Hey guys! I've been wanting to do a big storytelling experience with you guys and your awesome creativity, so here's the first post! Everything from the setting to the characters will be determined by you, me, and the rest of the community who participates.
Technically this will function as a pseudo-RPG in the style of D&D or Pathfinder, but I'm making up a much simpler system (It is storytelling after all- this way there aren't any dice rolls that I'd want to fudge just to make the story turn out better/more interesting. It also makes it more difficult to just make someone who can just faceroll over any challenge they meet.)
ANY characters are currently being accepted, but don't get too attached. They aren't characters for individual people to play, they'll be characters that participate in the story. They also might not fit into the position of being a main character (In fact, I know a character that'll be participating due to him being a mainstay in any RPG I run, but I'm not yet sure whether he'll be significant or a comic relief or what). (NOTE: to those in After the Rifting, I fully intend on going forward with that, I just haven't figured out what to do with you guys. This'll probably jog my mind into that.)
Uniqueness is prized in the characters- whether they're a wereshark sahuagin or a half-fiend aasimar, anything goes. Run-of-the-mill people aren't unique enough to be represented heavily in a story, but anyone with a bunch of flair will most certainly be noticed.
You can also post tidbits or ideas about the setting, they're all being accepted as well! Like I said earlier, this is a collaborative story- the setting is determined by us together as much as anything else! Nothing about the world is set-in-stone yet, although I personally would like an at least quasi-traditional setting- there will be elves, dwarves, goblins, &c., but they might be on floating islands or inside a giant stalagmite, anything goes.
Information Starting Here:
Characters will have 4 attributes, and anything they can do will probably be modified by one of these (Most actions can use any of a few) and situational modifiers (like using an inefficient method or a technique the person isn't used to).
For most attributes there are sub-genres of this. Overall is the higher of these sub-attributes plus one-half of the 2nd/lesser, but they function as different things in most respects, unless the check applies to overall (Like magical strength doesn't help while lifting an object with your arms, but intimidating with your power would just use the overall.)
Attributes are as follows:
Power (Physical, Magical/other(specify))
Agility
Intelligence (Logic/Thinking Skills, Memory)
Charisma (Cunning, People Skills)
Each of these provides a bonus or penalty to checks, which are always a d100 for success. Generally, the success scale looks like this:
1-10= Critical failure- not only does this not succeed, it causes a significant penalty. Like attempting to force a lock and breaking the lock in place so the lock can't open anymore.
11-40= Failure- No success in the action, but does not impose a penalty on its own. No example needed, the action simply fails.
41-50= Partial failure- For the most part the action fails, but something in it went right. Like I'm picking a lock and don't succeed, but I do get 1 tumbler correctly placed.
51-60= Partial success- For the most part the action succeeds, but something went wrong. Like I make a jump from one ledge to another, and I make it but I have a shaky footing on the other side and must regain my footing or make a check to not fall.
61-95= Success- The action succeeds. Self-explanitory.
96-100= Critical success- not only does the action succeed, but it grants a bonus, succeeds to a greater degree, or gives a chance at another action with ease. Like if I attempt to barter for something by giving a story about how the world needs this and somehow strike a chord with the shop owner and he/she gives me the item for free.
Some actions require a combination of the skills, like sneaking would probably be 1/2 agility and 1/2 of cunning.
CHARACTER SHEETS!!
Every character in the story is unique, and as such will get a total of +30 to attributes overall (This number is directly added to applicable rolls). These 30 points can be distributed in any manner, and you may use negative numbers for some stats- the total at the end must simply equal +30 (So if I go +50 to agility, I could take out -20 to physical power or -10 to both physical power and People skills.)
Maximium alteration for any single attribute/subattribute is +/- 35 to start with, outside of very specific circumstances (Like someone who had part of their personality taken from them when they became a half-golem could have a greater - effect for People skills, and would probably gain that on their physical power. Ask if you're unsure.)
For a character to have any magical/divine/other power, they must have at least +5 in the 'magical/other' attribute. Other can be anything from divine blessings to power drawn from nature to gem magic, &c &c.
Any character devised as a non-adventuring/relatively small on the action character doesn't need any of these stats.
Provide character data as Herbert ze Orc is presented for easy copy-paste for me. I can transpose if you don't have time/effort to, though.
tl;dr: Attributes influence a d% directly in a way that makes sense. Characters start with a total of +30 in any configuration.
