D&D 5E IG's "It's a Brand New World" [IC]

This will not only be a (hopefully) great game, but also an exercise in world-building. For those who happen to be following along, but are not currently playing, feel free to chime in in the OOC thread. We'd love to hear your thoughts and ideas.

I have a little black journal that I'm keeping close to my computer. My intent is to use this as a sort of campaign log and idea repository so that I can keep track of everything. With any luck, we'll have a nice little electronic document with a half-decent campaign setting inside. If not, well then maybe we'll at least get a good game out of it.

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It's A Brand New World

Cast of Characters (Current):
[MENTION=4936]Shayuri[/MENTION] – Maighan, Wood Elf Druid
[MENTION=23484]Kobold Stew[/MENTION] – Garrison, Half Orc Rogue
[MENTION=6755061]Kiraya_TiDrekan[/MENTION] – Nissa, Human Barbarian
[MENTION=12183]sithramir[/MENTION] – Aedon Everwood, Human Wizard
[MENTION=211]Phoenix8008[/MENTION] – Justice, Human Paladin of Tyr
[MENTION=48394]pathfinderq1[/MENTION] – J’hanna the Lioness – Human fighter

Some Posting Guidelines:

• Check in as often as you can to see if it’s your turn.
• Don’t make people wait on you; post something when it is your turn.
• Understand that if you make us wait, the DM may either make your move for you or skip you altogether.
• Wrap OOC text in OOC or SBLOCK wrappers.
• Don’t post a spoiler block directed to someone individually and expect everyone else not to read it. If you want it a true secret, use a PM.
• Check your spelling and grammar. It’s difficult to read something that looks like it was written by a third grader. Unless you are a third grader, in which case we’ll discuss an exception.
• Remember the story is happening now, not in the past. That means that your character DOES this, or SAYS that, not DID this, or SAID that. Pay attention to tense; it can be distracting and confusing for those reading if the story bounces around in different tenses. I can be guilty of this myself at times. Feel free to rub my nose in it if I do, because I’ll do the same to you.
• Please use Invisible Castle for all die rolls. Sometimes I use my phone to check in, and it doesn't like ENWorld’s built in roller.
• Understand that, in the interest of keeping things moving, the DM will be using whatever regular ol’ multi-sided dice that he happens to fish out of the glass canister on the desk in front of him. DM rolls will not be linked or verifiable. Consider it a DM screen. I’ll warn you ahead of time: the blue one likes to crit.
• Again, in the interest of keeping things moving, there will be times when the DM makes a roll on behalf of your character. I will probably roll initiative for everyone at the start of a battle round, rather than waiting two days for everyone to roll it before we get on with the killing. There may be other times as well. If you have a serious problem with that and would rather do every single bit of the rolling yourself, tough.
• PCs are your characters. NPCs are mine. You direct your characters thoughts and actions, I'll direct mine. If you need to explain that the barkeep hands you an ale, that's great. If you need to explain what the barkeep thinks of you while he's handing you that ale, that's not so great. If an NPC needs to do something more complicated than handing you an ale, it's probably best to let me decide what that action is. In turn, I'll try to keep my mitts off of your guys as well (taking into account Rule #0, when applicable).
• If you choose to use a color for your spoken text, please try not to blind me. I use a dark background, fwiw.
• Most importantly (after the literacy rule), HAVE FUN!

Some Links:
OOC Discussion
Rogue's Gallery

(Introductory post to follow...)

And away we go...


Blackthorn Academy
Photo by Elwinga


“Get the hermit,” he said. “Tell him it is as we feared. And as we hoped.” The headmaster turned without further instruction and instantly heard the porter’s quickened footsteps hurrying through the darkened and empty corridors of Blackthorn Academy.

The old man inside hacked up another clot and the attendant dabbed the blood from his cracked lips. “It’s done?” He’d lost the energy to fight through the hoarseness, and he was nearly impossible to hear without demanding complete silence.

“It is done,” the headmaster assured him, and the old man seemed to relax for the first time in days.

“Tell J’hanna she’s finally going home.” His forced laughter turned into another painful coughing fit, and the handmaiden was already mopping up his face with her red-stained rag. “Gods willing I’ll be going with her.”

“You’re not going anywhere old friend,” the headmaster assured him, though he understood the old man’s meaning. They both knew the only way he’d be getting on a boat was if he were carried on in a funerary box. He patted his cold hand and offered his best it-will-all-be-fine smile when a knock at the door mercifully took him back into the dimly lit hallway.

