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  #1  
Old Sep 30th, 2005, 04:24 PM
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Elements of Eleya

Prologue – The temperature falls in Norvald

Kingdom Vallend’s most recent and most distant colonial settlement to date, Norvald, has survived just nine winters in the wilderness on the northern shores of the island continent of Eleya. Far from the safety and civilization of the Kingdom’s seat at Vallendhall in the south, its tenacious settlers have managed a hardscrabble existence beside the remarkable Llorna River. Born of hot springs high in the alpine vales of cloud-swathed Yondallorn Mountain, this ever-warm and mineral-rich river sustains a thriving population of fish in the sea at its mouth (and a corresponding ecosystem of seal, whale, eagle and bear, to name a few). In addition to supporting the local colonial economy of fishing, trapping and fur-trading, the Llorna River provides a valuable buffer zone of warmth along its banks, protecting the village against the extreme cold of the north’s harsh winters. But now, just as the first autumn snows are beginning to fall, the river on which Norvald has relied for survival has suddenly, mysteriously run dry. . .

To make matters worse, just hours after the river dried up, wolves from out of the high country began to be spotted nearer to town, migrating from the highlands as winter draws nearer, seeking food and warmth, once provided by the geothermal river, amongst the homes of the tiny outpost. And there have been rumors that even worse may be wandering in the woods . . .

Now, the clanging of alarm bells summons you to the Norvald Great Hall, where you must gather with the townsfolk to decide together how to meet this grim and unexpected new fate. . . .


I’m looking for 4 committed, consistent and creative role players and writers who are interested in a party-based, long-term, heroic adventure. Players should be willing to integrate their characters into the campaign world, post imaginatively rich and grammatically correct posts once per day (ideally), and do their best to help craft a rewarding and enjoyable gaming experience for all. A mix of combat and non-, a premium will be placed on developing a good in-character persona and on collaborating with other players on a quality story in which PCs gradually progress from humble origins in a frontier village far from the centers of power to influential heroes enmeshed in epic world-engulfing events.

Character Creation: PLEASE DO NOT CREATE CHARACTERS IN THIS THREAD. GO TO "Elements of Eleya" in 3.5E E-H or CLICK HERE

1st level (0 xp)

Ability Scores: roll 4d6 drop lowest 7 times and drop lowest overall set. One complete re-roll will be allowed, but if a re-roll is made the results of the re-roll must be taken. No exceptions.

Races/Classes: standard SRD 3.5E (PHB) only, no exceptions.

Alignments: any, though good and neutral will be strongly preferred, as evil would require outstanding RP to maintain believability given the main storyline. (Thoughif you want to try it, go ahead and apply, but consider yourself warned . . .)

Deities: Standard Greyhawk

HP: Max 1st level

Starting Gold: Roll 2HD x 10 gp (Ex. Fighter = 2d10 x 10 gp) + 20 gp per skill rank in Craft and/or Profession

Last edited by Jerul San; Sep 30th, 2005 at 05:49 PM.
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Old Oct 1st, 2005, 02:32 AM
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[9th hour, 4th day, Firstfall 1, 842 VY]

The stately sound of the big bronze bell ringing out from the tower of Norvald's Great Hall is not an unfamiliar one. Holidays, festivals and weddings are all traditionally marked by its deep tolling tones. But the two smaller silver alarm bells flanking it on each side are another matter altogether. They've rung their shrill frenzied clatter only a handful of times in the young settlement's short history: marking two shipwrecks, three fires, two wolf pack sightings within town limits and one rabid brown bear rampaging around the fish packers' stalls at the docks late last summer. To hear their clangor now, on top of the already palpable sense of impending disaster within the town, caused when the river - the Llorna - mysteriously went dry just days ago, sends a shiver of cold sweat down the spines of the town's inhabitants. You join with the rest as everyone makes their way nervously to assemble in the Great Hall.

"Mercy!" you hear Ma Guntry - the well-known matron of the Northern Light Inn and Tavern - mutter as she makes her way alongside you up the wide stone steps to the large veranda of the Great Hall and in through its broad, heavy, wood doors. "First the river . . . What more could be going wrong now?!?"



Just keeping this ad near the top of the queue . . . I'm still looking for creative RP-ers who are interested in a heroic adventure, but don't mind starting at the bottom and working their way up. The mystery of the Llorna's disappearance is only the beginning . . . Without giving too much away, I have planned for a world-encompassing storyline. If you want more clues, or are interested in applying, more information can be found HERE.

Thanks.


Last edited by Jerul San; Oct 4th, 2005 at 12:24 PM. Reason: add game time
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Old Oct 2nd, 2005, 04:03 AM
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I've gotten some great apps so far, but I'm still looking for creative players interested in embarking on a long-term party-based adventure that starts small, but will grow in scope as PCs develop. I want great players first of all, but party balance is also important and I haven't gotten any apps for bard/rogue or cleric/paladin. ALL spots remain open until Wednesday 10/5, but if you'd like to apply with any of those classes, it may improve your chances. Info on character creation, campaign world, etc. can be found HERE. Thanks.
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Old Oct 3rd, 2005, 02:22 AM
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One day earlier . . .

