Eltia  

WARNING: This world is deeply D&D-inspired. There’s a lot of lore and story to read through.

“Aye… listen well, adventurer.Before the stars ever took their place in the heavens, there was naught but fire and ice. Two forces, ancient and stubborn, driftin’ through the void, each tryin’ to outlast the other. For an age they danced — raged, really — ’til they stumbled upon a world bare and still. A land untouched, with no breath, no heart, no soul. Eltia.Now, the Ice, she was calm — didn’t fancy ruinin’ such quiet beauty. But the Fire? Hah… that one burned with want. He wished to shape somethin’, to see it move, to see it live.And so, when their quarrel reached its fiercest flame, mankind was born.Foolish lot we were, worshippin’ the very ones who couldn’t agree on our fate. Flame and Frost, the First Brethren, grew jealous of one another, and their rivalry tore the world asunder.From the scars of their feud, life spilled forth in all its strange and twisted forms.There came the ogres of the Untamed Wilds, strong as the mountains they roam. The proud elves of the Rimerian Dominion, who fancy themselves the children of starlight. The kobolds of the Halara Plains, sly scavengers with more wit than sense. The golden dragons of the Bahmuth Peaks, who sleep beneath storms older than time itself.But aye, there was more still. The kitsune of the Tsuyori Archipelago, southward beyond the Sapphire Sea, where the sun rises red as blood. The vampires and werewolves of the Northern Highlands, children of the lost kingdom of Varelmor, who stalk the snow and whisper to the stupid ol’ moon.The beastfolk of the Damaric Wastes, enduring and wild, forged by the harsh deserts and untamed lands. And lastly, the dwarves of the Pillar Mountains in the east, deepfolk who carved their halls from the bones of Velkin itself.That’s how Eltia came to be — wild and wondrous, without a master to chain it. The gods turned their gaze elsewhere, tired o’ the mess they’d made. Left us to fend for ourselves.But… their power, it didn’t fade, not truly. It lingers — waitin’, whisperin’ to those who dare to listen. They say one day, someone’ll rise — someone not quite man, not quite god — and bend all this chaos to their will.Heh… maybe it’s nonsense. Maybe it’s prophecy.But tell me, youngin’…Are you the one Eltia’s been waitin’ for… or just another soul passin’ through?”

⸺  Creature Index

Common
Humans
Versatile and ambitious, capable of adapting to any environment or skill, including magic.
Vampires
Immortal predators bound to blood and night, thriving in darkness and secrecy.
Werewolves/Lycanthropes
Fierce shapeshifters, tied to lunar cycles and tribal instincts, blending strength and savagery.
Undead/Liches/Zombies
Reanimated beings, driven by necrotic energy, curses, or the will of their masters.
Elves
Graceful and long-lived, attuned to nature, magic, and ancient traditions.
Dwarves
Stout and resilient, masters of stone, metal, and runic craftsmanship.
Dragons
Majestic and ancient, elemental forces with unmatched wisdom and power.
Kitsune
Mystical fox-people, skilled in illusion, trickery, and dream-weaving magic.
Beastfolk/Lizardfolk
Humanoid in form but distinctly animalistic, with scaled or furred bodies, tails, claws, or snouts; their instincts, strength, and senses often surpass humans, making them natural hunters, survivors, and tribal warriors.Tieflings
Born from the remnants of the Titans’ corruption, Tieflings carry the taint of the old world in their blood. Normally have horns, embered eyes, and an aura that unsettles the divine.

Halara Plains
Crown Elk
Plains herbivores, herds, valued for hunting.
Falark Crocodiles
Ambush predators in rivers near Falark Bridge.
Warhawks
Trained birds of prey, used for scouting/messaging.Damaric Wastes
Minotaur Raiders
Desert predators, tribal warriors.
Sand Serpents
Ambush reptiles, burrow in dunes.
Scarab Swarms
Insect predators, overwhelming in numbers.Pillar Mountains
Stoneback Golems
Magical constructs, slow but durable.
Molmar Salamanders
Fire-aligned elemental beasts.
Snake Kings
Ambush predators, venomous.Tsuyori Archipelago
Mist Kitsune
Minor magical fox forms, trickster nature.
Spirit Koi
Magical aquatic creatures, omens.
Hanareshi Wisps
Mist spirits, playful or misleading.Uncharted Lands
Gnomes
Hailing from the fog-shrouded lands east of Velkin, the Gnomes are a reclusive and enigmatic people of invention and illusion.

Rimerian Dominion
Moonlight Stag
Mystical forest creatures, glowing.
Aurelith Serpents
Intelligent, water-dwelling, magical.
Forest Sentinels
Enchanted treants protecting sacred groves.Varethrim Tundra
Glacier Giants
Usually found in mountain passes, immense strength, slow-moving.
Snowfang Wolves
Roams around the Tundra plains, pack hunters, very stealthy.
Ice Wraiths
Like to hide in abandoned ruins or forts, life-draining spirits.
Dark Elves
Were cast out for betraying Vaeluna when they sought to drain the power of her Sacred Grove. Banished across the sea, they now dwell upon the Isles of the Deadflow.Northern Highlands
Shadow Stalkers
Undead humanoid predators around Cragik ruins.
Stonebound Gargoyles
Constructs near Hjoldir, animate at night normally.Untamed Wilds
Ogres/Orcs
Solitary or small clans, powerful, forested areas.
Kobolds
Scavenger tribes, trap-setters, cave dwellers.
Wildspine Bears
Territorial forest predators.
Thornbeak Raptors
Cliff hunters, agile flying predators.
Goblins
Cunning, quick-witted scavengers who thrive amid danger and decay.

⸺  Party Member

Raina carries herself with the confident swagger of a seasoned captain, tempered by years of survival and the hardships of her youth. She is daring, clever, and fiercely independent, often relying on wit and intuition as much as skill in combat.Danger does not deter her; rather, it excites her, and she thrives on the unpredictability of the seas and the thrill of discovery.Among her companions, she is sharp-tongued and quick to tease, particularly enjoying playful rivalry with Ruvel, whose calm demeanor and sense of duty both frustrate and captivate her despite feeling bitter about him. She respects Zeh’ran’s boldness, while finding Lazarus’ eccentricity and cryptic wisdom unnerving.Raina is fiercely loyal to those she trusts, and her bond with Cak, reflects her need for connection and guidance in a world often hostile to the unprepared.

