A world split into two parts --- that of Faerie, and that of Woman and Man. Creatures --- humans, elves, dwarves, and the like --- dominate the southern parts of the world, where they were birthed from flame long ago, while the faeries are beings of frigid cold --- of dark pine and fiery candles, of faery tales (if I am to use the reference).

Your adventure begins in the small border town of Lyrey. Set on the windy moor and in the towering forest that shadows it, it is a place where all converge. You can see dragonborns working as blacksmiths, faeries shopping in the human part of town --- a peaceful place, more peace between the two groups seen here than anywhere else. "Tis a beautiful place, one where everyone coexists.

But what happens when something threatens it all --- threatens to break this peace?

Tobias, you wake early in the morning, before the sun has crested the horizon, its faint hues only just beginning to make their appearance as you stroll into the forest. You were supposed to meet a contact here. Someone who possibly knew something about Lira -- and where she's gone. 

The chilly morning air enters you, suffuses you, as you twirl a dagger absentmindedly with one hand. You've had many false leads, and this one should be no different, you think dolorously. However, at the exact moment the sun begins to rise, a cloaked figure appears -- shimmering wings propelling them down the street, kicking up dust and rocks from the cobbles. They stop about five feet from you and take assessment -- although you can't see them, you feel their eyes upon you. 

Then, they speak, beating you to the punch. "What do you seek, young one?"

Justin -- your dreams are torn with abstraction. Strange figures approach you, only to be torn away, while people speak of matters of great importance. You see lands rise and fall, tales start and end -- but it makes no sense, and you wake confused, not rested. But the scent of food wafts from downstairs, along with the clinking of cutlery --- this is one of Lyrey's finest inns, after all --- and you can't help but stop worrying and stroll on downstairs, pick up a plate, and taste some nice, warm food. 

Kravik, your day begins with the packing up of your clothes from the clearing where you slept and the beginning of a long walk. Even before daybreak, you're off, heading towards the town of Lyrey. You would have been there already, you recall --- but the strange attack of the forest-creatures, that which destroyed your wagon, has forced you to walk. I can't complain, you return -- many more are less fortunate than I am. But, even with the consolation, you'd appreciate a horse -- or two, if possible. 

You begin to see the first signs of a town --- large expanses of earth taken away for farmland, small cottages breaking the flatness of the plain --- a picturesque scene when dropped in front of the snowy mountains far in the distance. 

Eventually, a cluster of buildings begins to grow up in front of you -- Lyrey. Finally. You pass children playing in the streets, parents onlooking, and others going about their daily business. 

Now that you've entered the town, you feel a surge of excitement --- this is your first stop for making a name. What do you do?

Vulcan, your leg wakes you --- painful, but not out of the usual. No smell assaults your senses yet --- it's a bit early, and out the window you can see that it's still slightly dark. You lie back down, trying to go to sleep, but you can't reach it --- that dream was too strange. 

You sat in this room, on your bed, in the middle of the night --- unable to move. Creaks sound from outside, and you know something is coming --- coming for you. It approaches, and your fear grows, and you begin to tense, ready for anything once it enters. But it never enters --- only getting closer and closer. Then, a peal of maniacal laughter, as if someone were reveling in victory, and your dream ends. 

You ponder --- and no one comes after you, no danger is apparent, but you're still shaken. "What was that?" you ask yourself, hoping that hearing the words out loud will help. But they don't. 

Eventually, you give up -- footsteps coming from downstairs telling you that breakfast's being prepared. Best to go and get a meal, and leave this dream behind. 

Kyvir, you wake to your bed sizzling --- somehow, your wings are here, although luckily they've only been singing your mattress. Odd, you think, but nothing comes of it --- you clean the bed, and all looks fine in a matter of minutes. 

A quick breakfast readies you for your day, and you're off --- into town, ready to help out. You go back in your memory, trying to recall what you're doing today --- oh, yes! Helping Milla rebuild the well --- the top crumbled last storm. And you're headed towards the well, people greeting you all around --- which slows your progress, but that doesn't matter much. 

