hewligan
First Post
Character Thread
OOC Thread
Post 1: Background Information
The summer sleeps
The first day of Autumn is upon us, and the beautiful, crisp air offer hints of the colder weeks ahead. The rolling mists that at times shroud the town are lifting, and the gentle lull of the ocean offers a calming backdrop to what a romantic might call a perfect day, if only it weren't for the cursing laughter of the local fishermen unloading their catch, and the shrieking calls of the seagulls that whirl overhead.
The town of Sandpoint
A simple, relatively peaceful young town with all the color and common oddities one expects from a tightly-knit community, Sandpoint sits at a point on the Lost Coast halfway between Magnimar and Windsong Abbey. Wood buildings and cluttered docks line the town’s natural harbor, while farms and the manors of wealthy citizens dot the surrounding countryside. During the day, fishing, farming, lumbering, glass-making, and shipbuilding occupy most of the townsfolk, who commonly retire to their homes by way of Sandpoint’s many taverns. A playhouse and would-be museum make unusual attractions in such a small community, but Sandpoint’s true landmark is the Old Light, a lighthouse of ancient origins that lies in ruins.
A relatively peaceful town, devoid of many of the dangers of a true frontier town and intrigues of a sprawling city, Sandpoint has nonetheless had its share of troubles. The fading scars of a recent terror still linger, a time most folk refer to as the Late Unpleasantness. Just over five years ago, a madman stalked the streets of Sandpoint, killing dozens. Known as Chopper, the killer’s month-long terror ended bloodily when an eccentric local artisan was revealed as the murderer and killed during his attempted capture.
Adding to the pain, less than a month later the local chapel burned to the ground in a conflagration that nearly consumed the town’s northern half and left the local priest dead.
Emerging from the shadow of these events, though, Sandpoint has healed and rebuilt, with many townsfolk viewing the coming dedication of a new church as a symbolic end to the healing and return to normality.
Danth Brinfield, favored of Sarenae
The morning of the Swallowtail Festival is upon you, and the town of Sandpoint is abuzz. You had spent the previous evening amongst Father Zantus, his acolytes, and the three other clerical dignitaries who made the short trip from Magnimar, performing a quiet little ritual of bread-breaking and blessing.
Romath Sinochrin of Abadar, a heavy-set, brocaded fool, more interested in his heavy ceremonial medallions, and position as deputy head of the Magnimar Mercantile Society, made your night an uncomfortable one. He clearly feels that your youthful presence here is demeaning to his own trip, and while he did little more than grumble privately during the trip here, last night, after he had downed a few glasses of red wine, his true feelings bubbled out.
"Shocking insult from the church of Sarenrae to send one so wet behind the ears!" you heard him whisper into the ear of Zantus during the night. You ignored him, as best you could, but in truth his drunken rudeness ruined your night, and even now has left a lingering bitterness. You may be young, and you are aware that being sent upon this trip was an honour, but you know you are up to the task.
You stand in front of the small mirror in your cold room, trying to clasp the last few loops of your ceremonial robes together. There is no place for armour at todays ceremony, but the vestment, stole, and associated paraphenalia feel even more restrictive than your favoured bronzed scale mail.
Just one more day with Romath, and then thankfully you will be free of him, as you are set to return immediately to Magnimar while the rest stay behind for a few days to enjoy the ongoing festivities. No such rest for you, though, as shortly after your arrival a messenger arrived requesting your return as soon as possible after the festival. This, coupled with your anger from the night before, has left you feeling rather distracted.
Note: You have no armour on, but will have your weapon!
Mandraiv the hermit, free spirit of Desna
At last the festival is here. Your old friend, Father Ezakien Tobyn, may have been killed in the fire that destroyed the old temple, but you know he would have rejoiced at the magnificent cathedral they built in its place. He was a true friend, one of the few townspeople who would seek you out to ask for your thoughts, or to share news with you, and when he perished you were saddened.
