[D&D-5e] The Fallen Pantheon (Experimental Campain)

[WildJessi]

Name: Gabriella, Goddess of Beauty, Love, Passion and Sensual fulfillment
Race: Human
Class: 10th level Cleric and 10th level Wizard
Background (of your worshipers): Socialite
Personality Trait: It's important to have good manners even in dire situations
Ideal: Fludity: Position and status are fleeing, as are alliances and rivalries. One must keep an open mind and be ready to adapt to change if they hope to succeed. (Chaotic)
Bond: I come from humble beginnings, but I want to end up on top when all is said and done.
Flaw: I am extremely impatient.
Personality: She's kindly goddess that hates the destruction of any beauty in the world. She is truly loved by her followers and will protect them, known to favor those who are most loyal. She is also one of the most vain entities in the universe , Always enjoying attention and sincere flattery while avoiding the boring. She is a natural flirt with both the beautiful gods and mortals, once she had her fill, she swiftly moved on to other sources of pleasure, unable to stay with one person too long.

Appearance: Appears as a young unearthly beautiful woman in her mid 20's. Dark and wavy hair down past her shoulders, violet eyes and her skin smooth, as if untouched. She mostly appears dressed in only a near-transparent gown of silk or with silky mesh top bra and silk thong with skirt. Otherwise, during important situations, she will wear a robe.

Portfolio: Beauty, Healing, Love, Lust, Passion
Domain: Life
Influence: During her rein, the people fell in love more, which had pleased the Goddess of Marriage, causing less quarrels. However, it also made the brothels a very profitable business. Now what Gabriella intended, but as long they are happy, she is fine with it. Coincidentally, she gained more followers from the prostitutes as well.

Your symbols:

Uncommon magic item: Periapt of Wound Closure
Rare magic item: Staff of Healing
Kingdom: (It doesn't have anything to do with your character. I just want you to name and shortly describe one of the kingdoms that exist in this world.) The Byzantine Empire - A country that;s known to accept all. It started a few hundred years ago when refugees came from poor countries and some from war torn country. People who were desperate for a new life. Now, the country if full of many cultures, the Arabians,the Orientals, and the Nyambians, people with dark skin. As well as various races. As long as they behave themselves and respect the rules, they were welcome. Because of various cultures and races, the country had flourish, grown in power quickly, becoming a symbol of what other countries should be. Of course, it's not perfect, no country is, with corrupt politicians in various cities, evil cults, Assassin Guilds and Thieves Guilds, but overall, it's still a great country that has everything for everyone. The King, rules fairly and while he rules the country, he has Counts in various parts of the country, with an amount of land under their protection, keep people safe from bandits and monsters. Along the borders, the King has Barons, protecting their own amount of lands from invasion, becoming the 1st defense.

A landmark or two: Mount Sundabar, easern edge of the Great Glacier, home of the elusive Avarials. Living so high, they life in peace, never bothered by other races.

Celadon Forest, home of the Amazons. Although they trade with others once a month, they prefer to be left alone.

Sample post, describe a typical day of your god: Her typical day is visiting all of her temples, seeing her loyal followers and any new followers. She enjoys watching her worshippers dance under the full moon for her benefit, then watch them celebrate with passion afterwards.

She is a caring god, for she tries to listen to all her followers and grant them boons if they deserve it. Because she is vain, she loves to be the center of attention. She had only once showed her dark side. A high priestess became so enarmed with herself for she was very beautiful, that she had considered herself to be just as beautiful as Gabriella, worse, she wanted others to treat her as such. So Gabriella came before her and put a curse on the priestess. Until the priestess fulfilled her quest, she went from beautiful to ugly.

Enjoying beauty, she at times will visit forests occupied by dryads, for they do their best to beautify their forest as bast as possible. She will favor her most loyal followers, like a bard making of song about her, she will reward them in some way.

She has help in some way or fashion of those that had done their best in regard to beauty. Like helping a human who worked tirelessly to perfect a flower garden, or helping people get together.

Even though she is a god, she will flirt or have short affairs with mortals as well as fellow gods. So because of this, she doesn’t have many enemies, only those that seek to destroy the things of beauty, both living and nonliving.

Since she is for beauty of all life, she is also for healing, for life needs beauty, it also needs life itself.

[BarrowB]

Originally Posted by voodoozombie

Unless I missed it somewhere, what is the application deadline? This sounds really interesting! Almost like a reverse Epic game!

There is no deadline yet.
I will set it, when I receive the game forum.

[voodoozombie]

Application form: Complete



Name: Kaliya
Race: Naga
Class: Warlock: Hexblade. Pact of the Blade.
Background (of your worshippers): Kaliya Cultist (Rakdos Cultist renamed) The cult accepts any member, regardless of social status, race, background or occupation, a good majority being from the entertainment segment of the population. The cult doesn’t discriminate. All are welcomed.

Personality: Kaliya is a very proud, self-confidence, calm and rational being. She is straight forward and gets to the point. She doesn’t like games, especially those of words and has no patience for those who ‘beat around the bush’ instead of just saying what they want or mean to say. Kaliya also takes great interest in her worshipers and frequently visits them in some kind of disguise. She is also protective of her Cult members and won’t hesitate to summon a fiend and turn it loose on those who attempt to harm or destroy her cult. Once in a while, Kaliya will take an interest in one of her worshipers and grant that person the knowledge of Dark Magic in order to help strengthen and further spread her influences throughout the land.

Appearance: Kaliya looks just like a snake and human hybrid. Form the torso down her body is that of a giant snake, with brown and dark red patterns running down the back of the snake body. Her under side is a plain light brown with no markings. From the torso up, her body is that of a beautiful human female. Her hair is long, free flowing, and dark brown in color. Her eyes are a piercing crystal blue that seems to look straight through into ones soul and her skin is dark brown. She wears ornate leather armor and an elaborate head piece with the symbol of a coiled snake on the forehead part of the headband.

Domain: Corruption, Sacrifice, Pain and Dark Magic.
Influence: There is more than one way to corrupt individuals and gain worshipers and that’s by allowing them to become free from their inner inhibitions and to give in to the dark side they possess within themselves. By freely giving themselves over to Kaliya, they become loyal, dedicated worshipers and cult members, willing to do anything for her. And there seems to be no shortage of takers in the offer of a different way of life, an escape, over the ones they have now. The Cult of Kaliya is becoming very popular and is quickly becoming widespread over the land with no signs of slowing down.


Your symbols: The coiled snake.




