eruditus
07-21-2003, 12:35 PM
Illusion of Peace
PAGE Burning Wheel
Third week
(same campaign run in Center City Philadelphia on Sunday nights and Tuesdays at Glenside, PA)
slated for a two year commitment (24 episodes once a month)
Themes: Gritty, original fantasy world where you play local investigators and their battle against profiteers, paupers, pulpiteers, and politicians
Characters: pregenerated characters provided with the ability to generate your own replacements in case of death, disease, dismemberment or conversion
Welcome to Hessed, the City of Flowers. The most magnificent metropoli of the Sherim peninsula in substance, service and culture. The people are friendly, the streets clean, and the senators omnipresent. Here, in the Seat of Peace, all you desire is to be had - albeit, at a price. People travel from far and wide to lay upon the steps of the cathedral of Deid'Haruph, great prophet of the Gods. But this peace and reknown comes with its own price. The Hand of Ebon and Jade lies unseen amidst the populace. The powers that be care not their methods but that the city remains unsullied by the passing of a bad element. The hand does not operate by presence rather through the threat of presence. Anyone may be of the Hand. And many whisper that it is they that keep the city running as it does.
But what do you care about the reputation of this city you call your home. You've lived on the streets your whole life. You've begged, borrowed and stolen from those draped in raiments of silk and gold. You've made contacts and you have carved out a little niche for yourself. Then you get The Writ. The simple cloth scroll sealed in the sigil of the Hand of Ebon and Jade sends a shudder down your spine. It is a directive a warning. You will be visited by the Ur'Larrasad the mysterious leader of the Hand. The man who wears no mask yet no one has seen his face. You have heard the legends of The Writ. Join or die is his offer. You could run. But you know it would do no good.
Welcome to Hessed, the City of Flowers.
The Skein of man
Sherites
These are the native peoples of Sherim, the island that isn't an island.
Sherite adults range from 5' to 6' in height. Their builds are slight on average and their skin tone ranges from a deep tanned complexion to a pale chocolate color. They have fine, straight black hair that is often styled and colored with paints and dyes in as exstravagant a style as the person can afford. They range in eye colors across the spectrum.
Sherite nobles dress in robes and togas and sandals. Sherite commoners wear pantaloons, soft-soled boots, shoes and sandals and a loose blouse or tunic. The rich merchantile class can be found adorned in asgord, a denomination of coin minted as jewelry, draped as shawls or even entire cloaks in the extreme. No place is this used as often as in Hessed, the City of Flowers.
Sherites cherish their government of city-states governed by senatorial bodies seeped in debate and rhetoric. Corruption and reciprocity are a Sherite way of life, especially in Hessed where vice reigns supreme and senators delegate to officiates. this sense of give and take is ever-present in Sherite society. Each gift and generosity is expected to be returned. It is a Sherite tradition of hospitality that says a stranger you bring into your home is to repay you with stories of their travels.
Sherites value the land they have and even the cities an farms retain a flavor of nature worship from the animist, nomadic society they derived from. As such they tend to build down and wide before they build up. There are times when up is needed such as for watch towers but many cities are carpetted in grass and shallow-rooted trees. Hessed is no different, with gardens spotting the space between marble-laid walkways. Such gardens are a means for a system of competition between nobles awing each other through landscaping and brilliant floral displays.
Hircali
Over 150 years ago the Hircali landed, bringing ships, horses and slavery to the island that is not an island.
The Hircali are larger than thier native brethren (by the way, 'native' is a derogatory term used often by the Hircali and dispised by the Sherites), standing between 5'4" to 6'6" tall. They are generally large boned but are not prone to large fluctuations in body fat. Their complexion is always very dark and many Hircali shave their pate. Some zealots and pilgrims attempt a top-knot or elaborate hair sculpts. Their eye color is often subdued and run browns, greens, and sometimes to dark blues.
Hircali clothing is practical. They enjoy fine leathers and tough, tight-woven silks. On land they like heavy leather boots and gloves. On the sea, however, most wear as little as they can. Extravagance comes through fine embroidery in silk or ever punched in leather. Hadware is more popular among the Hircali who favor scarves and small turbans (made popular through certain religious orders). To Hircali color has a great deal of significance. Red is sacred. Blue is the color of honesty and integrity. Orange is the color of diplomats and dignataries. Green is the color of lies and secrets. It is a grave social disability to be color-blind and carries with it relatively severe social stigmas.