You are no stranger around Sandpoint. You visit there to buy seeds and gardening equipment, as well as to sell some of your famous rhubarb and plum jams when the season is right, but in your heart you don't feel part of Sandpoint.
Today, though, you are going to hold your head up high amidst the throng and listen to the dedication of the new cathedral. You are not doing it for yourself, you are doing it for the memory of Ezakien and what it would have meant to him.
You look at your old scale mail, shield, and morningstar, laid out on your bed, polished to an amazing shine. You have spent the last week at work during the night ours, getting things stitched up, oiled, cleaned, and, in truth, loosened in a few places to allow your more ... relaxed girth fit into it. You may look slightly silly, but you don't care. This is the gear of a cleric of Desna, and by her blessing you are going to wear it and ignore the inevitable comments!
Note: full armour and morningstar, but no backpack or sunrods, etc.
Jokad the Reaver
Your debt has almost been repaid. Father Zantus and his acolytes have been nothing but kind to you since your arrival in a terrible state, and seemed slightly embarrassed when you demanded that you repay your debts to them. At first they thought you meant a small donation in coin, which they would have gratefully received, but when they finally realised you actually felt obliged to do something to physically repay their service, they quickly found a use for you. Since then you have been working hard to prepare for the upcoming festival, helping the carpenters build the small stage, clearing the central square, carrying the barrels of pickled fish and vegetables, the rounds of cheese, the kegs of ale, and the barrows of apples and pears up from the market to the north eastern cathedral district.
You are tired, but it is a good tiredness. Your muscles feel like they have been tested, and your soul is starting to yearn for freedom from the town. Father Zantus asked if you would mind staying one more day after today, to help clear up after the party tonight, and then to finish the clearing up and dismantling tomorrow. After that, you plan on taking your possessions, making your thanks, and leaving this town. You have no idea where you will go, but the road is calling!
Note: You are lightly dressed with no weapons. You are, after all, on hand during the ceremony only to help carry things, etc.
Kael Saern
You have been in town a few days, and there is no way you are missing this festival. Free food, free drink, young ladies, and a chance for you to forget your predicament. You are a smart cookie, though, and you have an idea that you might be able to make a pretty penny today. Not only is the food free, but you might be able to help a few people out with a mending spell and make a few silvers. If that doesn't work, well in all honesty there is little else to do today.
Note: Normal equipment, but without your backpack which is in The Hagfish inn, where you are staying (for free for a few days, in return for helping old one-legged Jargie Quinn, the rather strange owner, with some alchemical ideas he has - none of which are ever any good, but he does seem to enjoy the resultant explosions).
Jovik Magnix
The last few months have been testing for you. Your father has grown more distant, perhaps coming to the realisation that you have no intention of following your brothers and him into a useful profession. You have been working your socks off, legitimately (well, largely) for the last few months as well, raising coin, but you have done it out-with the boring world of fishing. Your odd jobs, working for the Scarnetti family as a messenger and fixer, has not exactly enamoured you with your family (or most others), but the pay is good, and the work is simple (even if there is always an undercurrent of threat to their demands).
And then you went and dropped the ball, telling your oldest brother about your intention to leave right after the Swallowtail Festival. You had had a few drinks, had been acting the big man, buying him a couple with your easy-found coin, and then your mouth had run away from you. He hadn't said anything at the time, but when you awoke the next day to a roiling headache, the cold attitude of your mother made it all too obvious that your brother had told them of your intentions.
Since then the family have been harbouring mixed feelings for the Swallowtail Festival. Your father, a pious man who has been doing his bit to pickle extra fish to provide free at the festival, has had his excitement at the consecration of the new cathedral (and an all-too-rare day-off) dashed by the knowledge that it may well be the last day that he sees his young son.
He hasn't spoken to you about it, but you can read him like a book. He is disappointed in you. He feels you are running away from your responsibilities. He is scared you are going to get yourself killed.
But hey, you are a man now, and it is time to make your own destiny, and after this Swallowtail Festival (which has become like a stone around your neck), you will be free of guilt and responsibility.
Note: You are lightly dressed with only a concealed dagger in your possession.