[1st hour, 3rd day, Firstfall 1, 842 VY]

“One . . . two . . . three . . .” Cark Woaldan grumbles out the count of his strides, his words making small puffs of misty breath appear from his bushy brown beard. Each half-spoken number is accentuated by the squelching sound of the giant man’s massive boots trodding the cold mud, slippery stones and the twigs, branches and leaves that are the detritus of the late spring and early summer thaws.

There is no reason for keeping count now, but it comes as old habit to the grizzled woodsman. Ever since he had settled in Norvald, he had methodically maintained a careful watch over the ebb and flow of the river on which he and so many other souls depended. “. . . five . . . six . . . seven . . .”

It was not unusual for the Llorna to swell to twice her volume with runoff in the warm season before shrinking to half the size she started before the autumn snowfalls turned the high country stark white. But the Llorna never froze. The highest Cark had ever counted in his nine years in Norvald was eight paces – some 25 feet or so from the high mark of spring dimly visible on the rocky banks to late summer’s low waterline.

This cold fall morning, however, Cark walks until he counts “ten” then stops, directly in the middle of the now empty riverbed, where only a shallow rivulet still meanders through. He slowly raises a worn and calloused hand to his beard and gives it a long, deliberate tug, letting out a deep sigh of disbelief and wonder. The Llorna has always been a river like no other – steaming with heat through even the coldest of winter nights. But rivers don’t just dry up. They don’t just disappear.

Cark squints upstream toward the rising highlands, picturing in his mind’s eye the first of the four cataracts the Llorna descends from her birthplace below Yondallorn peak to her mouth in Teeming Bay. He tries to imagine the falls bereft of water. He tries to imagine what power could have contained the Llorna’s mighty flow. And he tries to imagine how he and the other settlers of Norvald will possibly manage to survive the coming winter without the protection of her warming presence . . .

He shivers, and not from the cold. Cark sighs again – the extent of his emotional vocabulary – and trudges back up to the riverbank. In the distance, oddly for so early a morning, a lone wolf begins to howl . . .


"Elements of Eleya" is still accepting apps through 10/5. Check it out if you are interested. Elements of Eleya

Last edited by Jerul San; Oct 4th, 2005 at 12:23 PM.
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Old Oct 4th, 2005, 12:04 PM
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[10th hour, 3rd day, Firstfall 1, 842 VY]

As soon as she hears the piercing scream, Jaenara drops the pot she’d been scrubbing into the soapy waterbasin and runs for the door. She races across the kitchen on slippered feet, through Father Lyle’s tiny parsonage, and out into the church sanctuary. Father Lyle, surprisingly spry for his advanced age, is already at the front doors, holding them open to peer outside, his wiry shrunken frame barely a sliver of darkness against the late afternoon sunshine pouring in.

Jaenara slows to a quick walk as she makes her way between the rows of hard wooden pews toward the doors. Father Lyle demands a certain decorum in the house of worship to his god Pelor, and even though Jaenara has devoted herself to the goddess, she is ever eager to show her appreciation for the church that had adopted, housed and fed her for half of her orphaned life. She is not surprised to pass several townfolk bowed low in prayer. Normally, the church would be empty, but with the recent mysterious disappearance of the river, anxious penitents and supplicants have maintained a near constant vigilance before the gods.

She’d recognized the scream immediately as Brightwing’s – a sound which always heralded fascinating news from the Halfling shamans who sent him – and as she looks out over the quiet town of Norvald, her eyes scanning the sunset skies, she grasps Father Lyle’s hand and points it skyward toward the hawk circling lazily above the open square.

“There he is,” she says, unconcealed anticipation in her voice.

“Hmph,” is the aged Father’s reply. “What’s he doing gallivanting up there when we’re waiting down here?” he asks gruffly.

“Typical,” Jaenara thinks fondly of the old man. “Always so practical . . . but if I had wings like those I’d stay aloft as long as I could, too,” she muses. She loses herself in the dream of flight for a moment, watching the circling hawk with delight, until suddenly a thought occurs to her. She knows enough about the wilds to realize that Brightwing is not merely dallying; he’s hunting. Her eyes trace a line from the center of the hawk’s revolutions to a spot in the middle of Norvald square, and she lets out a horrified gasp.

“Mitts!” she yells as she leaps off the church steps and runs toward the square. All her focus is on the darting form of an obviously terrified and worn out weasel, scampering toward the church as fast as his lithe little body can go. The weasel leaps into Jaenara’s arms just as Brightwing releases another predatory scream from above and, now deprived of an early dinner, begins descending to Lyle’s outstretched arm.

