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The furries

 

Deep in the jungles of the feline peoples. There is the legend of the furries. They are rumored to be mad humans that after losing their pet cats in tragic accidents lose themselves in the jungles and mimic feline predators. At night they are said to on top of trees rambling to themselves. At day they are said to be seen in rags and and bearing claws and other assortments crafted from animal remains. Nobody has ever killed a furry to prove their existence due to their uncanny senses. But many have seen the wide variety of animal fur they leave behind in the jungles. A powerful cipher is said to be behind this or a dark deity. The slaver finishes sipping his liquor and laughs and leave with the rest of his troop.

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I had this idea that might already have been used. I don't know how to put the descriptive text into words. Hope you guys get my meaning.Not in any way a joinable faction. I couldn't come up with a good name, so I'll just call them the Soul Twisters.

 

These arrogant men wanted to be able to change the nature of their soul. They wanted their current self to be fused with their current soul to come as close as possible to eternal life. These people never forget. They might get reborn into new bodies, but they are still the same... or are they? Having fused themselves with the soul, they also get to see the other side of the coin, the immortal plane where the soul passes before coming back to the mortal world as a new incarnation.

 

Some people can't handle the visit into the immortal plane. What they see is so incomprehensible that they go mad and stay so in their new incarnation. At birth, this might not be evident, but the older they get, the more obvious it seems that something is wrong with them. They will usually flee from their home at a young age. Being dangerous as they are, they'll manage to survive in the wild thanks to the knowledge from their previous life. Unfortunately, their powers will most probably be used in a twisted way wich will in turn twist the mad user. They will become deformed and can look very different depending on the abilities used. One thing that will make them easy to identify is their eyes. Having seen the immortal planes, their eyes become more ethereal with every rebirth. If one looks at them at a quick glance, it will seem like they have no eyes. But if one looks closely, one will see their ethereal eyes. This is another reason for their madness. In the mortal world, they see hallucinations and other things that mortals cannot, so the visit to the immortal plane doesn't just end with the visit in soul form. For every rebirth this man/creature experiences, he grows even madder and more deformed. He also learns more twisted and deformed skills. He begins to hate the living, envying them of their lives that will end normally. These creatures also start tormenting themselves, making use of blood magic. It is not unusual that these creatures seek dwellings far from civilization in thick large forests where men are unlikely to come, or dark dungeons that have an even lesser chance of getting visits from the living.

 

Then there are those that are unaffected by the visit to the immortal plane. Some of them even getting some enlightenment there. They might not necessarily get more powerful in magic. Some of these people do it only to preserve knowledge of various things. There are very different types of people in this organization, but not many in numbers compared to other organizations. 5 new members are accepted every 20 years. This way, the Soul Twisters don't grow too large too quick. Some members have it as their goal to rid the world of those members that grew mad in the immortal plane. An ordinary soldier could hardly scratch a maddened Soul Twister. Not all members focus on that though. Some of them dabble in the arcane arts. Others want to become the best in melee fighting, mastering every weapon. Some only care for wealth and fame, while others are just in it to gain as much knowledge as possible. And some just want to stray away from death. Members are usually helpful to each other when needed, but try to stay out of the way from other members personal business. If it is known that someone has abused their power in a way that will in some way hurt the Soul Twisters as a whole, that particular member will be hunted down and killed. There are those that have dabbled in the arcane arts that know ways to bind the offenders soul to the plane of the dead, so the privilege of a membership and "eternal life" could be revoked if it comes down to an emergency situation. Not many people know of the Soul Twisters. They have lent their powers to leaders, sometimes having members from the organization helping warring factions. They are only known as a myth by the common man. Usually being used as a means to scare children with scary tales.

 

I wanted to write more, but I had to leave in the middle of writing this. It doesn't feel good coming back to write more, so I'll leave it at this.

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I love it. Call them the Godcursed. For their undesired presence in the immortal realm.


Remember: Argue the point, not the person. Remain polite and constructive. Friendly forums have friendly debate. There's no shame in being wrong. If you don't have something to add, don't post for the sake of it. And don't be afraid to post thoughts you are uncertain about, that's what discussion is for.
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The Deregulators

 

The Deregulators are all about ensuring individual freedoms, especially those which affects themselves. They are against any type of modesty laws or moralising in law.

 

The Deregulators are a group largely comprising of Vallian nobility, colloquially known as the cigar club. One of their members has his own brand of cigars and only members of this club have them. This is how they know each other, but mostly it's to be exclusive.