⸺  Appearance

Raina stands tall at six feet, her frame lean and athletic. Her long, fiery red hair flows like a flame down her back, and her piercing green eyes gleam. Her fair skin bears faint freckles across her cheeks and nose.She wears practical, weathered clothing suited for both shipboard life and exploration. Around her neck hangs a strange green pendant; it hums faintly with her spirit powers, helping her focus and control her abilities.Her gaze is sharp and calculating, capable of reading both ally and enemy alike.Yet there remains a spark of daring curiosity in her eyes — a relentless drive to explore, uncover secrets, and test the limits of her abilities.

⸺  Background

Raina was born under the cold light of winter in Shaymere Village, one of many children orphaned by the same raids that claimed Ruvel’s parents. Clever, daring, and fiercely independent, she quickly learned to survive in a world that offered little mercy to those without family or fortune. Though she shared brief companionship with Ruvel as a fellow orphan, she secretly resented him for leaving the village soon after, seeing his calm nature and eventual departure as a personal betrayal.By age twelve though, her bitterness and frustration reached a breaking point, and she decided to leave Shaymere voluntarily, determined to escape the place that had only fostered loss and loneliness.Raina’s initial journeys took her along the trade routes of Velkin, joining merchant caravans and coastal expeditions to earn her keep. Her sharp instincts and quick wit made her a valuable asset, but her freedom was short-lived; during one such voyage, she was captured by a band of pirates and taken to Fang’s Bay. There, she quickly adapted to the rough, chaotic life of a pirate, learning to wield firearms, navigate treacherous waters, and manipulate the ever-shifting loyalties of her fellow crew.At sixteen, her life changed forever during a voyage into the reefs of a forgotten archipelago. In pursuit of rumored treasure, the ship she was on was struck by a violent storm and driven onto submerged ruins said to have been built for a Forgotten God. Plunged into the frigid depths, she struggled for breath and survival, only to discover an extraordinary gift awakening within her.Raina found she could hold her breath far longer than any mortal should, and, in the eerie silence beneath the waves, a spirit made itself known — a spectral crow, small and wary, yet intelligent and perceptive. She soon named it Cak, a companion and guide.Though the origin of this spirit and the god it represented remained a mystery, Raina embraced this power, fascinated by the possibilities it offered and determined to uncover its source.Following her near-death experience, Raina spent several years refining both her combat skills and her spiritual abilities. She honed her marksmanship with pistols and early firearms. Her bond with Cak deepened, the crow becoming her eyes, scout, and confidant during raids, travels, and exploration.By twenty-one, Raina had fully established herself as the captain of the Crow’s Caw. Her voyages carried her across dangerous waters and forgotten islands, through bustling ports and treacherous reefs, always chasing treasure, knowledge, and the thrill of discovery.Her life shifted once more though when she sailed into the Deadflow Sea, following a rumor of treasure. There, she witnessed the catastrophic awakening of Gorothar the Worldbreaker. What was worse was that the seas themselves seemed to rise against her, tearing her ship apart in moments.However, only Raina and Cak survived the wreck, washing ashore near the Bahmuth Peaks. Fate then somehow reunited her with Ruvel, the boy she had once known in Shaymere Village and long resented for leaving, now a hardened leader of the remnants of the Venra Covenant.It was amidst this chaos, with the world reshaping around them, that her journey intertwined with Ruvel, Zeh’ran, and Lazarus — forming a fellowship bound by necessity, skill, and the desperate hope of confronting a threat that could annihilate all of Eltia.

⸺  Party Member

Lazarus carries the calm certainty of centuries, yet beneath his measured words lies a spark of unpredictability. His mind dances between brilliance and madness, endlessly curious ideas others would deem dangerous — or insane.His cryptic speech and sardonic wit can unsettle, and sometimes his obsession with knowledge tips into a delightfully sinister humor, leaving allies unsure whether to laugh or be wary.He respects Ruvel’s discipline and potential, guiding him with subtle mentorship. Raina’s cunning intrigues him. Zeh’ran’s pride fascinates him, and he occasionally nudges the Lionkin toward impulsive actions, just to see how far he will go.Though morally flexible and occasionally unhinged, Lazarus is loyal to those he trusts.To the fellowship, he is mentor, scholar, and enigma — a source of insight, danger, and unpredictable guidance, whose mind teeters beautifully between genius and madness.

⸺  Appearance

Lazarus stands at six feet one, his frame lean but deceptively strong. His long silver hair is usually tied back in a high ponytail, though unruly strands often fray wildly at the sides. Also has piercing red eyes, bright and calculating, that seem to see both the world and the secrets hidden beneath it. Also wears small round glasses most of the time, but usually takes them off when he goes batshit insane.His grey skin is pale and smooth like weathered stone. His fangs are sharp but rarely exposed, reserved for moments of intensity or hunger. Scars, faint and irregular, mark his forearms and hands — remnants of experiments, duels, and dangerous rituals from a life spent chasing knowledge.He radiates both wisdom and menace, the quiet danger of one who has lived centuries, learned every secret, and yet never abandoned a touch of madness in pursuit of truth.

⸺  Background

Lazarus ver Zocharium was born in the slums of Varelmor, a human child of little consequence, surviving by wit and determination from a very young age.At age six, he tried to read whatever scavenged scraps of text he could find off the streets and absorb knowledge far beyond his years.And for the next six years, he spent doing whatever he could do to survive the slums of Varelmor. However, at twelve, Lazarus was noticed and taken in by the Zocharium family, a powerful vampire noble house of Varelmor, who adopted him as a ward. They provided him with access to wealth, rare texts, and arcane tutelage.Over the years, he excelled in scholarship, politics, and arcane studies, gaining favor within the household while also learning the ruthless intricacies of vampire society.By age twenty-six, his obsession with ancient relics and draconic lore drew concern and intrigue. The Zocharium elders, seeing both his brilliance and potential, decided to grant him immortality. At twenty-eight, Lazarus was willingly embraced into vampirism by the family, transformed into a vampire as both a reward and a binding into their lineage. The act gave him centuries to pursue knowledge and power without the frailty of mortal life, and he accepted the change fully, seeing it as both penance for his survival-driven youth and a path to mastery.Over the next century, Lazarus traveled throughout Velkin, delving into draconic relics, forbidden magics, and lost languages. He encountered influential figures — some allies, some rivals.By age two hundred, Lazarus had joined the Venra Covenant, drawn not by loyalty but by access to hidden archives and draconic relics. It was here years later that he met the young Ruvel Vareth, recognizing the boy’s draconic blood and potential.Lazarus became a quiet mentor, offering guidance in both combat and the understanding of draconic heritage, laying the groundwork for the boy who would one day lead the Covenant’s remnants.Now, at two hundred and twenty-eight years old, Lazarus had watched the awakening of Gorothar and the fracturing of the Covenant in full time. Centuries of life have taught him patience, cunning, and caution, yet he recognizes that the fellowship may be the world’s only hope against the cataclysm and so he willingly helps them to try and save this wretched world.