Hircali society is very structured. They hail from a well developed desert civilization. Their government is fuedal and war is common as resources are scarce. The first Hircali to land were dissidents and refugees from an unforgiving caste system but over time others have taken the long and arduous journey. Now one in one thousand denizens of Sherim are Hircali. At first the Sherites welcomed the diversity and varied opinions of the Hircali with open arms. This is a decision many Sherites are coming to regret. Slowly the strong, direct social order of the Hircali finds its way into Sherite culture. In the 150 years the Hircali have been here the land has seen more war than in Sherim's thousand years of recorded history.
Beliefs
The Sherites have a strong foundation in the worship of the Three Faces. Imagined as one god with three faces yet looked upon as three different beings by most. The gods live in the peaks of the northern mountains that cut Sherim off from any other land beyond. Man does not speak with the gods. There are in intermediate beings called the Shadows of the Gods, or merely shadows. Shadows have long to be thought to be impressions of a being, a feint essence. To the shadows of mortal men this means very little. To beings of greater power and perfection these shadows form an existance beyond the gods, as harbingers to one aspect of their being. Hesed is the cradle worship to Ghesakadrin, Shadow of Horizons and his prophet, Deid'Haruph. Most do not know the exploits of the man touched by the gods but a great cathedral was erected in his name. He spoke with the very words of the shadow and men wept at his merest whisper. It is rumored that he could see into the future and see men's fortune and pain. Mostly pain. Deid' Haruph mad emany proclimations. He spoke volumes, all written and sealed away in the spires of the cathedral. However, three words are spoken in the City of Flower more than ten times the library of his passing "Live for Now."
It is not uncommon to have small shrines about the house to venerate one's ancestors. The bigger the home the more elaborate the veneration. Most Sherites throw a small bit of food they eat into a nearby fire or in water for the ancestors. Many ailments and problems are blamed on the dead both directly and as punishment for their past misdeeds.
Many Hircali, in the beginning, came to Sherim on pilgramage, living as the Sherites did at the feet of the gods. However, those that did were the exception, as much fleeing to Sherim from religious persecution as for holy reasons. The state religion og the Hircali is that of personal perfection. The Hircali who follow the Inner Temple Path believe that all the suffering in this world is a reflection of the various afterlives. It is only through self perfection of "the vessel" that these Hircali believe they can live far beyond the years of mortal man. Its only obstacle is corruption and vice. Some Hircali go to great lengths to remove those that would corrupt their soul and tempt them away from their path. However, in the land at the feet of the gods, the Inner Temple travels much softer than did the witch hunters and demonslayers of old in their own lands.
The characters:
(although written with a particular gender in mind these can be changed to suit the player)
Dabei, Hircali ex-slave Sailor born into the life of a scoundrel and pressed into service as a prisoner of war. Four years ago his master died during a merchant voyage to Sherim Other than being imprisoned Dabei has never really known the cruelties of slavery for he was no more a slave on the ship than any other sailor aboard the Golden Scales free or slave. Now he must carve out a life for himself in this land. And he was doing so, acting as a lison between his contacts among the harbormasters and various smuggling rings. Liason is a nice word for blackmailing the smugglers that he would turn them over to the hand if he didn't get a cut. It wasn't long before The Writ found its way into a payment sachel.
Jezerah, Sherite Dancer The streets of Hesed are run by the wit and craft. Find a niche. Be at the right place at the right time. Know the right people. Whichever coloqium you use for success on the street Jezerah used it. She used her wiles and small talent to work her way to a comfortable life. She found that through it all she was given gifts and most amazingly people so underestimated her that they told her things secrets. It was not long before she developed a business of blackmail, spying and message delivery throughout the underworld. The game she played was dangerous and the dancer believes that it is only a matter of time when she would have to disappear and start over. The she found the writ in her changing room. Life just got a little more dangerous.
Ears, Sherite Ratcatcher cripple Your life has been difficult at best. You try not to think about what others have and you don't. You try not to be angered when others complain, knowing that it could always be worse. They could be you. But you do your job and you do it well. You hate rats. Business is steady. You know a lot of people and people know you. You can fit into places the rats live. You can think like the rat. Smell like the rat. It wasn't long before you found that you heard things. Things that meant nothing to you. But they meant something to others. Others who were nice to you and gave you an extra scrap of bread. So you told those people what you heard. Things couldn't be better. You are loved and you get to kill rats. You hate rats.
