", proposed the girl. Haemon shook his head. He felt tired and defeated and neither a cloth of wool nor milk or wine would make him feel any better. "Amalthia, you have been born in this house and it is here that I have seen you grow from an unruly child to a dutiful young woman. I know you love this house and this town, but there is nothing for us here. No one calls for me anymore for even I have no medicine with which to treat hunger and poverty. Even if someone gets ill, how would they be able to reward me for my services? Eumelia is the only servant that we can still keep and that it because of her age and not of my prosperity. To send her away would mean her death." The man slowly approached his daughter and placed his hand upon her shoulder in a rare gesture of fatherly love. "I have waited all I could and struggled all I could, but there is no hope. The gods have forsaken this place and it would be both foolish and dangerous for us to remain." Tears welled up in the girl’s eyes. Leave Paralimnos? Impossible! "But father, to leave our home? To never see the stele marking mother’s grave outside Paralimnos again? Is it right to despair? Doesn’t Demeter and Kore teach us that life never truly ends?" The physician’s voice grew angry. "You speak like a child. The goddesses will help us, I have no doubt, but we must make the right decisions! Without water there is no life in Anykhet, everyone knows it. If we are to survive, to make our lives again, to find you a proper husband, we must leave." The anger departed as quickly as it had come and Haemon’s voice broke. "We must… I don’t know what else to do." Amalthia firmly hugged her father. "Don’t worry, father, we’ll make it! Remember what great difficulties Demeter went through to find her daughter? She will take pity on us and aid us. And Kore will reward us with her bounty. Everything will be all right." Haemon took a step back to better see his daughter. How strong her faith is! Yes, she is right. If it’s the will of the gods, we will make it. Any signs of weakness gone, the physician nodded. "It is good you see reason. We’ll take everything of value that we can carry and we shall travel to Synkel, the nearest of the Five Cities. There lives my good friend, Periandros. He will help us find a suitable place to settle down and in the meantime we’ll be staying at his house. He has already invited us many times. He has a son that is about your age, you know, Aeson. I hear he is a very reasonable young man. He might make a nice match for you." "Yes, father, I am sure he will." Amalthia smiled sweetly, but the smile was meant more for the town she had spent her entire life at, than her father. Farewell, Paralimnos. I pray we will meet again.   Questions 1 /4: Haemon desperately tried to find his way back to his daughter and female servant, but everywhere he looked he saw hundreds, if not thousands, of Amynkhetans blocking the way. They were dancing wildly, drinking wine and singing at the top of their lungs, all in honor of the goddess Hathor, a goddes who like Elean Dionysus had nothing against overindulging in the „beautiful“ things in life. The Elean could not share in this gaiety however, for he found that the sound of flutes and sistrums along with the smell of unwashed bodies and cheap wine turned his stonach instead of enticing it. What was worse was the fact that he bore ill news. The omens had been bad from the very beginning. Finding a mule or donkey in Paralimnos had proved impossible. Only few of those still living in the dying town possessed such beasts of burden and not one of them agreed to sell such an animal to him for a reasonable price, which meant that Haemon, Amalthia and Eumelia would have to walk to SynkelSyggelia. Carrying their valuables on their own backs, though to be truthful they did not have much that could be considered valuable, the group resembled vagabonds, not a respectable physician traveling with his family, which was a blow to Haemon’s honor. As usual, the pace of the group was determined by the slowest of its members and despite the old servant’s attempt to walk faster and not to complain, it took them two full weeks on the road, where it should have taken them four or five days. The state of the road was abominable, for despite the Domantines‘ mastery of building and engineering, the Domantine governor of Anykhet could not be bothered to maintain a road through the desert that led to a dying community. Things without purpose were left to die and now the trio of Eleans suffered for it. When they finally did reach Syggelia, thankfully without incident, -to be fair Harmon had to admit that Domantines did a better job of keeping the roads free of bandits than the Anykhetans or the Eleans did- the group looked as presentable as beggars. To drag along his family in the streets of the great city was out of the question, so the physician left his daughter and her chaperone at an Elean-owned tavern to have some fish, onions, olives and bread, while he visited his friend. Attempting to dust off his chiton and chlamys for what felt like the hundredth time, though the effect was not significantly better than the ninety nine times before it, Haemon wandered the streets until he came upon a house in an obviously well off neighborhood. Just like mine was a few years ago. A male servant appeared at the door, his skin as black as ebony, no doubt hailing from the lands south of Anykhet, and asked what Haemon’s purpose was. The physician explained that he was an old friend of the master of the house, Periandros, and that he was being expected. The servant shook his head resolutely and replied that they were not expecting any visitors and that his master could not be disturbed at the time. Perhaps if he were to return tomorrow… Haemon felt the blood rise straight to his head. The audacity! In the old days servants had been beaten with rods for less. Trying to remain civil, the physician took out a letter written on papyrus from his satchel and showed it to the servant. "I have saved your master’s life in the past, if you must know, and he has invited me and my family to stay with him until other arrangements can be made. Tell him that Haemon, son of Kephalos, has come from Paralimnos and he will be sure to welcome me with open arms." Neither the letter, which he barely glanced at, nor the physician’s reasoning seemed to impress the servant who explained to the Elean that his master was entertaining guests at the moment and could not be bothered by supplicants. To be called a supplicant was the last straw that broke the camel’s back. Haemon let out a scream and raised his traveler’s rod to strike the disrespectful servant. "FriendFiltate, wait!", called out someone from the house‘s inner courtyard. Periandros! The relief was obvious in Haemon’s face. "Get back inside, Appou. I will see to the needs of my friend." As the servant disappeared inside the house, Haemon and Periandros embraced in the way men of their station did when meeting each other. "The gods send you, my friend", said the physician with a smile. "One moment longer and I would have been forced to teach your servant a lesson. How do you let such a man stay with you?" "Both of his parents worked for my father and he was born at this house. He is loyal." Eager to change the subject, Periandros asked his friend if he could have a refreshment brought to him. "Might I offer you some cool water or aromatic wine? You must be tired after the long journey. How fares Amalthia? She was only a little girl when I last saw her, playing at the feet of…" He paused for he knew that the memories of his wife were still painful to Haemon. "Yes, I remember. Phaedra was trying to teach her how to weave, while Amalthia cared only to play with the dollplaggona you had brought her from Syggelia. Those were happy days." Since Periandros neither said anything nor invited him inside his home, which was strange, Haemon continued. "How fares your wife, fair Calligenia, and your sons? Aeson must be a man already." "We are all healthy, the gods be praised", answered Periandros, though his mind seemed to be elsewhere. Haemon was getting somewhat worried. This wasn’t like his friend at all. Why didn’t he call for the servants to prepare the rooms for his guests? Though he considered it impolite to do so, the subject had to be finally breached. "My friend, if you could offer us hospitality for only a few days, I’m sure I will be able to find…" "I am afraid, I cannot have you stay at my house at this time, Haemon, though my heart bleeds to say this", interrupted Periandros. "I am marrying my youngest son, Aeson, to a girl of a very good family after the feast in blessed Hathor’s name and there are all kinds of preparations to be done. Calligenia’s relatives are expected any day now and there is also the bride’s family to be considered. I am truly sorry." Haemon could not believe his ears. Was the man who owed him and his healing skills his life refusing him hospitality? He would be lucky if Zeus protector of guestsXenios didn’t strike him down this very instant! "But, Periandros, your letter. You mentioned we would always be welcome at your house. You promised to help me get back on my feet." "I am sorry, my friend." The man’s tone betrayed impatience and a touch of annoyance instead of sorrow. "I am sure I could do something for you, though not at this time. Come back after the end of the month. I wish you and lovely Amalthia well. Try to enjoy the festival today. Hathor’s priests give away free meat, bread, beer and wine in honor of the goddess so you should be able to sate your hunger and thirst. Until we meet again." With these final words the door to Periandros‘ house closed and Haemon’s hopes died. The physician could have cursed the man or knocked at his door with his rod, but that would accomplish nothing more than to further demean him. He had never felt more ashamed and powerless in his life. To be in a strange city along with his young daughter and an elderly servant with almost no silver and no perspective was a true nightmare. Why did the gods punish him so? Had he not always honored their name? Had he not been initiated in the mysteries of Demeter and Kore while he was learning from Aristarchos at Elea? Had he not always been kind to strangers and those in need, asking for no payment when the wounded or the sick had no silver to spare? For a moment he considered taking his own life with the dagger he carried. Some might frown upon such practices, but taking one’s life was at times the only way to retain one’s dignity. He was, after all, assured a much better life after his current life ended. Unfortunately, it would be both wrong and dishonorable to leave the two women dependent upon him at the mercy of the gods. It took him hours to return to the tavern, the pain in his heart contrasting with the gaiety of the celebrants. Blessed Hathor, goddess of beauty, dance and music, take pity on me and my family. Assist us in our hour of need and I will sacrifice a white cow in your honor the very moment I have enough silver to do so. This I swear before all gods. Suddenly, the presence of a man standing next to Amalthia and talking to her, his age similar to Haemon’s own, alarmed the physician. "This is my daughter, strangerxene, how may I help you?", asked Haemon, the suspicion obvious in his question. It was Amalthia that replied. "FatherPater, you are back! This man is honored Alexandros and that is his daughter, Ismene. Eumelia felt sick at the stomach and I didn’t know what to do. Honored Alexandros was kind enough to come to my assistance and keep me company until you returned. Eumelia is inside, resting. Have you met your friend?" "I have no friends in this city, daughter", replied the physician, his voice grave. "Eumelia probably suffers from sunstroke." In fact, it is a wonder she didn’t fall ill during our journey, blessed be the gods for this small favor. "She just needs rest and plenty of water and she’ll soon be back on her feet." If only I could provide her with such things. Turning to the man his daughter had called Alexandros, Haemon nodded respectfully. "Forgive my manners, honored Alexandros. I am Haemon, son of Kephalos, a physician by trade and until recently a citizen of Paralimnos, though we were forced to abandon our house. I am deeply grateful for your help." The other man smiled and shook his head. "Think nothing of it. It has been a pleasure both for me and Ismene. Your daughter is lovely. She told me that you will be staying at the house of an old friend of yours. Have you been unable to find his house? What is his name? I might know him, especially if he is of Elean descent." The physician’s expression grew dark. "Periandros is not the friend I thought him to be. He cannot offer us food and shelter at the moment. He is busy planning his son’s marriage." Every word he spat out as if it had been poison. Alexandros‘ face grew pale in response. "I am sorry, I didn’t know. Do you have any other relatives or acquaintances in the city? I could help you locate them." "I do not, but I do not worry." That was a lie. "A physician is always needed. I am sure once blessed Hathor’s feast is at an end, I’ll be able to find a place for us to stay. Perhaps, the owner of this tavern might be able to help me." Alexandros seemed surprised at the stranger’s words. Wandering the streets was not something an dignified citizen should be doing. "I’ll not hear of it. You will be staying with us. As long as you need. The gods would curse me and my family forever if I would not assist you in your hour of need. I am the head of the house of Ducae and know everyone of importance in Syggelia. Finding you work will not be a problem. It will be an honor having you stay at my house and I am sure Ismene will be more than glad to have Amalthia keep her company." Haemon fought hard not to let the tears flow down his eyes. Thank you, great goddess! I will not forget my promise. I will sacrifice for you the best cow in Syggelia, white as the foam of the sea. "I cannot thank you enough, honored Alexandros." The Syggelian smiled. "Not a word more. Let us head back to my house. My servants are waiting for us a short distance back. I didn’t want them to alarm the girl. I’ll have them carry Eumelia and your belongings to the house, where you can refresh yourselves. We can always come to the goddess‘ festival later. It won’t end until many hours after sundown. This way."