 

The Deregulators are without exception men of influence and power, by far most have come into that power through inheritance, and old nobility comprises a large part of the membership. Membership is invitation only, but generally open to anyone who "shows promise". IE anyone with influence willing to work with the Deregulators to further their goal of a liberal Utopia.

 

If there is something illegal, which might profit them or which they would like to have, be it hallucinogenic mushrooms, the right to own slaves, the ability to sell weapons to children, nearly extinct animals for their menagerie, the deregulators all put it on the onus of "freedom of choice" and "personal responsibility"

While some are selfish children, some are idealistic men and women who truly believe that deregulation leads to more and better chances for self-determination, something which is well respected in the cigar club. You can dress how you want, you can walk around naked if you care to, you are free to decide who you choose to associate with, all these are also enshrined rights for the deregulators.

 

Because of their opposition to moralising law, they are generally not seen as friends of religion, although some religions are better tolerated than others.

 

Their colonial Headquarters is in a side building of the Horticulturists HQ, where some of them can usually be found enjoying their exclusive brand of cigars. Some of their members might have work for those who have a reputation for discretion, the player might be asked to threaten lawmakers, destroy a temple and kill all clergy, save someone from prison or even the gallows who was to be executed for a moralist reason, or help smuggle illegal goods through customs, bribe customs officials.

Players with a different reputation might be asked to help in a different way, but will never be considered for membership.

 

Membership benefits include access to illegal materials, a big "old boy" network, investment in any business venture the player might wish to construct, and powerful allies. Not to mention some fine cigars.

 

While unknown to the deregulators, crime syndicates are taking notice, and considering aligning themselves with the derulators, as are trade organisations dealing with more questionable goods.


Remember: Argue the point, not the person. Remain polite and constructive. Friendly forums have friendly debate. There's no shame in being wrong. If you don't have something to add, don't post for the sake of it. And don't be afraid to post thoughts you are uncertain about, that's what discussion is for.
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Pet threads, everyone has them. I love imagining Gods, Monsters, Factions and Weapons.

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The Linacs

 

 

If you're shabby looking and on the streets after midnight, if you're homeless, you know that's asking for trouble. We don't really talk about it.

Cat went missing from the orphanage a while back, she was always prone to trouble. The orphan-mother certainly has been having a smug look on her face ever since. And she's wearing a new gold necklace.

 

Occasionally homeless men, women and children have go missing from the streets of BBC1 and 2, well, I say missing, but nobody really misses the homeless do they?

Good riddance to bad rubbish, not my problem, maybe they've found a better existence, maybe they've found work in the whorehouses, maybe they went home, maybe they curled up and died.

Besides, it's normal that on occasion someone drops of the face of the earth. It's certainly not unusual.

 

The Linacs take some of them. They deliberately keep the numbers they take low, never drawing too much attention to themselves.

They pick their targets, stalk them, and take them when no-one is looking.

Or, they do business with some of the orphanages of lesser repute.

 

In a harsh world, no-one asks too many questions.

The Linacs pick those with certain talents, those who seem resilient or skilled.

They mostly take the young, but on occasion someone older gets taken too.

 

And when their victims wake up, they wake up in a camp in the Bael Marsh, where they are brainwashed, indoctrinated and trained.

They're given a new name, and made to forget what name they had.

By the time they reach adulthood, they are formidable rogues, monks and fighters. On occasion a talented member may be trained differently.

Training is rigorous, but not brutal. To boost their numbers even further they're subjected to breeding programs on site. Any girl reaching the age of adulthood is likely to already have several children, although they don't raise their own children.

Food is grown on site by the Polinac themselves.

 

They serve loyally their master, whom they have been indoctrinated to worship. Sir Polinac the fair. A well respected Aedyr nobleman, not known for much other than being friendly and a poor but frequent contender in tournaments.

Polinac is manoeuvring to set up a kingdom for himself, or his family. His elder son died in a street battle not much is known about, but of his two younger sons, one is a captain for a scout vessel in the pioneer fleet of Hezeng, an excellent position to scout out new and strategic lands, and the other has been bought a commission in the Knights of the Open Road, patrolling the area near the northern border of the Bael Marsh.

 

Sir Polinac, considered an innocent powerless man with an average intellect, has been slowly growing his secret army. When it reaches sufficient size, he might even take the colonial city of Defiance Bay.

 

When he feels ready, his soldiers will slowly trickle into the city, shed their clothes for rags, join the homeless. Every homeless they find will be promised a better life if they join in the struggle.

 

But that time is not now. For now the Linacs are still boosting their numbers. And an occasional missing child has been the norm since BBC1 was founded. No-one is the wiser.

