The Light Will Guide Us


Priest: ”Before we end the night, Miss Fallon Tailor would like to say a few things, so Miss Tailor, please come up to the altar.”

The church filled with the sounds of many whispers, the pews full of curious patrons. A woman in modest robes walks up the aisle to the altar and turns to face the crowd, a headband wrapped around her forehead.

Fallon: ”Hello, thank you all for staying a moment longer to listen. I have been a devout follower of Solis for, all my life.

The past few months, I have, come to understand some things, that I would like to share with you.”

There is a brief pause as she takes a breath, preparing herself.

When she speaks again, her mouth moves as if talking, and the patrons of the church can hear a voice, yet they cannot understand the words.

The first one screams.

Dozen by dozen, the patrons suddenly break into a frenzy of clawing their skin and beating their own heads, covering their ears and howling in agony while a haunting voice flows through their very flesh.

Only when Fallon Tailor falls over, a metal bolt sprouting from her bloodied chest, does the voice stop.

A Huntsman standing beside the church entrance lowers his crossbow and clutches a necklace, the emblem of Solis, a shield of the faithful.


The Kingdom of Lark, residing in the content of Ariisland. They worship the god Solis, who provides for them divine law and protection. For five centuries, the kingdom has seen peace and prosperity under the holy light of Solis.

In the early years of the Sixth, the dark witch Mariisa appeared, and laid the curse of the Demon Eye upon the land.



Character Creation


Character Sheet Example

Name: Langley Verwelume
Appearance: A slight brown haired woman still in the prime of her 20's.
Backstory: A small girl from the city who loved watching fencing practitioners and the entirety of the sport, and as soon as she was old enough to hold a foil began learning the art herself. She's become very proficient at it, from practicing every single day she's able.
Skill: Fencing. She wields a rapier or saber like an extension of her arm.
Haunt: Experience
Strength: 2
Divinity: 2
Charisma: 3
Perceptiveness: 3
Dexterity: 3
Agility: 4
Will: 2
Constitution: 2

Name: Sei
Appearance: A tall, muscled blonde woman of indeterminate age, missing her left arm.
Backstory: An orphan of war, Sei spent equal parts of her life as a brigand, mercenary and physical labourer. After a succesful job aiding the witch hunts, she sought to retire and lick her wounds. Now, the last of her funds are almost gone, and she must find purpose once again.
Skill: Blocking: Either with a shield or deflecting blows with flesh and indefatigable spirit, Sei is a bulwark against damage.
Haunt: Being.

Strength: 3
Divinity: 2
Charisma: 2
Perceptiveness: 2
Dexterity: 2
Agility: 3
Will: 3
Constitution: 4

Name: Gabriel
Appearance: Male. Blonde curly/wavy hair. Brown eyes. Fair skin. Tall and skinny. Late teens.
Backstory: An orphan assistant to a Priest. Wishes to help those in need.
Skill: Exorcism
Haunt: Action
Strength: 2
Divinity: 4
Charisma: 3
Perceptiveness: 3
Dexterity: 2
Agility: 2
Will: 3
Constitution: 2

Name: Kanas Cole
Appearance: Short, young man with little flesh on his bones. Brown eyes, pale skin, short scruffy brown hair.
Backstory: Formerly a street rat, now brings the skills he learnt as one to the Witch Hunters.
Skill: Throwing knife usage
Haunt: Experience
Strength: 2
Divinity: 2
Charisma: 2
Perceptiveness: 3
Dexterity: 4
Agility: 3
Will: 3
Constitution: 2

Name: Maxim Kapitanovich
Appearance: Broad-shouldered, barrel-chested, a towering man. Wears titanic hob-nailed boots crusted with salt. Red-faced and burned by the sun, with the lines of many smiles worn into his features. Somewhere in his early thirties.
Backstory: A champion swimmer and all-around sport in his youth. When Maxim came of age, he immediately took up the small sailing ship once tended by his vanished father Pyotr. Maxim proved a capable sailor as well, and soon grew familiar with the fjords and near islands of his homeland as he brought home cargoes of fish and trinkets. Religiously ambivalent - firmly against superstition. He came to believe that the honest lessons of his father, not the refined words of a priest, were all he needed to be grand and good, to be wise and permanent, someone the folk of his coastal village could truly count on.
Skill: Fishing; by spear, hook, and net, to feed the people.
Haunt: Knowledge
Strength: 4
Divinity: 2
Charisma: 3
Perceptiveness: 2
Dexterity: 2
Agility: 2
Will: 3
Constitution: 3

Name: Diamond Zeal
Appearance: A woman in her late 20s. Her signature shoulder length purple hair always seems to be unkempt as if she just woke up.
Backstory: An alchemist who found her roots in herbs and science to make miracles happen.
Skill: Alchemy
Haunt: Experience
Strength: 2
Divinity: 3
Charisma: 3
Perceptiveness: 2
Dexterity: 4
Agility: 2
Will: 2
Constitution: 3

Roll 0001



~~~

563-05-12
Late Morning

~~~
________________________________________
Langley Verwelume (TorrentHKU)
a pasH of peaceful days

A brightly-lit courtyard, surrounded by the walls of the training academy. You stand as the sole woman in a line of nine others, all wearing the uniform of the Gale Academy of Fencing.

A crowd of other fellow fencers are seated in neat rows in front of you, all watching.

… ”and now let us congratulate them for achieving rank of First Master!”

The seated audience begins clapping and you stand proudly, the golden badge of your accomplishment shining brightly on your tunic.