Loab, Sherite Ex-gang enforcer Loab is nothing if not feared. His glance sends chills up the spines of those with whom he does "the dance." His boss, an illegal tabacco trafficker, respected Loab. Loab respected his boss. He was a strong man withy a sense of honor and a canny way of doing business. Loab was treated well and in return Loab saw to his bosses business. It wasn't about the money. It was about the respect and the dignity. Loab found his boss, one day, lying on his face in his own filth and blood. On his back lie The Writ. Loab has a new boss.
Ak'hered, Sherite Drug Den Propritor People are nothing if not predictable. Why Ak'hered sought medicine he will never know. Because he could. Because the written word made him special. Because people looked up to healers like he knew his father never would. A patient asked him for some medicine, something to ease the pain of everyday life. He would be paid handsomely. So he did. Mixing a little of this and a little of that. But then the wosrt happened. Someone died from his concoctions. Ak'hered, broken, and scared, withdrew at first but then his fear became resolve. Now he runs a small lounge. Each customer gets a candle and a booth with a couch where they can dream the most wonderful dreams. Different candles for different people. One customer paid him in a peculiar fashin, stumbled out with a smile and handed him The Writ. He held onto it for days and pondered who the invitation was for. He fret more than he had in years. So he went. It was for him.
Hadrian, Sherite Drunk Sellsword You were born with a silver spoon in your mouth, so to speak. You wandered through your life in a haze a society induced oblivion brought on by privledge. You unconsciously tried to rid yourself of the fog that was your life by entering into the military. You were handed positions of power and lorded over your lessers on horsepack weilding a silver sabre. You sought respect and prestige. Then you sought glory. There you awoke. Your hands wrapped about a stout haft of wood. You looked up amid a spray of rain and blood to see the great black banner. You opened your eyes to the suffering. Your smile became a bellow. Your captain fell and you led your men to the lines. No more would you wander through the battlefield. Now you would lead warriors to real victory. Only in metting out death could you feel. However the years of glory and conquest began to weigh heavily on your soul. No better military carreer could a soldier wish for yet the suffering made you again numb. Only now you have nightmares. So you handed the reigns of command over to your most trusted Leutenant, Lormo, and set out to find that oblivion again. Unable to face the courts of the opulent, sickened by the taste of blood left in your mouth, you settled in the northern city of Hessed to drown yourself in the bottle. In one of your bottles you found this strange letter "oh shit!"
PAGE Burning Wheel
Third week
(same campaign run in Center City Philadelphia on Sunday nights and Tuesdays at Glenside, PA)
slated for a two year commitment (24 episodes once a month)
Themes: Gritty, original fantasy world where you play local investigators and their battle against profiteers, paupers, pulpiteers, and politicians
Characters: pregenerated characters provided with the ability to generate your own replacements in case of death, disease, dismemberment or conversion
Welcome to Hessed, the City of Flowers. The most magnificent metropoli of the Sherim peninsula in substance, service and culture. The people are friendly, the streets clean, and the senators omnipresent. Here, in the Seat of Peace, all you desire is to be had - albeit, at a price. People travel from far and wide to lay upon the steps of the cathedral of Deid'Haruph, great prophet of the Gods. But this peace and reknown comes with its own price. The Hand of Ebon and Jade lies unseen amidst the populace. The powers that be care not their methods but that the city remains unsullied by the passing of a bad element. The hand does not operate by presence rather through the threat of presence. Anyone may be of the Hand. And many whisper that it is they that keep the city running as it does.
But what do you care about the reputation of this city you call your home. You've lived on the streets your whole life. You've begged, borrowed and stolen from those draped in raiments of silk and gold. You've made contacts and you have carved out a little niche for yourself. Then you get The Writ. The simple cloth scroll sealed in the sigil of the Hand of Ebon and Jade sends a shudder down your spine. It is a directive a warning. You will be visited by the Ur'Larrasad the mysterious leader of the Hand. The man who wears no mask yet no one has seen his face. You have heard the legends of The Writ. Join or die is his offer. You could run. But you know it would do no good.
Welcome to Hessed, the City of Flowers.
The Skein of man
Sherites
These are the native peoples of Sherim, the island that isn't an island.
Sherite adults range from 5' to 6' in height. Their builds are slight on average and their skin tone ranges from a deep tanned complexion to a pale chocolate color. They have fine, straight black hair that is often styled and colored with paints and dyes in as exstravagant a style as the person can afford. They range in eye colors across the spectrum.