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Remember: Argue the point, not the person. Remain polite and constructive. Friendly forums have friendly debate. There's no shame in being wrong. If you don't have something to add, don't post for the sake of it. And don't be afraid to post thoughts you are uncertain about, that's what discussion is for.
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The Forbidden Philosophers

 

"You may disagree with what we do, but... there are other schools of thought"

 

The Forbidden Philosophers started out as a group of men seeking wisdom in old Readceras, but after they questioned the theocratic dictatorship there, found themselves persecuted, their libraries burned, and their lands taken from them. Like many other set upon groups, they came to the new world to retry in peace. Many of their thoughts are considered radical by many, and they have taken a careful approach to their new organisation. Recruiting members only by invitation. They're slowly rebuilding their knowledge, although much of it seems lost forever.

 

The Forbidden Philosophers seek out thought. Curious thought, different thought. Old thought, new thought.

Forbidden thought.

Whether it's enlightenment, fascism, or communism, categorical thinking or relativist thinking. If it's well argued and has a view on life, the Forbidden Philosophers are interested in it.

 

Their goals vary by member, but each believes that to ignore other views is the pinnacle of folly. They are wise men who believe that no wisdom can come from accepting any cultural opinion as absolute truth.

A large majority of the Forbidden Philosophers disagree with the age old hereditary rule, which is why the organisation has been forbidden in many nations.

 

But in the Colonies they've found they are not alone.

Because they're an illegal organisation, to the public they're known as the "Librarians" an organisation with a Headquarters in Big Big City 2, where, indeed, they maintain a large library of collected philosophical works, mostly open to the public, although few make use of the opportunity.

 

The Building itself is a thing of beauty: A large domed building, with a high ceiling and detailed patterned arches, well lit by high windows of coloured patterned glass.

The floor is an inlay of coloured stone. and after 'business' hours, the members gather there to discuss philosophy.

 

Its members always seek to increase their knowledge, and either contract others to find works in ancient ruins, from distant lands, or even support local thinkers, or go out and search for these themselves.

Because it is an expensive practice, the Forbidden Philosophers are always on the lookout for patrons, even as they patronize artists themselves.

 

A player may encounter the organisation browsing through its library to find information; hiding in the building till after closing hours and observing their traitorous behaviour for the local ruler; stealing some of their rarer books and selling them to the highest bidder; being asked to find a book or man; or tentatively being asked to join them after hours should you have evidenced some interesting views.

 

Because of their history, the Forbidden Philosophers are careful which works are accessible to the public, and they meticulously copy any work and spread them as far and wide to various secret libraries, should this one be burned down, they'll have back-ups.

 

Without technology like a printing press this is slow work, however, and many works are still uncopied and unique. It doesn't help that literacy is at an all time low.

Some members quietly work to encourage the clergy of Ladamo to teach literacy, and others beseech Hocard to find that which has been lost before the move.

 

On occasion a member of the former organisation finds its way to the colonial city, this is met with equal joy and suspicion. Every member who shows up may be an agent working against them, as the ones who betrayed them before were never found. Alternatively they could be a lucky rescuer of knowledge and thought.

Some in the organisation believe it's safer to kill those of the old guard who arrived late, others believe that spreading their knowledge as far and wide as possible is the only effective safeguard against destruction.


Remember: Argue the point, not the person. Remain polite and constructive. Friendly forums have friendly debate. There's no shame in being wrong. If you don't have something to add, don't post for the sake of it. And don't be afraid to post thoughts you are uncertain about, that's what discussion is for.
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Quiet Eyes Security.

 

Sometimes when a powerful political figure or merchant goes to a party, his life is at risk. And while he might want some protection, he also wants to generally get on with business. I mean, it doesn't really do to enter a party with an army in tow, now does it?

 

Quiet Eyes is a small organisation which provides security tailored to the whims of the rich.

Want to attend a party and have security? Hire an escort from Quiet Eyes. She'll be a beauty on your arm and a bodyguard no-one expects.

Wish to organise a feast but expect bad company? The staff will be as deadly as they are good waiters.

Going to the market? Quiet Eyes will have their men and women in the crowd go out before you, you won't even realise they're there.

 

Quiet eyes provides unseen security. Their members are trained in recognising threats, scouting out areas unseen, memorizing escape routes, dealing with intruders... Quietly as to not disturb the party, defensive combat, and basic etiquette.

 

Quiet Eyes generally only works through referrals, as they want to avoid dealing with unsavoury character. The client doesn't get to know their guard until the last moment, and it is (generally) understood that they should not go blabbing the identity of those in their employ.

