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Beyond the Wall is...well, technically an OSR game, in which we communally create a village and its surroundings, with the goal of recreating a semi-low fantasy world in the genre of heroic YA fantasy novels. Our heroes are all from the same village, in this case Shallot, and work together to try and solve local problems and do good things and pursue their own adventurous lives. Character generation is communal, as is design of the village and wider map. As a result, this recruit will not be asking you to make characters. We will be using The Village Hack II rather than the OSR-type rules - this mostly means that everything is done by ability rolls, which is d20 trying to roll under a stat. It's pretty simple. I may swap in or out some of the travel rules from the base game, since hex maps are cool, though. Characters in Beyond the Wall are made using playbooks, listed below. This list is to help you come up with ideas and understand what kind of characters show up, rather than to make your characters before the game. Instead of posting a character, please: 1. Hang out on Discord. We can talk about character ideas here, though note: chargen involves random tables, which can send you into directions you didn't think you were going to get. Also the actual game will, while asynchronous like PBP, be mostly text play on Discord. 2. Post an interesting local custom or piece of folklore or history for the area around Shallot! Try to make it thematic and cool. I don't need any huge stories here, but enough that there's some meat would be great. Also: this is the loving, friendly kind of YA fantasy, where validity of gender identity and sexual orientation are not up for debate, and love is real and good. Period. I shouldn't have to say this but it's 2019 and this is where we live now. Villagers (Normal Folks What Lives In The Village) The Assistant Beast Keeper The Devout Acolyte The Fae Foundling The Heir to a Legend The Last of a Fallen House The Local Performer The New Watchman The Reformed Bully The Self-Taught Mage The Untested Thief The Village Hero The Witch's Prentice The Would-Be Knight The Young Woodsman The Adventurous Trader The Goblins' Child The Student of the Dark Arts Nobles (Members or fostered kids with a local noble family, which presumably exists if someone's playing one) The Apprentice Court Sorcerer The Forgotten Child The Future Warlord The Gifted Dilettante The Knightless Squire The Nobleman's Wild Daughter The Novice Templar Fantastic Creatures (Rare And Mysterious Non-Humans What Moved To The Village) The Dwarven Adventurer The Dwarven Rune Caster The Elven Enchanter The Elven Highborn The Elven Ranger The Gnomish Godparent The Halfling Outrider The Halfling Vagabond The Village Bear Elders (Mentors, who start higher level but have lower stats and guide the other PCs) The Dungeon Delver The Dwarven Mentor The Initiated Magician The Landless Noble The Learned Tutor The Recluse Wizard The Retired Veteran Mors Rattus fucked around with this message at 13:51 on Jan 17, 2019 |
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Jan 16, 2019 18:38
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| # ? Apr 26, 2024 07:30 |
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Deadline is...I dunno, a week? A week feels good.