Haemon’s acquaintances and opinions Raemka of Khem: disapproving Haemon has met Raemka many times at the fighting pits since he, as a physician, is routinely summoned to treat the wounds of the Ta-bash-ke in Anykhetan, meaning „two-legged cat“Tabaxi’s fellow gladiators, and has on occasion even treated Raemka himself. The fact that the Anykhetan earns his living by shedding blood for the enjoyment of the the “many”, mobpoloi is something the Elean clearly disapproves of. Firstly, the Domantine obsession with gladiatorial games is a perversion of the noble athletic games that used to be so popular in Elea and secondly, he considers lives taken to satisfy the basest needs of the people to be lives lost without purpose, which is a terrible sin in his eyes. Despite his misgivings about Raemka’s way of life, Haemon cannot but admire the Tabaxi’s fighting skills, fierce spirit and perfectly sculpted body. The physician will not stop trying to steer the headstrong gladiator towards a more virtuous and satisfying path, though his successes have up to this point been few and far between. Kyai Applecore: fascinated but uncertain The towering Dulamah woman is a source of both fascination and uncertainty for the Elean physician. There are only few who are interested in literature, history and the sciences in Synkel that haven’t heard of the barbarian scholar with the strange name as she is often referred as. Haemon has visited the city’s academy many times to teach the secrets of his sacred craft and even learn the ancient Anykhetan ways of treating illnesses and injuries. When at the academy, the Elean actively seeks the Dulamah out in order to hear her opinion on all manner of topics. Despite having had extensive discussions with her, he still doesn’t know what to make of the eccentric Kyai. On the one hand she has a brilliant mind and a thirst for knowledge unlike any he has seen, on the other she equates the barbaric ways of her people with the magnificent Elean civilization. Even the crude Domantines recognized the superiority of the Elean way of life and sought to imitate it – badly. And yet, the woman has won many debates between the two by using arguments based on her people’s traditions, which means that just like the desert itself the Dulamah are in possession of many treasures that are not readily apparent. Knowing that the dune wanderers are true experts in the studying of the night sky, one of Haemon‘s passions, the Elean has repeatedly invited Kyai meaning „of the apple“ in Elean, his “nickname” for the Dulamah scholarMeline to observe with him the stars out in the desert. Unfortunately, she has not accepted yet. Heliae Eshe: friendly Haemon came to initially know Heliae as an individual suffering from vitiligoleuke, a very rare condition that causes large patches of extremely fair skin to appear next to an individual’s normal skin. Master Aristarchos claimed that this condition was the result of a curse from the goddess Artemis for a pregnant woman’s lack of piety. Haemon himself however believes the cause to be a different one, since a great many non-Elean women fail to perform the necessary offerings to the goddess and still do not seem to be the targets of her wrath. Whatever the cause, leuke cannot be treated and must be accepted for what it is: a permanent skin condition often stigmatizing those that have it. The only thing a good physician can and should do is protect these unnatural patches of skin from the scorching Anykhetan sun. To this end, the Elean has taught the young woman the way to prepare an ointment made from olive oil, wax, honey and herbal extracts and to properly apply it on her skin. Apart from that, the physician only knows Heliae as a companion, possibly even close friend, to Rubia, lovingly called „Ruby“ by her parents, the scion of an aristocratic family of the city. Haemon takes great care to treat Heliae with patience and kindness, hoping that she might one day introduce his own daughter, Amalthia, to her mistress. To be accepted as a member of the noble girl’s close circle of acquaintances would significantly increase his daughter‘s chances of a good marriage despite Haemon’s financial difficulties. Altrix Dunyazad: neutral The Elean has only a passing acquaintance with the elderly servant. Initially, it was her unique form that caught his attention out of a scientific interest to categorize her properly according to her race. At first glance he had taken her for a dwarfnane, but she lacked several of the race‘s characteristics including any facial hair, which made her heritage uncertain. It was only after extensive study and a long talk with Kyai Applecore that the Elean realized that Dunyazad belonged to the usually much larger Leutakimah. The Dulamah spoke very highly of the woman and Haemon had even detected respect and gratitude in her voice, which was extremely rare for the scholar. His curiosity piqued, Haemon tried to know more about the elderly altrix, but without particular success. The children she helped raise seemed to love her more than they would an ordinary servant, but apart from that she didn’t seem to have any particular skills or talents. The fact that many prominent families chose her to rear their children instead of a more traditional male a slave accompanying boys to and from school, a tutorpaidagogos however, seemed to prove her worth and ability in her chosen or enforced profession. Unable to discover anything more of note, the Elean eventually put Dunyazad out of his mind. A good servant was worth their weight in silver, but in the end remained a servant.

[MoldyNolds]

Character Application Name: Honorific for a teacher. Strictly used for males only, who are usually older and venerated.Kyai Real name unknown to others.Applecore Character Sheet Link (Spells have not been chosen yet) Race: Based on the Bedouin nomads of our worldDulamah (Goliath) Gender Identity: She/Her Class: Knowledge Cleric Appearance (The image is linked with credit to the artist): Applecore is quite young for a Kyai, though well into middle age. At nearly two meters she is a tall woman with excellent posture. She carries more fat than muscle, though that is not to say she isn't powerful. Her deeply bronzed skin has been heavily freckled by a lifetime spent in the blazing desert sun. Long auburn locks flow freely down her back, just barely held in check by a bright blue keffiyeh that she normally ties around the back of her head, leaving her head and face uncovered. Her green dress is plainly cut and free-flowing, though the bare shoulders leave more skin exposed than might be considered "appropriate". A stylized owl is embroidered onto the dress's right hip, signifying Applecore's adherence to one of the secondary Anykhet goddesses Masiddica; protector of women. A number of golden adornments contrast against her skin including piercings in her ears, nose, and bottom lip. She also wears an upper arm bracelet in the shape of a coiled snake. Her resting face is usually stern with half-lidded eyes and slightly pouting lips in anticipation of the less-desirable side of people's personalities, both her students and her peers. That is not to say she can't soften up and relax, quite the contrary, though her smiles, laughter, and light-heartedness are usually reserved for the company of those she trusts. RP Samples: One night you were in need... Help came from an unexpected corner...   ((A note, I used Synkel as the city for these prompts only because I didn't see the names of the other four cities anywhere in the app. Depending on information learned later, if accepted into the game, the city could change, or not.)) Wet and cold... Wet and cold... Why is the desert so tozzing wet and cold as soon as the sun goes down? Nesma pulled her head out of the refuse pile, flung her hair back, and used her free hand to wipe her face. The mud and slop in Synkel's trash heaps had a way of clinging to her clothes, her skin. She had gotten used to it over the past months, being dirty, but that didn't mean she liked it. Once her eyes had been cleared she opened them and peered at what she had pulled out of the filth in her other hand. Bread... almost half a loaf! Without stopping to check for mold she began to devour it wolfishly. The loaf was somehow stale and soggy at the same time, but she didn't care. To Nesma it was ambrosia. The young girl, not long for prepubescence, was quite tall. Nearly as tall as most adults. Her dark brown skin and freckles pegged her as one of the Dulamah; the enormous tribal nomads that roamed the dunes surrounding the Five Cities. Dulamin urchins were becoming quite common. There weren't many tribes left that hadn't fallen to Domantine subjugation, and the legions had a knack for dumping those who became too much of a problem into the gutters of the Five Cities to let the locals "solve". Before she had finished her meal a sharp pain exploded against the side of her head, her vision going white. By the time it had cleared she picked herself up off the ground and touched the wound, her hand coming away slick with blood and a sharp stone lay at her feet. She found herself surrounded by five of the local boys. She recognized a couple of them, the ones from well-to-do families always found time to harass the homeless foreigners who lived in the streets. The fattest one stepped forward and sneered at her. "Well, well friends. If it isn't the freak, Applecore! What did you find this time, Applecore? Some moldy bread? Heh heh, that looks like a feast for you... Applecore!" Kafele... she knew this one by name. He enunciated the degrading nickname each time he said it, driving it home like a knife. Nesma tried to ignore him, hoping desperately that he would do the same, and bent down to retrieve the remains of the only meal she had found all day. Before she got her hands on it Kafele's soft leather shoe stomped on the bread and ground it into the mud with a twist of his foot. "Aww... Sorry about that! If you're hungry you can always come by my estate. I'm sure I can think of all kinds of things for you to do to earn a meal, right lads?" The other boys chuckled menacingly and all Nesma could do was shrink back from them. What could she do? There was five of them and only one of her. Maybe if she cowered and placated the bullies they would leave her alone and she could return to... scavenging for her survival... in peace. The idea that that was a best case scenario brought a sickening depression to the pit of her stomach. Is this to be my life? Eating trash and getting beaten by bullies? An affectionate term that roughly translates to "parental units". Dulamah tribes raise their children as a community, with all children being raised and taught by all adults.'Alaba had such grand stories about the adventures of the Dulamah. Traveling all across the land, visiting the edges of the world where no one else dared to go. Stubborn enough to survive in the hottest, harshest places in the desert. Great warriors and wise philosophers. And now what's left of us? Rotting in the Domantine "safe zones" or scrounging a miserable existence in the streets of the Five Cities. As she bemoaned internally she could see the boys had no intention of leaving her to her meager life. Not this time and not in the future. Whenever they were finished with her this night they would leave, but they would just return tomorrow. Or the next day. Kafele struck first, egged on by his cohorts. It wasn't a painful punch, the boy was weak, but the young girl recoiled nonetheless, more out of fear than physical agony. The second blow came from behind and hurt significantly more, dropping her to the ground. That's when the kicks began, and they came from all sides. Nesma retreated into herself, trying to separate her mind from the humiliation and the injury. How many of these indignities must I endure? How many days? How many weeks before it's too much? A loud screech resounded through the alleyway, followed by the scuffling of feet and cries of alarm from her attackers. She removed her hands from her head just enough to catch glimpse of a winged form swooping up to perch on a pole jutting out horizontally from the adjacent building. An owl? Not just any owl, but the largest owl Nesma had ever seen. It must have been the size of an eagle! Everyone was struck speechless for a moment and Nesma took in a few more details. On the pole from which it sat hung a banner that depicted the Domantine pantheon, which had become the "approved" dieties of worship since their arrival. The symbolism of the owl did not appear among them. But... the owl is a symbol of one of the Anykhet's gods... Mesiddica, I think? She didn't know why she just made that connection, or why it was important. Only that it did, in fact, seem significant. Finally Kafele broke the silence with a curse. "An Anykhet curse equating to "piss off!"Tozz feek you stupid bird!" The boy picked up anther rock and hurled it in the owl's direction. He must have gotten lucky with his first shot because this one went wide and struck a window nearly five meters away, shattering it and raining glass down on the cobblestone. It wasn't particularly far, Nesma could have easily hit her target from that distance and she was