 

Fees are pretty steep, steep enough that contracts are usually not longer than a day, though longer contracts have happened. The Organisation gets 80% of the fee, 20% goes to the members, specialist or particularly skilled members do get a bigger take. And it is not unheard of that tips are given by the wealthy patrons if they are particularly impressed.

Quiet Eyes provides etiquette and combat training opportunities for its members, specialist gear, job opportunities, and protects their identity. The nature of the work also allows members to brush elbows with some of the more powerful men and women, which may benefit them in the long run.

 

Working for Quiet Eyes requires skill, and not everyone will be equipped to join.

Generally rogues, wizards, ciphers and monks are considered to be the most suitable employees for Quiet Eyes, although anyone is welcome to try for membership.

 

Quiet Eyes is run by a Dwarf and she only responds to the name Quiet Eyes. Among membership there's a pool going for whomever can find out what her real name is, although it is agreed that it is an apt nickname.

Quiet Eyes is soft spoken, speaks accentless Aedyran, and doesn't let much out. She's a hard bargainer and fairly strict. "No" is usually the end of it. All contracts are brokered through herself and anyone taking on a security contract while working for her will find him or herself without work.

Through her work she's garnered quite a bit of influence and while she's careful not to waste favours, she is not afraid to throw her proverbial weight around.

 

Players meeting the proper pre-requisites may join the organisation. Players succeeding many assignments may eventually be asked to help expand and lead the organisation elsewhere. Quiet Eyes has great ambition, but it's limited to her business only.


Remember: Argue the point, not the person. Remain polite and constructive. Friendly forums have friendly debate. There's no shame in being wrong. If you don't have something to add, don't post for the sake of it. And don't be afraid to post thoughts you are uncertain about, that's what discussion is for.
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The Quarantiners.

 

These new lands are sick with plague, there is disease everywhere.

There isn't really, but that still seems to be what the nobility believes.

 

The Quarantiners have no desire to disabuse them of that notion.

 

Officially they are doctors charged with preventing disease spread throughout the world, in reality they are a ruthless gang of looters.

 

The Quarantiners do know their job, but during their travels they changed, whenever a town, or a section of a city has been found to be "diseased"

The Quarantiners have the right to place the location under quarantine, and take whatever measures are needed to cure the disease or at least stop its spread.

In reality they scout out locations, see if there is wealth, see how well connected those who own the wealth are, and if it's all clear, they place the location under quarantine.

Quarantine law allows to Quarantiners to isolate their victims, to order them to partake in examinations, and to burn the bodies of any infected, or even the terrain if the infection is severe enough. Effectively removing any evidence of their crimes.

 

If your town or ship or house is unlucky enough to be placed under Quarantine law by the Quarantiners, chances are good there is no real disease (or one they spread themselves) they will make off with whatever of value they can find.

 

Their upsurge in wealth, combined with their governmental mandate has made the Quarantiners a powerful political force as well as ruthless.

They've been growing bolder as they've grown more powerful, placing entire city blocks under their "protection" or going after "plagued individuals" which oppose them.

 

The Quarantiners have lobbied for and gotten more duties and rights in their pursuit of a "pure and healthy society"

giving them wide interpretation to decide what "purity" means.

 

So far, only small rumours exist about the Quarantiners inquisitorial excesses, the cat is bound to get out of the bag.

 

Joining the Quarantiners is possible by appointment. For some reason some members of society have taken to attacking the Quarantiners, these ignorant souls don't realise the good the Quarantiners are doing, of course, so the organisation has been allowed to recruit their own guards.

Excepting a few captains, the guard are posted on the OUTSIDE of Quarantine zones, for their protection, of course, and thus are ignorant of the darker going ons of the Quarantiners.

 

The player may encounter the Quarantiners because they wish to help out curing the sick (boy are they in for a surprise)

or because they need to get inside a quarantine zone.

They may have heard the rumours and are investigating, or perhaps they feel that there might be some loot for themselves.


Remember: Argue the point, not the person. Remain polite and constructive. Friendly forums have friendly debate. There's no shame in being wrong. If you don't have something to add, don't post for the sake of it. And don't be afraid to post thoughts you are uncertain about, that's what discussion is for.
---
Pet threads, everyone has them. I love imagining Gods, Monsters, Factions and Weapons.

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Guardians of Folly.

 

The merchant prince Kjartan once bestrode the world like a Jotun, his fleets brought treasures from far off exotic ports, his words were heeded by both king and thrall, his charisma could make an ally of the bitterest enemy, and the most expensive of courtesans considered it an honour to grace his bedchamber. Truly the gods seemed to grace his luminous soul. His fall was meteoric.