Uncommon magic item: Gauntlets of Oger Power
Rare magic item: Mantle of Spell Resistance


Kingdom: (It doesn't have anything to do with your character. I just want you to name and shortly describe one of the kingdoms that exist in this world.) Patala-loka
Patala-loka is a kingdom that is part of much larger continent or land mass. It has several natural bounders that surround the Kingdom and has several different types of environments. The northern part of the Kingdom is mountainous while the southern part of the Kingdom is surrounded on three sides by oceans. The center and western coastal area is mostly arid.

To the north is a chain of high mountains, a few that are still volcanically active. At the base of the mountain range is a series of Plateaus and forested valleys. These eventually level off toward the center of the Kingdom and form a great plain of grasses and shrubs that eventually turns into a great desert. This arid region stretches down south until it hits the coastal areas and spreads out to the western side of the Kingdom to the ocean. The southern tip of the Kingdom is surrounded by oceans on three sides and is green with jungles that stretch along the eastern coast lines. There are multiple river systems throughout the Kingdom, many forming wetlands, but lakes are rare.


A landmark or two: (Describe a place or two, that simply exist in this world. Maybe it's a sea of poisonous mist? Maybe it's a forest, where common sense doesn't apply? Maybe it's just a nice-looking mountain.)



The Great Sand Waterfall and the Great Sand River. Located in the western part of the desert, towards it's center, is a large rock formation jetting up from the sand. It reaches up several hundred feet and stretches a few of miles from east to west. The rock formation contains many multi color layers of rock and is simi flat on top. Sand constantly flows over the top and down to the base of the formation. From there, the sand continues to flow southward while the sand along the edges remains motionless, forming a sand river that is has various widths across it. This sand river continues southwest until it reaches the coastal area. There the mouth of the sand river spreads out, forming a delta that feeds into the ocean. With special made barges and boats, the sand river can be navigated like any other water river.



A sample of your post, describe a typical day of your god: (Optional but very welcome)
I'm going to take a chance and skip the sample post since it's optional.

[voodoozombie]

Just out of curiosity, how will character stats be generated and how will HP we calculated? Or will more details about character creation be explained once the game forum has been approved?

[BarrowB]

Originally Posted by voodoozombie

Just out of curiosity, how will character stats be generated and how will HP we calculated? Or will more details about character creation be explained once the game forum has been approved?

As mentioned in the game advertisement, character stats are standard array.
As for HP, we will be using the max at first level and half (rounded up) for all other.

[Hobbit]

Name: Kikra the Untamed

Race: Protector Aasimar

Class: Wild Magic Barbarian 20

Background (of your worshippers):*Outlander. Although Kikra is worshipped by any with a rebellious spirit, including rouges, criminals, folk heroes, and other revolutionaries, her primary worshippers have always been barbarians. Her personal acolytes are Warrior Women who tend to come from the Outlander background. They are variously known as Valkeryies, Amazon's, or Harpies.

Personality:

Kikra is famous for her ferocity and destructive potential. In battle, she is a one woman army, a savage, a madwoman. She is known for her short temper and love of conflict.

In private, Kikra is a jovial and perky young woman. She enjoys music, drinking, dancing, joking, flirting, and art. While it is true that her natural place is on the field of battle, Kikra finds beauty in the simple connections she makes with the people of the Material Plane.

Appearance:

Kikra manifests as a beautiful humanoid woman, standing barely five feet tall, with hair that shimmers an impossible golden color. Her small lithe form seems at odds with her impossible strength. Her eyes are a vibrant blue that glow with arcane light during a frenzy.

She favors simple leather and fur clothing, eschewing armor. She often has various flowers in her hair, favoring morning glories, and sometimes she strings silver bells through her hair which chime as she walks. She wears a cape of red dragon skin.

Domain:Freedom, Rebellion, Barbarians

Influence: Kikra ascended to Godhood during a battle with the great dragon Grolokodroginian. The tyrant dragon had ruled over a huge swath of the northern lands, subjecting dozens of barbarian tribes to his oppressive demands. The two had a tremendous battle that lasted nearly one year and severely scarred the landscape of the northern mountain ranges.

Kikra's victory allowed the barbarian tribes access to the dragon's hoard and great riches, allowing them to build societies and travel across the world. Wherever these barbarian hordes travel, empires crumble.

Her name is invoked by revolutionaries of all stripes, and her legend inspires rebellion in all who hear her tales. Tyrants quake at the rumor of her presence or influence, or whenever her symbol is seen scrawled on public walls.

Your symbols: Kikra's primary symbol is simply ᚦ, a barbarian rune roughly translating to 'chaos'. It is popular because of how convenient it is to graffiti. Other symbols include a lightning bolt breaking chains or a sword with wings behind it.

Uncommon magic item: some kinda lightning sword

Rare magic item: some kind ice sword

Kingdom: Subaecor

A kingdom beneath the ocean, ruled by a mighty merman.

On the floor of the ocean is a great coliseum flashing pink and purple from each column. Massive golden chains tether each column to an island floating hundreds of feet above it, each adorned with towers and cathedrals and shops and homes. Flitting freely from island to island are the residents; mermaids, nymphs, kappas, crocodile-folk, kobolds, selkies, qalupalik, nguruvilu, and stranger creatures besides. Beside them are humans, elves, dwarves, gnomes, hobbits, orcs, and other humanoids, and they are riding on the backs of everything from sharks to jellyfish to sea serpents.

A great spell exists over all of Subaecor, allowing all visitors to breathe,move, and speak freely beneath the waters. It is famous for it's arena which host chariot races and great battles. It exports seafood, salt and other minerals, and generates income through guiding ships across choppy seas and a thriving tourism trade

A landmark or two:

Ryvn the Walled City - a precariously built city, where each building was made pressing g up against each other haphazardly, leaving no room for streets. Instead, the residents have created walkways between buildings by knocking down holes in the walls. The population skews human, Dwarven, and orc, with very few elves. It is known as a city of crime, corruption, and poverty. It is a port city, and the docks are known as a dangerous profession due to terrible working conditions. The city is rife with drugs, gangs, and darker mysteries.

The Swamp Arcana - A miles long swamp hidden deep in a western jungle. When the moon is full, the swamp extends outward, and when it wanes the swamp recedes. A beautiful witch known as the Night Hag rules over the swamp with an iron fist, creeping out at night to steal children from surrounding villages and warp them into hideous monsters under her command. Her ambient arcane energy has seeped into the land, giving rise to such strange creatures as fire breathing crocodiles, flying piranha, bamboons with snakes for arms, and even stranger creatures. It is said that she will trade her secrets in exchange for the virgin blood than fuels her youth and beauty.