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Jan 16, 2019 19:12
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Very much interested! For a local custom, I'll toss in the Festival of Light. The Village of Shallot has, since time immemorial, celebrated the coming of the summer solstice alongside the coming of age of the newfound adults. The night is a true revel, a chance for everyone to mingle and cast off the chains of obligation and propriety. You're likely to see the local lord matching a shepherd drink for drink, no matter that the two likely won't interact much the rest of the year. The climax of the festival is the portion that represents young adults casting off the fears that made them children, burning them in effigy in the large fire that lights the entire town. While never mentioned, it's believed that this removes the power that the Gray Prince and the forces of darkness might hold over the people of Shallot. Tricky fucked around with this message at 22:01 on Jan 16, 2019 |
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Jan 16, 2019 19:33
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A little history. A little tradition. --- When the season comes, our beautiful wade into the river water with woven baskets. And there they sing songs so handsome and enchanting that the fish willingly leap into their arms. At this time, we do not cast nets. We put away our hooks and our lines. We take only those that give themselves. And when we feast, we give thanks for that sacrifice. Their meat is smoked, stored, and savored. And in this way, we have survived even the harshest of winters for generations. We made an alliance long ago. Us and these fish. We would protect the river as they swam north to spawn. They would feed us. So while our beautiful sing and dance in the water, our strong patrol the banks with fire and spear. Ready to drive off bear and wolf. And darker things still. Tyrannosaurus fucked around with this message at 03:23 on Jan 17, 2019 |
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Jan 16, 2019 20:00
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Some lore! The Ribbon Woods Somehow, the copse of trees on eastern hill earned a reputation as being haunted. Maybe it's the way the black walnut trees scratch at the sky, maybe it's the low wheeze the wind makes whipping through their branches, maybe it's the parliament of owls that have nested within since before anyone can remember. Regardless, the copse was thought to have collected spirits unable to find their way beyond, trapping them to a lonely wandering among the trees. In great-grandmother's time a young seamstress lost her father, dreaming that he was trapped within those woods. Hoping to ease his spirit, she tied colorful ribbons around tree trunks and into branches, the same kind of ribbons he used to tie in her hair. These days, ribbons of all colors and stripes litter those trees. Symbols to loved ones passed, wishing them peace in the beyond. Mostly they are simple and bright, the colors of flowers and sunsets, but some are intricate affairs, woven pieces that display family names and heraldry or even entire messages and poems for those who've left. Many ribbons fall prey to the elements, to animals and their nests, and to youthful villagers daring each other to snatch them from tall branches during the dark of the new moon. But after every funeral, especially when a child is taken, more are hung to wave in those wind-whipped woods.
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Jan 16, 2019 20:22
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I think I remember Jeff and John talking about this? Tabletop tonight, but will contribute soon.
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Jan 17, 2019 00:52
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The Crystal Lake is a nearby lake. Surrounded by small hills this crystal clear lake has no known source. A mystery for generations the lake's waters always seem to be icy cold no matter the season. Long have the village youth made the short trek out to the lake on a beautiful day to admire the lake's waters, or take a dip weather permitting. Long have the village youth sneaked out to make the trip to the lake late at night for a secret tryst. At some point rumors spread that gazing upon the reflected full moon dancing on the crystal clear surface of the lake would show you a vision of your one true love. Now the youth of the Village have one more reason for making their way to the Crystal Lake. Many a youth in love will sneak out to the lake in the hope of seeing the face of their beloved. Others who are in love with being in love would do the same in the hope of finding one to love. Some have even begun to have their weddings at the lake on the night of a full moon, the couple to be gazing upon their reflections during the service in the hope that it will make their love true and lasting.
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Jan 17, 2019 02:23
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A bit of history: When the goblins burned down the church four winters ago, the town decided to knock out bricks from their own homes to fix the damage withing a week. Also, some folk lore: Dragons don't care about the amount of gold you have, they just care about how much YOU care about it. A poor miser who stingily hordes two copper is just as likely to be have their treasure stolen by a dragon as a greedy king whose vault is filled with gold. So, children, make sure you're a generous soul or dragons will come for you in the night!
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Jan 17, 2019 03:19
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The High Hill To the east of the village, beyond the other hills, there stands this singular feature of the landscape: separate and almost aloof, some would say proud. The most beautiful flowering plants in all of Shallot grow on the lower reaches of the hill, but the top remains barren, apart from a watch tower placed there by the village. The people of Shallot say that this is because long, long ago, a man lived in the land that would become the village with his seven sons and daughters. The family worked the land hard and strong, day and night, focusing on naught but preparing it for what was to come. That is apart from the loveliest daughter who, unhappy with her work, spent many an afternoon staring longingly towards the east wondering what lay beyond. After the family's labors were done, the father and his children entered the soil and became the hills so they could watch over the land that they had worked forever. This one curious daughter became the distant High Hill - forever separated from the rest of her family, yet inextricably bound to Shallot. The top of the hill provides an exceptional view, especially when facing further east of the town. Accentuating this is the main purpose of the tower, and it is a favorite spot of dreamers, hikers, and the rare clandestine meeting for which one wants to be sure no one is going to put in the effort to follow you. This is apart from times of trouble, when the tower is used as an early warning system for the village, helping it keep watch on the lands beyond. A crown made from the flowers at the base of the hill is highly prized as a sign of devotion, but only if the individual presenting the crown made it themselves and the flowers are all roughly the same age. Though there are still tales like that of the young soul who, instead of making a crown, collected and pressed a flower from the hill every day for a summer, and presented the flowers to their best friend in the form of a book. Jossar fucked around with this message at 07:02 on Jan 17, 2019 |
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Jan 17, 2019 06:40
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The ring of stones out on the northern moor past the woods is so old that their true purpose has been long forgotten, even by the learned. Still, every midwinter the village sends a delegation on the long cold journey with sacrifices of honey, salt and dried fruit to implore the sun to rise again. Old stories say that if the food offering fails to bring in the new year darker rites have taken place, and could again.
