"Why’s she want the rings? Heh, ye ain’t the first ta ask. Well, why’s the wind blow? Why’s the shark bite? Trust me, lad, you don’ want ta question her nature, jus’ as ye wouldn’ question mother nature. I say she’s lookin fer somethin’ - gods save me when she finds it."
- Ben "The Biter" Yardrin, sailor
Just another Salvorathan captain, one of the surprisingly few, but entrenpenurial folks.
If you see a dirigible flying in the air, yell out "Issrie, Harel, Moore, Jesai, Anmae! as it might be the Sky Willow.
Every winter, a humble tinker man wanders through the villages, giving toys to the children…
Ã¢??IÃ¢??m not telling that story againÃ¢?Â the bard protested, leaning on the hearth of the inn with his arms crossed in defiance Ã¢??everyone has heard it over and overÃ¢?Â¦why not something else?Ã¢?Â
Vagrants, vagabonds, gaberlunzies, gypsies, thieves, beggars and more, presenting a list of 30 of the downtrodden and desperate.
Stalwart men and true, they can be found wherever true heroes gather. What they’re doing there is a mystery to all…
You step in from the fog swirled street. It is not as dark as you expected, but it is just as loud and smelly. There is about 30 people in this dockside bar.
The Crew of the “New Hope”, a fine, and not so fine, bunch of seafaring men.
"I have seen the beast, tentacled and cruel. Tore out me eye, it did, like pickin’ a plum. It’s cursed, I tell ye, cursed to its cold heart."
-Jerboam the Sailor
Misunderstood and much maligned, the Hek is a traveller who dreads violence. If it only understood the violence it caused.
Ibn Al-Fadyn is no ordinary weaver of tales, but instead tells tales of infromation and observation.
He shuffles along in his ragged clothing, mumbling “Leave me alone”.
Faster than the wind, this Red Cap Messenger flies (okay, okay, runs - but you get the idea).
Crunk is a typical sailor aboard the privateer Blue Raider. The ship sails from Formour, but like most of its crew, Crunk is from Osterre. As a Half-Orck, Crunk always has something to prove, and a chip on his shoulder large enough to throw his posture off.
A small fish in an even smaller pond, Marcus Dominitan is the harbourmaster of the port of Al’Alaric. A petty man with a big ego and greed to match, he is not above taking bribes to allow unlawful cargo, or to hire thugs to assault those he dislikes.
A product of chaos storms and waaaaaaaaaaaay to much caffine, Beet has boundless energy and the single mindedness of a stick.
Two unlikely people. An unlikely pair. An unlikely love.
A sculpture does not create beauty and art. He merely releases that which is hidden in the stone.
The BRS Gwynith is an air ship of the Byrlothian Resistance. She is sentient, needing no crew to fly or man her, though she generally has a crew aboard for doing repairs and to go where she cannot.
The Sea is My Home, and Like All Homes I Will Defend it to My Dying Breath -Benedicte De La Courcel
What a narrow street! The bowed windows of the upper floors encroach on the view of the bowed windows opposite, making it all very dark and shady down here in your carriage. You feel it slow down and stop, and there are raised voices outside. Craning your neck out of the door you see a smug cartsman ahead, whose cart is blocking just enough of the narrow street to make your passage impossible. He appears to be waiting for you to move, but your driver is hurling abuse at him and your horses are getting restless...