Description and Appearance: A man who carries a backpack larger than he is with ease. Weapons of all varieties poke out of the pockets; swords, halberds, books; hanging on loops are several frying pans in addition to the bundles of wands glowing with arcane runes attached. He wears tough but plain clothing that shows signs of years of travel, and the dirt on his face and hands shows that he has come far.
He gave an ancient artifact blade to [unnamed magical boy] for [reason].
Power (Physical) +20
Power (Necromantic) +10
Agility +5
Charisma (Cunning) -10
Charisma (People Skills) +5
Living Bone armor grants +10 to physical power for any defensive checks.
Description and Appearance: A tall, brawny figure in gleaming golden armor inlaid with red, bony designs, Mortanus is an inspiring figure. He has a strong jaw and an almost grey complexion, and his masculine visage is crowned with short but silky bone-white hair kept to a constant length, just to the bottom of his pointed ears and his chiseled jaw. The pauldrons of his armor are large, heavier than most regular men could hope to lift, and his entire set of armor is very ornate- an ancient piece kept in prime condition by generations of knights. The hilt of his ancestral blade shows over his shoulder, a great black bloodstone set in the pommel carved into the form of a rose shifts seamlessly into the black leather of the grip. As the blade comes close, leather gives way to steel as the curved guard springs from the grip, seemingly holding the blade in an eternal embrace. The thick blade is carved, a depiction of roses and ivy stringing its way up the center of the blade until it terminates near the sharp tip. The whole blade is massive; greater than a regular mortal could hope to wield. He bears the great weight on his shoulders with a noble posture, never bowing, never breaking.
Personality: Mortanus holds a regal bearing at all times, and keeps his words in check. Vigorous training has put incredible discipline in his mind, and his dedication to his code of honor keep him from bearing falsehood. Due to these, he tends to be rather uptight and strict, and has a problem relaxing or taking things lightly. As of yet, he has a good heart.
History: His father, Viirum was one of the greatest champions of Viverex, a great crusader of the co-existence of life and death. As such, Mortanus was raised in great esteem, and has been training for his eventual role for his whole life. A lord among his people, schooled in arts both martial and noble from birth, he is an emissary from the secluded city-state to the rest of the world, showing both their power and their pride in the outside world. He shows great potential, even more than his father showed at his age. All hope the T'ma does not infect this young one as it has some of the most powerful knights of Viverex.
Power (Physical) +10, (Geomancy[HIDDEN]) +20
Agility +5
Intelligence (Logic) +5
Charisma (People Skills) -15, (Cunning) +5
Mountain's Edge gives +10 to any check that it can reasonably assist with (Can additionally be used to channel geomancy if/when Pravedan uncovers/learns to use it.)
Backstory: Pravedan hails from King's Oath, a free human village in the Hearth Divide, between the grand desert known as the Fallen Dunes- a testament to the great Querachi empire that sprawled far and wide from the sands- and the Vile Stalk Jungle, known to many as simply "The Vile." As a result, his family and fellows are a hardy people- Oathmen are renowned throughout the land as some of the grittiest, most durable and stubborn folks around- harsh summers and all sorts of beasts from both sides of the Divide mean that the people quickly learn to survive on whatever food they can get and kill whatever might be their food.
Now Pravedan, he was a pretty average boy- neither a brute nor the keenest shot, but acceptable in both aspects. He does, however, have a sharp wit and a great sense of the land, laying traps that outdo some of the most cunning of the Vile's stalkers. Even at the ripe age of 14, he had already mounted heads of three werebeasts and a full set of leathers made from Shard Hound hide- all in the defense of his home.
And then... He couldn't defend his home.
A sizable pride of Stormlions led by an unusually large Pridemaster was on the hunt- and King's Oath was right in their sights. A regular autumn day was setting- watches were watching, children playing or crafting baubles from the Hunts, suppers cooking. Briefly, the air smelled of ozone and all set to guard- but it was too late, and there were too many. A great peal of lightning blasted a hole in the palisade- caught it alight in the dry autumn air. Quick as thunder the lions were in the village, breaking homes to get at the women and children. Before Hryg- the Militia Commander- could even take arms and brace for a counter... the militia was dead... most of the village slaughtered, taken off to feed the pride.