The accompanying party is a simple but enjoyable one. Food and drink on tables in the courtyard, fellow students chatting or showing off a move, while you stand off to the side, gingerly eating a buttered slice of bread.

A tall burly man in uniform walks over to you with a wine glass in hand, standing beside you but at a respectful distance.

William Glade, Fifth Master, the great grandson of the founder of the academy, and your teacher.

William: ”Have you any ideas on work yet?”

Continuation of your studies at the academy require money. You’ve managed to earn enough through various jobs considered, “suitable”, for a woman, and make it this far. The money is almost all dry now, but with your official status as a First Master of the blade, many new doors are now open. Doors with lots of money behind them.

You’ve seen postings around Rowan about the Order of Solis needing members - the organization that hunts down and purges heretics, doing their best to fight back the curse of the Demon Eye. With your qualifications, you could make a pretty pence in the Order.


________________________________________
Sei (Areku)
accordant a d pure

You stand in the office of Markus Jarron, Chapter Seer of the Order of Solis barracks located in Rowan. The man himself is in front of you, seated behind a desk, reading several papers in hand.

He looks quite aged, greying hair and beard, yet still possessing a powerful frame fit for the hunt.

Markus: ”So you’re back, eh. Lucky us, I guess. We’re low on manpower at the moment, no point turnin’ you down.”

He opens a draw and pulls out a small golden object, sliding it across his desk towards you.

Your old badge, indicating your rank of Witch Hunter Captain.

He sets down your work file and grabs a stack of papers sitting to the side, rifling through until he pulls out a small packet bound together at a corner and slaps it down beside your badge.

Markus: ”There’s been reports of a woman in a white longcoat gathering materials and making strange fires. Last seen in Constance. As I said before, we’re low on men, so we have all these low-key heretics running loose and no one to chase after them. You’re going to have to recruit your team. Start by getting a blesser from the church, I’m sure they have some to spare. You have the authority to arrest anyone you deem suspicious of aiding your target.

If you don’t have any questions, get to it.”

Blessers - a term among witch hunters that refers to powerful channelers of the divine light of Solis, able to create wards that repel heretical magic and exorcise demons from people. Vital to have in any witch hunter party.


________________________________________
Gabriel (CrazyMLC)
still is my hand

Large windows letting in plenty of sunlight. Clean tiles forming regular patterns on the floor. Stone walls rise up and stretch around the exorcism chamber. A table in the center of the room, where a man lies there wearing only a cloth around his waist, while his arms and legs are chained down.

Then there are the eyes.

Like living black tattoos, eyes are printed on the man’s arms, chest, and forehead, looking around erratically, some locked on to you, others on the nervous Witch Hunter Captain standing nearby.

A gag is firmly fitted in his mouth.

Witch-Speak - a heretical, cursed language that wounds the souls of men and incites the devil to latch on to their bodies, peering at the world through the Demon Eyes. The surest protection against it is to silence the people who possess it.


The man himself lies still, looking fearfully at you.

He requires your aid, your ability to channel the divine light of Solis and drive away the devil.


________________________________________
Maxim Kapitanovich (TheKebbit)
my mind is at Aeace

Late morning, the sun overhead warming your coat while the breeze coming in from the sea cools it back down.

The Constance ports are filled with a great many, great vessels, behemoths of gracefully curving lumber and rippling sails. Trade ships, traveling to and fro, carrying native goods away to bring foreign ones back.

None of them are yours, no.

What lies in front of you is a small fishing boat, its wooden hull weathered from age yet holding strong, the wind-beaten sail stitched in innumerable places. While the other mighty ships require a great many to operate, yours takes just but one man, so long as he knows how to work the sail and run the wheel.

All you need now is bait, and the long haul of fish awaits you.

Turning around to head to the nearby fish markets, you see a woman in a dirty white long coat watching you. Her skin is covered in dirt, her dark shoulder-length hair is sticking out in odd directions, and a large cloth sack is slung over a shoulder.


________________________________________
Kanas Cole (Amazigh)
a past of Ieaceful dayD

The city of Rowan - a large labyrinth of crowded streets and multiple-floor buildings, your hunting grounds for scraps of food and loose coin. For many years you were the bottom rung of society, prey for hoodlums, and forced to endure the pain of insatiable hunger.

Today, today is where it all changes.

Posters throughout the city announce that the Order of Solis is recruiting new members to bolster their ranks, yet few people are willing to join the fight against heresy, even as the devil claims men and women and children as often as hunger and disease fells the poor.

Surely, the Order will take you in.

The Order’s barracks of this city lie ahead of you, a magnificent three-story structure that serves as the resting place for the Order’s huntsmen, jails for heretics and possessed, and training grounds for fresh recruits.

A lone guard is posted at the double doors, looking at you with contempt as you approach.

Guard: ”Whaddya want, kid.”


________________________________________
Diamond Zeal (Mackerel)
a Aast of peacefRl days

Peeking out from the alley, you scan the area.

Common folk walking about, beggars pleading for coin and bread, and not a guard in sight.

You check the bag slung over your back to confirm it’s secure - a rugged cloth sack, packed full of sulphur. After tightening the straps down, probably more than necessary, you look around one more time before stepping out onto the street and walking towards the port.

Your small village (and workshop) is on the other side of the bay near the town of Delma, and you need a boat to get there before anyone finds a certain sulphur thief hurrying along with her cargo in tow.

After reaching the port, you scan the ships for any that look like they’re ready to sail. Large vessels requiring large crews, in various states of loading or unloading, others simply anchored and idling. All useless, too slow to get going.

A small fishing boat catches your eye, with a weathered man in a rugged coat standing by it, watching you.

Perhaps this your ticket home?