⸺  Party Member

Zeh’ran carries himself with the confidence of a lion. Exile taught him the hard lessons of humility, but it also sharpened his instincts and fueled a restless drive to prove his strength, skill, and worth at every turn. He is bold, decisive, and unafraid to confront danger head-on, often leaping into situations others might hesitate to face.Among his companions, Zeh’ran respects Ruvel’s calm precision and leadership. He admires Raina’s cunning and daring, enjoying the thrill of her schemes while occasionally teasing her for her recklessness. Lazarus, for all his cryptic wisdom, intrigues Zeh’ran but can also unsettle him with his strange ways; still, he recognizes the vampire’s value and keeps a wary respect.Although he can appear egotistical and headstrong, Zeh’ran is fiercely loyal and protective of those he considers worthy of trust. He thrives in combat, driven by instinct, ferocity, and a warrior’s code, yet he is not without subtle cunning or strategic foresight.Those close to him know that beneath the pride and bravado lies a Lionkin who values honor, camaraderie, and the bond between warriors facing a world in utter chaos.

⸺  Appearance

Zeh’ran towers above most, a mountain of muscle at seven feet three, honed through years of combat and the rigors of his lionkin heritage. Golden-tan fur covers much of his body, soft yet bristling with strength, while a long mane of sun-blonde hair, streaked with a few carefully kept braids. Proud lion ears peek through the mane, and a thick, powerful tail sways behind him. His hands and feet are lion-like paws, clawed and formidable.His shoulders are broad, his chest deep and corded with muscle, each limb a testament to relentless training and countless battles. Zeh’ran’s jaw is strong, his features angular yet noble with a lion's snout, his blue eyes sharp and piercing, always alert to threats or opportunities. Scars run along his forearms, shoulders, and torso, pale marks of fights survived and victories hard-won.His presence radiates authority, pride, and ferocity. While imposing and fearsome in appearance, there is also a natural majesty to him, a regal bearing befitting a Lionkin prince of House Vazthar.

⸺  Background

Zeh’ran Vazthar, known to some as the Exiled Prince, was the firstborn of House Vazthar, a noble family of the Beastfolk rulers of the Kingdom of Kuram. Towering even as a cub, he showed remarkable strength and ferocity from an early age, traits expected of a future leader among the beastfolk of the Damaric Wastes.From the age of five, he was rigorously trained in combat, hunting, and leadership, a prince destined to uphold the prestige of his house.By twelve, his skill in both strategy and battle outpaced his tutors, earning admiration, though it also sowed seeds of arrogance that would shape his youth.At seventeen, Zeh’ran’s boldness led to his undoing. Tasked with leading a contingent of warriors to defend a border settlement from marauders, he defied his father’s orders, striking with no hesitation.Though the attack succeeded tactically, the reckless maneuver caused unnecessary casualties and embarrassed House Vazthar before neighboring tribes and allies. The council and his father then deemed the act intolerable and at eighteen, Zeh’ran was exiled from Kuram, stripped of his title and cast into the wider world to learn humility — or face death on his own.In the years that followed his exile, Zeh’ran wandered far from Kuram, traveling across the Damaric Wastes and neighboring lands, taking on work as a mercenary, protector, and occasional gladiator to survive. His travels carried him through harsh deserts, jagged mountains, and frozen highlands, shaping him into a cunning and formidable warrior.By his early thirties, he had made his way north into the Valethrim Tundra, drawn by rumors of unrest and opportunity among the isolated mining towns. Settling in Hel Fjord, a remote mining settlement at the edge of the tundra, he earned a reputation as a fierce protector of the local clan, the Stendar.At thirty-two, the earth then suddenly trembled beneath the Bahmuth Peaks south of the mining town, heralding Gorothar’s awakening.Seeing the chaos of the world ripping wide open, Zeh’ran left Hel Fjord and raced toward the epicenter of the cataclysm. There, he encountered the fellowship, bound together not by ceremony or blood, but by the necessity of confronting a threat that dwarfed kingdoms, beasts, and men alike.

⸺  Party Member

Ruvel carries the weight of his draconic heritage with quiet intensity, though outwardly he often seems unshakable — or at least, he wears a perpetually serious expression that hides a mischievous streak.He is also straightforward in his desires and rarely bound by convention, but he does hold strong attachments to those he trusts. He is quietly protective of Raina Crowe, his childhood friend, and while he struggles with romantic or sexual advances — often shy or flustered — his loyalty and care run deep.Lazarus' oddities intrigue him, and he tolerates the vampire’s eccentricities, respecting his intellect while sometimes finding him unsettling. Zeh’ran meanwhile, can be infuriatingly proud, but Ruvel appreciates the Lionkin’s skill and determination, even if he teases or challenges him when given the chance.He approaches danger with a cool exterior but strikes with precision and ferocity when the moment demands it.Though he presents a serious face to the world, those close to him know he is clever, slightly goofy, and endlessly passionate about the things he loves — especially dragons.

⸺  Appearance

Ruvel stands tall and imposing, a tower of lean muscle at six feet four, his frame honed by years of training and tempered by the latent draconic power coursing through his veins. Scars lace his forearms and shoulders but also on the left side of his face, thin white lines etched from battles both mundane and arcane.His skin is fair, almost luminous under sunlight, a contrast to the darkness of his short black hair, which falls in short practical waves, partially shadowing his piercing golden eyes. Those eyes, bright and unflinching, seem to glow with an inner fire, a reminder of his draconic lineage. A strong, angular jaw and thin lips frame a face both striking and enigmatic, the kind of visage that draws attention even when he offers no smile.Though his stature is commanding, there is a subtle grace to him, a coiled readiness in his stance that speaks of lethal efficiency.