When the flames died down, Hryg took stock- only a handful survived the Wild Hunt. Aside from the farmers, only he and Pravedan (only 15 by now) were capable of defending the survivors. Stubborn as he was, he knew the few of them could not rebuild King's Oath- anything could get in with the palisade in shambles, burst open and charred all around. Homes weren't even there- he knew they would be dead on, if not before the next new moon. He knew... the Oathmen were now a dying breed.
And he'd be damned if they were going to go out in shambles.
The survivors rounded up as many supplies as they could scrounge up from the wreckage and set out at dawn- due East, towards Glasaigne on the Hearth Road. Two days they marched, only stopping for meals- not even a rest. A traveller, many armed and bearing a pack several heads taller than he filled and hanging with weaponry of all shapes and sizes- Ragvous- came to their motley crew, seeking the boy- Pravedan. To the boy he gave something of a value the boy himself didn't even understand- Ragvous barely knew the blade, only knew that the Whispers commanded this of him- Mountain's Edge. Pravedan was staggered when the armorer handed him the blade, but quickly got used to the weight. He looked at the piece before unsheathing the blade- Polished granite spheres set in the pommel and in the silver guard, green-dyed shield bear leather grip- all plain, but servicable. The sheathe was similarly plain- plain grey shield bear leather with very minor tooling- mostly repairs- and a steel ring at the top to ease the act of sheathing the blade. But when the boy unsheathed Mountain's Edge, it was unlike anything he had ever dreamed- even Ragvous had never seen a blade like it before- dimensions of a longsword, but formed from pure polished granite, with a crystal-clear diamond edge, which quickly changed colors from clear to shining yellow- mirroring Pravedan's amazement and surprise. As he became emboldened by this new weapon and determined to use it to see the end of the Stormlions who destroyed his home, the crystals shifted to red, then blue as his determination set in. He sheathed the blade, and attempted to thank the mysterious traveller- only to find that he had vanished, and no-one saw where he went. The rag-tag group kept on towards Glasaigne, and set up camp in the fertile fields outside the city.
Confident in his people's safety, Pravedan ventures forth into the world- seeking knowledge in blade arts and to further his connection with the land. He is determined to face and kill the pride which crushed his hometown. The Pride that almost killed the Oathmen.
Power (T'ma corrupted magic) +35
Agility -5
Intelligence (Memory) -10
Charisma (People Skills) +10
"Bow, sniveling wretches! Let the T'ma infest your mind- unmake you! Give yourself as tribute before the T'ma rots this world!"
- Zlobnosti, prophesying in Bonnlean. 400 converted and sacrificed.
The prophet and physical manifestation of the T'ma, Zlobnosti does not even remember who he was before the T'ma came to him- claimed him. He wanders the world, immune to time's ravages and powerful enough to bat aside most dangers and directed by the T'ma.
He prophesies the T'ma as the blackness within the souls of all men- as the darkness that overtakes the minds of wizards and sorcerers. He sees visions of the T'ma conquering, and he sacrifices new disciples to the Force- increasing its power whilst also appeasing the T'ma's hunger. All practitioners of magic are susceptible to the T'ma, but those who practice dark arts and necromancy are closer to the T'ma- and thus more easily forsaken. In particular, many of the powerful Death Knights from Vivirex have been overcome by the T'ma and never returned, forming a small army following Zlobnosti.
Personality: Overcome by the T'ma, Zlobnosti does everything for its will- and it gives him an air of power (In addition to his own actual air of power). He is very persuasive when he is prophesying for his dark master. His power makes him very arrogant, and he will not take 'no' for an answer if the T'ma wishes it.
Physical description: Zlobnosti is a relatively tall, slim human figure clad in a flowing black robe embroidered with threads made from twisted Umbre and silver. His dark eyes have pure white pupils that leave trails in the air as he moves. They seem to be ancient- his eyes look as though he has seen more horrors than most could count, more years than most can imagine. His face and frame are both youthful, however. His features are sharply chiseled, giving him a beautiful face aside from his piercing, reverse-colored eyes. His sable hair is parted in the center and flows straight down to his shoulders, silky and smooth.
With his raw power and the T'ma behind him, Zlobnosti never sets foot on the ground, maintaining a hover a few feet above the ground and feeding his body with this power- he neither eats nor sleeps.