You eventually arrive, and Milla, the town carpenter, waits for you --- a pile of stones and rope off to the side, she holds a hammer in her palm. As she sees you, she lifts it up --- and you think she's about to strike --- but no, she drops it and brings you into a warm hug, laughing in delight. 

"Good to see you, Ky!" she says. "How go things?"

Adylott wakes with a gasp -- now that he's back in faerie territory, the memory of his would-be bride -- and her dowry -- have plagued him, and his dreams were no less so. The faerie reaching out towards him -- you have failed -- and his throat, his airways, constricting, falling to the ground... 

But none of that plagues him once he's awoken -- late as usual. He sashays downstairs to the beat of conversation, dances through the room to the tune of the scents. He's ready to enjoy his time here, even if his heart has been constricting more lately --- his ninth winter is about to begin.

(OOC: Excited to get this underway! Thanks for bearing with me, all!)

Following behind Kyvir is a smoke and ash creature that vaguely resembles a small fox (Non-Summoned Wildfire Spirit). It dashes between the legs of various townsfolk and sometimes even running into one. When that happens, the smoke and ash dissipate and flow around the obstruction before reforming on the other side. Kyvir has never been one for touchy feely interactions, so when Milla gave him a hug, it catches him off guard. He tenses up a beat but then relaxes.

"Hi Ms. Milla.."

He weasels his way away from her then looks towards the work to be done.

"Alright, where would you like me to begin? Do you need me to heat anything up? Move something heavy? Hold the 'light' as it were?"

(Kyvir's Wildfire Spirit essentially exists as an incorporeal creature made of ash and smoke, having no mechanical value to the game, but when he summons it, the creature ignites and gains the benefits of a regularly summoned Wildfire Spirit.)

(OOC: Just before we began, I realized I'd built my character incorrectly and made a couple of adjustments; I hope that's OK. I had originally built him as STR-based, like most Paladins, but realized that this subclass is better for a DEX-based build. So I swapped his STR and DEX scores, changed the Background so I could get the +2 DEX instead of STR, while keeping Skilled and +1 CHA, and swapped his Mastery for a DEX-based weapon. Sorry for the late change, but he's otherwise the same.)

Kravik pauses at the town's edge, one scarred hand resting against a weathered fence post. The sight before him is even more remarkable than the tales suggested -- dragonborn and faerie, human and others, moving through their day not in uneasy truce but in genuine harmony. Something real. Something worth protecting.

His grey eyes scan the streets, reading the flow of life here. A tavern would be practical -- his coin purse is light after losing the wagon, and he'll need work soon. But first, he'll walk. Learn the layout. See where the edges of this peace might fray. A paladin sworn to balance must first understand what he's meant to preserve.

Kravik steps forward into the flow of daily life, his stride purposeful but unhurried, watchful for whatever his path holds. His height draws a few curious glances but no alarm. Good. He has no desire to stand out more than he already does.

Quote from ZaphodBattlebrox >>

(OOC: Just before we began, I realized I'd built my character incorrectly and made a couple of adjustments; I hope that's OK. I had originally built him as STR-based, like most Paladins, but realized that this subclass is better for a DEX-based build. So I swapped his STR and DEX scores, changed the Background so I could get the +2 DEX instead of STR, while keeping Skilled and +1 CHA, and swapped his Mastery for a DEX-based weapon. Sorry for the late change, but he's otherwise the same.)

Kravik pauses at the town's edge, one scarred hand resting against a weathered fence post. The sight before him is even more remarkable than the tales suggested -- dragonborn and faerie, human and others, moving through their day not in uneasy truce but in genuine harmony. Something real. Something worth protecting.

His grey eyes scan the streets, reading the flow of life here. A tavern would be practical -- his coin purse is light after losing the wagon, and he'll need work soon. But first, he'll walk. Learn the layout. See where the edges of this peace might fray. A paladin sworn to balance must first understand what he's meant to preserve.