⸺  Background

Ruvel Vareth was born under the midsummer sun in the quiet Eldren village of Shaymere, a boy marked from birth by the flicker of draconic fire in his veins. His early years were peaceful, though never ordinary: his parents often marveled at his strange affinity to fire.That peace was shattered when raiders descended upon the village, leaving it in ruin. Ruvel’s parents were slain, and the boy, only eight, found himself among the many orphaned children of Shaymere. It was in those dark days that he met Raina Crowe, a spirited girl who had also lost her family in the raid, though their paths would not converge again for many years.Taken in by the Venra Covenant after leaving the village grief-stricken, the young boy Ruvel was trained as a Slayer, learning to harness his draconic blood with discipline and precision. His skill and determination did not go unnoticed; he excelled in combat and strategy, rising quickly within the secretive order.It was during his early years at the Covenant that he met Lazarus ver Zocharium, a vampire scholar whose intellect and mastery of forbidden knowledge surpassed most mortals. Though distant and cryptic, Lazarus recognized Ruvel’s potential and quietly guided him.But shadows had already long crept into the Covenant’s deepest parts. The High Preceptor, once revered as a wise and just leader, had begun performing forbidden rites beneath the Bahmuth Peaks, claiming he sought to awaken ancient dragons to restore Eltia’s lost divinity.Ruvel soon uncovered the grim truth: the Preceptor’s ambition was far darker, aiming to bring back the Titans of old, ancient beings whose wrath had once nearly shattered the world. Confronted with a choice between loyalty and conscience, Ruvel led the dissenting disciples against the Preceptor.But the ensuing battle shattered the Covenant from within, and the Preceptor’s death ignited a cataclysm that awakened Gorothar the Worldbreaker, a Titan that had been buried since the Third Age.In the chaos following Gorothar’s emergence, the world itself became unrecognizable.With courage, discipline, and the fire of his heritage, he steps into a world unraveling, determined to confront the Titan and preserve the fragile balance that the Covenant once swore to uphold as it's new leader.

⸺  Party Member

Kalrik is a cold and gruff soul, more wolf than man in manner. Words do not come easily to him; his tongue is slow to speak, yet when he does, his voice bears the weight of iron and frost. His senses are keen — the sharpened instincts of both hunter and beast — and he seldom loses his way, be it through forest, storm, or battle’s haze.He struggles with the gentler notions of the heart — love, kinship, and trust are foreign lands to him. The bonds of blood were stolen the night his tribe was slain, leaving only vengeance to fill the hollow. Yet in his companions, he has found something resembling a pack once more. To harm them is to invite his wrath — swift, merciless, and unrelenting.Though cursed with the blood of the lycan, Kalrik rarely embraces the full transformation, loathing the loss of control it brings. On nights of the full moon, he departs from the camp alone, giving in to the beast beneath his skin to sate its hunger upon wildlife or wandering foes. There have been… incidents in the past — dark tales best left unspoken.His life is ruled by vengeance — a singular purpose that drives him ever northward toward the vampiric clan that butchered his kin. Of all who walk beside him, only Tavric Solen holds his full trust, the paladin’s steadfast nature tempering the blood that boils within.In rare moments of quiet, Kalrik allows himself to remember — the warmth of hearth and kin, the laughter of the Fenvarr tribe — and it fills him with a sorrow he will never speak aloud. Yet on the battlefield, the sorrow turns to fire. The scent of blood, the thrum of his hemocraft, drives him near to madness, and in that crimson haze he becomes what he was born to be — a predator of vengeance and ruin.

⸺  Appearance

Kalrik of Fenvarr stands tall as a northern pine, near six and a half feet in height, broad of shoulder and built like the mountains that birthed him. The years of battle and wandering have carved their tale upon his flesh — a body of iron sinew and old scars, each mark a memory of blood and survival.His skin bears the pallor of frost, pale as moonlight upon winter stone, while his hair — a wild mane of snow-white locks — falls ragged across a brow shadowing eyes of cold and glacial blue. His forearms and hands betray the beast within — half-wolf in form, corded with sinew and veined with power, ending in dark, clawed fingers capable of rending through steel as easily as flesh. Fur creeps faintly along the edges of his arms.A strong jaw and thin, grim-set lips lend him the visage of a man both proud and weary, as though the North itself shaped him in its image. Many who cross his path would call him striking, even handsome in that hardened, dangerous way — a beauty tempered by storm and steel.

⸺  Background

Born the son of the chieftain of the Fenvarr tribe, beneath the frozen peaks of Vuldar’s Reach, young Kalrik’s path was fated before his first breath was drawn. A spry and curious whelp he was, ever darting through snow and pine for ten winters of his youth, his heart burning brighter than the hearthfires of his kin. Yet fate is a cruel mistress, and the boy’s wanderlust would prove his doom.For one eve, upon the Winter’s Solstice, shadows followed his trail home — a vile brood of vampires, pale as the moonlight that heralded them. Kalrik beheld the ruin of his people with his own eyes, their cries carried off into the cold dark. Only by the grace of a token of warding, a charm gifted by his mother at birth — said to bear the blessings of fortune and vengeance — did he escape the slaughter.Through frost and famine he wandered, a half-ghost of the North, until he came upon the humble farmstead of Faborstead. There, the boy lent his strength to honest folk, yet his soul knew no peace. The fire within him spoke but one name — vengeance.By his twentieth winter, Kalrik made his way north to the cursed kingdom of Varelmor, seat of the vampire lords. Yet the hunt turned ill. The spawn of the night proved far beyond his ken; their power drowned him in darkness. Bloodied and broken, he fell beneath their moonless sky — but what dies in shadow does not always stay there. In his final breath, he called upon the ancient art that dwells in the blood itself. Hemocraft.A forbidden craft in Eltia, reviled by all, it nonetheless answered. The crimson sigil flared upon his skin, and life — twisted and changed — returned to him. He fled Varelmor thereafter, shamed and shaken, seeking solitude to master what he had become.In the wild marches, fate again played its hand. A band of sellswords crossed his path — rough folk of iron and drink. Mistaking them for raiders, Kalrik drew blade… until he saw in them not foes, but kin of another kind. For ten long years he bore their crest, taking coin for blood, his craft sharpened to a predator’s edge.Yet the wheel of destiny turns ever on. Upon his thirtieth winter, Kalrik chose to leave the company he’d come to call brothers. One final contract, he said — a simple matter of driving kobolds from a small stead called Dunhaven.There, he met Tavric Solen — a farmer’s son with the smile of dawn and the gaze of a hawk. The young farmer's son saw through the mercenary’s rough hide, glimpsing the burdened soul beneath. And though their paths seemed worlds apart, Tavric offered him fellowship, a place by his side upon the road ahead.Thus began an unlikely brotherhood — the son of sunlit fields and the son of blood and frost — setting forth into Eltia, bound by destiny, and the promise of redemption through the steel of their blades. And just like that, their party slowly began to grow from a bewitching kitsune mage, a ragtag lizard beastman, a serene yet stubborn elven princess, and a curious old dwarven man.For three winters after parting ways with Tavric and the fellowship when he was thirty-three, Kalrik wandered the Northern Highlands again, his heart colder than the snows that buried the North. The vampires he once hunted had grown wise to his scent — their spies stalked him from crypt to cavern, and each battle left him weaker, more haunted.He lived by the blade and the bottle, a drifter among shadows, sleeping in ruined chapels and hunter’s shacks long claimed by frost. The coin he earned from killing nightspawn was spent on mead strong enough to burn the throat raw.The once-proud son of Fenvarr had become little more than a ghost — a wolf with no pack, a man with no hearth.By his thirty-sixth winter, the man who had once been the vengeance of the North was but a memory whispered over ale and campfire.Until fate — that cruel and wondrous thing — saw fit to turn its wheel once more.In a nameless inn along the southern roads of Solgard’s frontier, where snow met soil and old songs faded into the wind, Kalrik found himself face to face with ghosts of his past. The years had changed them all, but the spark of their old fellowship flickered once again.And so, the werewolf of Fenvarr rises once more from the ashes of his ruin, blade in hand and blood aflame, ready to finish what began beneath the pale moon of his youth.

