| [Fisilia] |
| Human, Female, Banker |
| Location: The Human Capital, Streets |
As she makes her way through the spooky alleys of the city, the woman tightly clings to her lantern as if for dear life; not only is it warm against her cold skin, but it is the only thing that lets her see the way back home. The sun has fallen from the heavens once more for who knows how long, and the only source of light are the flickering flames that are contained within many lanterns all around her. This conjoined light casts a dim, orange glow on the cobblestone path from above that lies in front of her, illuminating it as if it were ocher gold. She has the distinct impression that someone or something is following her every move from the shadows, but that’s just what life in general always feels like here when it is dark. It feels as if the total darkness were a living, breathing entity that is intent on consuming her and the world as a whole from every direction; it seems to press in on her from all sides. As the woman struggles to maintain her balance on the uneven stones, dread surges through her body and causes her pulse rate to quicken.
But there isn’t a reason, really. The city is perfectly safe.
The structures that surround her yet somehow still loom menacingly like grim sentinels, with their windows obscured and empty and their doors locked tightly against the night, despite it technically being only early morning. The woman picks up the pace of her walk, and the sound of her footfall reverberates through the full streets, which feel contrastingly lonely in this shadow-fall.
As she rounds the bend in the road, a person suddenly emerges from the darkness ahead of her and stands in her way.
Fisalia yelps in terror. She raises her lantern and feels her heart leap into her throat. However, after a moment of processing, she notices that the figure is really a beggar girl, with her eyes imploring for an obol or two.
“Mind your manners, girl!” scolds the woman, harshly lashing out at her with a finger that strikes her on the top of her head, causing the beggar to wince and retreat back into the darkness of the corner from which she came.
She sighs. She makes her way across the city, her nerves are still on edge, and her mind is running wild. Darkness has a way of making the human mind get twitchy eventually.
As Fisalia reaches the front door of her house, her hand begins to shake as she tries unsuccessfully to insert the key into the lock until she finally manages before slipping inside and pressing her back against the wood, sighing in relief.
Buying groceries is a real ordeal these days.
| [Markus] |
| Human, Male, Guardsman |
| Location: The Human Capital, Streets |
From up on his post atop the city walls, the guardsman observes the woman enter her house and then hears the door slam shut behind her as she goes inside.
He rotates his head to get another perspective on the city as he watches the night sky for any indication of impending danger. He has been on duty for a considerable amount of time, and the routine of monitoring the dark streets is starting to get to him. All he can see is lantern light. In a way, it’s like watching fireflies drift through the darkness.
But no matter how long he stares into the darkness, he just can't shake the nagging sensation that something is wrong. There’s something off tonight in a way that can’t really be put into words without sounding like a moonsick madman. The darkness appears to be more oppressive than usual, and the shadows, the same as always, simply appear to be deeper. Even though he can't see anyone or anything moving around, he can definitely sense eyes on him. He can't help but go back to the legends he heard in his distant childhood about creatures waiting in the shadows for unsuspecting citizens to stumble upon them and become their victims.
Of course, he’s older now and doesn’t believe in such nonsense — at least not within the walls of the city.
The guardsman has a firm hold on his spear, and the whites of his knuckles are showing. He has spent years as a guardsman and has never been frightened to defend his home, but today is different. Today, he is afraid of something. The atmosphere is heavy with dread, and he just can't escape the idea that something awful is about to take place, even though he knows it's not true. What the hell is supposed to happen? Everything is quiet. It’s a day like every other.
As he patrols the perimeter, he looks over the walls to make sure that his fellow guardsmen are awake and prepared to respond to any potential threat. He can't help but wonder if he's making things up in his head or if his mind is playing tricks on him. It has to be the darkness that’s making him jumpy for no reason.
He inhales a long, slow breath and makes an effort to calm his jittery nerves. As a guardsman, he has taken an oath to defend his city and the people who live there. He is not going to give in to his fears and allow them to control him. He walks back to his station and resumes his watch, resolute in his mission to protect his city from harm in any form it may take.
Not that there is any harm to befall it begin with, this deep in the heartlands.
But it’s about the principle of the matter.
| [Brother Vindici] |
| Orc, Male, Priest |
| Location: The Human Capital, A Small Chapel |
Brother Vindici meditates in the dimly illuminated chapel, his practice accompanied by the hushed recitation of prayers and the soft flicker of candlelight. He is a man like any other, but he is one who has devoted his life to the service of his gods and the propagation of the teachings of those greater powers. Because he is a priest — a man of the cloth — it is his responsibility to guide the members of his congregation toward living righteously in these dark times.
He has been preparing a new sermon for the service that will take place the following day, and the subject of the sermon is the dawn. Even if it will likely take weeks still, until the sun returns again to their world, because the sunrise is a symbol of fresh starts, hope, and the triumph of light over darkness, he thinks it is especially appropriate in this context. In his view, it is a potent allegory for the spiritual journey that each individual who attends his congregation is obligated to take. Quietly, he sits and thinks, constructing each sentence with great care, skillfully interweaving his personal experiences and observations with passages from long-ago texts. He crafts plans about how the blackness of the night is symbolic of the challenges and adversities that we all have to go through in life. However, he also makes note to mention the optimism that comes with the dawn and the promise of a new day that is free from the gloom of the previous ones.