far from the most accurate in her tribe. The owl didn't cringe. Didn't budge. Merely observed the children arrayed below her. The owl seemed so... proud. So majestic. Standing tall above the religious propaganda. Above the pettiness of humans. Almost as if she was willed to do it Nesma stood up, eyes locked onto the owl who returned the gaze, unflinching. "I said get outta here!" Kafele's next stone got closer, pinging off the pole less than a meter away with a metallic clang. Still the bird acted as if the boy and his rock throwing were of no consequence whatsoever. She simply stared at Nesma in silence, as if conveying some psychic message. What? What do you want? I don't-- Suddenly Nesma was struck with what she would later consider to be divine inspiration. The boys fled from the owl when it invaded their space. They were scared of her. Just as she was scared of them. Fear made one weak. It paralyzed, kept one from achieving their full potential. These boys were not her enemy. Fear was her enemy. Her tribe would have burned the fear from her mind if they were allowed to remain free, but she didn't have her tribe. She had only herself. Her hands curled into fists so tight her knuckles turned white. Kafele turned back to face his victim, waving at the owl with a dismissive gesture. He seemed surprised that Nesma was standing to face him this time. "Well, well... Found your foot--" She didn't wait for him to finish. She put all her might, all her energy, all her fear into that punch and released it from her body. The boy's nose erupted in a spray of blood and he fell backwards like a pile of bricks. "I AM NOT AFRAID!!" She screamed at him, her voice going hoarse from sheer force. Kafele sat stunned into silence, his hands covering his broken nose, trying feebly to cup the never-ending faucet of blood. Finally Nesma could see tears well up in his eyes and he shouted, half-sobbing and half-furious. "You're going to regret that! Get her!" Nesma spared a quick glance at the owl, who remained stoic, before whirling around to try and face the rest of the boys all at once. She knew she couldn't defeat them all, but she wasn't going to go quietly. Not this time. An old woman, hunched and wrapped in a simple cowl and simple robes emerged from some other alley then, leaning on a wooden, gnarled cane almost as big as herself. She hobbled silently towards them. She may have been a dwarf, but as she neared, her pronounced canines and a soft, intermittent shifting of her sand-colored skin revealed her to be a Leutakimah, descended from orc and earth. At first, it seemed that she may have been partially blind, perhaps planning to walk past them. But she went to them directly - and calmly - as if expecting them for lunch. She paused, studied the boys, and when she slammed the butte of her cane into the ground and hissed something unhearable, a blast of force hit the dirt beneath them, lurching and shaking, and a shaft of ground splintered upwards here, a small rift forming there.. The old woman conjured what must have been a minor earthquake and the bullies collapsed to the ground, before the ground tossed them about like so much refuse. Nesma got tossed the same as the rest, although she was Dulamah. She had spent years running up and down shifting sand dunes with the other Dulamah children, her balance was greater than your average snot-nosed noble child. The unexpected timing and nature of the phenomenon gave her pause, however, and she ended up falling to her knees and one hand out of sheer surprise. The ground ceased a moment later, but it remained broken splintered so the boys struggled over it as they fled. Nesma stood there, fists still balled, unsure what to make of what just happened. She wasn't in immediate danger anymore, but the adrenaline was still racing through her so fast she was probably shaking. The woman who sent the boys running was surprisingly short. Shorter than her, but she stood with a surety and poise that made it seem like she was somehow looking down on Nesma. That confidence made her... uneasy. "I didn't need your help." The statement was blurted out in haste and defiance. "Mmm..." She grumbled, considering the girl's words very seriously. The old woman approached the goliath directly, straightened her hunched back, then craned her neck, as if unfolding herself entirely to look up at Nesma. She sniffed at the girl. "Are you... sahir? Learned so many of your own old magics, have you? Hm!" She tutted strolled a comfortable few steps back. "You're blown far away from your dunes, Dulamah. As I've fallen far from my cliffs. Not that such places are so different now. In this place, we are only Anykhet, little one." She seemed overly familiar. A bit matter-of-fact, but welcoming all the same. She nodded to the owl. "The owl doesn't let the vermin steal its food, does it? Come, little one. I am Dunyazad. In the desert beyond I would have been an wise womanaimra'at hakima but in the time of the Domantine I am only an a Domantine house servant of low station dedicated to tending, teaching, and overall raising the children of a wealthy familyaltrix. The caupo has need of another hand, and you certainly have the build..." Then her attention was stolen away by the owl again, though the great bird remained motionless. The strange old Literally, peoples from the mud-home. A sedentary tribe of hunters, stonecrafters, clayworkers, and naturalists from the desert mountains of Anykhet. Many resisted the Domantine and were either scattered or subjugated. In the Domantine culture, they are considered Half-Orcs, but this classification is often used to gloss over their history with the empire.Leutakimah, Dunyazad, studied the owl intently. Her wizened, wrinkled eyes seemed as unmoving as the owl, but she must have seen something there. She sighed and tutted again. "Oh, but the owl makes the vermin its food, doesn't it? Very well. You may choose to fish for refuse in the streets or receive the scraps in the the large inner-city Domanite manors. Large structures with high walls and courtyards. Often owned by aristocrats and employing their own guards and many house servants that range from disposable second-class citizens to de facto members of the family.domus. Or... you may choose to go to the academy and find a man called Herzig. But you must arrive well before the sun rises, before morning bell, when Herzig is entirely alone. Tell him Dunyazad sent you. Tell him you are to belong there... should you choose it." Nesma paused at the thought. Could I really? Her heart leapt at the prospect. A life with meaning... with purpose. Education. Power. Perhaps someday I could even see my people again? Help to free them? A thought brought her mind back down to the present. This woman wouldn't just offer a solution for nothing. She had an agenda... Nesma's brought her guard back up. "What do you want from me?" Dunyazad harumph-ed at the idea of wanting something from the young Dulamah. She grinned and her cheeks wrinkled upon themselves a thousandfold. It was the first crack in her stony facade. Dunyazad looked over the girl's person - not that there was much - and decided on the only real possession there. "Your scabbard. An alsard, no? Sacred relics of Dulamah families, inscribed with your people's history and woven over for every life its blade has saved. And with so many stitchings - your family must have been valiant indeed. You know its tales by heart, then. They yearn to be told to new ears, you know. As new books yearn for you in turn." She outstretched her open palm, fissured deep from a lifetime of working with her hands. Nesma blinked. My sheath? She unstrapped the empty scabbard and held it in her hands, examining it for the first time in many days. She often forgot it was even there. It was crafted in fine leather skinned from the elusive pale addax and the leather remained as bright as the white sands of Govina. It was made to hold a long dagger of ceremonial significance, she knew that much, though she never got the opportunity to learn exactly what ceremony, and the dagger itself was now lost during the tribe's subjugation by the Domantine legions. According to this old woman it's used to... save lives? A series of intricate hieroglyphs were burned down both sides that told the story of her tribe going back seventeen generations. It was true, she had all the stories memorized, but still Nesma ran her fingers slowly over the marks as she had done countless times since arriving in Synkel. Alone. It was the last piece of her tribe she owned, and an important one. Why would she want to take that from me? Will she really tell Dulamah stories to other people? She looked up at the owl once more. No more fear... Holding onto to the past at the cost of the future is a kind of fear, isn't it? A kind of weakness? She slowly held out the scabbard... Dunyazad took the scabbard and lead Nesma out of the alley. As they walked out into the lantern-lit streets of Synkel Nesma knew not what waited for her, but she vowed two things to herself. First, she would pay homage to Mesiddica for the rest of her days, the Domantine restrictions be damned. Second, if this City saw her as an applecore, then that's how she would be known. She was Nesma the scared girl no longer. Applecore took the prejudices thrust upon her by society and turned them into strengths. Applecore faced her enemies without fear. Behind the pair the large owl flew away in the opposite direction, silhouetted by waxing moon. Words and deeds are two different things...   Applecore swung the door to Kyai Yorda's office open so hard the hinges rattled and threatened to dislodge from the wall. The Headmaster has gone too far this time... Too far! She took two steps inside and stared at the elderly Yorda, her breath heaving in her chest. She bore the marks of his latest suggestion of "assisted retirement" nakedly; blood dripping in a small stream from one nostril. A split lip. A purple-black bruise on her cheek that was beginning to puff underneath one eye. And a dinner plate-sized bloodstain underneath one side of her ribcage, her green dress plainly split open where the sword had slashed through. "You've gone too far this time, Yorda!" Her mind was reeling from anger and adrenaline and for a moment she could think of no other words. Fear would have been the appropriate response for an attempt on one's life; perhaps it should be now. But Applecore had long since burned away any fear living inside her. Mesiddica had seen to that on that fateful night in the alley so long ago. The woman that now stood defiantly before the Academy's headmaster was fearless to a fault. "Should I leave, Headmaster?" The voice was meek and barely above a whisper. It came from the Headmaster's second, Kyai Utay. The old man, Yorda, leaned back in his chair, steepled his fingers calmly, and nodded to the other man. "Perhaps that would be best, Kyai Utay. It seems Applecore and I have some... sensitive business to--" The door slammed shut just as violently as it had opened and Applecore whirled back around to face the two seated men, Yorda behind his desk and Utay off to one side. "No, you stay, Utay. I think it best a witness be present." Yorda's smug visage dropped just a hair and he froze in place as the woman stepped closer once more and pointed a finger accusingly. "I knew you were a snake, Yorda. Bowing to the Domantine Integration Council. Banning text after crucial text that threatened to expose proud Anykhet cultures as more than mere subjugates of the 'glorious empire'. Keeping smart, capable, and independent thinkers under your bootheel. But I never thought you'd stoop so low as to hire assass--" The Headmaster raised his voice now, cutting off Applecore before she was able to finish the word. "That's quite enough, Educator, in this context used to assert subservience under the more respected and established title of Kyai.marbi Applecore!" Yorda defensively rose to his feet, not so old that he required the assistance of a cane, though it only seemed to highlight the height difference between the goliath Dulamah and the relatively shorter cosmopolitan Anykhet man. "You have been a thorn in my side for the better part of three decades, ever since that agitator Herzig allowed you to walk through my doors. In that time I feel I've been incredibly magnanimous to you, moreso than you deserve or would have gotten from anyone else at this school if they were in my shoes. I've allowed Herzig to teach you his 'Anykhet Pride' courses, turning my back even when that included restricted texts. I allowed you, against my better judgement, to take over his classes after his retirement. I even pretend not to notice your illegitimate symbolism." Applecore followed his eyes down to the curve of her hip where the stylized owl of Mesiddica was stiched into her dress, just below the sword slash. Her blood had seeped low enough to envelop the ears and eyes of the owl, giving it a sinister masked appearance. She returned her gaze to meet his, eyes narrowing. "Given the circumstances I feel I've been quite generous, marbi. And how do you repay that generosity? With insubordination! I give you more leeway than any other faculty member in this institution