 

In the deepest forests of the Dyrwood, in a place holy to the Orlan, where a fallen star rested, Kjartan found his doom. He was enraptured. Here at last was something that he could not unravel, a mystery from the heavens, surely sent to test him alone. So he bent all of his will to the task, in dream and waking he contested with the unknowable powers that slumbered there, and slowly but surely answers began to come. 

 

Years he lingered there, vast resources he brought to bear, and a strange home he began to build upon that fallen star. It was a place of madness, impossible angles, insane geometries, pointless passageways and stairways that ascended into emptiness. A half constructed ruin that disturbed and disquieted, a place of soaring towers so ethereal and baeutiful they enchanted the eye. It was a dream brought to life, or maybe a nightmare. A paradox fashioned from a thousand different stones, at the roots of which the heavens lay.

 

Kjartan waited there in his bejewelled gilt throne, so ornate as to shame the emperor of Vaillia, the great hall about him an empty roofless hovel, a spoilpit of fallen and misshaped stone. Winds battered him, snow gathered about his feet, rain soaked him to the bone and the sun baked his flesh, he paid them no mind. He ate enough to stay alive, he talked enough to demand more money of his bankers, he showed enough anger to ensure his great work was continued. Everything else was forgotten, for the riddle still vexed him.

 

Every answer birthed ten more questions, but there were hints, signs and patterns emerging, a symmetry slowly beginning to reveal itself. Truth, untarnished and immortal, a concept so beautiful he wept at even the slighest glimpse of understanding. His trade empire was a crude, ill wrought and ugly thing in comparison, his past achievements were as nothing to the labours he now pursued.  

 

He abandoned it all, sold off everything for whatever price he could gain. The money bought slaves, architects, artists and resources from across the world, so the dreamscape about his desolate hall began to spread, a place of power built according to a geometry none could comprehend. But in his dreams he walked its halls, and they were correct, as they should be, as they must be, resounding with the song of a million spheres in alignment. The outside world gave his stronghold a name, Kjartan's Folly, and when he heard this whispered in the minds of his workers he laughed until blood fell from his eyes. This was the only work that mattered, had ever mattered.

 

Kjartan arose from his throne, body wasted away to near death, and demanded that all see what he saw. A thousand men, women and children were bound to him that day, enslaved by his terrible will, and the promise they saw at the heart of his madness. Relentlessly they laboured, neither eating or drinking, until death took them. Then they laboured on, free of the flesh. The shadows of Kjartan's Folly spread across that lonely dale in the Dyrwood, and reality shuddered like air heated over a fire. Kjartan smiled.

 

Then the Dyrwood swallowed them.

 

Travellers in the deep Dyrwood may sometimes see the shadow of tall impossible spires spreading over the forests, or twist and turn wracked by dreams of  such a place, and feel a hint of terrible madness raving at the corner of their minds, of endless illogical halls stretching off in every direction at the corner of their eyes. At such times they will be joined by a quiet Orlan, and decide that their course must change. They will leave immediately, turning aside from the path they previously pursued. The Orlan will nod, content that Kjartan's Folly remains undiscovered.

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Quite an experience to live in misery isn't it? That's what it is to be married with children.

I've seen things you people can't even imagine. Pearly Kings glittering on the Elephant and Castle, Morris Men dancing 'til the last light of midsummer. I watched Druid fires burning in the ruins of Stonehenge, and Yorkshiremen gurning for prizes. All these things will be lost in time, like alopecia on a skinhead. Time for tiffin.

 

Tea for the teapot!

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Ostavier's Prosthetics

 

After being on the losing side of the battle of Defiance bay and losing of three of his limbs, bright minded Ostavier Reshae didn't sit down and sulk, mostly because sitting caused him too much pain.

He fled back to great Vailia on the last transport out of the bay, carried by his army buddies.

Instead the master craftsman took his veterans pension and contracted the advice of the best local healers and scientists.

He consulted with them behind closed doors, and after a while produced some crude prototypes of what was later to be his signature business.

 

Ostavier was dead set against being useless, but more than that, he felt less of a man. It was his desire to create prosthetics which were every bit as good as the real thing.

It didn't work of course, but during his time working on improving his designs, his prosthetics gained features normal limbs do not offer.

Eventually he died before the satisfaction of walking again.

 

It was then that his daughter as his only heir was forced to take up the work. Every tool in the shop had been reforged or reworked specifically for Ostavier's mad hope. Despairing, she sought advice and help from Ostavier's old army buddies.

What she found was clients.

Way too many clients.