⸺  Party Member

Tavric carries himself with the calm strength of a man twice his age. Warm of heart yet steadfast of mind, he is the quiet flame that steadies the storm — a natural leader whose courage commands rather than demands. There is gentleness in his voice, but conviction in his eyes, the same steel that once burned in his late brother Dullan, whose memory still guides his every choice.In battle, Tavric is coolheaded and calculating, ever the strategist who reads the field before the first sword is drawn. Among his companions, he leads not through pride, but through quiet assurance — the kind that turns doubt into trust.Yet beyond his calm exterior lies a weight he seldom shares. The wider world beyond Dunhaven’s humble fields often feels cruel, and he bears the burden of shielding those who cannot shield themselves. His family remains his anchor, and his companions have become the kin he swore to protect in their stead.Though humble by nature, he is not untouched by pride. Praise stirs him — not for vanity, but for validation that his brother’s sacrifice was not in vain. He finds joy in service, often giving freely to those in need, his faith in kindness as firm as his faith in Solkaris.When shadows gather or memories weigh heavy, Tavric draws upon that inner radiance — the light-born power within his soul. It is both weapon and comfort, a reminder that even amidst ruin, hope can still burn bright.

⸺  Appearance

Tavric stands proud at six feet and three inches, broad of shoulder and firm in stance — the build of a man shaped by both plow and sword. His strength bears no arrogance; it is the quiet, dependable kind that speaks of long days beneath the sun and years of honest labor. Beneath his tunic or armor lies a body well-tempered — muscular and lean, a warrior’s frame carved from the toil of the plains.His hair is short and chestnut brown, kept neatly trimmed yet soft enough to fall in uneven bangs across his brow. In the light of day, his eyes glimmer blue and keen as a hawk’s, ever alert, ever searching. His skin is fair and sun-warmed.Across his brow and along his arms lie faint scars. His lips are full and expressive. There is a rugged charm to him — the kind of handsomeness born not from vanity, but from sincerity.

⸺  Background

Born of two humble farmers upon the northern fringes of the Kingdom of Solgard, in a quiet stead known as Dunhaven, Tavric Solen knew peace before he ever knew pain. His childhood was a warm one — the laughter of siblings filling the fields, the smell of grain and earth clinging to every memory. He was the middle child of five, ever the steady hand among the Solen brood.Life upon the plains was not without hardship, yet Tavric met it with steady resolve. He worked the soil with the same determination as his eldest brother Dullan, a man who rose from farmer’s son to Crown Knight in service of Solgard’s banner. Dullan was Tavric’s beacon — strong, noble, and unyielding.But fate, ever cruel, came in the silence of a spring night. A raiding band of orcs swept down from the treeline, seizing Tavric’s sisters and leaving chaos in their wake. Against the pleas of his kin, the young Tavric took up his father’s old blade and went after them, Dullan at his side.They found the raiders’ camp — a horde of ten. Two farmboys against such beasts was folly, and Dullan knew it. Yet he smiled before the charge, a smile Tavric would remember until his dying breath. As his brother fell, Tavric and his sisters fled into the dark, the forest echoing with the clash of steel and the shouts of dying men.Four years passed. Tavric’s grief had hardened into resolve. No longer the boy who watched from the fields, he trained his body and spirit to follow in his brother’s path. He swore an oath — to become a Crowned Knight, not for glory, but to honor Dullan’s sacrifice.At nineteen years of age, Tavric stood tall as an oak, strong as the plow horse that carried the Solen name, with eyes keen and watchful as the hawk. It was then that destiny intervened once more. A mercenary came to Dunhaven, answering a plea for aid — Kalrik Fenvarr, a grim figure from the frozen North. Together they drove off the kobold raiders that plagued the Solen farmlands, and in that battle, Tavric saw something in the werewolf’s quiet strength — a reflection of his brother’s spirit.He offered Kalrik his company upon the road, setting forth not merely as a squire or sellsword, but as a man in search of purpose, honor, and the hand of fate. The plainsman and the predator — two souls bound by loss — began their journey into the wider realm of Eltia, their fates entwined by steel and sorrow.Tavric and Kalrik had roamed the northern highlands for a while and the untamed wilds, testing their mettle against beasts, bandits, and the biting cold. It was during one such venture near the coastal ruins of Thorne that fate intervened — there, they encountered Aelithra Vanyarin, an elven princess beset by vengeful spirits that clung to the ancient stones. After aiding in her salvation, the three found their goals intertwined and chose to journey together.Their travels soon led them north toward Hjoldir, an ancient stone site, where they crossed paths with Bramdor Ironvein, a fiery dwarf in pursuit of dragons or relics of old legend — none could tell which was truer. United by common purpose, the four pressed onward through the Halara Plains, where they later met Silia Nushiko, a wandering kitsune mage, and Sszarok Vaelix, a cunning lizardfolk rogue whose wit and tenacity proved invaluable.Together, they ventured far and wide — uncovering forgotten ruins, liberating cursed shrines, and even clashing with the pirates of Fang’s Bay beneath storm-wracked skies. But as the years passed, Tavric’s duty called him elsewhere. The dream of knighthood, once kindled in the ashes of his brother’s sacrifice, could no longer wait. With a heavy heart, he bid his comrades farewell and returned to Solgard to serve the Crown.After years of travel and countless battles beside his companions, Tavric’s path took a decisive turn.At twenty-two, he finally achieved what he had long set his heart upon — induction into the Crown Knightage of Solgard.Now twenty-six, it has been four long years since Tavric last stood beside his old party. The weight of command, the glory of service, and the echo of his friends’ laughter all linger within him — reminders of the man he was, and the knight he has become. And so he sets out to bring them all back together for a great and perilous quest — the very one from prophecy.