“It’s Lady Jenieva, sir. She’s had another vision.”

For a brief moment the headmaster wondered how the porter had managed to summon the hermit and still managed to come about this information and get it relayed in such a tremendously brief amount of time, but he quickly blinked away the defeat. He’d long ago given up the hope of discovering how he did the things he did, and was merely thankful the halfling was still in his service after these great many years.

“She’s demanding to see you,” the porter said, waking the headmaster from his momentary reverie. Lady Jenieva’s powerful divinations had proven most beneficial to not only Blackthorn, but to all of the Central Marches. More than once her visions had prophesied some evil encroaching upon the realm, and the threat was halted before it became a threat at all. It was because of these few rare but influential visions that he gave way to her pretentious demands.


Some time later the headmaster smashed through the bedchamber door in a frenzy. Aedon was there, and so was J’hanna, tears crawling down her cheeks. “He’s passed.” It wasn’t a question so much as an observation. “I should have been here, but Jenieva…” He was frazzled, they could tell. It was an unfamiliar look.

“Take him home, J’hanna. Give him a proper sending. I am sending “Aedon with you, though for a much different reason. I would imagine you’d want to offer your services after the rites are complete.

“And Aedon…” the headmaster showed concern, and maybe even a little bit of fear shown through his old grey eyes. “Take the girl…”

[sblock=J'hanna]The headmaster pulls you into the hallway and whispers. "My condolences on your loss, my dear. I know what he meant to you. But let it not be in vain. I fear that a terrible malady has come upon your village in New Lunarial. Likely other villages as well, and possibly it will reach Silverport itself if it hasn't already. The research has just taken too long. Aedon will confirm, but he's no warrior. He's a fair arcanist, but he'll need some muscle to aid him. I've seen you training with the guards, and heard them speak of your abilities. Aedon will need your help. All of New Lunarial will need your help."[/sblock]

[sblock=Aedon]The headmaster pulls you into the hallway and whispers. "I've considered your suggestion and I believe that we may have dismissed the idea prematurely. All signs do indeed point to it. You have to go, Aedon. You have to confirm it, and you have to stop it. J'hanna has agreed to accompany you after the old man is put to rest. She is a capable warrior, and will aid you well. And Nissa? Do not discount her. Jenieva is never wrong. Keep an open mind for her, regardless of what may come."[/sblock]

[sblock=Nissa]Lady Jenieva pulls you into her chambers and shouts. "I've seen it, girl! There's a great beast inside of you that needs taming. It wants out of you and there is nothing you can do about it. You must go away from here before it comes. They'll never understand. Go and find it. Tame it! You cannot come back here until it's controlled!"

The headmaster pulls you into the hallway and whispers. "She's never wrong, Nissa. Cryptic though her divinations seem, they always come to light in the end. You've learned all you can here, at least for now. Of course you're welcomed back, but for now I must ask you to leave. Studies are important, but so is experience. Accompany Aedon to New Lunarial and aid him on his quest... on your quest.[/sblock]




Tra'an's Loneliness
Photo by RobinHalioua


“She dreams big,” Allaeon said. “And who can fault her for that?”

“She is foolish,” said the younger elf.

“Perhaps. But it may be more foolish to have a dream and never strive to achieve it.” Aedon gave Tra’an a knowing smirk, playful, but then looked away furtively when Tra’an caught him. Until then, Tra’an’s eyes hadn’t left the spot where Maighan’s slender silhouette faded from view, and the pines once again claimed the entirety of the forest’s landscape.

Allaeon had always been suspect of Tra’an’s feelings for her, and now he was certain. Tra’an had tried to convince her to stay, and when that failed he’d even offered to go with her, but in the end she’d insisted on going alone.

And now Tra’an wouldn’t rest until she returned.

“Or perhaps she will get herself killed for her efforts,” Tra’an said solemnly. He returned his gaze to the empty forest ahead, silently wishing Maighan to emerge from its shadows.

Bittersweet, Allaeon thought as he clasped a fatherly hand on his shoulder. Tra’an was right, he knew. The chances of Maighan coming back were slim at best, and even if she did come back she wouldn’t be the same girl they watched leave only moments ago. That girl is as surely dead as the peace between the elven factions that she so longs to re-discover. But even if she does live long enough to discover that truth for herself, the life of an adventurer changes you, and rarely brings you back home.