Jaenara strokes Mitts’ soft fur, trying to calm the frenzied little beast, until Brightwing is in flight again, returning to the Halfling camp across the river. As she walks back up to the church steps, she removes and reads the short note tied to Mitts by a collar. It is, of course, from Cark Woaldan: “Please come early tomorrow. I’ll be gone all day. Leaving before dawn. Cark”. “Also typical,” Jaenara thinks of her part-time employer and reluctant teacher. “Not even a greeting or thanks. Well, at least the lessons are free!” She pockets the note.

“So what does the Hawkmoon clan have to say?” she asks. News from the barbaric Halfling tribe is rare and always intriguing. It comes as no surprise given the tribes' repeated insistence that the Kingdom settlement has upset the balance of nature within the sacred forests and mountains of the Yondallorn. Now with the river run dry, it was expected they’d be hearing from the Hawkmoons soon enough.

“They’re sending a delegation,” Lyle grunts with obvious displeasure.

“Ooh,” Jaenara says, unable to mask her excitement at receiving the strange little foreign guests. “When?”

“Tomorrow,” is the weary-voiced reply.

“Oh!” she exclaims, her anticipation peaking, until she suddenly remembers the note in her pocket. “Great . . .” she mutters. . .

"Elements of Eleya" is still accepting apps through 10/5. Check it out if you are interested.

Last edited by Jerul San; Oct 4th, 2005 at 12:27 PM.
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Old Oct 5th, 2005, 10:01 AM
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[3rd hour, 4th day, 1 Firstfall, 842 VY]

Winterwind stands in the center of her cozy tent as if frozen in place. The only motion visible in her stout form is the slight rising and falling of her ample chest as she breathes, deep and slow. She is calming herself – her body at least. Her mind races with a multitude of thoughts – each one flashing beneath the disturbed surface of her consciousness like silver fish in a roiling school. So distracted is she that she fails to notice that Featherdancer has finished grooming her and is reaching for the polished handmirror the tribe had been gifted by the human settlers of Norvald.

She examines her reflection almost without seeing. Stark white hair hangs low across her shoulders and down her back, intricately entwined with feathers, leaves and, rarest of all in the northern wilds, a few hardy wildflowers still left from summer’s late bloom. The round cheeks of her brown-skinned face are lined and wrinkled from long years of sun and snow and wind and cold. Her fur-trimmed hide armor – bearskin – is adorned with hawk feathers from her neck to the tops of her fur boots. She reaches a gloved hand for her ceremonial spear – its obsidian tip tied with yet more feathers – and nods approvingly to Featherdancer, who nods back his own acknowledgment and quietly leaves his matron alone with her thoughts.

“The time of judgment has come,” she thinks grimly. She’d always believed it would come. She and her shamans had oft predicted that Yondalla would not long tolerate the humans’ growing presence on the banks of the sacred Llorna River. The town of Norvald was like the snow on a steep cliff face, the shamans had said – it is only time before it falls beneath its own weight in an avalanche that wipes all life from the mountainside in its wake.

And now judgment has come, and the river runs dry. But Winterwind fears now that the judgment has come not upon the townfolk – but upon her, and her tribe. “Yes,” she thinks, “the Hawkmoon have failed. I have failed, and now judgment falls upon us.”

Her already rigid form stiffens even more. “Of course, we must not let the humans know this,” she tells herself. And she is confident that they will not. After so many years as First Mother, Old and Aged One, the Living History of the Hawkmoon Clan, she has earned a gritty confidence in her abilities at negotiation. This time, however, she senses a growing unease. She hasn’t been to speak to the townfolk in person since the day – nine long winters ago – that she had extracted from them the promise not to settle the Llorna’s eastern banks, nor to venture upstream past White Bear’s Roar, the first cataract, as the humans call it. She’d always sent her shaman-sons in her place.

But now, with Yondalla’s judgment upon her, she must go herself. But will she be able to succeed?

“If you have not utterly forsaken us, Yondalla,” she prays, “grant me favor in your eyes and in the eyes of the humanfolk.” And with a slow exhalation, the old Halfling begins to move – shuffling stiffly toward the tentflap, leaning heavily on her spear like a walking stick.


Today is the last day for accepting applications to "Elements of Eleya".

Last edited by Jerul San; Oct 5th, 2005 at 10:59 AM.
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Old Oct 6th, 2005, 03:46 AM
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Elements of Eleya is now closed.

Thanks to all who submitted such great characters. It made my job that much more difficult, as I wish I could have taken many more. As it is, I went with five rather than four. If you weren't chosen, please know that many factors went into choosing the party and hard choices had to be made. Not being selected for this campaign is likely more an indication of my idiosyncracies as a DM than it is your qualifications as a PC. I am keeping names of several of you to contact should PCs be needed in the future. Best to all, and finally . . .

Congratulations to the chosen five:

AngryIrish
azekeil
Obscurity
Torolf
Unorthodox
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