and you continue to push for more. And more! Well you can push no longer, Applecore. You've met an immovable wall and your time is up." Now it was Applecore's turn to exude a calm. She slowed her breathing and willed her rage to quell, keeping it to a low simmer. When she spoke next her voice carried a tone of control, a placidity she did not often express. "Perhaps you are correct, Kyai Yorda. I can see now my efforts have been an exercise in futility. It is hopeless to expect you to make the hard decisions. To stand up to the might of the Domantine Empire where it matters most; with our children. You would allow their indoctrination to erase our many cultures, our heritage, our history from existence without a second thought. To appease your superiors on the Council and retain your status, even the bastardized version it has become since their arrival." "How DARE you! You have defied me for the last time, girl." His eyes flicked to Utay briefly, perhaps looking for encouragement, or maybe simply self-conscious of the fact that he had to exert power this blatantly in front of his second. "I hereby ban--" Applecore saw where this was headed and she had prepared for this eventuality. She reached within herself and summoned the rage that was boiling beneath the surface. She put her right hand into her dress and grasped her medallion, closing her eyes. Mesiddica, grant me the strength to make the hard choices. For our children! As Yorda was summoning the courage to banish her from the Academy, Applecore simultaneously reached out with her left hand and wrapped it around Yorda's neck, not only cutting off his speech but his breath as well. She pushed her anger into him and it manifested physically through Mesiddica's will. Yorda's neck swelled to near twice its normal thickness, the veins underneath his skin turning black and spiderwebbing up into his face. His eyes bugged wide and Applecore could see a myriad of emotions cross his face. Surprise, anger, fear, pain, but it was all too late. She tossed what was left of the gurgling former Headmaster to the side of his desk and smoothly stepped over his body, taking his chair. She put her hands on his desk, feeling the power of the position and a smile slowly spread across her face. Yes... This is where I can really make a difference. "By the gods... He's... He's dead! What are we to do?" Utay could barely comprehend what had transpired. The man wasn't evil like Yorda, just susceptible. Applecore could use that. "Say nothing, Kyai Utay. Not for today, let the Academy finish out the classes for the day and inform the faculty there will be a mandatory meeting tomorrow morning before first bell. There are going to be some changes to the Academy." "Bu... Wha... How... "The man looked at Applecore and began to stammer an objection, but he couldn't seem to summon the courage to actually form words. Applecore's smile turned sly and playful, she enjoyed watching the man squirm. "Oh, and summon one of the laborers, this body will need to be disposed of. That will be all, Kyai Utay." "Ahh... Very well, Applecore." Before he could leave the new Headmistress stopped him. "Oh, and Utay? You may address me as Kyai Applecore from now on." She couldn't wait to see how the rest of the staff took to her new title...   Statblock Applecore | Re-skinned GoliathDulamah | Size: Medium | Level 3 Knowledge Cleric HP: 27/27 | AC: 16/Without shield readied14/Without armor or shield10 | Speed: 30ft | Hit Dice: 3/3 (d8+2) | Prof. Bonus: +2 Left Hand: Empty || Right Hand: Empty STR: 14 (+2) | DEX: 10 (+0) | CON: 14 (+2) | INT: 14 (+2) | WIS: 15 (+2/Saving Throw+4) | CHA: 8 (-1/Saving Throw+1) Proficient Skills: Arcana (double proficiency bonus from Blessings of Knowledge class trait+6) | Athletics (+4) | History (double proficiency bonus from Blessings of Knowledge class trait+6) | Insight (+4) | Religion (+4) | Sleight of Hand (+2) | Stealth (rolling with disadvantage when wearing scale mail+2) Languages: Common, Anykhet, Dulamah, Domantine | Other Proficiencies: Light, Medium, ShieldsArmor, Simple Weapons, Disguise Kit, Thieves' Tools Spell Save DC: 12 | Spell Attack Modifier: +4 | 1st Level Spell Slots: 4/4 | 2nd Level Spell Slots: 2/2 Cantrips: Evocation Cantrip Casting Time: 1 Action Range: Touch Components: V,M Duration: 1 Hour You touch one object that is no larger than 10 feet in any dimension. Until the spell ends, the object sheds bright light in a 20-foot radius and dim light for an additional 20 feet. The light can be colored as you like. Completely covering the object with something opaque blocks the light. The spell ends if you cast it again or dismiss it as an action. If you target an object held or worn by a hostile creature, that creature must succeed on a Dexterity saving throw to avoid the spell. Light | Transmutation Cantrip Casting Time: 1 Action Range: 30 feet Components: V Duration: 1 minute You manifest a minor wonder, a sign of supernatural power, within range. You create one of the following magical effects within range: -Your voice booms up to three times as loud as normal for 1 minute. -You cause flames to flicker, brighten, dim, or change color for 1 minute. -You cause harmless tremors in the ground for 1 minute. -You create an instantaneous sound that originates from a point of your choice within range, such as a rumble of thunder, the cry of a raven, or ominous whispers. -You instantaneously cause an unlocked door or window to fly open or slam shut. -You alter the appearance of your eyes for 1 minute. If you cast this spell multiple times, you can have up to three of its 1-minute effects active at a time, and you can dismiss such an effect as an action.Thaumaturgy | Necromancy Cantrip Casting Time: 1 Action Range: 60 feet Components: V,S Duration: Instantaneous You point at one creature you can see within range, and the sound of a dolorous bell fills the air around it for a moment. The target must succeed on a Wisdom saving throw or take 1d8 necrotic damage. If the target is missing any of its hit points, it instead takes 1d12 necrotic damage. The spell’s damage increases by one die when you reach 5th level (2d8 or 2d12), 11th level (3d8 or 3d12), and 17th level (4d8 or 4d12).Toll the Dead | Prepared Spells: 2nd Level Divination (Domain Spell) Casting Time: 1 Minute (Ritual) Range: Self Components: V,S,M Duration: Instantaneous By casting gem-inlaid sticks, rolling dragon bones, laying out ornate cards, or employing some other divining tool, you receive an omen from an otherworldly entity about the results of a specific course of action that you plan to take within the next 30 minutes. The DM chooses from the following possible omens: -Weal, for good results -Woe, for bad results -Weal and woe, for both good and bad results -Nothing, for results that aren't especially good or bad The spell doesn't take into account any possible circumstances that might change the outcome, such as the casting of additional spells or the loss or gain of a companion. If you cast the spell two or more times before completing your next long rest, there is a cumulative 25 percent chance for each casting after the first that you get a random reading. The DM makes this roll in secret.Augury | 1st Level Enchantment (Domain Spell) Casting Time: 1 Action Range: 60 feet Components: V Duration: 1 round You speak a one-word command to a creature you can see within range. The target must succeed on a Wisdom saving throw or follow the command on its next turn. The spell has no effect if the target is undead, if it doesn't understand your language, or if your command is directly harmful to it. Some typical commands and their effects follow. You might issue a command other than one described here. If you do so, the GM determines how the target behaves. If the target can't follow your command, the spell ends. Approach. The target moves toward you by the shortest and most direct route, ending its turn if it moves within 5 feet of you. Drop. The target drops whatever it is holding and then ends its turn. Flee. The target spends its turn moving away from you by the fastest available means. Grovel. The target falls prone and then ends its turn. Halt. The target doesn't move and takes no actions. A flying creature stays aloft, provided that it is able to do so. If it must move to stay aloft, it flies the minimum distance needed to remain in the air. At Higher Levels. When you cast this spell using a spell slot of 2nd level or higher, you can affect one additional creature for each slot level above 1st. The creatures must be within 30 feet of each other when you target them.Command | 1st Level Divination (Domain Spell) Casting Time: 1 Minute (Ritual) Range: Touch Components: V,S,M (a pearl worth 100gp) Duration: Instantaneous You choose one object that you must touch throughout the casting of the spell. If it is a magic item or some other magic-imbued object, you learn its properties and how to use them, whether it requires attunement to use, and how many charges it has, if any. You learn whether any spells are affecting the item and what they are. If the item was created by a spell, you learn which spell created it. If you instead touch a creature throughout the casting, you learn what spells, if any, are currently affecting it.Identify | 2nd Level Enchantment (Domain Spell) Casting Time: 1 Action Range: 30 feet Components: V,M Duration: 1 hour (Concentration) You suggest a course of activity (limited to a sentence or two) and magically influence a creature you can see within range that can hear and understand you. Creatures that can't be charmed are immune to this effect. The suggestion must be worded in such a manner as to make the course of action sound reasonable. Asking the creature to stab itself, throw itself onto a spear, immolate itself, or do some other obviously harmful act ends the spell. The target must make a Wisdom saving throw. On a failed save, it pursues the course of action you described to the best of its ability. The suggested course of action can continue for the entire duration. If the suggested activity can be completed in a shorter time, the spell ends when the subject finishes what it was asked to do. You can also specify conditions that will trigger a special activity during the duration. For example, you might suggest that a knight give her warhorse to the first beggar she meets. If the condition isn't met before the spell expires, the activity isn't performed. If you or any of your companions damage the target, the spell ends.Suggestion At 2nd level, you gain the ability to channel divine energy directly from your deity, using that energy to fuel magical effects. You start with two such effects: Turn Undead and an effect determined by your domain. Some domains grant you additional effects as you advance in levels, as noted in the domain description. When you use your Channel Divinity, you choose which effect to create. You must then finish a short or long rest to use your Channel Divinity again. Some Channel Divinity effects require saving throws. When you use such an effect from this class, the DC equals your cleric spell save DC.Channel Divinity: As an action, you present your holy symbol and speak a prayer censuring the undead. Each undead that can see or hear you within 30 feet of you must make a Wisdom saving throw. If the creature fails its saving throw, it is turned for 1 minute or until it takes any damage. A turned creature must spend its turns trying to move as far away from you as it can, and it can’t willingly move to a space within 30 feet of you. It also can’t take reactions. For its action, it can use only the Dash action or try to escape from an effect that prevents it from moving. If there’s nowhere to move, the creature can use the Dodge action.Turn Undead, Starting at 2nd level, you can use your Channel Divinity to tap into a divine well of knowledge. As an action, you choose one skill or tool. For 10 minutes, you have proficiency with the chosen skill or tool.Knowledge of the Ages Funds: 12gp, 9sp, 8cp | Weapons: +4 to-hit | 1d6+2 Bludgeoning DamageMace | +4 to-hit | 1d6+2 or 1d8+2 Slashing Damage Thrown (20/60) | VersatileSpear | Equipment: 14 + Dex AC | Not Currently Worn | Disadvantage on Stealth checks when worn Applecore's holy vestments were granted to her when she pledged herself to Mesiddica, although she hasn't ever found a need to actually wear them and finds them quite ridiculous.Scale Mail | +2 AC when wielded Much like her cleric's armor, the shield of Mesiddica holy warriors has sat unused for many years in Applecore's storage.Shield | Mesiddica's Medallion | Worn around neckHoly Symbol | Wonderous Item, Uncommon While lit, this hooded lantern burns for 6 hours on 1 pint of oil, shedding bright light in a 30-foot radius and dim light for an additional 30 feet. Invisible creatures and objects are visible as long as they are in the lantern's bright light. You can use an action to lower the hood, reducing the light to dim light in a 5-foot radius.Lantern of Revealing | WornNice Clothes | Worn on beltSmall Knife | Map of Synkel, bedroll, mess kit, tinderbox, torches (10), rations (10), waterskin, hemp rope (50 feet with grappling hook attached), ink well & pen, paper (5 sheets), holy water (1 vial), potion of healing, caltrops (2 bags), manacles, thieves' tools, pearl worth 100gpMessenger's Bag Racial Traits: STR +2, CON +1Ability Scores | You have proficiency in the Athletics skill.Natural Athlete | You can focus yourself to occasionally shrug off injury. When you take damage, you can use your reaction to roll a d12. Add your Constitution modifier to the number rolled and reduce the damage by that total. After you use this trait, you can’t use it again until you finish a short or long rest.Stone's Endurance | You count as one size larger when determining your carrying capacity and the weight you can push, drag, or lift.Powerful Build | reskinned from "Mountain Born" You’re acclimated to extremely hot and arid climates.Desert Born | Class Traits: You can cast a cleric spell as a ritual if that spell has the ritual tag and you have the spell prepared.Ritual Casting | You can use a holy symbol as a spellcasting focus for your cleric spells.Spellcasting Focus | Each domain has a list of spells — its domain spells — that you gain at the cleric levels noted in the domain description. Once you gain a domain spell, you always have it prepared, and it doesn’t count against the number of spells you can prepare each day. If you have a domain spell that doesn’t appear on the cleric spell list, the spell is nonetheless a cleric spell for you. Cleric Level Spells Known 1 Command, Identify 3 Augury, Suggestion Divine Domain: Knowledge | At 1st level, you learn two languages of your choice. You also become proficient in your choice of two of the following skills: Arcana, History, Nature, or Religion. Your proficiency bonus is doubled for any ability check you make that uses either of those skills.Blessings of Knowledge