The Feywild Cave - A winding cave in the northern mountain ranges, covered year round in thick glittering crystals of ice. A society of fey and ice sprites have intricately carved out a home full of winding tunnels within it, where the dance and feast and lure unwary traveller's in to be lost. The caves extend for miles and miles, some tunnels narrowing to only a few feet, while others are large enough to march a company of horses through.

The fey have tamed a number of arctic creatures to guard their home, including poor bears, yeti, and if you believe the rumors a mighty ice drake.. Many powerful magical items exist within the Feywild Cave, and more than one adventurer has met their doom attempting to extract them

A sample of your post-

Thin and bright rays of moonlight peirce through the thick canopy, illuminating tiny patches of Kikra's skin. She breathes in the warm western air, letting the scents of the jungle overwhelm her. She crouches, unseen, on the branch of a great rubber tree, simply observing.

Beneath her, the Dancing Jaguar tribe is deep in debate. Their tones are harsh, their voices loud, their spears are drawn. They are having the same conversation they have been having for monthes; what is to done about the dwarves.

Some believe in simply letting them cut down the swathes of forrest on the northern edge of their jungle; after all, the dwarves simply need to make a road to travel through, they would disrupt the rest of the ecosystem. Others encouraged war, stalking and ambushing the loggers and then retreating back into their home. Others simply said that the spirit of the forrest would protect them.*

But tonight is different than all other nights. Tonight, the scouts of the Dancing Jaguar tribe have announced that a great force of armored dwarves is hacking through their jungle, coming closer and closer to their home. The dwarves, it was announced, are marching to war.*

Kirkra slides smoothly down the back of the rubber tree, as silent as a python, taking care not to disturb the tribe. She walks unseen through their village, passing their huts and gardens, until she is at the farthest edge, where her keen ears can hear the march of armored feet.

As she prepares to enter the thick forrest, she sees a small girl, barely five years old, staring at her with an expression of cautious awe. In the girl's hand is a crude doll, with long blond hair and a pair of toy swords.

Kikra smiles as she bends to one knee.

"What a pretty doll," she squeaks quietly, her high pitched voice brought to a low whisper. "May I see it?"

Speechless, the girl hands her the doll. Kikra turns it over in her hands for a moment, then removes a small denda leaf and string from her pouch, tying it around the dolls waist to serve as a skirt. She hands the doll back to the child, along with a small stone into which her rune has been carved*

"You will speak for me," she tells the child. "Tell your tribe you have met the spirit of the forrest, Kikra the Untamed. Show them my sign, so they know you speak true. Tell them to remain in their homes and offer me prayer. And by morning, no dwarf shall set foot in your homes again. Will you do this?"

The girl simply stares at her doll, playing with its skirt for a moment. Finally, she finds the courage to meet Kikra's eyes. A look of stoic resolution crosses the shy girls face, and she nods. She will command the will of her elders this night.

"Then I name you Fleet Foot, and I bless you with great swirftness," she says, and the girls eyes widened. "You will one day be a great warrior in my name. Go now Fleet Foot, do not let your courage fail you."

Kikra grins as the girl runs through the village towards her elders, her tiny feet kicking up dust and dirt behind her. Kikra turns to the Forrest, her heart pounding in her chest like a war drum as the familiar battle fury starts to course through her veins.

[Hobbit]

@osmundcinderolt let's be sisters ��

[ProjectLazarus]

Application form Name: Quidvistus -- Lord of Chaos Race: Tiefling - Abyssal Class: Sorcerer Background (of your worshippers): The mad, the disenfranchised and the desperate. Quidvistus has some clerics and acolytes, but their duties as clergy are secondary to their lives. Personality: (Chaotic Neutral) Glastisus is mad. Gloriously mad. He is joyful and depressed, friendly and vengeful, loyal and capricious. Appearance: Quidvistus appears in many guises. Sometimes the mood strikes him to appear in the guise of an animal, or to take the shape of a tree. Perhaps he feels like a floating wisp or some other ghostly apparition. But most commonly he appears as a smiling, blue skinned Tiefling, with large horns curving outward from his brow. Domain: Arcana Influence: There exists in the world, a great rent in the fabric of reality. A place where anything can happen. In the midst of a great plain the ground slowly changes from green grass, to dead and dying scrub grass and weeds and finally to dark gravel. The sky around the pit is always dark and stormy, regardless of whether it is day or night -- though it never rains. And at the centre of this maelstrom is a pit, a chasm deep into the earth that disappears from view. A ghostly light shines from the bottom of this pit. Around the chasm floats spectral lights and wisps. The air feels charged with magic, and in its vicinity anything can happen. It is a place of great boons, and great danger. People have gone there and returned with grand magical items or greatly improved skill, knowledge or power. A great many more people who've gone near have never returned. This rent in space was created by Quidvistus; one day he decided to appear upon the mortal plain, and this nexus chasm simply grew and grew in the middle of the plain, and out of it the great God of Chaos crawled. And when he had clambered out he simply stood, dusted his hands and strode into the sunset, as though he had no idea he'd just created a tear in the fabric of reality. Your symbols: a circle with eight arrows radiating outward. Uncommon magic item: Slippers of Spider Climbing Rare magic item: *Wabbajack -- At the GM's discretion, I'd like to discuss the use of a homebrew item -- a staff that allows for the casting of a random effect. Kingdom: Deep in the heart of the hevard swamp lies the 'kingdom' of Rasvestus. Most folk would simply call it a hamlet. A village at most. Several squat huts on stilts poke out of the thick marsh, with the central hall of the King built on a small hill that rises out of the water and reeds. Landmarks: The Chaos Chasm, as described above. The Pantheon of the Gods; High atop a mesa there is a temple, a massive stone structure in which there is a hall. And in this hall there are statues. These statues depict the many gods, seated upon their various thrones. A Sample Post: W.I.P.