thatbastardken fucked around with this message at 01:40 on Jan 18, 2019 |
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Jan 17, 2019 06:48
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"The village has a huge sword displayed in it's square, as tall as a man. It is held by a statue, but everyone 'knows' that the blade itself is real, and is kept polished by a fae. Children at play hold their sticks in two hands, pretending to wield it against goblins and dragons. Only those who have gone to war and returned wounded are told its story of triumph, duty, angels, and grief. Those that learn the tale usually stop going to church."
Speleothing fucked around with this message at 15:15 on Jan 17, 2019 |
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Jan 17, 2019 06:51
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Tossing Winter's Head A storm of hammers and hooves, the resounding roars of each contender's clan, glory seized and glory denied by the fickle bounce of a ball: these are the thrills that grip our humble Shallot every autumn. Ask one of the cheering elders why we do this and she'll curse you out for making her miss that last pass. Then she'll say that, as we all know, it's to honor those twin heroes staring down from the village's oaken shrine. To relive and remember when they plunged Uncle Winter's smug old skull through the ring and won our land a whole month more to finish the harvest. Ask a contender and he'll say it's to catch the eye of that pretty nobleman stopping by from the capital. What was once a simple seasonal festival has blossomed into quite a well-loved sport. Children play at it on the backs of sheep or their unfortunate parents, local fae volunteer their own heads to be hurled into the scrum. Merchants from miles around, be they elf, dwarf, or man, have come to our town to find themselves out-bargained by Shallot's keen-eyed aunts and uncles. So, my friend, knock down a jar of mare's milk and plum cider, and let our plenty taunt the dark times to come!
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Jan 17, 2019 08:33
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The local equivalent of the ugly duckling fable is the goblin child, for goblins are said to become more human-like, and more beautiful, as they age.
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Jan 17, 2019 15:22
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Granny There is a road that runs north/south from the village. Every so often, a battered old wagon driven by a haggard but warm-natured old woman who only identifies herself as "Granny" arrives in the town. Whenever she comes from the north, exactly 3 days later a perfectly healthy child is born without any complications; Granny acts as a midwife and asks for 3 random items as payment. Things she has asked for include: the topmost branch of an oak tree, a spool of red thread, a left footed shoe, and a lute strung with human hair. Whenever she comes form the south, exactly 3 days later a villager dies; Granny delivers the last rites and loads the body onto her wagon to haul away. As condolences she brings 3 gifts of things needed by the village: a new hammer for the blacksmith, a large jar of preserved fruit, a cure for a mysterious sickness yet to come, and other things of that nature. As long as anyone can remember, Granny has been there for every birth (and even adoptions), and every death. Nobody knows whether she is the cause, or simply arrives when it is time, and nobody ever asks.
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Jan 17, 2019 17:13
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By tradition, all witches prentices are girls, even if folk thought they were boys before. The Witch knows. It may be simple but it's fun!