Kravik steps forward into the flow of daily life, his stride purposeful but unhurried, watchful for whatever his path holds. His height draws a few curious glances but no alarm. Good. He has no desire to stand out more than he already does.

(OOC: Completely fine :D -- thanks for letting me know!)

Kravik's initial stroll around town gives him a general gist of the place --- it's not much different from the average village. A few taverns and inns, although one clearly the best, a large town hall set in the shadow of the forest. His path is without obstacles --- the crowd parting at the sight of a newcomer, some stopping to stare in awe at your glistening armor and sharp blade. 

Eventually, he gravitates towards the oasis of a tavern --- partly inside the forest, while partly inside the plains, it strikes an impressive figure. Townsfolk and foreigners shuffle in and out, the ebb and flow suggesting that this tavern's exactly what it seems --- a place of wonder. Inside, patrons converse to the dull roar of murmurs, while the scent of breakfast takes a trip through his senses.

Quote from Beginner_Bots >>

Following behind Kyvir is a smoke and ash creature that vaguely resembles a small fox (Non-Summoned Wildfire Spirit). It dashes between the legs of various townsfolk and sometimes even running into one. When that happens, the smoke and ash dissipate and flow around the obstruction before reforming on the other side. Kyvir has never been one for touchy feely interactions, so when Milla gave him a hug, it catches him off guard. He tenses up a beat but then relaxes.

"Hi Ms. Milla.."

He weasels his way away from her then looks towards the work to be done.

"Alright, where would you like me to begin? Do you need me to heat anything up? Move something heavy? Hold the 'light' as it were?"

Milla turns to your familiar first, giving it a pet (or as best as she can, waving her hand in the air near its fiery body). "Probably just setting the stones first --- we'll make the base, then work on the top." Your familiar rolls over, lightly singing the grass.

Getting to work, you begin to lay the foundations for the well, setting stones and tying ropes. By the time the sun's risen high in the sky, you're more than halfway finished. It's not spectacular craftsmanship, but it's pretty good. Setting down her tools, Milla proffers a small plate of food. "Would ye like some lunch? A little chat?"

A tavern balanced between multiple regions seems like Kravik’s type of place. As the smell of breakfast hits his nose, his stomach reacts; he just now has realized how little he’s eaten today, and it was a long walk into town.

He’ll find a place to sit and order as good of a breakfast as he can afford, while also keeping on the lookout for a jobs board. If there isn’t one, he’ll inquire with the staff about finding work in and around town. Going to have to make some coin somehow.

On that note, a thought occurs to him, recalling the people who were so enamored of his armor. Perhaps he could get a good price for it if he sold it. “After all,” he thinks to himself, “it’s felt more like a hindrance since I swore my Oath. The guidance of the genies is all I need.”

(OOC: This is one of the main reasons I went with a DEX build. I took off his armor and his AC went *up*. He’ll still use a shield, though.)

Vulcan sighs, tracing a hand down his horns and hair, and sits up, yelping in pain as he does so. He limps downstairs-time to practice walking without his walking stick-and grumbles like an old man. Maybe he is an old man… The wrinkles under his eyes are small but noticeable, the ends of his red hair a deep grayish red. He’s tied his hair into a ponytail, his wide amber eyes blinking sadly as he leans against the wall, making his way downstairs. 

Wrenching himself awake from his unpleasant dreams, Aydlott sighs. This place was supposed to be his last chance. But he doesn't feel any more hopeful about achieving his hopeless quest. There are so few things left that chase away the heavy, vise-like feeling in his chest--the knowledge of his impending death. "Nothing to be done about it," he mumbles to himself, defeatist as usual. He throws a splash of water on his face from the basin by the bed and pulls his clothes and armor on. Bending his bow for the bowstring, and checking the mechanism on his crossbow. A man has to survive on the road, after all. Even if this is the end of his road.