 

Even crude prosthetics were welcome, and Danquio Reshae found that she had a steady supply of work.

It took about five years of work before she was admitted into the blacksmith's guild, usually taking no women, and some string pulling of some of her satisfied customers, but when recognition came, she was allowed to take apprentices and spend time on her own designs.

 

Danquio was much better than her father, she quickly found out. He had been looking in the wrong places, and been doing the wrong research.

As time progressed, the prosthetics became much better. But her personal project was not revealed until the business was well established.

 

It took 15 years, and she cut off her own limbs to prove how well they worked, all of them, all of them replaced.

Not only where the prosthetics every bit as agile, they were stronger, didn't break as easily, and each of them had some... upgrades.

 

It didn't take long before the rich visited her shop, only to learn that she would not, under any circumstance, be giving anyone the superior product.

 

Unbeknownst to the world, Danquio found out that in order for her best prosthetics to work, she needed to infuse them with strong souls. It had taken the souls of several animals and one unlucky bum dying behind her shop to create even one effective limb, for the others she had contracted assassins to kill her fathers commanding officers. Those she believed to be responsible for her fathers loss of limb.

With their souls, she forged her prosthetics.

 

Eventually, as these things go, her secret got out, she was sentenced to hang for murder.

 

Her excellent crafted limbs allowed for a daring escape, and she fled to where she was sure no-one would pursue her: Defiance bay.

It was there where she set up shop, became successful again.

The secret made its way back to defiance bay, and eventually others joined her business, some shadier bastards had no qualms about providing rich lords with the new soul-infused prosthetics, but their work was shoddy, decades behind on Danquio Reshae's knowledge.

Danquio realised that she had no choice to teach her apprentices if she wanted to stay competitive, but required 'great moral fibre' from her apprentices.

 

Danquio was eventually found murdered, limbs removed. Eventually the soul-infused prosthetics made by her competitors failed, or backfired, and they fell out of fashion.

But her business thrived, quality non-infused limbs are, unfortunately, always in demand. Her lead apprentice kept the name of the business and the honour code. But as her first apprentice had also learned the secret of soul-infused limbs.

-

Encountering the faction:

It is possible, but rare to find prosthetics as loot, more likely the player will find out about the prosthetic crafter when he or she is in dire shape. But so is the business. It has fallen on hard times and standards of Danquio haven't been met for a long long time.

 

The current owner will contract the player if he is persuaded to produce top quality product. If the player has a sufficient crafting ability, and follows through on the research and... soul acquisition They will be invited to join.

 

Joining/Running the faction

Joining the faction offers free low-grade prosthetics for the party, as well as open up several quest-lines for researching new and different prosthetics, including high(er)tech non-infused limbs, sense enhancements, and if the player so chooses, the soul-infused prosthetics.

Soldiers in your stronghold will sometimes sport these artificial limbs if you've worked your way up to owning the store.

 

Running the business, the player may secure contracts with large (para)military groups, such as the city watch, the fleet of Hezeng or the Knights of the Open Road. Not all of these will be favourable. (one faction may simply take your stock and not reimburse you, for instance)

 

Based on your business practices, both your party and your enemies may find themselves with improved gear. The store also offers a modest income, and a quest which can ingratiate your party with some of the rich and powerful. (I wonder how)

 

Should choices in the game lead to greater conflict in the Aedyran empire, expect bigger income and lower stock. Your apprentices may not have time for more advanced projects.

 

Thanks to everyone in the "permanent injuries" thread: http://forums.obsidian.net/topic/64407-permanent-injuries/

Edited by JFSOCC
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Remember: Argue the point, not the person. Remain polite and constructive. Friendly forums have friendly debate. There's no shame in being wrong. If you don't have something to add, don't post for the sake of it. And don't be afraid to post thoughts you are uncertain about, that's what discussion is for.
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The Alredy Dead (a.k.a. Bro-Force)

 

The most well known and feared team of mercanaries. Former soldiers, elite agents of kings, spies, monks or mages that abandoned ther positions for various reasons and banded together. Efficient and determined, they consider themselves expendable as long as the mission is a success. However, due to their expert planing and incredible skills, a member of "Already Dead" dying is such a rare occurance it gave them a reputation of being invincible.

 

The most well known members are:

a 5-man group known simply as "the A-Group", which enjoys complicated plans and scaring the enemy into submission.

A 12-man team known as Replacables that consists of the most dangerous and skilled mercenaries in known history.

The legenday mercenary known as "the Walker", said to be unkillable and unbeatable. Some call him a god. Was offered to lead the entire band, but he declined, as he prefers to work solo.