⸺  Party Member

Bramdor is often mistaken for nothing more than the hardened, gruff man of the road — the kind who’s seen too many winters and buried too many comrades. Yet beneath that rough exterior lies a sharp and calculating mind, tempered by years spent walking the line between faith and regret. His love for old things — relics, runes, and forgotten texts — is not merely an idle fascination but a quiet reverence. Each discovery feels to him like uncovering a fragment of a greater truth, a whisper of the dragons the Venra Covenant once served and protected.He speaks often of history — of fallen empires, cursed keeps, and the age when dragons still soared above Velkin — but never of his own past. When the conversation turns toward his imprisonment or his bloodline, he grows silent. His blood, once deemed sacred by those who followed the dragon’s path, feels to him more like a mark of shame — the reminder of vows broken and a purpose lost.Despite that, Bramdor remains a man of strong will and uncommon discipline. He has endured betrayal, captivity, and solitude, and each scar — both seen and unseen — has hardened him without hollowing him out.The Venra Covenant is one subject he speaks of only in riddles, if at all. To most of Eltia, it’s a myth — an ancient order that vanished with the dragons themselves — but Bramdor knows the truth runs deeper. He shoulders that knowledge carefully, for even a careless word could rouse sleeping devils.Among his companions, Bramdor plays the reluctant mentor. His manner is curt, his patience thin, but there is a strange warmth beneath his bark. He sees much of his younger self in Ssazarok — a being forged in chains and forced to survive by wit and will. Though he’d never admit it aloud, the lizard’s resilience stirs something almost paternal in him. For the rest of the party, Bramdor is the quiet guardian — the man who watches the fire last, who checks the perimeter twice, who ensures the foolish live to see another dawn.

⸺  Appearance

Bramdor stands at a stout 4’3, broad of shoulder and built like a mountain’s son. His body is corded with dense muscle and battle-worn strength, each scar and burn telling of the forge and the field alike. Years spent in the depths of Molmar’s Forge have left his skin pale and weathered, though it holds the rugged endurance of stone.A mane of fiery red hair falls untamed to his back, and his beard — thick, fierce, and divided into two braids — bears golden locks etched with dwarven runes, mementos of his fallen kin. His eyes, a deep burnished gold, gleam with a tempered wisdom and an unyielding will, the kind only the mountains could forge.Bramdor carries himself not with grace, but with purpose — a dwarf of grit, grief, and enduring fire.

⸺  Background

Bramdor of Molmar, son of the previous King of the Dwarves and his mortal mistress, was born into a world that wanted little to do with him. Bastard blood runs heavy in dwarven halls, and though the forges of the Pillar Mountains roared with might, none burned hotter than the scorn he endured from his kin. Yet, mockery could not quell the spirit within him — stubborn as stone, curious as the flame that shapes it.While his half-brothers coveted the crown and the weight of lineage, Bramdor’s eyes were ever fixed upon the past — upon relics, ruins, and the lost history buried deep beneath the mountain’s heart. At the mere age of four and twenty, still a boy in the reckoning of dwarves, he made a discovery that would forever change his life: an artifact of draconic make, found within the hidden veins of Molmar’s Forge.Ignorant of its power, he carried it home — and thus kindled a fire that would consume all he loved. His mother was slain the very next day, cast into the lava pits by the order of a jealous brother. When Bramdor cried to his father for justice, he was met not with mercy, but accusation. His brothers claimed he had stolen something sacred to the throne — and so, the young dwarf was shackled and cast into the lowest depths of Molmar, a prison from which none returned.For sixty long years, Bramdor languished in that abyss. He learned the voices of the stones, the cruelty of silence, and the weight of despair. Yet he never let go of his mother’s words — “Live, my son, even when the mountain will not have you.”Then, by fate’s design, the mountain itself cracked — a quake split the stone, and from that fissure Bramdor crawled forth into the light of a world he no longer recognized. There, waiting beyond the smoke and rubble, stood a band of hooded strangers. One among them, a figure with eyes bright as the dawn, extended a hand.“Join the Covenant,” the stranger said. “We seek to restore Eltia — and the past you chase may yet guide us.”For forty-one years, Bramdor served that Covenant. He crossed continents, delved into ruins forgotten by gods, and unearthed relics that whispered of dragons long dead. Yet, for all his discoveries, he felt a hollow ache — a yearning not for glory, but for kinship.That yearning was answered upon the ancient stones of Hjoldir, where fate brought him face to face with two unlikely souls — a grim werewolf named Kalrik and a bright-eyed farmer’s son called Tavric Solen. Against all odds, they forged a bond — one that grew stronger when joined by Aelithra, the lost elven princess, Silia, the fox-born magus, and Sszarok, the cunning lizard beastman.For three years, they wandered Eltia together — through the wilds, the plains, and the shores of Fang’s Bay, where they fought pirates and unearthed ruins thought cursed by the gods. For the first time in his long life, Bramdor felt he belonged.But as all tales do, this fellowship came to its parting. When Tavric chose to seek knighthood in Solgard, the others went their separate ways. Bramdor, ever the scholar, returned to his Covenant’s work — unaware that it would lead him once again into chains. Accused of treachery, he was taken to Gullow Prison, that grim fortress by the Deadflow coast, where he would spend four more years in confinement.Until one fateful spring morning — when the ground shook, the alarms wailed, and the clang of familiar steel echoed through the cells. In the chaos of smoke and broken stone, Bramdor beheld them again — his old companions, aged by time but fierce as ever.With a roar that shook the walls, he reclaimed his golden hammer, eyes blazing like molten ore. The dwarf who had once lost everything was dwarfed no longer by his past — for now, with his fellowship restored, he set forth on what would be his most daring and perilous quest yet.The hammer of Molmar rings once more — and with it, Bramdor’s story begins anew.