[Chylopan]

Basics Name: Dirge, Heir of the Last Rite Race: Reborn Class: Warlock, The Undead

Information Domain: Death, Strife, Bargains Background: Any who come face-to-face with their (or others') mortality on a daily basis: knights, brigands, priests, necromancers, guardsmen, assassins, etcetera. In particular, there is a cult of fatalistic assassins known simply as The Last. They revere death and its shepherd, Dirge. Those whom they slay are done so in varying, ritualistic fashions as an offering to their deathly patron. Appearance: An elegant black veil pools down over a skeletal crown. Below, dark robes encase a gaunt and pallid figure; a figure whose projected frailty belies the intensity of his aura — a dark and foreboding thing, that; it raises the hackles, draws bumps to the flesh, of any who know the displeasure of being near. This phantom, this spector, has but two ornaments which adorn the his ensemble: one is a long, moth-eaten cloak cinched by a pin reminiscent of a serpent in uroboros shape. The other is an unassuming amulet in the shape of an eye made of tarnished gold. Personality: Patient, methodical, inevitable. Dirge possesses not the grandiose or divine flair many of his counterparts seem to prefer, for his is that of the unassuming and ever-present, of finality and fate, like death itself. He speaks when it is pertinent, most often succinctly, but has been known to wax poetic amongst his peers or most devout of followers. None are beyond the Dirge's reach. Death comes for all, be they highborn or low, god or mortal, and their sorting from this tightly wound coil is his prerogative. Those who seek to eschew the natural consequence of life, death, be it for power, vanity, or their own hubris, earn a fate worse than either. They are denied the Dirge's Last Rite, preventing a true death and damning their spirit or corporeal form to eternal undeath. Influence: While there has always existed, and always will exist, some form of shepherd for the dead or damned, it was only in the last few centuries that sightings of a veiled, black-clad figure known colloquially as the Dirge have gone into historical record. As of late, sightings in or around places of great death and suffering have increased exponentially. Some even claim to have had direct contact. Stranger than that, the concept of true death - wherein the spirit Is allowed to be shed from the body in order to pass on - has become commonplace. Undeath, a product of being denied one's Last Rite, is considered a divine punishment from the dark heir himself. Spirits left in a decaying mortal shell (or worse, without) are slowly driven to madness until nothing remains of who or what they once were. A consequence of the harbinger's resurfacing is that of a resurgence in death or doomsday cults. The most prominent of which, being in the former category, is the order of assassins known far and wide as The Last, they who are thought to be heralds of the Dirge. Symbols: An uroboros, a black veil, skeletal remains, the low hum of a deathknell horn

World Contribution Kingdom: Istoval, the City of Masks — Istoval sits on the far edge of one of the main continent's southern-most points, saddled right up along the coast and stretching a mile or two out with its massive seaport. The city itself is a giant, many-tiered ring with both subterranean and skyward levels, all arranged in order of socio-economic class. What makes Istoval unique — or eccentric, most would say — is that masks of the masquerade variety are required to be worn at all times, under threat of fines, incarceration, or even death depending on severity. Naturally, those of means wear luxuriously intricate masks that allow them full anonymity should they so choose, whilst the poor and downtrodden must make due with homemade imitations. The city acts as one of, if not the, largest trading nexus in the known world and is ruled by an official elected by representatives of the grand houses of nobles who reside within the city. Landmark: The Wandering Headstone — A gigantic tombstone whose inscription is illegible, likely in a language long-since dead, and only fully discernable from far enough away. Its location varies, hence the nickname, and has been found in several different locations throughout the centuries. Some say it’s an omen, others a relic from an ancient past, but all agree that there's more to it than meets the eye. Any and all attempts to summit the headstone have been met with failure — fatally so. Conversely, for a mile therearound, the land yields bountiful blooms of melancholy beauty, even in its towering shade.

Items Magic Items Rare: Cloak of Displacement Uncommon: Night Caller

[OsmundCinderholt]

BUMP

You know @Hobbit, you aren't the first person to ask being a Sister to Yldreni. Lol. A whole host of wildly different Angels gone astray and separate from one another. Sure why not, like I told the other person in private message, that's all peachy to me. My concept is that as we lose levels, she'll become more lucid to her previous righteous self and perhaps realize her relationships with her former Sisters. Fun idea.

[rhaiber]

Placeholder. Definitely interested.

Kelzitar Kelzitar The trickster god Name: Commonly known as “Kelzitar - the god-thief.” His mortal name was actually simply Kelz. “Itar” was a title in the forgotten tongue of his people which roughly translates to “man-god.” Epithets: To his followers, he is known as the "man-god," "the silver-tongued fox," and "the maker of contracts." To others, he is often referred to less kindly as "the god-thief," "the lie-smith," and "the usurper." Race: Changeling Class: Bard (Eloquence) 4; Warlock (Archfey) 16 Background: Prior to ascending to godhood, Kelzitar was the chieftain of a tribe of nomadic gypsies known as the Kharaks, and they became his first people after ascending. For a brief time, the Kharaks flourished under Kelzitar's watch. He treated them less like followers and more like family. But there came a time when Kelzitar was overthrown and imprisoned by a group of other jealous gods. During his absence, the Kharaks were despised persecuted by the other races, who slaughtered and enslaved them. Those Kharaks who survived were forced to deny or hide their heritage. Many intermingled with the other races until their bloodline was thinned beyond all recognition. When he returned from his long banishment, Kelzitar could barely find any of the descendants of his original tribe. He has since taken to adopting any number of outcasts, criminals, and nomads: those whom he considers "Kharak in spirit," if not by bloodline. Appearance: Kelzitar is a trickster and a deceiver, and as such, he is constantly altering his appearance. Even when in his true form, those who meet him later find it difficult to describe him with any detail, tending to refer to him as “average height, average build; not quite old, but certainly not young either” In his most common guise, he appears as a human male (though he often takes on the features of whichever race he is interacting with), dressed in the shabby attire of a vagabond. His hair is generally unkempt and his face marked with stubble that never quite forms a full beard. Despite this, there are a few common features that sometimes appear even when in the most elaborate disguise. Though his hair ranges in color across the spectrum, it always seems to have a faint reddish highlight to it. Likewise, no matter how hard he tries, he can never mask the color of his mismatched eyes: one steel-grey, the other ice-blue. Personality: Kelzitar is the consummate trickster. He is extraordinarily clever and takes pleasure in demonstrating his superiority over those he deems more ignorant than himself. He delights in practical jokes, particularly those that target figures of authority to “take them down a notch.” For these reasons, he is despised by many other gods who view him as an insubordinate, disrespectful upstart. Despite all this, he is a deeply dedicated and caring leader to his people and would do anything in his power to protect them. Unfortunately, during his long absence, his people scattered and dispersed. Having intermingled with other tribes, they have become largely lost to him. As a result, behind the mask he wears of the irreverent fool hides melancholy of a chieftain with no tribe. In the absence of a tribe connected to him by blood, Kelzitar has taken to looking after underdogs and outcasts and he has become a fierce defender of those who have no one else at all. Godhood Domain: Trickery Influence: Kelzitar was the first mortal to ascend to godhood. He was not the first god. There were many before him. First came the primordial forces of chaos and order, the heavens and the surface. Then there were the gods born directly from the primordial. But these all began their existence as divine beings. Kelzitar was the first creature born to a mortal life who found a way to gain immortality and divine power, and he did so by stealing this power from a primordial being. In doing so, he proved the potential of all mortals to rise above their station and the vulnerability of the gods. For this he is sometimes admired, sometimes feared and despised. It is sometimes said that Kelzitar is the father of lies. In the beginning, all words were true. Like the magic of true-naming, to say a thing guaranteed that it was so. Kelzitar was the first to separate words from their meaning and make abstractions of them, to be manipulated to the full extent of his imagination. He did more that simply teach man to lie; he taught the words themselves to dissemble. Symbols: the winking eye, the quill, the two-headed coin