[NightCheese]

Heliae Name: Heliae Eshe Race: Human Class: Druid Gender Identity: Born female, now non-conforming they/them or she/her/hers Character Sheet Appearance: Heliae is a human of slim build, standing at 5'10" and weighing approximately 130 pounds. They are 27 years-old. Heliae's appearance is rather unique, and their skin is a puzzle of both dark and light pigmentation, a condition in modern times known as vitiligo. The caramel brown and white tones swirl together like blots of ink on parchment. Their thick, dark hair has been cropped short on the sides, while the top is longer front swoops down their face, often covering their electric blue eyes. Heliae wears nondescript clothing, often a tunic or something that does not suggest any gender specificity.   Raemka – positive. Heliae admires Raemka’s street-wise ways, being new to the streets themself. Haemon – untrusting, though mistaken. While not directly a noble, Haemon's close friendship with aristocrats make Heliae nervous. Heliae is also off-put by Haemon's view of servants having a very particular place in society. Heliae does not fit that norm, and is hesitant to trust Haemon, though he has treated them before. Applecore – complicated. Applecore's arrogance is a not trait that Heliae would admire or seek out in someone. However, having a shared background as an orphan, of sorts, gives Heliae empathy towards Applecore. Dunyazad – positive. Heliae feels an empathetic bond to Dunyazad as a fellow servant. The two have crossed paths before, though not for 10-15 years. Dunyazad was attending to children at a wedding, at which Ruby, Heliae's keeper, was a guest. Upon meeting again Dunyazad recognizes Heliae, though their appearance is far more neutral now than it was when they were identifying as female (longer hair, less generic dress).   Heliae Eshe was born to parents of low standing, before the fall of their city and the invading of foreigners. Born a girl, they were sold into slavery by their parents at a young age, in hopes of saving their only child from the perils of war. An attractive and well-spoken child, Heliae was purchase by Anyket aristocrats as a companion for their child. The family that purchased Heliae lived on the outskirts and did not have many other children for their daughter, Ruby, to socialize and play with. And so, they purchased Heliae as a companion to keep their daughter company. Both children were 9 years of age at the time. The children grew up together, and spent practically every moment of each day with one another, with the exception of meals and sleeping. As they aged, Heliae began to question their identity, in regards to gender. They found themself much more comfortable with short hair and wearing generic clothing. Heliae does not feel like a traditional woman, but also does not trust and does not want to be a man. They toe the line between the two genders, never specifying to those they meet. During their time with Ruby and their family, they were taught by the child the way of the desert druids, a family secret and tradition. When we find Heliae as a part of this adventure, they have been largely living alone, practicing their craft in solitude. According to law, each member of nobility is allowed to pardon/release one prisoner or slave annually starting with their 25th birthday. On her 25th birthday, Ruby (who Heliae is a servant to) choose to release Heliae. Given their deep affection and daresay, love, that Heliae feels for Ruby, they were hesitant to leave. However, their mistress provided their freedom, and as a last following of her demands, Heliae departed, a free person. Heliae left and has since been questioning what the meaning of their existence is, if not to serve her. So when we find Heliae as part of this story, they've been wandering about the desert by their lonesome, trying to find purpose.     Heliae looked out the window of their quarters. It was raining, rare for the desert oasis town. They pulled the tattered muslin and embroidered bed linens over their bare legs. The unusual dampness finding its way to the young person’s bones radiated through them, making them crave warmth. It had been 1,460 days since Heliae had seen their parents. They remembered the last time they were all together. It was burnt in their memory: The jostling back and forth, up and down, on the hard, wooden seat of the cart… the way their mother touch her fingers to her lips, and waved them in the air. “I will come for you!” she had said. Now, so many tearful nights later, Heliae was still alone, and out of tears. They knew that their parents’ promises to fetch them and repay their debt were false. Mother and father would never come for them, and even if they did, they would not have the means to buy Heliae back. After four years, they had come to understand that much. There was a knock at the door, snapping Heliae out of their daydream. The three, light raps startled Heliae. No one announced themselves before entering the teen’s quarters, they simply came and went as they pleased. As a servant of the house, Heliae was not granted the privilege of privacy. Their gaze shifted as the door crept open. Their mistress’ face peeked around the corner, and her hands emerged, filled with satchels of one plant or another. “Ready to go? The rare rain is calling me.” “I need to dress. A moment, please.” Lady Ruby obliged, a courtesy not often shown to the slave. Heliae pulled up their skirt and tucked their hair, newly cropped short on the sides, under a beige linen scarf. After sliding their feet into dusty sandals, they left the room, ready to help Lady Ruby in her gathering of natural materials for whatever spells she was keen to learn that day.   Heliae followed Lady Ruby each day, always on the same path. For nearly eight years the noble child had been Heliae’s peer in age, but for all intents and purposes was her master. Heliae’s purpose as the family’s servant was to keep Ruby company, as she was the family’s only child and there were few children available for play. Heliae spent their days carrying the young lady’s bits and bobs as they traversed the desert, looking for elements to complete various potions and spells, or as a lookout when Ruby would assume the shape of a creature, alerting her if predators were nearby. The two spent so much time with one another they could be considered friends if it weren’t for the circumstances that put them together. Heliae, a servant, and Ruby, the nobility. Leaving the royal entourage of guards behind, Heliae made their way down the large dune, feet dragging through the hot sand. It was windy that day and they held their forearm to their face to avoid getting sand in the eyes. "Lady Ruby, where are we going? I haven't seen any plants for miles." When they reached the bottom, Ruby stopped abruptly, turning and giving Heliae a knowing smile that they'd seen every day for almost a decade. Ruby seemed to vanish before Heliae’s eyes. Heliae searched the horizon for some manner of beast or another. What is she today? Heliae had just noticed the virtually microscopic tracks through the sand before it happened. Suddenly, faster than they could think a single thought, the world went from predictable to incredibly large. Grains of sand were the size of urns, and climbing over each one was more like climbing over the rocks in a riverbed. The ground shifted and changed rapidly, and Heliae struggled to steady their footing. The young servant looked for their companion, and then to their own feet, realizing where there should be two, there were six. And they were…black. “H...how did I? What?!" Heliae realized in that instant that Ruby hadn’t been just treating them as a servant, but had been teaching the entire time. After years of watching the young druid do the same, Heliae had finally taken the form of another creature themself. Of course the first creature I would assume the shape of would be a sand beetle. So small and – Heliae’s side was impacted and they looked to the left, seeing another black beetle, its hard shell glistening in the hot desert sun. They recognized at once their master, their friend, their teacher.

[cottontailwind]

The Altrix Dunyazad Name: Altrix: a Domantine house servant of low station dedicated to tending, teaching, and overall raising the children of a wealthy family. Reports to the housekeeper or majordomo, but never the Domina or Dominus. Effectively, a nanny and governess. Altrix Dunyazad (character sheet) Race: Half-orc tribes of the Anykhet mountains, descended from generations of half-orcs. Literally translates to "peoples of the mud-home." Have an earth affinity and, in addition to traditional half-orc presentations, sometimes manifest earth genasi presentations, such as stony ridges protruding from their bones, rocky fissures in their skin that emanate faint light, or dust unsettling from them when they move. Leutakimah (Half-Orc) Gender Identity: Female; She/Her Class: Bard, College of Lore Appearance: Her already short stature seemed even shorter from her hunch - craned forward from a lifetime of picking up children that were not her own. Old Dunyazad wore her years plainly, in the folds around her eyes and cheeks and knuckles. One sunspot for every story she'd come to carry, she'd say. And there were so many. Inside the domūs and villas, the standard was to keep one's hair in a tight bun, suspended with wooden hairpins. The uniform only changed slightly between families and generations, but it was usually some flowing robe with a long, embroidered apron. More as a badge than for any utility. Jowls stoic and unmoving around the other servants, of course. Especially around the Domina. And when reporting and deferring to the housekeeper, she kept her gravelly voice down to only the gentlest of whispers, no more than dust settling. To be seen was to be trouble. When she was traversing the open city streets, whether on an errand or slipping away to exchange news with some distant, native-born kin, Old Dunyazad leaned on a gnarled cane to keep a steady pace. Her eyelids hung low, barely moving when she'd wrinkle her brow and tut, as was her response to so many things anymore. Swaddled in the layered wraps of her cowl - another must for all good Domantine house servants venturing outside - the altrix might even appear as any common dwarf. Maybe at a quick glance, anyways. A sarab, her people would have teased her. Able to pass. None of the traditional protruding incisor underbite. No gemtone sheen to her eyes, which had instead begun to develop a mild haze. Her only real mark as a child of the Leutakimah - the half-orc tribes of the Anykhet mountains - was that small areas of sand-colored skin would appear to sometimes shift and settle along the surface, almost granular. But surely, it must have been a trick of the light. This was just a common dwarf, an Anykhet local, a hunched elderly maid running some nothing errand, after all, no? Most wouldn't know it, but Dunyazad loved to smile. Sometimes at the most simple things, though she didn't always have the opportunity. Her jowls would pull back and crease a thousand and one times on either side. Background:   Dunyazad was just a girl when her desert-mountain peoples scattered from their ancestral home. They were no exception to the growing Domantine threat throughout Anykhet and Dunyazad was swept up in the movement to try and commingle among the expanding empire. Little did they know that this meant coersively splitting up the immigrating Leutakimah