The current leader - and the one who gave the group it's name - is one Kenshiro Y'Ure, a monk rumored to be able to kill a man just by poking him.

Edited by TrashMan

* YOU ARE A WRONGULARITY FROM WHICH NO RIGHT CAN ESCAPE! *

Chuck Norris was wrong once - He thought HE made a mistake!

 

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The Alredy Dead (a.k.a. Bro-Force)

 

The most well known and feared team of mercanaries. Former soldiers, elite agents of kings, spies, monks or mages that abandoned ther positions for various reasons and banded together. Efficient and determined, they consider themselves expendable as long as the mission is a success. However, due to their expert planing and incredible skills, a member of "Already Dead" dying is such a rare occurance it gave them a reputation of being invincible.

 

The most well known members are:

a 5-man group known simply as "the A-Group", which enjoys complicated plans and scaring the enemy into submission.

A 12-man team known as Replacables that consists of the most dangerous and skilled mercenaries in known history.

The legenday mercenary known as "the Walker", said to be unkillable and unbeatable. Some call him a god. Was offered to lead the entire band, but he declined, as he prefers to work solo.

The current leader - and the one who gave the group it's name - is one Kenshiro Y'Ure, a monk rumored to be able to kill a man just by poking him.

I see what you did there

Remember: Argue the point, not the person. Remain polite and constructive. Friendly forums have friendly debate. There's no shame in being wrong. If you don't have something to add, don't post for the sake of it. And don't be afraid to post thoughts you are uncertain about, that's what discussion is for.
---
Pet threads, everyone has them. I love imagining Gods, Monsters, Factions and Weapons.

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The Exiles

 

New world, new chances. As is typical for many pioneers, the old world just doesn't want them any more.

And when you arrive in strange lands, with little means, you find yourself shunned by the very people you were trying to avoid, who have come there for their own reasons.

 

The exiles are a diverse group of cults, criminals, adventurous fools, and persecuted minorities.

 

When it was clear for the diverse group now known as the exiles that Defiance was not going to offer them a better life, they gathered what belongings they had, and moved further inland. Eventually setting up camp near the White March, known as Cold Morn.

The exiles have a lot of internal diversity and a lot of internal strife, the various groups bicker constantly, and each unit has its own section near Cold Morn. Tired of the old world troubles, some of the factions within the exiles made peace, whereas some have withdrawn themselves further, another group declared the experiment a failure, recruited a few hundred men, women and children, and went onwards to explore the White March. They haven't been seen since.

 

Every year, in Defiance, more people get of the ships without a plan other than "get away". Most of these end up in the slums of Defiance, but some decide not to stick around even here.

 

The exiles are not self-sufficient, and return by canoe flotillas regularly for resupply, bartering with what goods can be gotten on the frontier. Whenever they return for Cold Morn, they are inevitably joined by new arrivals for whom life in Defiance was just not working out.

Most of these new arrivals are in for a hard time, and most don't survive their first year in Cold Morn, whether it is because of the rampant crime, getting caught in in-faction squabbles, freezing or starving to death on the frontier, getting killed by the natives who raid their foraging parties, or disease, life on the front is tough. Some arrivals just go missing, there is no-one around to care.

 

There is a semblance of unity in cold morn. The various groups don't really work together, but they try to stay out of each others way, decisions affecting all do get made together in a weekly conclave of leaders. But no party ever feels bound by the agreements if they disagree with them. And most groups do not mingle.

 

Paradoxically, the raiding natives do trade with those in cold morn, but it's a cold affair, and bargaining is tough for both sides.

 

Within the Exiles one group has been clearing more and more land, not sharing it with the others, and have begun building a moat and palisade around their section of Cold morn. Most of the town is directly adjacent the forest or the river, although the miserable place is expanding, and minor outposts are being established by those within the Exiles who wish to isolate themselves even further.

 

The player will encounter the Exiles either via trade in Defiance, passing through Cold Morn on a task, or in search of one of the many wanted criminals fleeing justice.

When in Cold Morn, it is possible for the player to act as mercenary in the in-faction troubles, but depending on player actions the groups can be influenced to unite under a strong banner, either of force or friendship. Assuming leadership the player will have a lot to deal with, from subsistence for the town, the constant in-fighting, the missing persons, contact with the group which went out into the White March, dealing with the native raiding parties, and expanding and establishing the town, and then dealing with the constant influx of desperate new arrivals.