World Contribution Kingdom: Telduroth, the Floating City: In an age long gone, Telduroth was a bustling center of commerce. The city was perfectly located in a sheltered cove at the confluence of two major rivers and the greater sea. It was once said that all business drank its fill from the waters of Telduroth. Because of its importance to maintaining the economies of several major empires, Telduroth was actually able to maintain its status as an independent city, under the supervision of the Conclave of Guildmasters. With their only interest being the padding of their own purses, the Guildmasters' rule was laissez faire. This freedom and independence made Telduroth a popular destination for outcasts hoping to make their fortune and criminals seeking asylum. Over time, the cities docks expanded out further and further into the waters, with buildings being constructed on top of piers, bridges, and freestanding stilts. Now, while the wealthy Guildmasters still rule the city from palatial estates on the rocky shores, the vast majority of its denizens reside in ramchackle slums that have nearly overtaken the entire bay. Landmark: The Knife's Edge is a range of sharp and jagged mountains that serve as the boundary between East and West. At the center of the range stands Gul-guroth, the Den of Beasts. In ancient times, it was fabled to be a majestic and beautiful peak that towered over all other mountains. At its summit stood the throne of Oros, the cyclopian primordial god of chaos. Here is held court with all the beasts and monsters of the land. However, after Kelzitar tricked Oros and stole his one eye and all the powers it held, Oros flailed out in rage, shattering his throne and the whole mountaintop sanctuary. Gul-guroth remains the tallest mountain at the center of the range, but it is now an ominous and foreboding mount, with craggy cliffs and steep precipices. The throne at the summit has been long abandoned, and Oros has retreated to live within the caverns beneath the mountain.