Power (Magical Music) +20
Agility +5
Intelligence (Logic) -15 (Memory) +10
Charisma (People Skills) +10
Description and Appearance: A relatively tall but slim green-skinned fellow with a feathered cap on his pointed ears and a stylish vest and short cape on. His face looks comparatively more well-formed than others of his orcish heritage, but he still has the tell-tale signs of his lineage- large bottom teeth that stick out of his mouth ever so slightly and a prominent brow. By his side hangs a small drum and there is a strap across his chest holding a lute to his back. His belt has a good number of pouches, and one of them makes a small chatter as coins bounce inside as he walks. His clothing is obviously made to please the eye, but it isn't the highest-quality, either. He definitely takes care to keep himself clean-shaven and well-bathed.
Personality: Herbert is a jolly fellow, well-versed in the lore of the world and a powerful force in the Bardic world. He is slow, but remembers many things and is very good at persuading and leading people. His actions are rarely nuanced as he tends to be straightforward. He is, however, good-natured, and will help most people if they don't seem to have malicious or evil intent.
History:
(Need a little setting first)
These two constructs of living tree and coral meet every several years on the beach of Consfortia to discuss the state of the world.
Nicknames: Ace, Gray Streak (a joke of his increasing age), Syyv (title meaning 'veteran ace')
Basic: Auria veteran ace, athlete, and elder
Power (Physical) +5
Agility +20
Intelligence (Logic) +5 (Memory) -10
Charisma (Cunning) +5 (People Skills) +5
Description: Aszbor is a tall, strong Auria- skin of sky-blue and dark hair with streaks of gray held in a long ponytail. His deep, aged eyes shine lavender. His muscles are lined perfectly in slim but strong leathers, protecting vital areas and areas that would have chafing problems, but open at joints for mobility and weight. A slim, long blade hangs rigidly at his left side- strapped to avoid clattering around in flight. Strapped across his body is a recurved bow, with several arrows quivered on his right thigh- tightly bound with a quick release of his own design, fletched with iridescent feathers. With an aim as true as his and arrows as straight, the five arrows bound on his leg are enough for most any threat or prey.
Nearby, his legendary Stormwing- Ylita- weaves through the air nearby- always. She is one of the rare female broadwings- a beautiful creature, feathers iridescent white, shining rainbows in the full sun dimming to shadowy gray in the dark. She's the fastest known creature in the realm, and Aszbor's aim keeps true from her back- five bullseyes from half a furlong each shot in the middle of a top-speed barrel roll in his prime. The pair has been working together for nearly a century- they together were the champions of the Aura grand festival for two decades, one of the greatest champions his people have seen in aeons. The two ended their winning streak when they went off to war- decked in gilded light plate armor, both, they became the Grand Duo, golden general of the Aura and Champion of the Skies, Gilded Lightning. (History to be told, story op.)
Personality: Aszbor holds a strong posture due to his powerful musculature and his years of war and athletics. His years as the Golden General give him a very disciplined and commanding outlook when things need to be done, but his old age has cut his edge when he's idle- his humor runs rampant and he is a patient and forgiving soul.
His age is, however, taking a slight toll on his memory.
Quirks: He always mounts Ylita by swinging under her and flipping himself over back around into the saddle- it was a trick back when he was the showboat champion of the decade, but he refuses to do anything different now.
He's peeved by cockiness, and makes an effort to cut down any braggarts.
Nicknames: Wandering Wise Man, Scholar of the Deep
Basic: Bonnlean scholar/mathematician, living in-between the Caverns of Threig and Bonnlean
Power (Physical) -5
Agility +5
Intelligence (Logic) +20 (Memory) +10
Charisma (People Skills) -10 (Cunning) +10
Special: Quick calculations- in any situation that he could possibly use mathematics to assist in a check, he may add 1/2 his logic bonus to the check.
-He thinks very quickly, and it shows in his complex mathematical skills. This helps with his agility, however, as a scholar by trade his musculature is rather indistinct and weak. He can remember many formulae and bits of information he picks up in the Caverns. He's emotionally distant, but his time in the Caverns of Threig have taught him how to deceive or keep out of the way.
There are many curious folk inhabiting tiny air pockets and smugglers dens in the intricate system of caves and chasms connecting Bonnlean to the hostile and swarming Caverns of Threig - and even, some whisper, to the abhorred Deoterrum, though to admit any belief in this last rumour would be tantamount to treason. The strangest by far of these wandering wisps, traversing the rickety stairwells and bridges beneath the great Bonnlean across chasms and down chutes, living somedays off flourescent fungi from the walls of the lonlier caves, sometimes off barsnacks from the thronged Bonnlean dens of crime and underground taverns and gin palaces, sometimes off the unspeakable inhabitants of the winding and treacherous Bonnlean sewer system, is the man in the greatcoat known as Pelintrades.