OOC Thread
Post 1: Background Information
The summer sleeps
The first day of Autumn is upon us, and the beautiful, crisp air offer hints of the colder weeks ahead. The rolling mists that at times shroud the town are lifting, and the gentle lull of the ocean offers a calming backdrop to what a romantic might call a perfect day, if only it weren't for the cursing laughter of the local fishermen unloading their catch, and the shrieking calls of the seagulls that whirl overhead.
The town of Sandpoint
A simple, relatively peaceful young town with all the color and common oddities one expects from a tightly-knit community, Sandpoint sits at a point on the Lost Coast halfway between Magnimar and Windsong Abbey. Wood buildings and cluttered docks line the town’s natural harbor, while farms and the manors of wealthy citizens dot the surrounding countryside. During the day, fishing, farming, lumbering, glass-making, and shipbuilding occupy most of the townsfolk, who commonly retire to their homes by way of Sandpoint’s many taverns. A playhouse and would-be museum make unusual attractions in such a small community, but Sandpoint’s true landmark is the Old Light, a lighthouse of ancient origins that lies in ruins.
A relatively peaceful town, devoid of many of the dangers of a true frontier town and intrigues of a sprawling city, Sandpoint has nonetheless had its share of troubles. The fading scars of a recent terror still linger, a time most folk refer to as the Late Unpleasantness. Just over five years ago, a madman stalked the streets of Sandpoint, killing dozens. Known as Chopper, the killer’s month-long terror ended bloodily when an eccentric local artisan was revealed as the murderer and killed during his attempted capture.
Adding to the pain, less than a month later the local chapel burned to the ground in a conflagration that nearly consumed the town’s northern half and left the local priest dead.
Emerging from the shadow of these events, though, Sandpoint has healed and rebuilt, with many townsfolk viewing the coming dedication of a new church as a symbolic end to the healing and return to normality.
Danth Brinfield, favored of Sarenae
The morning of the Swallowtail Festival is upon you, and the town of Sandpoint is abuzz. You had spent the previous evening amongst Father Zantus, his acolytes, and the three other clerical dignitaries who made the short trip from Magnimar, performing a quiet little ritual of bread-breaking and blessing.
Romath Sinochrin of Abadar, a heavy-set, brocaded fool, more interested in his heavy ceremonial medallions, and position as deputy head of the Magnimar Mercantile Society, made your night an uncomfortable one. He clearly feels that your youthful presence here is demeaning to his own trip, and while he did little more than grumble privately during the trip here, last night, after he had downed a few glasses of red wine, his true feelings bubbled out.
"Shocking insult from the church of Sarenrae to send one so wet behind the ears!" you heard him whisper into the ear of Zantus during the night. You ignored him, as best you could, but in truth his drunken rudeness ruined your night, and even now has left a lingering bitterness. You may be young, and you are aware that being sent upon this trip was an honour, but you know you are up to the task.
You stand in front of the small mirror in your cold room, trying to clasp the last few loops of your ceremonial robes together. There is no place for armour at todays ceremony, but the vestment, stole, and associated paraphenalia feel even more restrictive than your favoured bronzed scale mail.
Just one more day with Romath, and then thankfully you will be free of him, as you are set to return immediately to Magnimar while the rest stay behind for a few days to enjoy the ongoing festivities. No such rest for you, though, as shortly after your arrival a messenger arrived requesting your return as soon as possible after the festival. This, coupled with your anger from the night before, has left you feeling rather distracted.
Note: You have no armour on, but will have your weapon!
Mandraiv the hermit, free spirit of Desna
At last the festival is here. Your old friend, Father Ezakien Tobyn, may have been killed in the fire that destroyed the old temple, but you know he would have rejoiced at the magnificent cathedral they built in its place. He was a true friend, one of the few townspeople who would seek you out to ask for your thoughts, or to share news with you, and when he perished you were saddened.
You are no stranger around Sandpoint. You visit there to buy seeds and gardening equipment, as well as to sell some of your famous rhubarb and plum jams when the season is right, but in your heart you don't feel part of Sandpoint.