peoples. Little Dunyazad, daughter of several generations of wise women and community mother, was sent to be a scullery maid for empire nobility. When she was still young, the other native Anykhet servants saw her natural talents as a mountain witch and keeper of lore and stories among her peoples. She was elevated to become an Altrix, or second mother, nanny, and governess to the noble children. Though this didn't come with any additional status in the eyes of the Domantine, it did solidify her role among the other servants as a sort of center. For many displaced Anykhet natives, to be around Dunyazad in the backroom kitchens just before bed, and to hear her many collected stories from all Anykhet peoples, was to have found a new home. She was a good servant and served a handful of different esteemed Domantine families throughout the Five Cities. Dunyazad grew to love the Domantine children as her own (at least those who were not cruel), and many of them learned to love her in turn, though never expressed openly before other servants, and certainly not before other Domantine or their own family. A good altrix was always detached, but it was an unspoken and commonly known secret that what made an altrix good was the genuine paternal love for their wards. This connection created a new space for Dunyazad - the children were curious about her, and so when no one else was around, she began to weave her people's ancestral lore into their Domantine lessons. It was a great risk, but the children loved the stories and so kept the secrets. And so Dunyazad found a new life for her scattered people's ways, told in secret to a few Domantine children at a time, and to the disparate tribes that had now become a single Anykhet peoples under Domantine rule. This went on for many years and Dunyazad gained her own quiet fame among the nobility as being a competent and sought-after altrix. Her servitude found her back in Synkel. Her last ward had grown of age enough that it wasn't appropriate for them to have an altrix anymore. And so, in the waning years of her life, Dunyazad prepared for her employ to be traded to a new family again. But the Domantine empire was fading and Synkel was not what it used to be. In an unexpected turn of events, Dunyazad's masters approached her with an offer: go to the aid of Alexandros, safeguard his daughter Ismene, and gain your freedom. It was a common secret that Dunyazad had inherited the gifts and wisdom of mountain witches, and with her relationships and renown among the noble Domantine youth, it was hoped that she could aid in any scenario that included the youth's willful abandonment of the city. The masters, desperate to recover a missing child of their own and see the city return to greatness, gave Dunyazad one of their house treasures, with the promise that she could keep it should the mission be successful. And so Dunyazad set out, on what she hoped to be her final task as a servant, before she could return to the desert mountains and spend her last years among her tribe and within her homeland. Surely, this was her only goal, having spent so much time tending to the stories and ways of her people. But having lived a lifetime raising Domantine children... was there a part of her that sought to tend to Ismene and whatever plagued Synkel as if they were her own...? PC Strings   PC String 1: Applecore | positive. They first encountered one another some two decades prior under positive circumstances. Dunyazad offered Applecore (then by a different name) a job at her manor or a role as a student at the academy. They may have different approaches, but Dunyazad is pleased to see Applecore have grown up wise and strong and take pride in her Anykhet identity. PC String 2: Haemon | suspicious and mistaken. Upon learning he is an Elean from Paralimnos, she will appreciate that they became a part of Anykhet peacefully. But upon learning he is a physician, she will think his craft is bad luck, knowing the role Elean scholars played in the draining of their own water source, and subsequently in her mind, the ruin of their own city and the land. (Unless knowledge about the draining of their lake is a secret.) Dunyazad may have just recently heard rumors (through her extensive servant rumormill and native Anykhet contacts) of an Elean physician from Paralimnos staying as a guest with a Domantine noble, and that positive connection with Domantine nobility may further cast suspicion on his motives in her mind. This wouldn't be any open hostility or disrespect but would be more of a shrewd distrust. String 3: Heliae | positive. She will find a kindred spirit in a fellow former-servant, and see their skin pattern and connection to the land as very auspicious and honorable. She would be very curious to see the paths that Heliae chooses to take. They once crossed paths, as servants attending to their respective masters' duties, at a formal event, and now recognize one another. Roleplay Sample 1: You know now that words and deeds are two different things. You learned this the hard way. What happened?   Was it a decade ago? It must have been two decades, now... Her hair was greying but not grey. And her skin wrinkled but didn't sag. It was that time when the altrix Dunyazad found herself having to say goodbye to kin both new and old. "By the silk weaver on Shutters' Run..." That could be anywhere. Dunyazad began her search under the many arches under the Thoroughfare. It was the most common spot for vagrants and the truly destitute, and despite being full enough of her own lost peoples, it was best to be done with that place while the sun was still high. Never mind the daylight - the really dangerous cutthroats simply wouldn't awake before noon. But no luck. None matching the girl's description. A sun-kissed waif of a Dulamah, according to her tip. A girl fresh from the dunes with neither kin nor means, much less a roof. Made sense enough, not finding her here though. A place as crowded as the Thoroughfare could be frightening even for longstanding residents. Dunyazad continued her search in the other likely places, ambling about almost lazily and relying heavily on her gnarled, wooden cane. It was much more walking than she was used to. It wasn't often that she had such a large stretch of time outside the domu walls, so she was present in each step over the mismatched cobbletones and dirt-tread sidestreets, as if their rough, even surfaces were a final act of defiance against the confines of civilization. Still, she had a purpose today, so she made sure not to idle... too much. No Dulamah sleeping in the alleys along the Pious Path. The genasi breadmakers hadn't seen any new faces lurking about lately either, though Mrs. Bhutujo shared that her nephew had returned safely from his trip to the steppes. They were due for a bit of fine news. It wasn't until the altrix Dunyazad began to make her way towards the Tamarisk Orphanage - if you could even call it an orphanage - that she heard something of a scuffle through the everyday chatter and bustle of the city's slums. The voices were contentious, but light. Perhaps light enough to be the voices of children? Then one voice in particular cut through the rest. A girl's voice. "... -m NOT AFRAID!" Dunyazad hurried through several narrow, winding sidestreets to see a gang of urchins surrounding a tall, slender child of Anykhet. A Dulamah. She'd found the girl. The urchins, all boys and one of them with a bloodied face, were advancing on the Dulamah. Dunyazad approached them casually, and with a quick conjure of her eatiq, Dunyazad casts Thunderwave!sent a magical blast of force at the street urchins. She had to direct it at the ground beneath them - no need to blast the flesh off their bones - but it was more than enough to send them fleeing. The old woman looked over either shoulder to see if any loitering eyes had caught her casting native magicks. At empire children, no less. But it seemed they were alone now. She turned to the Dulamah girl, who seemed to be doing everything to keep her ferocity contained. Dunyazad tutted and shrugged her wrinkled brow. A shame, that restraint. "I didn't need your help," the girl barked. Now this amused Dunyazad. "Are you... sahir? Learned so many of your own old magics, have you? Hm! You're blown far away from your dunes, Dulamah. As I've fallen far from my cliffs. Not that such places are so different now. In this place, we are only Anykhet, little one." The girl said nothing. She was listening. Dunyazad continued. "The owl doesn't let the vermin steal its food, does it? Come, little one. I am Dunyazad. In the desert beyond I would have been an Literally, "wise-woman." In the Leutakimah peoples, kept the tribe's histories. Sometimes also possess skills in magic, alchemy, science, and medicine.aimra'at hakima but in the time of the Domantine I am only an altrix. The House servant responsible for keeping horses and other animals within wealthy Domantine domūs and villas.caupo has need of another hand, and you certainly have the build..." Then a doubt came over Dunyazad. Her eyes trailed off as she gave a deeper consideration to the girl's words. Perhaps she didn't need Dunyazad's help? At least, not in the way that Dunyazad had thought. She wondered at what it would meant to "save" this orphaned child of Anykhet from the streets. Yes, the girl would make a fine stablehand. She'd have food. And a roof. But, what story would there be to tell of her...? When Dunyazad returned to the moment, she had an entirely different thought in mind. "Oh, but the owl makes the vermin its food, doesn't it? Very well. You may choose to fish for refuse in the streets. Or you may choose to labor in the domus for scraps. Or... you may choose to go to the academy and find a man called Herzig. But you must arrive well before the sun rises, before morning bell, when Herzig is entirely alone. Tell him Dunyazad sent you. Tell him you are to belong there... should you choose it." A ferocity returned to the girl then. Different from earlier, when she was readying herself to fight. It was a ferocious light. **** "Sso you found her, then? The Dulamah?" "Yes, Vishra. I found the Dulamah girl. She is named Nesma." She'd returned to the person who first told her about the wayward Dulamah: a fellow Leutakimah, from her own village no less, named Vishra. When Vishra was young, he was expected to become one of their greatest boneyard hunters, tracking carrion crawlers in a sandstorm and able to spot a swarm of resting rock-moths from thirty paces. But that was a long time ago. Now he hauled stones for new Domantine constructions. But there were never enough jobs to go around and the pay was never in full. Dunyazad met him in one of the many poorly-lit entrances to the Undermarket tunnels, as they usually did, though he'd just picked up another side job and had to rush off, as he always had. Sharing sightings of new tribefolk that'd wandered into the city was a common practice among their scattered network, to determine who among them might be most able to help. "And you brought her to your domu? Found her work as a sstablehand?" The brawny man asked with his mild lisp. He told folks it was from a healer who'd set his jaw wrong after a brawl, but Dunyazad knew the truth. Several years back, an empire-human was looking for a reason to not pay for some work, and accused him of sowing dissent. It was easy enough to target the Leutamkimah brute, with his visible incisor-underbite and bone-ridges protruding from his cheekbones. Even went as far as trying to have his tongue cut out. Only tried, though; Vishra preferred the pay. "Nesma has work, now, yes. And a home, yes," the much shorter altrix confirmed, her course and gravely voice perhaps a bit lower than normal. The sunsoaked, greenish skin around Vishra's eyes narrowed in suspicion. Not much slipped past his keen senses and he didn't like that she avoided his question, much less had reason to. Dunyazad tutted and told the rest of the truth: "She went to Herzig. At the academy." "To... shoulder parccelss?" "To study." The former hunter growled wickedly from the back of his throat and began to wave his thick, scarred arms as he went on. "Have the ssunss dried you mad, Dunyazad?! Ssending one of ourss there?! She will be found to be a... an imposster! Why not take her with you, work with you in your palacce! That iss what we disscusssed. Where she will be ssafe!" The outburst was expected, Dunyazad supposed. But that didn't make it any less tedious. In a rare display of Leutakimah fashion, her own hand gestures became wide and animated as she responded. "Would she really have been safe...? You should have seen her, Vishra. About to fend off some ruffians, and I moved in to keep her safe. Safe! She had a shirasa about her, Vishra! In her eyes! A ferocity of the spirit! Look," Dunyazad produced an empty scabbard from her robes, taken from Nesma as a sort of symbolic payment. She held it outstretched to Vishra. "She carried with her an Treasures within the Dulamah tribes, passed down through a family's generations. Often indicates that the bearer and their family are competent guardians of the tribe. A fabric band is woven around the scabbard for every life its