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Jan 17, 2019 20:50
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There are over 20 people sitting in the Discord right now, which is far more response than I imagined I'd get! To keep myself from going mad at work during the week, I am cutting back the recruit time - I will be making picks on Sunday.
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Jan 17, 2019 23:57
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The village has a coming of age ritual on the night before one's 15th birthday. Each youth must leave the village and spend sundown to sunrise at the standing stone in the forest, said to be a meeting place for the fae. No one has ever managed to spend the entire night awake, no matter how hard they try, but each person has reported having strange but pleasant dreams they can't quite remember the details of...
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Jan 17, 2019 23:58
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Gladwater River The Village sits on the West bank of the Gladwater River, about five miles upstream of where it empties into Crystal Lake. As it's immediately downstream of the Plyfair falls, which makes it the furthest North point navigable by water. The Village Docks see a modest but steady stream of ships crossing the lake from places further afield, transferring cargo to and from horse carts. The River is spanned by the Compton Bridge, currently a fairly slapdash wooden structure sitting atop old stone piers. Three springs ago, unusually heavy rains and snow melt washed out the ancient bridge, and flooded a good part of the town to boot. Since, the town nobles and the owners of the bridge - who own the attached mill as well - have argued about who will pay to fix it permanently.
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Jan 18, 2019 19:56
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A funeral in the Deep Wood Three women and a man lay Gavin to rest in the Deep Wood, well beyond the safe places outside the village. The village has an uneasy peace with the Wood for two generations now, but even when it was not, the Wood parted to allow villagers in for this purpose. Those with enough fae blood to make itself visible are brought into the Deep Wood when they die. They are not buried: the Wood reclaims them. It is thought that the Wood takes their spirits, and cradles them for a breath, and sends them away to be born once more. Gavin was one of those whose blood made itself visible, just barely: the green of his eyes too much like that of a new leaf, the set of his mouth a trifle too knowing. He served the village well and cared for its inhabitants, and asked only for privacy in return. He was a quiet and reliable man who did not discuss his past overmuch. One of the women here was there for that past, and is glad that Gavin was able to leave it behind him. One of the women here was not there for that past, but knows it anyway, because Gavin told her everything. One of the women here only knows there is a past to know about because Gavin's skill with a spear saved her from a white boar of the Wood. The man owes Gavin even more than the third woman does, and now he will never be able to repay his debt. The Wood claims him--accepts him--cradles him--and Gavin's body sighs, and then quiets and grows still again, as a body should. Somewhere else at that very moment, Gavin is being born. He will not remember being Gavin, but he will be shaped by Gavin's spirit--and by the essence of his parents, and by chance. Gavin is gone, his body already becoming leaves and forest shadows. Gavin--he will not be Gavin, and yet he will be--will grow, and love, and strive. He will be a good man, or a kind man (not the same, not nearly), or a reckless man. He will know the smells of a field at harvest, or the numbing cold of a winter march by the sound of fife and drum, or a tiny hand curling its tiny fingers around his, or none of these things, or all of them. Who with claim to wisdom would dare to foretell what will come to pass? The deeds and lives of men are footprints in sand, not fated to last, and the wind that erases them, too, will die down in time. We make our plans in darkness, and steer them like a ship onto the rocks of circumstance. While we last, we make stories of our lives. When we don't, others do. Gavin's is theirs, now. LogicNinja fucked around with this message at 13:43 on Jan 20, 2019 |
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Jan 20, 2019 13:35
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I have consulted the sages and read the entrails of some bird I found on the side of the road, and therefore picks have been made: MollyMetroid Tricky Tyrannosaurus Capfalcon FewtureMD NinjaDebugger Jossar It wasn't easy eliminating folks and, as you see, i expanded up from my planned five to seven. Everyone is welcome to hang out in the Discord and spectate, use it as general chat about Beyond the Wall and so on, but these are the players I'm taking.
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Jan 20, 2019 20:02
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| # ? Apr 26, 2024 07:30 |
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DIBS ON WITCH'S PRENTICE.
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Jan 20, 2019 20:04
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