Items Magic Items Rare: Knaves Eye Patch Uncommon: Stone of Good Luck

Sample Post   Background: The Legend of Kelzitar the Trickster Prologue: Crash! The boy darted wildly about the side of the wagon and collided directly into what felt to him like a brick wall. On closer inspection, as he looked up from the ground where he had fallen flat on his back, he realized that this particular brick wall had a more decidedly human shape. ”Damn it, boy!” The burly man growled as he stooped to begin picking up the tentpoles and iron spikes that had clattered to the ground around him, ”Watch where you’re going!” ”Sorry, Uncle Delon,” the boy murmured shamefully. To be honest, he wasn’t entirely certain that he shared any blood with the man, since his own pale skin and gangly limbs bore hardly any resemblance at all to the swarthy man whose shirt was stretched to its limit by the rippling muscles it struggled to contain. But that was the way of the caravan. They had all been traveling the Shrouded Lands for generations and everyone was referred to as aunts, uncles, and cousins, though drawing a true family tree was beyond the capabilities of anyone other than perhaps the most senior of their company. It was very rare indeed that a stranger joined the caravan - a stranger like the storyteller. The boy looked up again somewhat sheepishly at the man he called uncle, ”Ummm … Uncle Delon … have you seen the storyteller?” “Bah,” the large man spat as he lifted another iron spike from the ground, ”That old grifter is always happy to sit by our fires and partake of our dinner every night, yet he’ll never be found when there’s work to be done. You’d be better off without his lies, boy.” “Ummmm, sure. Thanks anyway, Uncle Delon,” the boy replied as he clambered back to his feet and darted off once again. Thinking of the surly advice he had just received, the boy walked away from the bustling activity of breaking camp and began walking along the outer edges of the caravan. After a few minutes of rounding the camp, a glimmer of light seemed to catch in the corner of his eye. Turning away from the camp, he made his way towards a lone tree that rose up from the field of long grasses. ”Hello again, boy.” The voice issued forth from behind the tree before the boy circled around to catch sight of its source, ”What brings you here, praytell?” Sitting leisurely with his back against the tree trunk was the storyteller. His mud-caked boots were stretched out before him at the ends of long wiry legs. Both of his hands rested on one knobby knee, fingerless soft leather gloves allowing his nimble digits the freedom to drum out a curious pattern. His slight frame was wrapped in an old travel-worn cloak, the hood of which rested lightly on a mop of unkempt auburn curls, casting shadows over his rough and stubbled face, but not nearly enough to hide the spark in his oddly mismatched eyes. ”Well … sir …,” the boy stammered as he mustered up the courage to speak before the strangely intimidating figure, ”I had to leave the campfire last night while you were still talking and I … I wanted to ask if you could tell me the end of the story.” ”Hmmmmnn…, the storyteller mused as his mismatched eyes peered deep into the boy’s own. Time seemed to stand still for the boy. The only movement he could sense was a single blade of grass perched in the corner of the storyteller’s mouth that bobbed up and down as the eccentric man chewed absently upon its end. ”No lad, I’m afraid I can’t do that, because you’ve asked the wrong question. You see, true stories have no endings, just places where we stop listening.” The boy couldn’t help but feel that he was being made fun of and that feeling tinged his retort with an edge of spitefulness. ”You know, my Uncle Delon says you’re nothing but a liar.” “Is that so?” the storyteller asked with an air of mock surprise laced so heavily in irony as to effectively suggest that there was nothing the boy could tell him that he did not already know. ”Well, your Uncle Delon prefers to deny his Kharak heritage.” “Wait, Uncle Delon is a Kharak?” the offense the boy had taken a moment ago melted under the burning flame of curiosity that the storyteller’s words had now kindled within him. The storyteller shrugged dismissively. ”Eh. Hard to say if there is any Kharak blood in him. After the First of All Wars, the Kharaks more or less went into hiding. Those that survived were blamed for the war, and so in order to survive they blended in with the other tribes. Many of them intermarried, thinning out the bloodline. Now in this age, there may only be one true-blooded Kharak out there. But your people’s lifestyle on the other hand, now that is unmistakably Kharak.” “What do you mean by that? And why did everyone hate them so much?” ”Ah, my young friend,” the corners of the storyteller’s mouth turned upwards in a delighted grin as light seemed to shine out directly from his mismatched eyes. ”Now that is an excellent question, and a story all to itself.   “I’m sure you’ve heard it said that forever ago, before there was a before, Telari was the only god and that she brought the whole of Ardein into existence? Well, that is only partly true. Telari had a twin brother, Oros the one-eye. While Telari did indeed bring form to chaos, it was from Oros that the elements of primal chaos themselves came into being. He belched forth the very building blocks with which Telari made the world as we know it, and when he saw what she had begun, he joined in the game. While Telari shaped all that is beautiful and intricate and ordered, Oros built that which is rough and wild and untamed. And in their union, the first mortal life was born. “Now in the beginning, there were no differing races - no elves, nor orcs, nor dwarves, nor jotun. All mortals were of one people.” “Wait … but that’s not what books say. The elves say they were here before all other races. And the dwarves -” ”Of course they tell a different story. Do you think the elves want everyone to know that they’re not as special as they pretend to be? Come now lad, you’ve a brain in that skull of yours, haven’t you? It’s an insult not to use it. “Now then, where was I? … Ah yes! So at first all mortals were of one people, but as time grew on, they began to separate, to form tribes. Each tribe laid claim to different lands. They developed their own customs, their own vocations, their own ways of life. But still they were of the same race. That is, until the Great Selection. “You see, the tribes of man were not the only ones dividing at that time. For Telari and Oros had birthed another form of life , beings that would come to be known as gods. These young godlings were very interested in the mortals that walked the ground beneath them. Each wanted mortals that would be their very own, to do with as they pleased. And so, Telari summoned all the tribes to Great Plain, where they would present themselves before the godlings and each god would select a tribe to be theirs. Each of the young gods promised great gifts to their new followers, granting them great strength, or swift and nimble fingers; sharp minds, or mastery of crafts. And this, young one, is where the tribes further diverged into the races you know of today. “But there was one tribe that did not bow and present themselves when the other did. The Kharaks were a proud people. They did not confine themselves to one land, as so many of the other tribes did. Rather, they roamed free, with all realms under the great sky belonging equally to them. Nor did they choose a single vocation as other tribes did, be it farming or fishing, mining or the art of the forge. Rather, they dabbled in all arts. What they did excel at above all others was their cleverness, and they used it to forge deals and bargains favorable to themselves. For this, the other tribes grew jealous of the Kharaks, often accusing them of living off the work of others. “The cleverest of all the Kharaks was their chieftain, Kelz. He discovered that Telari had decreed the youngest of her godlings would choose first at the Great Selection, followed by the second youngest, and the third youngest, and so on up the line, with the oldest and most powerful of the gods selecting last of all. For this reason, Kelz chose not to arrive when he was summoned, as the other tribes did. Instead he waited patiently in hopes of securing the greatest of blessings for his people. “And so, when the last of the godlings had selected the last of the tribes that presented themselves at the field, great Oros one-eye rose from his mountain throne just as a great trumpeting broke through the air. From out of the mists and onto the field, the Kharak tribe rode out, sitting tall upon sleek stallions whose coats gleamed in the light of the setting sun. Once, twice, three times they circled the ancient god before halting in perfect formation. From their ranks, forth stepped Lókirály, king of horses and steed of the great Kelz. The Kharak chieftain gazed with his steel-grey eyes up at the god who towered over him, the last ray of the setting sun caught and reflected in his proud smile. “’Great Oros, One-Eye!’ he cried aloud for all to hear, ’I Kelz of the Kharaks - citizen of all lands, student of all arts, author of contracts - do present myself here to claim your blessing for my people. We shall be yours for all time, as you shall be ours.’ “Great Oros did not reply. Instead he turned his fearsome eye away from the Kharak chieftain. His gaze slowly turned and scanned the distance. There was what seemed to be an interminable silence. All creation held its breath in that moment, until finally, so it seemed, something caught the attention of Oros’ terrible gaze. His lips curled in a horrifying smirk before he finally spoke. “’You may choose me, oh Kelz of the Kharaks, but I do not choose you or your people. I choose no man. Instead I choose the beasts of the earth, for they have no god yet they have more humility than you or your kind will ever know.’ “Wait a second.” The young boy interjected himself once more into the storyteller’s tale. ”So if the gods each made their followers into the different races, then what race did the Kharaks become?” ”Why, no race at all, my young friend, no race at all. For you see, they had no god -” “But that doesn’t seem fair.” “Of course it wasn’t fair! Boy, where did you come across this ridiculous notion that the world is fair? It’s never been fair, but it is true. And the truth is that ignorance will never be able to abide cleverness. So while the tribe that would become dwarves boasted of their skills at the forge and were rewarded with even finer metallurgy, and the tribe that would become orcs boasted of their strength and were rewarded with even greater physical prowess; when the Kharaks demonstrated their cleverness, they were unduly punished with complete and utter abandonment. Fortunately our story does not end there. Now … where was I before you interrupted me … Ah yes! “For you see, they had no god … at least not yet.” The storyteller’s voice became a conspiratorial whisper as he leaned in so close that the boy could see himself reflected in the mismatched eyes that locked him in their gaze. ”But Kelz would not let that stand for long. He was determined to earn a godly blessing for his people, and if he could not win one through selection, then he would find a way to steal it!   “After the Great Selection, Oros One-Eye retired to his kingdom beneath the mountains, refusing to see any of the tribes of men ever again, and only meeting with the beasts that were his ‘people.’ It was for this reason that Kelz sought out the assistance of Kit the Fox-Lord, and found him creeping through the grasses, stalking his prey, Rabbit. “’Well met, Lord of Foxes!’ Kelz exclaimed gleefully, causing Rabbit to leap up and dart away. “’Well met indeed,’, grumbled the Fox-Lord as he watched Rabbit’s tale disappear down a burrow, his tone making it clear that did not think it very well at all, ’What business brings you to me, praytell?’ “’No ill will, I assure you, oh great Kit, Lord of Foxes. Only that it occurred to me that we have much in common, you and I.’ “’Ha!’ Kit laughed, ’You have my sympathy, Kelz of the Kharaks, for you have no lands, no god, and no blessing. But sympathy is all I share with you. We are not alike, for I am beloved of Oros, greatest of all the gods.’ “’Eh, Kelz shrugged dismissively, ’Hard to say for sure. I mean certainly you belong to Oros One-Eye, but I’m not sure I’d call you beloved. After all, you are undoubtedly the cleverest of beasts, but why then is Lion called King of All Beasts instead of you? No, the truth is that ignorance can never abide cleverness, and that is how we are alike. For what does Lion have to qualify him as king that is greater than your own cleverness?’ “Kit the Fox-Lord blinked twice and stared hard at Kelz of the Kharaks as he contemplated his response. ”Perhaps it is because of his strength?” he suggested. “’Eh, Kelz shrugged once again, ’Does Bear not have as much strength as Lion? Or Eagle as much valor, or Peacock as much pride. No, the one thing Lion has that the others lack is his golden coat. That is what sets him apart and makes him truly regal. Of course … if you wanted to … I could fix that for you.’ “’And how could you do that? Kit the Fox-Lord asked, his curiosity piqued. “’Well, as you know, my people dabble in all arts, and in my dabbling I have discovered the secret of weaving gold. If you would but leave your coat of fur with me for, say, a fortnight's time, I could weave it into a coat of purest gold. Not just golden in color like Lion’s coat, but a coat of purest golden fibers.’ “Kit narrowed his eyes, warily as he stared back at Kelz. ’I am clever, as you say, Kelz of the Kharaks. I have heard of how you tricked Eagle into shaving his head, Oyster into giving up her pearls, and Dog into … well, let’s be honest: practically anyone could trick Dog into doing practically anything. But I am not as simple-minded as they. Tell me what is in this for you?’ “’Simply this:’ Kelz replied, ’I seek an audience with Oros to beg forgiveness, but he has sworn that he will never meet with me. But you, the most clever of his subjects (and soon to be King of All Beasts), if you were to put in a good word with Oros One-Eye, perhaps he would grant my audience and hear my plea.’ “Kit smiled to himself. It would be easy enough for him to convince Oros to meet with Kelz, but he also knew that no amount of pleading from the Kharak would be able to move the great Oros to forgive him. And so he agreed. Kit the Fox-Lord removed his coat of fur, handed it to Kelz, and left to return in a fortnight.   “It should come as no surprise that Kelz did not in fact turn Kit’s coat of fur into spun gold. Instead, once the Fox-Lord had left, Kelz the Kharak slipped into the fox skin and made his way to the undermountain domain of Oros. “At the gate of Oros’ domain, Kelz came upon Greymane the Wolf, who was charged with standing guard. ’Who goes there?’ Greymane demanded. “’It is I, Kit the Fox-Lord. Kelz answers slyly, ’I have come to speak with great Oros One-Eye.’ “Greymane eyed the man in fox’s clothing suspiciously. ’I know this red coat and it’s smell, but why do you not look quite like yourself today Fox-Lord?’ “’Ha’ Kelz laughed mirthlessly, ’Am I not the cleverest of all beasts? There are a great many things I do that you could never hope to understand.’ “Greymane bristled at the indignity of being spoken to thus, but he could not deny the truth of the words, for the Lord of Foxes did many things that he did not understand. And so, in the guise of Kit, Kelz was admitted directly to Oros One-Eye’s chamber. “’Great Oros!’ the false fox greeted the elder god, ’I bring great news! I have discovered a most amusing game with which we may entertain ourselves.’ “Kelz drew forth a bag containing the pearls he had tricked Oyster into giving him, emptying them out onto the floor. Kelz then taught Oros a game that he had just invented, but that was much like the game we now call marbles. Since the game had just been invented, Oros had no marbles of his own, but Kelz kindly offered to loan him half his own to start the game. Oros quickly won several of Kelz’s marbles, and took great joy in watching his pile grow. The god’s enthusiasm for the game continued to mount as he took one after another of the marbles and added them to his own. Soon the space before the false fox was bare, while the entire horde of pearls lay in front of Oros. “’Ha’ the ancient cyclopian laughed with sheer glee, ’What a delightful diversion you have brought me indeed. Such a shame that luck was not with you this day, old friend’ “’Now, now,’ Kelz offered calmly, ’No need for the game to end quite yet.’ “The Kharak chieftain raised one hand up to his face, then lowered it again, placing a single object on the cave floor between them, a steel-grey eyeball ripped from its own socket. Oros could not resist the challenge, but it soon became apparent that Kelz had only been toying with the great god, allowing him to win for a time. Kelz quickly took back the marbles he had lost, and then some. But proud Oros was not one to take losing easily. He fought back ruthlessly against the false fox. For three days and three nights the contest was waged, the tide turning back to Oros, then to Kelz, then back to Oros again. But Kelz was more than the student of all arts and author of contracts; he was also the maker of games, and the game has not yet been created at which the great Kelz could be beaten. Soon, it was Oros whose place was empty. The elder god followed Kelz’s example and removed his one and only eye, placing it inside the ring himself. “’Well, two can certainly play at this game.’ the god announced, ’Let us continue and I shall show you once again how a god claims victory.’ “The now-blind god stretched hi hand outward to once again lay hold of his eye, but found the circle surprisingly … empty. “’Where is it?’ the elder god howled with rage, ’Fox-Lord, what have you done with my eye?!?’ “At the sound of Oros’ fuming and screaming, Greymane the wolf came running, followed by a whole host of the now-blind god’s beastly retinue. Bear and Manticore, Lion and Hydra, even the mighty Dragon scoured the cavernous passages or Oros’ domain searching for Kit the Fox-Lord. But of course, they did not find him. However, after some time, Oros heard a familiar and none-too welcome voice hailing him. “’Great Oros, I came running when I heard your cries,’ the voice said to him, ’I know you did tell me never to seek you in your realm again, but I hoped to offer you my aid in your time of need.’ “’I know that voice,’ Great Oros rumbled, reaching out a massive hand to feel the contours of Kelz’s face (the fox coat now safely tucked away from sight) and confirmed what his eyes could not, ’Kelz of the Kharaks, how did you gain entrance to my home, when my guards have strict orders to bar your passage hence?’ “’Oh, that?’ Kelz replied nonchalantly, ’Well, I would’ve asked your guards permission before entering, but it looked like Greymane the Wolf abandoned his post right before I could get the chance. … Say, isn’t he close friends with Kit the Fox-Lord? Maybe Kit could tell you why Greymane left your gates unguarded.’ “The eldest of all gods bellowed furiously, ’Begone, Kelz of the Kharaks! I want you out of my sight!!’ “’Well, strictly speaking -‘ Kelz began, though he never finished his statement as his words were drowned out by the roars of the enraged god. As Oros flailed madly and the beasts ran about in a panic searching for a fox they would never find, none noticed that only a single steel-grey eye now shone in the face of the chieftain of cleverness, while its partner gleamed with an ice-blue glow. “And so Kelz of the Kharaks returned to his people and brought them back the blessing they had long been denied, now claimed by right.”   The boy grinned broadly as he clapped his hands once. ”So the Kharaks had a happy ending after all!” The storyteller narrowed his eyes as he glared at the source of yet another interruption. ”Were you not paying attention before? True stories have no endings, just places where we stop listening. “Kelz of the Kharaks did indeed bring back the Eye of Oros and bestow blessings on his people. In gratitude, they gave him the title ‘-itar,’ which in the ancient tongue of the Kharaks meant ‘man-god’” “Wait a second!” the boy leapt to his feet, ”You mean Kelz of the Kharaks became Kelzitar? Kelzitar the God-Thief?!?” ”Really?” the storyteller blinked twice and paused, ”Of all the things I’ve told you, that’s what you find most surprising? “Yes, over time Kelz became inextricably linked with his title. You see at that point he was the one and only mortal to ascend to godhood by his own devices. Sure nowadays everyone and her sister is doing it, but back then it was just him and that made the title unique to him. Soon, people started saying it all together like it was one word: Kelz-Itar became Kelzitar. “But remember: the Kharaks were a proud people, and the line between proud and boastful is one too easily blurred. It was not long before they spread the news of Kelz’s triumph over old Oros One-Eye, and while his title was seen as a sign of honor and respect among his own people, others said it with disdain at the temerity he had for acting as an equal to the gods. They added the epithet God-Thied to his name (and, depending on where they were, sometimes even more odious titles as well). “Inevitably, the story of Oros’ humiliation at the hands of Kelzitar came back to the blind god himself. Great Oros raged and fumed when he learned the truth of who had wronged him. He demanded that his fellow gods help him seek justice. Some joined with Oros out of fear for the elder god’s retaliation should they refuse. Others feared if Kelzitar was left unpunished, then what was to stop some other mortal from stealing their power. There were a small number of gods who did not care to see Oros restored, but the most they would do was abstain from the fight. None dared to side openly with Kelzitar. “Thus began The First of All Wars. Of course, it was something of a foregone conclusion. Kelzitar and his little band of Kharaks stood alone against the combined forces of nearly all the gods and their peoples. Even with all his cleverness, it did not take long before Kelzitar stood as a prisoner before Blind Oros. Oros demanded that Kelzitar return his eye before he was executed, but with smirk, Kelzitar clamped his eyelid down and squeezed it shut. Try as they might, even with all of their combined strength, the army of gods could not pry Kelzitar’s stolen eye open. “For thirty days and thirty nights, they wrestled with the Man-god’s stubborn eyelid. They clawed at his face with talon and fang. They battered him with wind and rain and storm. They tossed him about the Great Plain like a rag-doll. They burned him with fire and froze him with ice. They offered him gold and jewels and the company of women. They plunged him into drowning waters and left him to bake on the desert sands. But through all of this, Kelzitar remained unmoved. “Finally, when the younger godlings grew tired and moved to give up, Blind Oros flew into a rage. He lifted Kelzitar up and took hold of the Man-god’s tongue in his massive fist. “’Where now are your pleas and your bargains, your contracts and your games?’ Oros demanded, ’Have you nothing to say, deceiver? Then let none ever suffer from the poison of your words again!’ So saying, Blind Oros ripped Kelzitar’s tongue from his mouth. Oros then rent the Man-god’s body limb from limb. Into one hundred pieces he tore the flesh and flung them wildly to the farthest reaches of the world.” The boy gulped suddenly and so loudly that he almost startled himself. ”So … Oros killed him?” ”Sadly, no,” the storyteller replied with a touch of melancholy in his voice, ”You see, lad, it takes a great deal more than that to truly kill a god, and since Kelzitar had never released the eye, the powers of a god still flowed through him. It was enough to keep his body from dying, even in its shattered state, but that was about it. The pieces of the Man-god were scattered across all the lands, and though he was still alive, still aware, there was absolutely nothing he could do, not even to piece himself back together again. He remained helpless as his people were punished by the other tribes, forced to scatter to the winds, to deny their heritage and hide themselves in plain sight, mingling with the other tribes. As age upon age passed, the world moved on, and soon Kelzitar was all but forgotten.” There was a span of silence as the storyteller finished, but still the young boy sat motionless, barely able to breathe. Finally, after what felt like an eternity of unbroken stillness, the storyteller flicked the blade of grass he had been gnawing on back into the fields and stretched his hands high over his head, arching his back. As the vagabond moved to stand, the boy finally broke the silence. ”But that can’t be the end, can it? Because people haven't forgotten him, have they? Everyone knows his name now, so did someone put him back together again? How did they do it?” A wide grin spread across the storyteller’s face. ”All excellent questions, lad. Unfortunately, I’m afraid they’ll have to wait for another day.” The boy was about to protest, but something in the storyteller’s mismatched eyes caught his own and made him stop. Looking carefully at those eyes for what he realized was the first time, the boy noticed the ice-blue eye gleaming with a light that seemed to come from within, while the steel-grey eye reflected his own face back at him. ”BOY!!!” a gruff but familiar voice calling from behind him made the boy jump and turn. Sure enough, there was Uncle Delon making his way through the long grasses. ”There are horses to be harnessed, Jek. Get over here and lend a hand.” “Yes, Uncle Delon,” the boy named Jek replied as he turned back to the tree, only to find himself alone in the field. Stunned, he looked all about before he finally walked back towards the caravan campsite. Meeting with the man he called Uncle halfway, he could not help but ask, ”Ummm, Uncle Delon, did you see where the storyteller went. He was just here.” “Bah,” the gruff man snorted, ”It’s just as I told you. He heard mention of work and disappeared like the wind. Mark my words, Jek. You’d be better if you forgot about him altogether.”

[Kepheren]

Actually, on second thought I had better not apply. My other games are starting to really pick up now and it wouldn't be a good time to be learning a new system. Ya'll have fun though and good luck to everyone.

[Nomad240]

uh-oh looks like I've got competition for the death mantle
:P

[Chylopan]

Originally Posted by Nomad240

uh-oh looks like I've got competition for the death mantle
:P

I apologize. I didn't want to do it, but, alas, I heard the Dirge calling to me...

(I'm not sorry for the pun, however)

[WildJessi]

my app is done.