A mathematician by nature, though he teaches not at Grunberg, or any lesser institution, he casts complex augurs to stay ahead of floods of bilgewater in the richest and most dangerous parts of the sewers, and calculates frantically to strip the coin of the inexperienced and uncaring in the racous underground clubs lurking like capilliaries just below the surface of Bonnlean's central market, often bleeding forth a torrent of merrymakers. These thrill seekers emerge bewildered and invigorated by the otherworldly and chic bandits and tavernkeepers that dare not venture into Bonnlean proper, preferring to lurk in the inhabited catacombs choking their sorrows in crawling slitherwines and, when not inebriated by alcoholic lizards imbued wih semi-life and imprisoned in primitive urns, use the life essence they consume on perilous trips below, digging up treasures and secrets nearly as fast as the statesmen, scholars, lunatics and misers of the city can make and bury them.
When not avoiding the traps of bounty hunters and bandits scornful of the "wandering wise man" of the catacombs, Pelintrades, though tall to dwarven folk an unintimidating fifty year old, prefers to roam the less frequented parts of the catacombs, uncaring if he earns enough to pay for his expedition, as he is able to live off algae and lichens in even the sparsest tombs and passages, having tested this for several weeks one year simply as he had nothing better to do. Pelintrades has survived my attampts upon his life, those seeking coin or reputation, as even the most devious trap or brutal assult always somehow leaves his slight, comfortable frame a means of escape, usually by some arcane mathematical rule or theorem by which the trap is turned upon its maker, or by some unsurvivable fall or climb he endures seemingly by strength of mind, letting his body become limp a second before impact, or sleeping perched on a ledge mere inches thick after a series of gantries have given way explosively to the chasms beneath him.
Unlike many true travellers of the Threigan-Bonnlean passageways, Pelintrades is not a smuggler or a bandit, robbing none and letting those that attack him come to harm by their own foolish miscalculations. He has been known, however, to carry the odd item back and forth between the obscure Threigan rulers and some high end alchemical establishment or royal tailor, in exchange for vast pecuniary sums from which he steals not even the expected vagabond's share, often forgoing his fee in this way, as he is not often paid through official means. He does this ostensibly only as an excuse for observing the lower Threigan caverns, getting past the hulking guard-ogres and bridge trolls with a thin black sealed Threigan state envelope, a lifeline he handles with the carefree attitude of the dispossessed.
Why Pelintrades is like this, so uninterested in even mortal peril, and wandering beneath Bonnlean in the dank and gloomy caves and pits when no head-money or sorcerous sigils of the royal thaumaturgical guard prevent his return to the happy sunlit surface, though it appears to have had something to do with Grunberg university, at which he, an impoverished student become janitor for a pittance in order to hear the remainder of the year's lectures, his places at which he was forced to auction off as entertainment for the wealthy and bored when he could not support his dying love with the expensive medicines needed for the prolongment of their life. After this young man died, a great rending in the life of one so young, Pelintrades became reckless, swept the loneliest balconies, the terraces most swiftly decaying and jealously guarded by Grunberg eagles, ignoring any possibility of his own death, overcome by mourning, as the university crumbled and the librarians' siege began. It was soon after this that, with his course unfinished, he left the university hurriedly, carrying a scroll of oddly beautifully arranged ink and paper for one so poor, much remarked on by witnesses as drawing the eye, and charming the sensetivities, whenever it showed through the threadbare and ragged trench coat it had been hurriedly stuffed into. Almost simultaneously, a Mariner's Heretic librarian was found drowned in a well from where Pelintrades had recntly hurried, just outside the main beseiged university building, with a scroll, presumably of infectious insanity and genius, locked securely in his flask, which was at once destroyed. It is possible, one must surmise, though only now will few begin to discuss such a thing, that the librarian had not leapt from the barricaded library in search of a safe landing and drowned, failing to smuggle a Mariner's artifact scroll out of Grunberg, but was instead a willing or unwilling martyr, part of a ruse or distraction, carrying an empty scroll on his corpse, while a certain Pelintrades... but that is just conjecture, and those prone to gossip of the positioning of the mad and puissant Mariner's artifacts soon find themselves in stickier situations than they would have otherwise hoped.