⸺  Party Member

Aelithra moves with a serene grace, her presence calm yet commanding, as though the very wind bends to her will. Her eyes carry a quiet sorrow, a story of loss and longing she seldom shares, yet they betray a heart both tender and strong. Though centuries have passed, she retains a touch of youthful naivety, tempered by the hard lessons of the past seven years wandering Velkin.She dreams of the great future once foretold for her, yet bears the weight of her parents’ care and the uncertainty of what lies ahead. The burden of destiny rests upon her shoulders, yet she carries it with dignity and purpose, ever mindful of the lives and fates intertwined with her own.Despite her solemnity, Aelithra is capable of warmth and genuine kindness. She smiles when the moment calls, and her empathy touches all who journey beside her. The bonds she forged with her companions have reshaped her, instilling courage, trust, and hope. Tavric, in particular, holds a special place in her heart — a steadfast friend whose strength and heart she admires, and whom she hopes will one day realize the depth of her regard for him.

⸺  Appearance

Aelithra stands at five feet and four inches, her movements marked by a grace that belies her slender frame. Her skin is pale as moonlight, smooth and radiant, yet subtly toned from years of training and travel.Golden locks tumble in gentle waves past her shoulders, often woven into a loose princess braid, framing a face of delicate features and solemn golden eyes that seem to hold both sorrow and wisdom. Her presence is calm and serene, but there is a quiet strength in the way she carries herself, a poised elegance born of both birth and experience.Though she bears no imposing stature, she moves with unmatched stealth and fluidity, her every step deliberate and measured. Many who see her would call her one of the most beautiful elves in all of Eltia — a beauty not merely of appearance, but of composure, skill, and the quiet power that radiates from within.

⸺  Background

Aelithra of Elmar — firstborn daughter of the Moonlit Throne of Elmar, heir to the Rimerian Dominion, and child of an age where stars themselves were said to bless her birth. The elven goddess Vaeluna touched her brow beneath the argent light of dawn, foretelling that the princess would one day bear a destiny not bound to her kin alone, but to the fate of all Eltia.For four centuries she dwelt in peace beneath the silver boughs of Elmar, her days filled with song, study, and the serene perfection only the Dominion could offer. Yet even the safest halls could not shield her from the world’s cruelty. In her four-hundred and tenth year, that peace was shattered when her closest companion, Calmerion, was condemned by the High Council for a crime too grave to speak of — and sentenced to exile upon the mortal continent of Velkin, where elves seldom tread and fewer still survive.Aelithra’s pleas fell upon deaf ears. Her defiance of the Council’s decree became her first act of rebellion — and her first step into the wider, harsher world. With only a name and faint trace of her friend’s passage, she sailed beyond the Sapphire Expanse and landed upon the storm-torn shores east of the Deadflow.She wandered ruins and haunted barrows, seeking hope among whispers and shadows… until fate intervened in the form of three wanderers: a grim werewolf, a fiery dwarf, and a bright-eyed human youth.Together they forged bonds through peril and purpose, later joined by a spirited kitsune mage and a wandering lizard warrior. For three years, Aelithra walked beside them, learning the world’s griefs and glories alike. But when Tavric chose to leave to pursue the Crown Knightage, the fellowship began to unravel.One by one, the others also departed, leaving Aelithra to continue her quest alone, her heart still tethered to the friend she had sought for so long.It was not until her four-hundred and seventeenth year that she found him again — not in life, but in death. Calmerion, enslaved and broken by a vampiric caravan, breathed his last within her arms, his final words a release: “You’re free to live your life now, Mellon nîn.”When the wind carried his spirit away, so too did it bring new purpose. In the years that followed, destiny’s threads wove once more — leading Aelithra back to Tavric and Kalrik. With grief tempered into resolve, the Moonlit Princess of Elmar now walks a path not of duty, but of choice — toward a final journey that may yet decide the fate of gods and mortals alike.

⸺  Party Member

Silia is clever, cunning, and fiercely independent, yet beneath her foxlike wiles lies a deep compassion for those she trusts, though she often keeps it hidden behind a playful or teasing demeanor.She is fiercely loyal to her companions, valuing trust and camaraderie above all else, quick-witted and adaptable. She can read situations and people with uncanny precision, making her an invaluable ally both in battle and in negotiation. And though she rarely admits it, the losses of her past weigh heavily.She is patient and thoughtful when problem-solving, and while she enjoys teasing or charming others, she does not tolerate betrayal, cruelty, or dishonesty. Silia's humor is gentle though but also sly, capable of easing tension in dire situations, and she thrives on adventure and exploration, finding joy in discovery, arcane mysteries, and unraveling the unknown.

⸺  Appearance

Silia stands at a striking height of five foot nine, her figure lithe yet strong, moving with the grace of a predator and the poise of a scholar. Her piercing violet eyes hold both mischief and intelligence. Six snowy white tails fan behind her, a testament to her mastery of the foxform and the ancient magics she wields.Her long, black hair, streaked with faint violet, flows like a shadowed river down her back, framing a face both cunning and captivating. Her tanned skin glows softly beneath the sun, giving her an almost ethereal allure, while her clawed fingers hint at the wildness that lies beneath her sophisticated exterior.Though her beauty is undeniable, it is a bewitching, dangerous sort — one that speaks of arcane power, deadly skill, and secrets not easily revealed. Every movement and glance carries the weight of both enchantment and cunning, marking her as a presence not soon forgotten, and a mage whose prowess rivals even the most storied archmages of Eltia.