Today, though, you are going to hold your head up high amidst the throng and listen to the dedication of the new cathedral. You are not doing it for yourself, you are doing it for the memory of Ezakien and what it would have meant to him.
You look at your old scale mail, shield, and morningstar, laid out on your bed, polished to an amazing shine. You have spent the last week at work during the night ours, getting things stitched up, oiled, cleaned, and, in truth, loosened in a few places to allow your more ... relaxed girth fit into it. You may look slightly silly, but you don't care. This is the gear of a cleric of Desna, and by her blessing you are going to wear it and ignore the inevitable comments!
Note: full armour and morningstar, but no backpack or sunrods, etc.
Jokad the Reaver
Your debt has almost been repaid. Father Zantus and his acolytes have been nothing but kind to you since your arrival in a terrible state, and seemed slightly embarrassed when you demanded that you repay your debts to them. At first they thought you meant a small donation in coin, which they would have gratefully received, but when they finally realised you actually felt obliged to do something to physically repay their service, they quickly found a use for you. Since then you have been working hard to prepare for the upcoming festival, helping the carpenters build the small stage, clearing the central square, carrying the barrels of pickled fish and vegetables, the rounds of cheese, the kegs of ale, and the barrows of apples and pears up from the market to the north eastern cathedral district.
You are tired, but it is a good tiredness. Your muscles feel like they have been tested, and your soul is starting to yearn for freedom from the town. Father Zantus asked if you would mind staying one more day after today, to help clear up after the party tonight, and then to finish the clearing up and dismantling tomorrow. After that, you plan on taking your possessions, making your thanks, and leaving this town. You have no idea where you will go, but the road is calling!
Note: You are lightly dressed with no weapons. You are, after all, on hand during the ceremony only to help carry things, etc.
Kael Saern
You have been in town a few days, and there is no way you are missing this festival. Free food, free drink, young ladies, and a chance for you to forget your predicament. You are a smart cookie, though, and you have an idea that you might be able to make a pretty penny today. Not only is the food free, but you might be able to help a few people out with a mending spell and make a few silvers. If that doesn't work, well in all honesty there is little else to do today.
Note: Normal equipment, but without your backpack which is in The Hagfish inn, where you are staying (for free for a few days, in return for helping old one-legged Jargie Quinn, the rather strange owner, with some alchemical ideas he has - none of which are ever any good, but he does seem to enjoy the resultant explosions).
Jovik Magnix
The last few months have been testing for you. Your father has grown more distant, perhaps coming to the realisation that you have no intention of following your brothers and him into a useful profession. You have been working your socks off, legitimately (well, largely) for the last few months as well, raising coin, but you have done it out-with the boring world of fishing. Your odd jobs, working for the Scarnetti family as a messenger and fixer, has not exactly enamoured you with your family (or most others), but the pay is good, and the work is simple (even if there is always an undercurrent of threat to their demands).
And then you went and dropped the ball, telling your oldest brother about your intention to leave right after the Swallowtail Festival. You had had a few drinks, had been acting the big man, buying him a couple with your easy-found coin, and then your mouth had run away from you. He hadn't said anything at the time, but when you awoke the next day to a roiling headache, the cold attitude of your mother made it all too obvious that your brother had told them of your intentions.
Since then the family have been harbouring mixed feelings for the Swallowtail Festival. Your father, a pious man who has been doing his bit to pickle extra fish to provide free at the festival, has had his excitement at the consecration of the new cathedral (and an all-too-rare day-off) dashed by the knowledge that it may well be the last day that he sees his young son.
He hasn't spoken to you about it, but you can read him like a book. He is disappointed in you. He feels you are running away from your responsibilities. He is scared you are going to get yourself killed.
But hey, you are a man now, and it is time to make your own destiny, and after this Swallowtail Festival (which has become like a stone around your neck), you will be free of guilt and responsibility.
Note: You are lightly dressed with only a concealed dagger in your possession.
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