No, she was gone. He knew it, and Tra’an knew it too. And his heart was broken, for he’d lost a love that he’d never had the courage to confess.

And Allaeon knew that Tra’an, too, would never be the same.

[sblock=Maighan]You're listening to the unfamiliar sound of your own boot heels clicking off the cobbled streets of Kingsport’s docks district. While you're no stranger to an early morning fog, the general atmosphere itself is altogether unsettling. The sound of your own footfalls is soon replaced by a heavier, faster one. In the moment it takes you to piece together the puzzle, the horse and rider burst through the fog in a race to somewhere unseen from here. You miraculously escape unscathed, but only barely. The city can be a dangerous place.

"Weeping Mary will have passengers this trip!" The voice was carried through the fog, and it seems as if it is coming from just over your shoulder. You listen for a moment, and a final phrase sticks with you: "We set out for Silverport at sunrise!"[/sblock]




Justice Begins Here
Photo by deviantik


“His trials would surely break any man, yet this one forges on. Has he not had enough, Sir? The angel looked down on the nameless man with a strange juxtaposition of emotion. Was it curiosity and pity? Remorse?

“Almost.” The reply was simple and stern. Final.

The sweat poured off of his naked and sun-scorched shoulders as he lashed together the last few pieces of his makeshift raft. Alone on his island wasteland the man had been tested both physically and mentally. His mind had nearly been ruined, both from dehydration and withdrawal from the drink, and it wasn't until he found the book that had been left for him that he was able to put it into focus. His purpose had been renewed, his faith restored. He was a man who had been broken and reduced to cinders in both mind and body, and then rebuilt, made with a new purpose and goals.

But his project wasn't finished yet, and the final stage had yet to be set. “Go now,” Tyr said to the angel, and didn't spare a second glance as the servant took his leave. The hardest test was yet to come.

[sblock=Justice]Day turns to night, into day, and into night again. Over and over the cycle goes, until eventually time loses all meaning. Your potable water was used up some time ago, and your cache of cooked crab meat is growing dangerously thin. Your skin is burned through the tattered clothes, months without washing. Your lips are cracked and bleeding, and the sub-temperature night will soon give way to the blazing sun just now creeping over the horizon. A large stingray has been circling your raft like a vulture to a dead coyote, but you’ve long since given up thought of catching the wretched thing. Only now it’s taken to darting away for a time, and then circling back, over and over like a dog wanting followed, teasing you, daring you to catch it.[/sblock]



Weeping Mary, Arriving at Kingsport
Photo by Bonasia


It’s a beautiful sight, ain’t it Cap’n?” The captain of Weeping Mary was standing on the deck looking out into the predawn hours of Kingsport. The candlelit windows cast an eerie, yet strangely comforting glow through the perpetual fog that dampened the cobblestones of the dock ward.

“I’m goin’ home to me new baby boy, Cap’n, so this’ll be the last time that I see it. And I just need to tell ye that it’s been an honor sailing with ye all these years.”

“The honor is mine, Jon,” the captain said. “You’ll be missed for sure, though I do hope for a drink now and then when Weeping Mary is in port.”

“It’ll be my pleasure and my treat, Sir.” Jon noticed the captain’s eyes had moved on to something else, something perhaps even more curious than the strange, comforting gloom of the Kingsport fog.

“He’ll make ye a good one, Cap’n. I’m certain of that.”

“That he will, Jon. That he will.” He’d never known an orc half breed before, but he was certain this was a unique specimen. He was quiet, strong as an ox, and nimble as a cat. He carried the scars of a slave, both inside and out, and the other crewmates opted to leave him alone rather than subject him to the typical hazing endured by other new crewmen.

Together they watched the half orc as he muscled several large crates onto the deck so they could be secured before the ship was ready to part in two days.

Just then a rider emerged from the fog and stole their attention. It was coming toward Weeping Mary, and it was in a hurry.

“Where’s the captain of this ship?” It was more of a demand than a question. And it was also a woman. She dismounted, and approached the ship on foot. She was unarmored and without weapon. Her only adornment was a thick fur-lined cloak, deep crimson and adorned with a single black rose.

“A mage playing messenger?” he asked cautiously. Jon had already slinked out of sight below deck and was gather arms. “Must be important.”