All of these are subject to any changes from the community. Nothing is set in stone yet.Overall setting:
Our world is a great continent of many names due to the many folks that call it home- some secluded and others bustling. However, all around this absolutely massive landscape both in the sky and in the ocean surrounding its vastness are islands, floating in space or water. Some are large, containing whole civilizations while others are small, maybe only as large as a small hut or a single tree's root space. Some say that beneath the great continent is an equally impressive cavern, open for miles and miles in every direction, weird ecosystems developing in the land under the land- just as there are many oddities in the land above the land. Many cultures speak of the land down under, calling it the Deoterrum
Time is measured in different cycles on the continent and the sky-lands. The continent measures time based on cycles around the sun, years of time. The sky-lands measure time in cycles- the time it takes for an island to make a full revolution around the continent (The islands revolve in a great circle around the continent, like a disk revolving over a turntable.) Each island technically has its own length of cycle, but regions tend to just use the cycle of the largest or most important island in the region.
Humans, Elves, Goblins, Celestials & Demons, Sahuagin, Gnomes, Dwarves, and other typical fantasy races live here, in addition to: Auria, tbc.
The story begins in a small village, named (STILL TO BE DEFINED)
Quirks/Specific places:
Viverex, a city sheltered in a remote mountain range, ruled by the living but staffed by the dead. One of their greatest warriors has just died in glorious battle- a hero remembered, a defender raised. His son, Mortanus, a champion among his people and crusader to the lands of the living, leaves his home with gilded armor inlaid with living bone. He looks back, nodding in reverence to his undying predecessors, defending the walls for all time. His future awaits.
The Beach of Consfortia, where the world-brothers meet every several years to discuss the state of the world.
Some sort of forest somewhere, where a mysterious figure lurks and many of the animals are partially clockwork.
A bakery run by a sentient vein of crystal seems to have magic infused in their pastries and treats, although the effects seem rather sporadic.
Bonnlean is an [race] city-state ruled by Rileg and Altra, a weak king and his strong-willed, compassionate queen. Their daughter, Puipea, takes after her mother. However, the Royal advisor Fheall, wishes power for himself and his colleagues on the Council- and is attempting to indoctrinate Puipea into granting power to the Council and Fheall when she rises to the throne.
Deep under Bonnlean rests the Caverns of Threig- where lie the factions banished after the [insert event here]. Their power is, however, growing in the deep- they are nearly ready to reclaim their rightful place as the rulers of the surface.
Glasaigne is a trade hub, a city in the middle of a great expanse of fields in the fertile Thuil basin. Natural magic thrums through the whole region, and it absolutely radiates from the center of Glasaigne. Impressive new hybrids and varieties of plant come from this progressive city, but some prototypes will always go bad, and some of the nearby fields are very dangerous due to the hostile 'unwanted' plants. The leadership of the city always stays mysterious, and seems to have no moral view. Full information below.
Other names: Sky Terror, Skywinder, Boltscale, Aerial Ace (In addition to an ace rider)
Creature type: Large flying bird/reptile
Other features: elemental/magical ancestry (Natural), non-sentient (Animal)
Physical Description: These great creatures are hatched at a size roughly equivalent to that of a small horse, and grow up to three feet wide and fifteen feet long, head-to-tail. Their shape resembles a great snake with a beaked head and between four and eight wings. The most common configuration of their wings is three sets of two relatively thin wings roughly evenly spaced, starting a few feet behind the head and ending as the tail begins to taper. Stormwings with this wing configuration are very agile in the air, able to make maneuvers that are nearly unthinkable to other flying creatures, but their unique configuration isn't as powerful as some other fliers, so they are a little slower in sustained flight than others. However, their ability to use their wings in tandem to give a great push and spin allows these skywinders to have great speed in short bursts. These attributes are exacerbated in breeds with four pairs of two wings and mitigated in breeds with two pairs of wings. However, rare breeds have a single pair of very wide (3-4 feet along the body) wings that each have two pairs of smaller wings attached just a few inches past the body, one on the top and bottom of each wing. The great wings on these magnificent beasts give them a huge amount of power to use, and they are nearly unparalleled in their speed through the air- both sustained and in bursts. The large area of their wings also lets them fly higher than nearly anything else that needs wings to fly, but their great size also limits their maneuverability to be similar to that of less unique aerobats.