Sherite nobles dress in robes and togas and sandals. Sherite commoners wear pantaloons, soft-soled boots, shoes and sandals and a loose blouse or tunic. The rich merchantile class can be found adorned in asgord, a denomination of coin minted as jewelry, draped as shawls or even entire cloaks in the extreme. No place is this used as often as in Hessed, the City of Flowers.
Sherites cherish their government of city-states governed by senatorial bodies seeped in debate and rhetoric. Corruption and reciprocity are a Sherite way of life, especially in Hessed where vice reigns supreme and senators delegate to officiates. this sense of give and take is ever-present in Sherite society. Each gift and generosity is expected to be returned. It is a Sherite tradition of hospitality that says a stranger you bring into your home is to repay you with stories of their travels.
Sherites value the land they have and even the cities an farms retain a flavor of nature worship from the animist, nomadic society they derived from. As such they tend to build down and wide before they build up. There are times when up is needed such as for watch towers but many cities are carpetted in grass and shallow-rooted trees. Hessed is no different, with gardens spotting the space between marble-laid walkways. Such gardens are a means for a system of competition between nobles awing each other through landscaping and brilliant floral displays.
Hircali
Over 150 years ago the Hircali landed, bringing ships, horses and slavery to the island that is not an island.
The Hircali are larger than thier native brethren (by the way, 'native' is a derogatory term used often by the Hircali and dispised by the Sherites), standing between 5'4" to 6'6" tall. They are generally large boned but are not prone to large fluctuations in body fat. Their complexion is always very dark and many Hircali shave their pate. Some zealots and pilgrims attempt a top-knot or elaborate hair sculpts. Their eye color is often subdued and run browns, greens, and sometimes to dark blues.
Hircali clothing is practical. They enjoy fine leathers and tough, tight-woven silks. On land they like heavy leather boots and gloves. On the sea, however, most wear as little as they can. Extravagance comes through fine embroidery in silk or ever punched in leather. Hadware is more popular among the Hircali who favor scarves and small turbans (made popular through certain religious orders). To Hircali color has a great deal of significance. Red is sacred. Blue is the color of honesty and integrity. Orange is the color of diplomats and dignataries. Green is the color of lies and secrets. It is a grave social disability to be color-blind and carries with it relatively severe social stigmas.
Hircali society is very structured. They hail from a well developed desert civilization. Their government is fuedal and war is common as resources are scarce. The first Hircali to land were dissidents and refugees from an unforgiving caste system but over time others have taken the long and arduous journey. Now one in one thousand denizens of Sherim are Hircali. At first the Sherites welcomed the diversity and varied opinions of the Hircali with open arms. This is a decision many Sherites are coming to regret. Slowly the strong, direct social order of the Hircali finds its way into Sherite culture. In the 150 years the Hircali have been here the land has seen more war than in Sherim's thousand years of recorded history.
Beliefs
The Sherites have a strong foundation in the worship of the Three Faces. Imagined as one god with three faces yet looked upon as three different beings by most. The gods live in the peaks of the northern mountains that cut Sherim off from any other land beyond. Man does not speak with the gods. There are in intermediate beings called the Shadows of the Gods, or merely shadows. Shadows have long to be thought to be impressions of a being, a feint essence. To the shadows of mortal men this means very little. To beings of greater power and perfection these shadows form an existance beyond the gods, as harbingers to one aspect of their being. Hesed is the cradle worship to Ghesakadrin, Shadow of Horizons and his prophet, Deid'Haruph. Most do not know the exploits of the man touched by the gods but a great cathedral was erected in his name. He spoke with the very words of the shadow and men wept at his merest whisper. It is rumored that he could see into the future and see men's fortune and pain. Mostly pain. Deid' Haruph mad emany proclimations. He spoke volumes, all written and sealed away in the spires of the cathedral. However, three words are spoken in the City of Flower more than ten times the library of his passing "Live for Now."
It is not uncommon to have small shrines about the house to venerate one's ancestors. The bigger the home the more elaborate the veneration. Most Sherites throw a small bit of food they eat into a nearby fire or in water for the ancestors. Many ailments and problems are blamed on the dead both directly and as punishment for their past misdeeds.
Many Hircali, in the beginning, came to Sherim on pilgramage, living as the Sherites did at the feet of the gods. However, those that did were the exception, as much fleeing to Sherim from religious persecution as for holy reasons. The state religion og the Hircali is that of personal perfection. The Hircali who follow the Inner Temple Path believe that all the suffering in this world is a reflection of the various afterlives. It is only through self perfection of "the vessel" that these Hircali believe they can live far beyond the years of mortal man. Its only obstacle is corruption and vice. Some Hircali go to great lengths to remove those that would corrupt their soul and tempt them away from their path. However, in the land at the feet of the gods, the Inner Temple travels much softer than did the witch hunters and demonslayers of old in their own lands.