⸺  Background

Silia of Tsuyori — born a fox among the windswept isles of the archipelago — discovered her gift of transformation early, a cunning and clever mind shaping her path as much as her shapeshifting talent.In her twenty-second year, fate delivered her to Solhara, Archmage of Solgard, a mentor whose brilliance and ambition would forever alter the course of her life. For seven decades, Silia studied beneath the mage’s tutelage, absorbing secrets of magic and prophecy, unaware that the comfort of her master’s guidance would one day erupt into catastrophe.In her ninety-second year, Solhara’s betrayal burned across southern Velkin, leaving ash and ruin in her wake, and claiming her own life in the flames.Silia was left amidst the devastation, burdened with guilt and questions that would haunt her for centuries.For the next four hundred and twenty-eight years, she wandered the lands seeking redemption, chasing fragments of ancient knowledge and the rebirth of the golden dragon Varethar, convinced she might right the wrongs of her mentor.Yet her journey was interrupted by the cruel hand of pirates — the Dread’or — who enslaved her at sea and stripped her of her most precious belongings, the Book of Isirys and the prophetic scroll.It was at Fang’s Bay, after her release, that she crossed paths with Ssazarok, a runaway lizard beastman, whose courage and quick thinking helped her reclaim her possessions and escape the pirates’ grasp.Together, they wandered the lands until fate led them to a group of unlikely companions — the elven princess Aelithra, the human Tavric, the gruff dwarf Bramdor, and the brooding werewolf Kalrik.For three years they journeyed together, exploring ruins, reclaiming relics, aiding the innocent, and weaving bonds of trust and camaraderie.But when Tavric departed and the fellowship dissolved, Silia returned to her studies in the Kingdom of Phia, joining The Circle, yet the absence of her friends left a void in her heart.And on a spring night, standing upon the cliffs of her homeland, she beheld a familiar ship upon the horizon — her long-missed companions had returned, calling her to join them once more for a final, extraordinary quest that would intertwine with the legacy of her master’s fall.

⸺  Party Member

Sszarok is a creature carved by hardship and sharpened by survival — a paradox of chaos and restraint. Beneath his toothy grin and flippant manner lies a storm of instincts long suppressed, the remnants of a childhood steeped in scorn and a youth forged in servitude.He wears humor like armor, often jesting even in the face of danger, but those who know him well can see the tension behind his smirk.He is brash, unpredictable, and entirely too comfortable with risk. Where others see peril, Sszarok sees opportunity — and where they see rules, he sees limits waiting to be broken. He does not harm the weak without cause, nor betray those who stand beside him — not out of nobility, but out of an instinctive respect for those who have shared in his struggle.
His time with the party softened him in ways he would never admit. Around them, the biting sarcasm dulled, the violence tempered. Aelithra’s quiet grace taught him patience; Tavric’s earnest courage reminded him of loyalty; and Silia’s fiery wit… well, that taught him a different kind of chaos — one that burned warmer than he expected. Though he often hides it beneath bravado, Sszarok cares deeply for his companions, willing to kill or die for them without hesitation.To most, Sszarok is a rogue’s rogue: cunning, sly, irreverent, and maddeningly confident. But to those few who have earned his trust, he is something far rarer — a fiercely loyal soul seeking redemption in a world that never offered him mercy.

⸺  Appearance

Standing at a towering seven feet and one inch, Sszarok is an imposing figure. His body is built for both agility and power, his movements smooth and predatory despite his size. His scales are a deep dark red, like molten rock cooled under shadow, with faint black undertones that shimmer when light touches them.A jagged black mohawk runs from the crown of his head down the ridge of his neck. His crimson eyes burn like coals beneath a storm. His snout is angular and strong.His most striking feature, however, is his massive lizard’s tail — thick, muscular, and long. His hands and feet end in curved black claws, worn smooth from years of battle and escape. Across his chest and arms, old scars crisscross his hide like forgotten runes of survival.Despite his monstrous form, there’s a fierce charisma about Sszarok — he looks every bit the hunter he is, but behind the crimson eyes lies something far older — the ghost of a boy who once wanted to be good.

⸺  Background

Sszarok of Kuram was born into chains long before they were ever fastened to his wrists. His parents, poor and frightened, left him upon the steps of a weathered shrine deep within the sands, where an aged village elder took him in out of pity and hope. Among the beastfolk, blood and lineage were sacred — and Sszarok had neither. From his earliest days, he was mocked as a stray, a hatchling of no true tribe, a mistake that should never have drawn breath.Yet, the elder believed there was kindness within him, and so raised the boy to be patient and good-hearted. But patience has its limit — and when he was twelve years of age, the cruelty of others snapped whatever thread of restraint he’d clung to. The same boys who tormented him for years met him on the open path one day, and when their laughter rose again, something inside him broke. When it was done, only one had escaped — the rest lay broken in the dust, and the boy who once wept in silence now grinned with blood on his claws.Kuram’s soldiers came before nightfall. The elder watched, trembling, as they dragged the boy away toward the burning horizon. Sszarok never saw them again. From that day forward, his life belonged to the desert — first as a gladiator fighting for coin and spectacle, then as a caged beast for noble amusement. It was only when a figure known in whispers as the King of Assassins took notice of him that his fate shifted. This man, a lich named Mori, saw in the young lizard something malleable, sharp, and hungry — and so he honed him into a killer worthy of legend.By seventeen, Sszarok’s hands had been baptized in enough blood to darken a kingdom. But during his final trial, fate took another turn — captured by the infamous Dread’or pirates upon the Sapphire Expanse, he found himself once again in chains. There, amid the stench of salt and despair, he met Silia, a fiery kitsune mage whose defiance burned brighter than his cynicism. Their escape from the pirates’ hold marked the first time he’d chosen freedom for himself — and it led him straight into the paths of an unlikely fellowship: a farmer with courage, a cold werewolf warrior, a quiet elf princess, and a gruff dwarf of deep wisdom.For three years, they carved their legend across Velkin. Sszarok learned what it meant to fight beside comrades — not for gold, not for power, but for something that stirred faintly like purpose. But when the party scattered, that warmth left him hollow once again. He turned to the shadows, to theft and cunning, becoming the ghost in every treasury, the whisper in every bounty hall. His name was cursed in a dozen tongues — and yet, even in his infamy, he could not find peace.And then, fate circled back. Amid the ashes of his chaos and the ruins of his past, he met them again — his old companions, standing before him with a new quest and a promise of something greater than vengeance: meaning. Without hesitation, the young lizardman grinned, adjusted his blade, and joined them once more — for fire, glory, or ruin.