Aydlott tramps his way downstairs to the common room of the tavern, to see what fun might still be had in his quickly waning life. Even at this early hour--no, it's not nearly as early as he thinks it is, more's the pity, or perhaps it's a blessing to have less of the day to fill--the tavern is full of patrons enjoying a hearty breakfast. Hearing a thump behind him on the stairs, Aydlott turns and looks up to see Vulcan, bent over and leaning against the stairwell wall like an old man. Maybe nearer to death's door than I am, Aydlott muses. "I'll give you a hand, there, sir," Aydlott calls out, his voice monotone but practiced in being helpful without caring too much. He climbs back up to offer an arm to help the old man down the stairs.

Once they reach the bottom floor, Aydlott helps Vulcan to a seat at Kravik's table. Mostly because Kravik looks like a polished and decent fellow who won't either rob the old man or throw his drink in his face.

Quote from ConstancePhokas >>

Wrenching himself awake from his unpleasant dreams, Aydlott sighs. This place was supposed to be his last chance. But he doesn't feel any more hopeful about achieving his hopeless quest. There are so few things left that chase away the heavy, vise-like feeling in his chest--the knowledge of his impending death. "Nothing to be done about it," he mumbles to himself, defeatist as usual. He throws a splash of water on his face from the basin by the bed and pulls his clothes and armor on. Bending his bow for the bowstring, and checking the mechanism on his crossbow. A man has to survive on the road, after all. Even if this is the end of his road.

Aydlott tramps his way downstairs to the common room of the tavern, to see what fun might still be had in his quickly waning life. Even at this early hour--no, it's not nearly as early as he thinks it is, more's the pity, or perhaps it's a blessing to have less of the day to fill--the tavern is full of patrons enjoying a hearty breakfast. Hearing a thump behind him on the stairs, Aydlott turns and looks up to see Vulcan, bent over and leaning against the stairwell wall like an old man. Maybe nearer to death's door than I am, Aydlott muses. "I'll give you a hand, there, sir," Aydlott calls out, his voice monotone but practiced in being helpful without caring too much. He climbs back up to offer an arm to help the old man down the stairs.

Once they reach the bottom floor, Aydlott helps Vulcan to a seat at Kravik's table. Mostly because Kravik looks like a polished and decent fellow who won't either rob the old man or throw his drink in his face.

 Vulcan nods thankfully, sighing. “I hope I still have it in me to live, I’m still in my early years… You folks make it easier, of course, but I’m still worried for myself.” He grunts and sits down, sighing. “I sound old…”

Aydlott looks askance at the mysteriously decrepit man. In his early years? And this handicapped? Aydlott feels the familiar cold vise grip his chest. Maybe I'm not the only one carrying a curse around. This is supposed to be a border town of the faerie lands. Maybe there's a lot of people like me here....people victimized by those tricksters.

Aydlott fumes silently. Though it was a lie that got him in this situation, he never thought the faerie lord had any good reason to be so harsh and cruel. But that was what faeries did to mortals, after all.

At a loss for what else to do, Aydlott drops down into a chair at the table with Vulcan and Kravik and looks around for a serving boy or wench to order something stiff to drink. There's only one breakfast good for forgetting your troubles.

(OOC: I didn't really know when to say this or how we were doing it but, I am going for like a magicians motif with my character and I thought it would be cool for him to have cards to throw[very "now you see me" like] so I gave 52 just standard darts and took away the arrows and some of the other weapons that it had put into my inventory. I wanted to know if that's all good, I can change it, no worries)

Tobias holsters his dagger, underneath the cloak he is wearing, not wanting to seem like a threat but watches the figures every move. He puts a large grin on his face and despite his upbringing and current circumstances speaks like he is on a stage, the tone of practiced presenter. He says

"Hello Friend, well you see I have heard you have some information about a girl. She's about 25, brown hair, Oh and looks like basically female version of me. So do you, good person, have what I'm looking for"