On the day of your departure, Selune hangs in the depths of space in a kind of swollen glory, seemingly demanding that all the people of Faerun recognize the majesty of the moon. Its proximity to the planet of Toril on this day has many a wizard scrambling for instruments of divining. A mystical air flows freely through the material plane- an air so palpable that everyone from a young tribesman in the jungles of Chult to an apprenticed Wizard in the vaulted galleys of a Waterdhavian vessel feel it's strange touch on their cantrips.
This is the day that you have chosen to embark on a planar journey to the winter of your lives. Faerun has served you well- at least most of you, with hoards of treasure and decades of adventure. Some of you have even become respected and lengendary adventurers in your native realms. Now, in the fading light of age, you have set out on your last adventure to the Plane of Abeo. Whether you have had enough with Faerunian politics, are concerned with guarding your legacy, or have some other motivation altogether for entering this demiplane, you have made your choice, and now, all this is yours:
A sprawling domain hovering in the twinkling blackness of space. Unmistakably elven-inspired architecture and preserved woodlands climb to the stars on this flat, floating plane. Those that currently reside in the Plane proper can be seen in the distance, cooking meals and walking grass-tufted cliff sides. The government of Abeo rarely considers new entrants, but you can see that a small gathering has cropped up in the Outlands; the portion of the plane that's not covered by the magic glass dome that surrounds the rest of it. Here, in the outlands, life is sustained only by short term supply of oxygen, thus causing the ring of territory to be comprised of barren land and craggy rocks alone.
You stand at the entrance to the dome: a curved gate that is covered only by a translucent layer of shimmering blue energy. A Woodling guard stands before the gate , holding a greatsword made of a darkened wood. He looks over your ranks. Congregating here is a thin, elderly man wearing a robe with goat horns fashioned at the peak of his hood. He is either playing with his greyed beard or trying to get some sort of insect out of it. Left of him is a bald, still-impressively muscular man who's wrapped at the waist by an incredibly thick belt. He totes a brow-high staff and is distanced a bit from the gathering. Closer to the woodling is a man in his mid-sixties with an adventurer's haul of saved gold and an exquisite bow strapped across his back. He boasts many war-scars, including a rippled, spider-web scar across his forehead that looks particularly nasty. Last but not least, a holy man stands tall over the group, his holy symbol dangling from a spot on his waist; a steel ring with the Tears of Selune hanging off of it by thin wires. He has a trunk of his old equipment, dragging it behind him. He is a bit hunched in his old days, relying more now on the staff in his hand than the tools in his trunk.
The Woodlng walks forward amongst all of you, speaking Common with the high-air of an Elven nobleman.
"Welcome to the Plane of Abeo. We are glad to have you, it's been a long while since we've had newcomers. Before you enter, I will need to assess the personal items you bring in with you. I may ask some questions of intent, but they are merely procedures, so please do not take offense. Lastily, I will give all eligible entrants a copy of the Edicts of Abeo and a planar map, and lead you through the gate and into the Abeo Commons. Please step forward, introduce yourself, and bear the objects you've brought along from your past life."
You need not rattle off your whole equipment list. Rather, voice that your character is showing all of his equipment, or, if he's not, explain how he's concealing it out of character. You may want to include some brief details on your most valued possessions.
This is the day that you have chosen to embark on a planar journey to the winter of your lives. Faerun has served you well- at least most of you, with hoards of treasure and decades of adventure. Some of you have even become respected and lengendary adventurers in your native realms. Now, in the fading light of age, you have set out on your last adventure to the Plane of Abeo. Whether you have had enough with Faerunian politics, are concerned with guarding your legacy, or have some other motivation altogether for entering this demiplane, you have made your choice, and now, all this is yours:
A sprawling domain hovering in the twinkling blackness of space. Unmistakably elven-inspired architecture and preserved woodlands climb to the stars on this flat, floating plane. Those that currently reside in the Plane proper can be seen in the distance, cooking meals and walking grass-tufted cliff sides. The government of Abeo rarely considers new entrants, but you can see that a small gathering has cropped up in the Outlands; the portion of the plane that's not covered by the magic glass dome that surrounds the rest of it. Here, in the outlands, life is sustained only by short term supply of oxygen, thus causing the ring of territory to be comprised of barren land and craggy rocks alone.
You stand at the entrance to the dome: a curved gate that is covered only by a translucent layer of shimmering blue energy. A Woodling guard stands before the gate , holding a greatsword made of a darkened wood. He looks over your ranks. Congregating here is a thin, elderly man wearing a robe with goat horns fashioned at the peak of his hood. He is either playing with his greyed beard or trying to get some sort of insect out of it. Left of him is a bald, still-impressively muscular man who's wrapped at the waist by an incredibly thick belt. He totes a brow-high staff and is distanced a bit from the gathering. Closer to the woodling is a man in his mid-sixties with an adventurer's haul of saved gold and an exquisite bow strapped across his back. He boasts many war-scars, including a rippled, spider-web scar across his forehead that looks particularly nasty. Last but not least, a holy man stands tall over the group, his holy symbol dangling from a spot on his waist; a steel ring with the Tears of Selune hanging off of it by thin wires. He has a trunk of his old equipment, dragging it behind him. He is a bit hunched in his old days, relying more now on the staff in his hand than the tools in his trunk.
The Woodlng walks forward amongst all of you, speaking Common with the high-air of an Elven nobleman.
"Welcome to the Plane of Abeo. We are glad to have you, it's been a long while since we've had newcomers. Before you enter, I will need to assess the personal items you bring in with you. I may ask some questions of intent, but they are merely procedures, so please do not take offense. Lastily, I will give all eligible entrants a copy of the Edicts of Abeo and a planar map, and lead you through the gate and into the Abeo Commons. Please step forward, introduce yourself, and bear the objects you've brought along from your past life."
You need not rattle off your whole equipment list. Rather, voice that your character is showing all of his equipment, or, if he's not, explain how he's concealing it out of character. You may want to include some brief details on your most valued possessions.
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