 

Should the player care enough to work at it, Cold Morn and the Exiles can bring some interesting benefits, including interesting contact with those native to Dyrwood, the mysteries of the White March, and the loyalty and help of the (surviving) factions within the Exiles. Should Cold Morn achieve a semblance of order, it's populace can be drawn on for cheap labour and recruits for the player's stronghold, significantly cheaper than most other sources of labour and recruitment for the stronghold.


Remember: Argue the point, not the person. Remain polite and constructive. Friendly forums have friendly debate. There's no shame in being wrong. If you don't have something to add, don't post for the sake of it. And don't be afraid to post thoughts you are uncertain about, that's what discussion is for.
---
Pet threads, everyone has them. I love imagining Gods, Monsters, Factions and Weapons.

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The Orphanage of Sir Mortimer

 

Whether it be the most righteous and holy of priests or the fairest maiden of the day, none is more beloved than good Sir Mortimer and his daughter Margaret. Together they were once a common sight in the city, trawling the slums to find the unfortunate or beseeching the high born for charity and succor. Now however their noble work keeps them locked behind the high walls of their estate, administering the Orphanage that the gentle Knight created after the Broken Stone War, they have been kept busy in this thankless endeavour ever since Margaret fell ill a scant year past.

 

Here they take in the unfortunate and the dispossessed, teaching, feeding and caring for them as best they can, and occasionally even finding foster parents to take on the younger children. But fate is a cruel mistress and sickness and plague have regularly plagued the Orphanage, leaving many small bodies to be buried in little paupers graves outside the walls, a heartbreaking sight. Even little angelic Margaret might have suffered the same fate last year, for she fell ill and no cure could be found for her ailment, Sir Mortimer seemed a broken man and the city mourned.

 

A miracle came in the form of a man of science and learning. A wise Animancer passing through the city offered his services at a price to beggar a Prince, but the old Knight called in favours from all across the metropolis and gladly paid the amount. Little Margaret was saved, and though pale and of a much more introverted composure was soon seen accompanying her Father on his work, a little spark of hope and goodness in the dark heart of the city. The people quietly rejoiced and felt cheer that a good life had been saved.

 

Of course it was a lie, hope is an illusion and there are no happy endings. Little Margaret was dying and nothing could be done but Sir Mortimer beseesched the Animancer to save her, promising an obscene sum and eternal gratefulness. Grudgingly and for a vast fortune the Animancer did as the old Knight asked, and then fled, for what lay in the sick bed was no longer a child but a flesh eating Fampyr. Sir Mortimer had selfishly damned his child, for loves sake.

 

It only grew worse, the angelic child now craved bloody flesh, and not even the rarest cut of the steak would satisfy her. Finally shedding tears at the cruelty of fate, and wracked by his daughters tortured screams Sir Mortimer took a dying child from the Orphanage, and let his daughter feed. His mind cracked a little then.

 

The next morning however he found his beautiful child humming and skipping, carefree as the wind, and thought that his prayers had been answered. Together they walked out into the city and performed their good works, and the proud Father watched his comely little daughter curtsy and charm all who passed, as she had done before the nightmare. They returned to the Orphanage under blue skies and laughing with hope and joy, but that night as darkness came his child grew hungry again and fed on the boy bound in her rooms.

 

She hungers eternally but a child may provide much meat, even a starving sickly one, and Sir Mortimer will give her no other kind of meat but that which is allready dying. It is perhaps the last of his morals guiding him. Still her prolonged absences have been noted, as have the old Knight's and the young scallywags of the Orphanage who beg and roister in the city are all somewhat subdued, though they are not sure why. A strange malaise has gripped their once lively home, and a mournful air pervades the place.

 

There are even rumours of a small shape slipping over the rooftops and through the shadows, haunting the place and luring boys and girls to come and play, but these are surely childish fancies. Sir Mortimer is sure his beloved has not regressed so much as to be hunting their charges, for she is a good girl, and it is that evil Animancer's spells that cursed her and caused this. Margaret is as innocent as she ever was.

 

Meanwhile the gravedigger at the Pauper's Graveyard shakes his head at the condition of the little bodies, something is wrong here, little rat like teethmarks mar what remains of the poor childrens corpses. Bones have been broken and the marrow sucked out, while hardly any flesh remains, no sickness does that.

Edited by Nonek
  • Like 2

Quite an experience to live in misery isn't it? That's what it is to be married with children.

I've seen things you people can't even imagine. Pearly Kings glittering on the Elephant and Castle, Morris Men dancing 'til the last light of midsummer. I watched Druid fires burning in the ruins of Stonehenge, and Yorkshiremen gurning for prizes. All these things will be lost in time, like alopecia on a skinhead. Time for tiffin.

 

Tea for the teapot!

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