Males and females of these great creatures are vastly different- males are scaled while females are feathered. Due to this, males tend to be a little better at complex aerobatics and can dive into water with ease to catch different kinds of prey, while females are a little quicker fliers, can carry a little more weight, and can fly a little higher. As such, eight-winged males are the epitome of perfect aerial mobility, capable of literally twisting themselves around an arrow in flight or making such a tight barrel roll that it releases a burst of air that deflects nearby projectiles. Female broad-wings are nearly the opposite of this, flying faster than anything natural, nearly imperceptible when at their fastest.
Stormwings have a unique organ that sits on top of their throat which collects static charge gained as they fly, and can concentrate the energy into a bolt of lightning expelled through the mouth. Most often it is used as an attack, to either kill or stun their prey before they get to it, or to deter those few creatures that would attempt to kill or eat a stormwing. Another use for this bolt of lightning is reserved for the rare intelligent stormwing, or tame ones under the control of an experienced rider. Shooting their lightning in front of them, the skywinders can create a tunnel of heated air- less dense than other air this tunnel, combined with a strong push before entering, provides the perfect conditions for a greater burst of speed than anything else can muster. In addition, the warm, dry air contains more static, letting them regain their bolt even faster. In the hands of a skilled rider, an aerial ace duo can streak through the air almost as fast as a bolt of lightning by stringing these bolt dashes one after the next.
Personalities: Stormwings have a consistently bad temperament, rarely content and never happy of their own accord. The only pleasure they find is in companionship- their mates, ever-present trainers, or their single rider. When they mate, they mate for life- each stormwing will find a single mate which they make an eternal bond with. If and when that mate dies, the other knows immediately- and their rage is beyond any control.
These long-time denizens of the great caverns resemble horrid twisted birds. They are coated with whirled grey feathers and look like something from a nightmare. From their pitted underbelly jut near a dozen pointed legs, granting them a way of walking that seems to imitate a grisly dance. On either side of their thick, almost snake-like, necks, four stubby many-fingered arms reach forward to grasp anything that wanders close. They have a head that looks like a mix of a fly and a fish, with green bulging compound eyes straining to catch a glimpse of light that would alert them to a potential food source. Taking up most of the bottom of their head, however, is a maw with long, jagged teeth. In addition to their sensitive sight, they have powerful ears that allow them to hear and hunt prey by sound from around 15 yards away. They are incredibly aggressive, often taking on foes multiple times their size, grasping with their forelimbs and biting.
The blinding flashes of light and sounds that precede these horrid things' flock are perhaps the most terrifying sensations in the entirety of the Deoterrum. These pack hunters look like eyeless white ravens, but they trace white ribbons of spores in their wake and hunt using echolocation. They possess a maw full of needle-sharp teeth- if the bite is clean the wound might not even bleed- but the primary purpose of their maw is not to consume, but to reproduce. The spores they emit are parasitic- once inside a living body, they take root and feed until they are fuly grown and prepared to leave and join the flock. Tales abound of people inhaling spores and later coughing and keeling over dead, only for a Carnenitus to bite its way out of their still-warm chest. Often the only way for anyone to survive is for an entire village to seal itself up and relocate amoung underground channels, as a scant handful of spores can easily spell an entire village's demise as person after person gets bitten or breathes in some spores, growing more and more of the beasts, which in turn bite and make more spores for people to breathe in.
Hulking beasts, shield bears grow up to sizes of 8 feet tall to the shoulder and up to 15 feet long. They dwell in the southern Mountains, and are frequently problems to the dwarves of the South. They get their name from the shield-like bone plates on their forearms.
Native to the Vile (Vile Stalk Jungle), Shard hounds are like wolves with a coat studded with crystals of various colors. Aside from their prized hides, they are simply extra-strong wolves.
Native to the Fallen Dunes, Stormlions are only slightly larger than their mundane counterparts, but come in the colors of a storm- gray, pale blue, accents of yellow, white, and bright blue. In addition, Stormlions' roars are like a peal of thunder, and they can launch a bolt of lightning from their large maw at will. Fierce predators in a relative wasteland, they are apex predators, and will eat almost any prey they can find.
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Topic: Let's write a Story! (Setting and Characters) (Read 9898 times)