“It is!” she said, missing the captain’s sarcasm. “I have an urgent message from Blackthorn, Sir. There was no time to procure a proper messenger at this hour.” She offered him a rolled parchment, and he couldn’t help but notice the wand tucked into her belt.

The captain took the parchment and broke the Blackthorn seal. A moment later he re-rolled the parchment and took a deep breath of the chill morning air. Jon reappeared with his swords, and the rest of the crew were stashed away in the shadows with their own weapons of choice. This wouldn’t have been the first battle aboard Weeping Mary.

“Very well,” the captain nodded, and the rider was off in a flash. “Stand down men, there’ll be to fighting here this night.” The crew lowered their weapons and crowded the deck, curious.

“Weeping Mary will have passengers this trip,” he announced. The groaning echoed through the morning darkness as the crew expressed their discontent. Weeping Mary had carried passengers on occasion, especially those with coin, and they were inevitably needy aristocrats set on the bazaars of Silverport who thought of the crew as nothing more than their hired servants rather than sailors. This would not be a pleasant voyage.

“Muck up!” the captain shouted. There’s even more for you gents to cry about. The run’s been expedited; we set out for Silverport at sunrise!”

The captain turned to Jon and clasped him hard on the shoulder. “Let’s get you home to that new baby boy of yours.”

[sblock=Garrison]You tuck your daggers back into your belt as the messenger disappears back into the mists from which she came. You get close enough to hear the captain’s speech, but stay far enough away so not to cause a disturbance among the crew. Now is not the time to make a point, after all. The crew begins to settle back into their duties, albeit at a markedly hurried pace, and as you begin to wrestle with a particularly stubborn crate of goods, you notice the silhouette of a single lithe figure standing just beyond the fogline.[/sblock]

Nissa fights a rising panic... They knew! How could they know? No...Lady Jenieva was mad. Lots of students whispered it in the halls, she was crazed, delirious, unhinged. Everyone knew that.

Still, she nodded to the headmaster. It was getting more difficult to control her emotions. She could feel...it...struggling to get out again. And she was starting to want to let it, which scared her even more.

Nissa sighed heavily as she trudged toward her room to pack. She would never be a wizard. Tears welled in her eyes and she ignored everyone she passed.

Maighan barely had time to recover from nearly being ridden down before she heard the voice ring out from the gloom at the harbor...and it felt like dawn had come an hour early. Passengers. To Silverport. She paused and rested her hand against the knotty boles of an ash standing at the roadside...not in thanks, but simply sharing her moment of relief.

Though she wanted to dash across to the ship, waving her arms and shouting out, the druid schooled herself to a moment of calm. Stalk the moment as if it was the deer you meant to serve tonight. Watch, wait, and then when the moment was right, act.

So Maighan did cross, carefully listening for signs of another rider, and went purposefully along the packed earth trail and the cobble-paved road to the piers where the tall masts of the ships towered over the roofs of buildings, swaying slightly to and fro. Bells sounded as some ship down the way slowly pushed from its moorings out into the harbor, but HER ship was still tied fast. Even so, she could perhaps be forgiven for hurrying her steps. Visions of being stranded in this strange place until another ship set out hounded her like wolves on the hunt.

The air here was crisp at this hour...cool, but pungent. The tang of sea salt was pleasant, but overlaid on the stench of horses and manure, of wood burning that set her nerves constantly on edge, and the odors of bodies and breakfasts and... A confused and confusing mess. The sights weren't any better. The buildings were far too squashed together, and yet there was a lot of wasted space too...areas that didn't have any apparent use. The whole city was a bizarre combination of overcrowding and underutilization and it hurt her brain just to see it.

Fortunately, she didn't have to see much of it. The ship's gangplank was close, and she stepped quickly to speak with the man at the top of it.

"I would like to go to Silverport," she said. Then, to be sure it was clear, she added, "On your ship."

He was watching the man below him who was laying on the raft and floating in the sea as dawn broke over the calm ocean waters. He knew in a distracted and disconnected way that it was his own body he was watching lay there, but he was nearly past caring. Death would take him soon, most likely. He had done all he could do. He had burned with rage, he had been submerged in grief, and he had floated to the surface finally on a cushion of near forgetfulness. He nearly forgot and let go of his pain. Over and over again the cycle had repeated. It was when he started feeling at peace and content that he would start to dream of his wife and children and the pain would return with a vengeance. Vengeance. It had kept him alive till he found the book of Tyr and came to a deeper understanding of life. Vengeance shouldn't be his goal. Not vengeance, but justice. Not a reckoning just for him, but for all the others who had been or would be killed by those who preyed on others with their evil and cruel ways. Justice.