sword has saved. Runes on the side tell the history of the family and tribe. alsard-scabbard, Vishra. Among her people, this girl would have become a noble warrior. But when I intervened on her behalf, to keep her safe as you'd say, all her shirasa was for the winds. If I'd plucked her from the streets only to land in some nothing-Domantine labor, it would be to rob her of that spirit entirely. No different than what the empire's done to all of us." "Do not play thesse gamess with your wordss! What you do is recklesss! You are recklesss!" Dunyazad tutted and waved his warnings away. "What threat to the Domantines is a little old Leutakimah? Nothing fell will come of me. And Herzig will look after Nesma's admissions to the academy." "It iss not ssolely you who rissk, jafatan! You risk the girl! You risk Herzig! You risk all of us when you taunt the Domantine! Your bookss and sstoriess and thiss," he grabbed the alsard-scabbard out of Dunyazad's hand and shook it in the air as he hissed. "Thesse are nothing! Thesse are danger! There iss no shirassa or Leutakimah in the Domantine - there iss only half-orc and fighting for what little work there iss for uss! All there iss now, iss for uss to ssurvive. I thought you undersstood that, Dunyazad, but insstead you are a sstubborn fool! The next time you think one of our people need ssaving, do uss a favor and jusst forget all your sstoriess!" Vishra hurled the scabbard away and stomped off into the Undermarket, fuming. Dunyazad scurried immediately after the scabbard, finding it lodged into the sticky refuse of a nearby canal. She crouched to pluck it out, groaning as she lowered herself but ignoring the filth of her surroundings much as she ignored Vishra's departure. A few quick brushes knocked the largest bits of unclean from the scabbard. Now alone with only the distant haze of the city's chatter, Dunyazad looked down at the soiled, empty relic of the Dulamah. "... you are not so entirely wrong, Vishra my kin. But you and I are getting old. One day I pray you can see what I see. If the Domantine take from us our spirit, then what have we really survived...?" The altrix Dunyazad looked up from the scabbard and peered deep into the sky, as if some reassurance were there, waiting to be read in the wind and the clouds. Instead, all she saw was a sun fading over a very faraway mountain horizon. The little Leutakimah tucked the relic within her robes and raised her servant's cowl up over her greying hair. She began her walk back towards the domu. Roleplay Sample 2: One night you were in desperate need. You could not solve your problems alone. Help came from an unexpected corner, forging a lifelong bond.   Another delayed lesson. Another inevitable punishment. Something menial no doubt, like having to flip the chickens' bedding in the middle of the night. Her Domina sauntered through the hallways, painted everywhere that she wasn't padded, and almost ready for the feast, except she'd surely keep changing her wig right up until she ran out of time to change again. At her side was her eldest son, Elcan, dressed plainly since he was, up until a moment ago, in the middle of lessons. Several paces behind was the housekeeper, Yusk, who was particularly stern even by lizardfolk standards. She had a flurry of short horns protruding through the green scales of her brow and skull. Despite wearing as simple of a robe as the rest of them, she was a legend of her own right among the servant class of noble houses. Following several paces behind Yusk were a handful of other lesser servants, silent and hands clasped and eyes averted. At the rear of them was Dunyazad. The scents of roasted pheasant and fresh fruit and many cheeses all wafted through the halls, but the servants weren't even allowed to smell them. It was an equally impossible challenge to keep the children's schedule when the servants couldn't speak to the dominae unless spoken to, and even then, only at a whisper. But this was the way of things. "And don't forget that when the magistrate arrives, you must be sure to speak to him of..." "Yes, mother." "And do be sure that when you greet the senator, you must introduce yourself as..." "Yes, mother." "And Elcan, you musn't forget that when the lead augur is announced, you must..." "Yes, mother." Elcan was approaching puberty, which meant he was taller than old Dunyazad, but it also meant his time with her would be coming to an end soon. Politicking and plots and all the other unsatiable hungers of the courts were awaiting him. He wasn't the first to grow out of the altrix's care, nor would he be the last. It would simply be inappropriate for a Domantine child of a proper station to linger around their altrix after aging. He'd make a good citizen though. Obedient, when necessary. And terribly clever. A fine student if he were to be sent to the academy. Dunyazad also knew the young human would have a strong enough heart, when the time would come to need it, since he'd been drinking up all her stories since he was just so little. She recalled the very first time she asked if he wanted to hear a tale, glancing over either shoulder to see that no other servants were around. Not just any tale, though. A secret tale. His eyes doubled in size. He gasped. And suddenly, in all the drab opulence of his family's wealth and pampering, the child was allowed to be small in a big world again. It was the first time that she let the child see her smile. There was the tale of how the Dulamah tribes became able to survive the coldest of desert nights. The tales of all seventy two of the Leutakimah rock spirits. And the tale of the first Anykhet lizardfolk to grow her scales. But for fear of being strung up on the Wall with the other agitators, altrix Dunyazad did not simply tell her stories. Each had to be woven into the proper Domantine lessons as some lesser-known, purely academic factoid. Paavu Lonehunter Ogolakanu, a progenitor in many Dulamah histories, became simply "Paavu," the offspring of a lesser Domantine mountain god, Ogareoi, who was infamous for its avalanches. And each the seventy two Leutakimah rock spirits became a different chapter in Ogareoi's lost sagas. The first Anykhet lizardfolk became a deified mortal, embarking on many adventures alongside the famous heroes of classic Domantine literature. And so the altrix Dunyazad, so far removed from her peoples by so many miles and years, found new life for the ways of her peoples, in the very empire that sought to scatter them. "And Elcan my son," The Domina was moving quickly throughout the hallways now. Likely for no reason other than she knew the servants had to keep silent even when they hurried. But Dunyazad had a lifetime of practice at hurrying unseen and unheard through decorated hallways like these. Such was the way of things here. "You simply must must must not forget to-" The colorful noblewoman suddenly halted in place, one bejeweled finger pointing upwards as if to pin her thought to the air. "What is that dreadful thing to which you must insist on clinging?" There, wrapped in Elcan's arms in front of him, was one of his many stuffed dolls. Perhaps he had too much heart, to be this much of a sentimentalist at such a young age. Dunyazad tutted silently in her mind. She'd get another menial punishment for not plucking that from him before he raced to his mother's summons. The doll had a plush bear's head under a grey fabric helmet and a mock-philosopher's robes, and- Dunyazad blanched. This was one of Elcan's favorites. Such a favorite that when its limbs tore from ware, Dunyazad replaced its arms with... "It's Ser Paladine, mother," he answered plainly. "What are those ghastly markings about its arms? Are those... desert markings?" The sneer in her voice was unmistakable. Much as Dunyazad had woven her people's tales into the children's Domantine lessons, so too had she repurposed a tribal relic into the child's favorite toy. A scabbard of the Dulamah tribes, inscribed with runes that told its histories, now cut in half and sewed as the stuffed bear's arms. A gift for the boy, to remember her stories after he grew up from his altrix. A damning gift, for Dunyazad. A thousand and one thoughts flooded her mind as panic took hold of her. She'd be labeled an agitator for certain, subverting the eldest child of a Domantine noble house with contraband thoughts. How many other families would they accuse her of poisoning against their own empire? Worse, they could come down hard on Elcan to ensure he was properly indoctrinated. Even worse than that... all her stories, all her people's ways that had managed to live on this long, would become the real targets. "I, uh..." Elcan began, searching for words. Come on, child. You've kept these stories of the children of Anykhet quiet this far. "Ser Paladine is a champion of the people, you see, and..." Yes, that's it, child! You always were clever. "... and he fights for..." And then Elcan glanced over his shoulder. At Dunyazad. A flash of his eyes that lasted just for a moment. But it was long enough to damn her. Dunyazad's stony face, hanging and wrinkled, had softened then. So that was it. She'd survived the scattering of her people, the changing times and politics of half a dozen different noble families, more than one assassination attempt on her wards, and the slow decline of an empire. But her end was to come from the glance of a child that loved her. Dunyazad sighed. Perhaps from relief more than anything. Throughout decades in identical hallways, it was perhaps the most noise she'd made out in the open without being spoken to first. "... he fights for spoils of wars? Oh, you silly child, playing at conqueror. You're becoming a man so quickly," the Domina finished his thought. Likely out of impatience more than anything else. "But you simply must leave it in your room before the guests arrive, yes?" She snapped and pointed at Ser Paladine, at which point housekeeper Yusk immediately scurried forward to take the stuffed doll from Elcan, then scurried back. "Oh, don't look so glum, my little raisin. You do understand you will be a man soon and must prepare for these sorts of things. These guests will be your entire world once you..." And the Domina was off again. Elcan followed soon after her. Somehow, it seemed, their mistress didn't realize that Dunyazad had been telling her peoples' stories to the children. Housekeeper Yusk, however, did not follow after the Domina. She clutched at Ser Paladine in a death grip and scowled directly at Dunyazad. "Depart us." The housekeeper hissed. She kept her gaze on Dunyazad as the other house servants followed after the Domina, trying especially hard to sink into themselves. When it was only the housekeeper and the altrix remaining, the housekeeper shook the stuffed doll in the air. "What is this?!" "Th-" "Be silent! I know what this is." Yusk’s seething anger suggested as much. A lizardfolk that breathed like a dragonborn. "These are alsard-scabbards. Do you supplant their textbooks with leaflets?! Are you some agitator banging on the walls?! If I turned you in I would at least save the rest of us. Save the Domina the coin of hiring new staff! Would that you simply throw yourself into the Iteru!" Yusk panted, visibly upset but trying to collect herself. Dunyazad was as model of a servant as Yusk, with more experience even, so she was entirely unprepared for this. She stared at the floor and said nothing. The green-scaled lizardfolk mirrored the Domina's sneer for a while until she continued at a slightly slower pace. "You would be punished if only for the shame brought to the Domina's family name. Imagine, the gossip of a mountain witch rewriting history in the minds of the nobility's children! Ptah! It is no secret that the other servants all listen to your tales around the hearth. Do not forget that here you are only altrix. Only servant!" Yusk looked down at the stuffed bear in her hand, little Ser Paladine, and seemed to study it intently. Her grip seemed to soften. Her scowl faded into something else that she tried to hide behind a lifetime of expressionless faces. "You... be more careful." Yusk thrust the doll into Dunyazad's possession and spun on her heels to follow after her Domina. Dunyazad was stunned. Be more careful...? Yusk was the most loyal housekeeper among the Domantine. Stern and dutiful and unyielding. And she... let Dunyazad go...? Dunyazad blinked, trying to process what had just happened. Then she blinked at the stuffed bear and its secret stories. So Yusk was keeping those secrets, too. Because...? ... because even though Yusk was who she was, she needed those stories to be told, too. Dunyazad looked after Yusk's trail with the same softness as earlier. They could never speak of this again. Not in the domu, where others might overhear. Not while either of them were servants, for fear of the risks that came with indulging in sentimentality, as she'd just seen. Something welled up inside of Dunyazad then, as she realized there had been untold stories, waiting and yearning to be known, hidden all around her this whole time. She found herself holding Ser Paladine close, in both arms much like Elcan had. The altrix reset her face and hurried silently after the others.