The characters:
(although written with a particular gender in mind these can be changed to suit the player)
Dabei, Hircali ex-slave Sailor born into the life of a scoundrel and pressed into service as a prisoner of war. Four years ago his master died during a merchant voyage to Sherim Other than being imprisoned Dabei has never really known the cruelties of slavery for he was no more a slave on the ship than any other sailor aboard the Golden Scales free or slave. Now he must carve out a life for himself in this land. And he was doing so, acting as a lison between his contacts among the harbormasters and various smuggling rings. Liason is a nice word for blackmailing the smugglers that he would turn them over to the hand if he didn't get a cut. It wasn't long before The Writ found its way into a payment sachel.
Jezerah, Sherite Dancer The streets of Hesed are run by the wit and craft. Find a niche. Be at the right place at the right time. Know the right people. Whichever coloqium you use for success on the street Jezerah used it. She used her wiles and small talent to work her way to a comfortable life. She found that through it all she was given gifts and most amazingly people so underestimated her that they told her things secrets. It was not long before she developed a business of blackmail, spying and message delivery throughout the underworld. The game she played was dangerous and the dancer believes that it is only a matter of time when she would have to disappear and start over. The she found the writ in her changing room. Life just got a little more dangerous.
Ears, Sherite Ratcatcher cripple Your life has been difficult at best. You try not to think about what others have and you don't. You try not to be angered when others complain, knowing that it could always be worse. They could be you. But you do your job and you do it well. You hate rats. Business is steady. You know a lot of people and people know you. You can fit into places the rats live. You can think like the rat. Smell like the rat. It wasn't long before you found that you heard things. Things that meant nothing to you. But they meant something to others. Others who were nice to you and gave you an extra scrap of bread. So you told those people what you heard. Things couldn't be better. You are loved and you get to kill rats. You hate rats.
Loab, Sherite Ex-gang enforcer Loab is nothing if not feared. His glance sends chills up the spines of those with whom he does "the dance." His boss, an illegal tabacco trafficker, respected Loab. Loab respected his boss. He was a strong man withy a sense of honor and a canny way of doing business. Loab was treated well and in return Loab saw to his bosses business. It wasn't about the money. It was about the respect and the dignity. Loab found his boss, one day, lying on his face in his own filth and blood. On his back lie The Writ. Loab has a new boss.
Ak'hered, Sherite Drug Den Propritor People are nothing if not predictable. Why Ak'hered sought medicine he will never know. Because he could. Because the written word made him special. Because people looked up to healers like he knew his father never would. A patient asked him for some medicine, something to ease the pain of everyday life. He would be paid handsomely. So he did. Mixing a little of this and a little of that. But then the wosrt happened. Someone died from his concoctions. Ak'hered, broken, and scared, withdrew at first but then his fear became resolve. Now he runs a small lounge. Each customer gets a candle and a booth with a couch where they can dream the most wonderful dreams. Different candles for different people. One customer paid him in a peculiar fashin, stumbled out with a smile and handed him The Writ. He held onto it for days and pondered who the invitation was for. He fret more than he had in years. So he went. It was for him.
Hadrian, Sherite Drunk Sellsword You were born with a silver spoon in your mouth, so to speak. You wandered through your life in a haze a society induced oblivion brought on by privledge. You unconsciously tried to rid yourself of the fog that was your life by entering into the military. You were handed positions of power and lorded over your lessers on horsepack weilding a silver sabre. You sought respect and prestige. Then you sought glory. There you awoke. Your hands wrapped about a stout haft of wood. You looked up amid a spray of rain and blood to see the great black banner. You opened your eyes to the suffering. Your smile became a bellow. Your captain fell and you led your men to the lines. No more would you wander through the battlefield. Now you would lead warriors to real victory. Only in metting out death could you feel. However the years of glory and conquest began to weigh heavily on your soul. No better military carreer could a soldier wish for yet the suffering made you again numb. Only now you have nightmares. So you handed the reigns of command over to your most trusted Leutenant, Lormo, and set out to find that oblivion again. Unable to face the courts of the opulent, sickened by the taste of blood left in your mouth, you settled in the northern city of Hessed to drown yourself in the bottle. In one of your bottles you found this strange letter "oh shit!"