Justice gave him the strength to seek a release from his island prison finally. He had stopped talking long ago as there was nobody on the island to talk to. But saying the word gave him strength and focus. It was all he said now, muttering it occasionally, or screaming it at the heavens above. Even as the spirit which was nearly untethered from the flesh on the raft turned away to contemplate the gorgeous sunrise, the body below thrashed and splashed at the water in an effort to scare away the curious stingray while yelling, "Justice! JUSTICE!!" As the ripples spread out over the calm ocean waters, the worn out body slumped again into momentary submission, muttering under it's breath, "Justice... Jus...tice... Just..."

Aedon couldn't believe it. "Am I actually going on a ship?", he thought to himself walking down the halls of the academy.

A legend is gone and this is a pivoting point for me. I will prove my family wrong. I will make them beg for me to acknowledge I am one of them!

No, no I shall not let pride be my downfall. I better than that. Hard to not get lost in my thoughts some days but how precious that alone time will become soon!

Aedon heads through the halls looking for Nissa. Feeling a sort of comradery with her, it was good to know she might join him.

Thinking of how he could convince her to join him, Aedon notices she has found him already or perhaps it was coincidence. Looking at her but not really seeing what must be on her mind he speaks, " Nissa I need your help. There is a mission and I may not be able to do it alone. I need your help. Yes, I'm actually asking someone for help, rare though it may be. There is a ship and...other things we need to do. Will you help me?"

Watching her he is nervous. "Am I really ready to fulfill my destiny" he thinks.

Nissa, lost in her thoughts, shoves past Aedon, tears welling in her eyes, muttering a quick, "Excuse me."

J'hanna manages a nod at the headmaster's words, but she is unable to do more. It wasn't fair- the old man should be going home with her, and with a solution to the problems in their village. She could hardly believe he was gone- he had been a fixture since her childhood, one of the few folk in the village with true learning; he ought to be home, resting under his favorite orange tree.

With a snuffling sob, she manages to wrench herself back to the present- the old man wouldn't be going home after all, and his favorite orange tree had succumbed to the blight before they even left. But she had to go back, with what aid and answers they had. Wiping her tears on the rough homespun sleeve of her tunic, she thinks for a moment. Aedon, was it? He was one of the younger folk there, and an herbalist, like her own mother and sister. When she looks for him, though, he is already gone- no doubt to be about his own preparations. With a final glance towards the old man, finally at whatever rest he might have found, she steps out into the corridor, trying to remember which way led to her small room. Still lost in her own thoughts, she is paying very little attention to where she is walking...

Garrison had met Jon, and he seemed to respect him in a quiet way. Sailors don't talk of such things, of course, and the position he now held was more authority than he'd been given on a ship before -- he wouldn't be pulling an oar.

Through the mist their eyes met, and Garrison hummed a short grunt of farewell. Nothing personal, nothing tender. He was not senior enough to expect a handshake. It was an acknowledgement. And perhaps the look in his eye was one of envy. Would he ever have a family?

There were crates to lift, provisions to stow. And with these passengers there would now be more. Garrison lowered himself from the gunwale and felt his leather moccasins press against the damp wood. The smell of rotting fish parts and pitch was muted by the cold. The temperature was going to drop some more tonight, that was sure.

He heaved the crate onto the deck, the apples inside rolling back and forth and shifting the container's weight as he does so. Still, fruit. Then Garrison pulls himself up onto deck and again gets his fingers underneath when he sees the figure at the end of the wharf. No, beyond that. a shape barely perceptible. He sets the crate down again, and moves as if to grab another crate. He disembarks again and pads forward to get closer to the mysterious shape.

Confused by his interaction with Nissa, Aedon stands in the hall for a few minutes before realizing he better pack his few belongings for the trip. Hr better bring all his notes and realizes how clueless he is about travel. Would there be other items he needed?

After packing what he can he seeks his superiors in question of further understanding his mission.

Who else is coming?
What will he do without Nissa?
Will he need money or horses?

So many questions he just didn't have an answer to. Aedon didn't like not having the answers.



Aedon ponders sending a message to his family but thinks better of wasting his words when they likely wouldn't even care.