 

Statblock Dunyazad | Regional Half-OrcLeutakimah | Size: Medium | Level 3 Lore Bard HP: 18/18 | AC: 10 base + 2 DEX + 2 Studded Leather Armor14 | Speed: 30 ft. | Hit Dice: 3/3 (d8) | Prof. Bonus: +2 Left Hand: Empty | Right Hand: Empty STR: 10 (+/-0) | DEX: 14 (+2) | CON: 11 (+/-0) | INT: 12 (+1) | WIS: 14 (+2) | CHA: 14 (+2) Proficient Skills: Deception (+4) | History (+5) | Insight (+6) | Intimidation (+4) | Perception (+4) | Performance (+4) | Persuasion (+4) | Religion (+3) | Stealth (+4) Languages: Leutakimah, Common, Anykhet, Dulamah | Other Proficiencies: Light Armor, Simple Weapons, Lyre, Shawma, Drums Spell Save DC: 12 | Spell Attack Modifier: +4 | 1st Level Spell Slots: 4/4 | 2nd Level Spell Slots: 1/2 Known Spells: Source: Player's Handbook Enchantment cantrip Casting Time: 1 action Range: 60 feet Components: V Duration: Instantaneous You unleash a string of insults laced with subtle enchantments at a creature you can see within range. If the target can hear you (though it need not understand you), it must succeed on a Wisdom saving throw or take 1d4 psychic damage and have disadvantage on the next attack roll it makes before the end of its next turn. At Higher Levels. This spell’s damage increases by 1d4 when you reach 5th level (2d4), 11th level (3d4), and 17th level (4d4). Spell Lists. BardVicious Mockery | Source: Player's Handbook Illusion cantrip Casting Time: 1 action Range: 30 feet Components: S, M (a bit of fleece) Duration: 1 minute You create a sound or an image of an object within range that lasts for the duration. The illusion also ends if you dismiss it as an action or cast this spell again. If you create a sound, its volume can range from a whisper to a scream. It can be your voice, someone else’s voice, a lion’s roar, a beating of drums, or any other sound you choose. The sound continues unabated throughout the duration, or you can make discrete sounds at different times before the spell ends. If you create an image of an object—such as a chair, muddy footprints, or a small chest—it must be no larger than a 5-foot cube. The image can’t create sound, light, smell, or any other sensory effect. Physical interaction with the image reveals it to be an illusion, because things can pass through it. If a creature uses its action to examine the sound or image, the creature can determine that it is an illusion with a successful Intelligence (Investigation) check against your spell save DC. If a creature discerns the illusion for what it is, the illusion becomes faint to the creature. Spell Lists. Bard, Sorcerer, Warlock, WizardMinor Illusion | Source: Player's Handbook 1st-level evocation Casting Time: 1 action Range: Touch Components: V, S Duration: Instantaneous A creature you touch regains a number of hit points equal to 1d8 + your spellcasting ability modifier. This spell has no effect on undead or constructs. At Higher Levels. When you cast this spell using a spell slot of 2nd level or higher, the healing increases by 1d8 for each slot level above 1st. Spell Lists. Artificer, Bard, Cleric, Druid, Paladin, RangerCure Wounds | Source: Player's Handbook 1st-level enchantment Casting Time: 1 action Range: 90 feet Components: V, S, M (a pinch of fine sand, rose petals, or a cricket) Duration: 1 minute This spell sends creatures into a magical slumber. Roll 5d8, the total is how many hit points of creatures this spell can affect. Creatures within 20 feet of a point you choose within range are affected in ascending order of their current hit points (ignoring unconscious creatures). Starting with the creature that has the lowest current hit points, each creature affected by this spell falls unconscious until the spell ends, the sleeper takes damage, or someone uses an action to shake or slap the sleeper awake. Subtract each creature’s hit points from the total before moving on to the creature with the next lowest hit points. A creature’s hit points must be equal to or less than the remaining total for that creature to be affected. Undead and creatures immune to being charmed aren’t affected by this spell. At Higher Levels. When you cast this spell using a spell slot of 2nd level or higher, roll an additional 2d8 for each slot level above 1st. Spell Lists. Bard, Sorcerer, WizardSleep | Source: Player's Handbook 1st-level evocation Casting Time: 1 action Range: Self (15-foot cube) Components: V, S Duration: Instantaneous A wave of thunderous force sweeps out from you. Each creature in a 15-foot cube originating from you must make a Constitution saving throw. On a failed save, a creature takes 2d8 thunder damage and is pushed 10 feet away from you. On a successful save, the creature takes half as much damage and isn’t pushed. In addition, unsecured objects that are completely within the area of effect are automatically pushed 10 feet away from you by the spell’s effect, and the spell emits a thunderous boom audible out to 300 feet. At Higher Levels. When you cast this spell using a spell slot of 2nd level or higher, the damage increases by 1d8 for each slot level above 1st. Spell Lists. Bard, Druid, Sorcerer, Warlock, WizardThunderwave | Source: Player's Handbook 1st-level conjuration (ritual) Casting Time: 1 action Range: 60 feet Components: V, S, M (a piece of string and a bit of wood) Duration: 1 hour This spell creates an invisible, mindless, shapeless, Medium force that performs simple tasks at your command until the spell ends. The servant springs into existence in an unoccupied space on the ground within range. It has AC 10, 1 hit point, and a Strength of 2, and it can’t attack. If it drops to 0 hit points, the spell ends. Once on each of your turns as a bonus action, you can mentally command the servant to move up to 15 feet and interact with an object. The servant can perform simple tasks that a human servant could do, such as fetching things, cleaning, mending, folding clothes, lighting fires, serving food, and pouring wine. Once you give the command, the servant performs the task to the best of its ability until it completes the task, then waits for your next command. If you command the servant to perform a task that would move it more than 60 feet away from you, the spell ends. Spell Lists. Bard, Warlock, WizardUnseen Servant | Source: Player's Handbook 2nd-level illusion Casting Time: 1 action Range: 60 feet Components: V, S, M (a bit of fleece) Duration: Concentration, up to 1 minute You craft an illusion that takes root in the mind of a creature that you can see within range. The target must make an Intelligence saving throw. On a failed save, you create a phantasmal object, creature, or other visible phenomenon of your choice that is no larger than a 10-foot cube and that is perceivable only to the target for the duration. This spell has no effect on undead or constructs. The phantasm includes sound, temperature, and other stimuli, also evident only to the creature. The target can use its action to examine the phantasm with an Intelligence (Investigation) check against your spell save DC. If the check succeeds, the target realizes that the phantasm is an illusion, and the spell ends. While a target is affected by the spell, the target treats the phantasm as if it were real. The target rationalizes any illogical outcomes from interacting with the phantasm. For example, a target attempting to walk across a phantasmal bridge that spans a chasm falls once it steps onto the bridge. If the target survives the fall, it still believes that the bridge exists and comes up with some other explanation for its fall—it was pushed, it slipped, or a strong wind might have knocked it off. An affected target is so convinced of the phantasm’s reality that it can even take damage from the illusion. A phantasm created to appear as a creature can attack the target. Similarly, a phantasm created to appear as fire, a pool of acid, or lava can burn the target. Each round on your turn, the phantasm can deal 1d6 psychic damage to the target if it is in the phantasm’s area or within 5 feet of the phantasm, provided that the illusion is of a creature or hazard that could logically deal damage, such as by attacking. The target perceives the damage as a type appropriate to the illusion. Spell Lists. Bard, Sorcerer, WizardPhantasmal Force | Source: Player's Handbook 2nd-level enchantment Casting Time: 1 action Range: 30 feet Components: V, M (a snake’s tongue and either a bit of honeycomb or a drop of sweet oil) Duration: Concentration, up to 8 hours You suggest a course of activity (limited to a sentence or two) and magically influence a creature you can see within range that can hear and understand you. Creatures that can’t be charmed are immune to this effect. The suggestion must be worded in such a manner as to make the course of action sound reasonable. Asking the creature to stab itself, throw itself onto a spear, immolate itself, or do some other obviously harmful act ends the spell. The target must make a Wisdom saving throw. On a failed save, it purses the course of action you described to the best of its ability. The suggested course of action can continue for the entire duration. If the suggested activity can be completed in a shorter time, the spell ends when the subject finishes what it was asked to do. You can also specify conditions that will trigger a special activity during the duration. For example, you might suggest that a knight give her warhorse to the first beggar she meets. If the condition isn’t met before the spell expires, the activity isn’t preformed. If you or any of your companions damage the target, the spell ends. Spell Lists. Bard, Sorcerer, Warlock, WizardSuggestion Funds: 33gp, 5sp | Weapons: Re-skinned quarterstaff: 1d6 B | 4 lbs | Versatile (1d8)Gnarled Walking Cane | 1d4 P | 1 lbs | Finesse | Light | Thrown (20/60)Dagger | 1d6 P | 3 lbs | Ammunition | Range (30/120) | Light | LoadingHand Crossbow | Equipment: WornStudded Leather Armor | Reliquary of the 72 Rock SpiritsHoly Symbol | Prayers of the Domantine PantheonPrayer Book | Adventuring Gear (Wondrous Item) Category: Items Item Rarity: Uncommon Weight: 2 This stoppered flask sloshes when shaken, as if it contains water. The decanter weighs 2 pounds. You can use an action to remove the stopper and speak one of three Command words, whereupon an amount of fresh water or salt water (your choice) pours out of the flask. The water stops pouring out at the start of your next turn. Choose from the following options: • "Stream" produces 1 gallon of water. • "Fountain" produces 5 gallons of water. • "Geyser" produces 30 gallons of water that gushes forth in a geyser 30 feet long and 1 foot wide. As a Bonus Action while holding the decanter, you can aim the geyser at a creature you can see within 30 feet of you. The target must succeed on a DC 13 Strength saving throw or take 1d4 bludgeoning damage and fall prone. Instead of a creature, you can target an object that isn't being worn or carried and that weighs no more than 200 pounds. The object is either knocked over or pushed up to 15 feet away from you.Decanter of Endless Water | Worn at beltHand Drums | Domantine servants' robes, wornCommon Clothes | Quantity: 2, worn at belt Type: Adventuring Gear Weight: 2 lbs As an action, you can spread a bag of caltrops to cover a square area that is 5 feet on a side. Any creature that enters the area must succeed on a DC 15 Dexterity saving throw or stop moving this turn and take 1 piercing damage. Taking this damage reduces the creature's walking speed by 10 feet until the creature regains at least 1 hit point. A creature moving through the area at half speed doesn't need to make the save.Caltrops | Quantity: 2, worn at belt Type: Adventuring Gear Weight: 2 lbs As an action, you can spill these tiny metal balls from their pouch to cover a level, square area that is 10 feet on a side. A creature moving across the covered area must succeed on a DC 10 Dexterity saving throw or fall prone. A creature moving through the area at half speed doesn't need to make the save.Ball Bearings | Quantity: 2, worn at belt Type: Adventuring Gear Weight: 1 lb As an action, you can splash the contents of this vial onto a creature within 5 feet of you or throw the vial up to 20 feet, shattering it on impact. In either case, make a ranged attack against a creature or object, treating the acid as an improvised weapon. On a hit, the target takes 2d6 acid damage.Flask of Acid | Quantity: 4, kept in chest Type: Adventuring Gear Weight: 1 lb Oil usually comes in a clay flask that holds 1 pint. As an action, you can splash the oil in this flask onto a creature within 5 feet of you or throw it up to 20 feet, shattering it on impact. Make a ranged attack against a target creature or object, treating the oil as an improvised weapon. On a hit, the target is covered in oil. If the target takes any fire damage before the oil dries (after 1 minute), the target takes an additional 5 fire damage from the burning oil. You can also pour a flask of oil on the ground to cover a 5-foot-square area, provided that the surface is level. If lit, the oil burns for 2 rounds and deals 5 fire damage to any creature that enters the area or ends its turn in the area. A creature can take this damage only once per turn.Vial of Oil | Containing all other belongingsChest Racial Traits: Strength +2, Constitution +1Ability Scores | Thanks to your orc blood, you have superior vision in dark and dim conditions. You can see in dim light within 60 feet of you as if it were bright light, and in darkness as if it were dim light. You can't discern color in darkness, only shades of gray.Darkvision 60' | You gain proficiency in the Intimidation skill.Menacing | When you are reduced to 0 hit points but not killed outright, you can drop to 1 hit point instead. You can't use this feature again until you finish a long rest.Relentless Endurance | When you score a critical hit with a melee weapon attack, you can roll one of the weapon's damage dice one additional time and add it to the extra damage of the critical hit.Savage Attacks Class Traits: You can cast any bard spell you know as a ritual if that spell has the ritual tag.Ritual Casting | You can use a musical instrument (found in chapter 5) as a spellcasting focus for your bard spells.Spellcasting Focus | You can inspire others through stirring words or music. To do so, you use a bonus action on your turn to choose one creature other than yourself within 60 feet of you who can hear you. That creature gains one Bardic Inspiration die, a d6. Once within the next 10 minutes, the creature can roll the die and add the number rolled to one ability check, attack roll, or saving throw it makes. The creature can wait until after it rolls the d20 before deciding to use the Bardic Inspiration die, but must decide before the DM says whether the roll succeeds or fails. Once the Bardic Inspiration die is rolled, it is lost. A creature can have only one Bardic Inspiration die at a time. You can use this feature a number of times equal to your Charisma modifier (a minimum of once). You regain any expended uses when you finish a long rest. Your Bardic Inspiration die changes when you reach certain levels in this class. The die becomes a d8 at 5th level, a d10 at 10th level, and a d12 at 15th level.Bardic Inspiration (d6, 2/2) | Starting at 2nd level, you can add half your proficiency bonus, rounded down, to any ability check you make that doesn't already include your proficiency bonus.Jack of All Trades | Beginning at 2nd level, you can use soothing music or oration to help revitalize your wounded allies during a short rest. If you or any friendly creatures who can hear your performance spend one or more Hit Dice to regain hit points at the end of the short rest, each of those creatures regains an extra 1d6 hit points.Song of Rest | When you join the College of Lore at 3rd level, you gain proficiency with three skills of your choice.Bard College: Lore | At 3rd level, choose two of your skill proficiencies. Your proficiency bonus is doubled for any ability check you make that uses either of the chosen proficiencies. At 10th level, you can choose another two skill proficiencies to gain this benefit.Expertise | Also at 3rd level, you learn how to use your wit to distract, confuse, and otherwise sap the confidence and competence of others. When a creature that you can see within 60 feet of you makes an attack roll, an ability check, or a damage roll, you can use your reaction to expend one of your uses of Bardic Inspiration, rolling a Bardic Inspiration die and subtracting the number rolled from the creature's roll. You can choose to use this feature after the creature makes its roll, but before the DM determines whether the attack roll or ability check succeeds or fails, or before the creature deals its damage. The creature is immune if it can't hear you or if it's immune to being charmed.Cutting Words