It is often vital, when making a good sermon, that a certain amount of pageantry is involved so that the people not only stay attentive, but so that it hooks into them.
In his schemes, he emphasizes the significance of confronting our anxieties and skepticisms, and he describes how the dawning of a new day exemplifies the victory of light over shadow in a manner that is both figuratively and literally accurate. He thinks about the power that faith possesses and the strength that it bestows on those who have it. It takes a while, but after he has finished meditating on his sermon, he takes a few deep breaths to settle it all in before rising to his feet and grabbing some writing implements and parchment to write it down so he can better memorize it for tomorrow.
It looks bad as a priest if you have to read from notes.
But he’s been doing well, and so has his growing congregation. Dark times have a way of driving people towards religion. He is confident that the members of his flock will relate to what he has to say and that the message he delivers will bring them solace in these troubled times.
He nods as he writes, ready to face the new beginning that the next day will bring with it, just as the sunrise does every day.
It’s all about symbolism.
| [Jakob] |
| Human, Male, Baker |
| Location: The Human Capital, A Street Bakery |
The baker is engaged in a heated discussion with a number of clients as he stands in front of his shop with his arms crossed.
“There’s nothing I can do,” he reaffirms, receiving only groans and eye rolls in return.
The people are upset about the rising price of his bread, and they blame him for causing the increase in the first place, as if he were trying to pull one over on them. They don't seem interested in his repeated explanation that the price of wheat has increased ever since the sun went out. They accuse him of trying to profit from their tragedy by taking advantage of the situation.
The baker, in an effort to maintain his composure, states, "I can't control the price of wheat, you fools! It's gotten to the point where I can barely afford to make the bread because of how expensive it is. As it stands, I'm just about able to make ends meet," explains Jakob, trying to get them to get it.
“Nice new shoes there, Jakob,” calls a man from the crowd, pointing down at his boots.
Jakob looks down at his three year old boots that he had simply polished up the other day. “These are old, you ninny!” barks Jakob. “Maybe if you polished your own shoes sometimes, you’d have standards.”
“Seltzer’s bakery hasn’t raised its prices!” argues a woman.
Jakob looks at her. “Ma’am, that’s nonsense. Seltzer charges forty obols for a loaf of wheat bread these days,” he replies, knowing his competitor’s business in and out. “Feel free to buy your bread there if you want to walk half-way across town.”
The baker makes an attempt to reason with them, but they pay little attention to what he has to say. It’s not about him being right or wrong, it’s about them wanting to blame someone for their troubles, and he seems to be the target of that, as if he wasn’t hurting either. He's already losing money on the business himself. He’s spent his entire life in this industry and is terrified of losing his clientele, but what is he supposed to do here? He can’t charge less than he does, or he'll still lose money.
"I'm sorry," he says. "However, I am unable to alter the prices. I'm giving it the very best effort I can."
The patrons mutter under their breath and start to depart, shooting him cold glances. He is aware that this is just the beginning of the problem and that in the future he would have to deal with arguments of a similar nature with other clients and far more intensely as the darkness proceeds.
He goes back inside the shop, feeling disheartened as he does so, and wonders how much longer it will be until the sun rises again.
| [Litzel] |
| Elf, Female, Musician |
| Location: The Human Capital, The Old Market Square |
Litzel holds her lute as she stands at the intersection of two bustling streets. She is encircled by her group of street musicians, each of whom is playing their instrument with a high level of talent and enthusiasm. They are, as they have always been, determined to make a living off of their musical talents, but it is getting harder and harder for them to do so these days for obvious reasons.
In spite of the upbeat rhythms and songs that they play, it seems that fewer people are inclined to stop and listen, and even fewer are inclined to make donations. She can read the stress written all over her companions' faces; it is clear that they are all having a difficult time making ends meet, as is evidenced by their eyes, which are the opposite of the cheerful music they’re playing, and their cheeks, which are gaunt. The people walk quickly by them in the streets with their heads bowed and their hands in their pockets, as if they didn’t exist at all. Everyone is terrified to make eye-contact, out of some fear of a social obligation they might need to pay then. The appearance is that they are focused on their own challenges, and music is the last thing on their minds right now.
But she continues to play, despite the fact that it appears no one is paying attention to the music. What else is she supposed to do? This is her job, it always has been. She isn’t trained in any other industries, and she’s not gritty enough to become an adventurer.
However, as the night rolls on and their profits remain beyond meager, especially when split among five, the elf woman can't help but worry about what the future has in store for her and the other members of her group. She is aware that they will need to devise a plan in order to make ends meet, but it is questionable whether or not they will be able to do so with the meager income that they receive from performing music on the streets. All that remains for them is to tough it out until the sun finally returns, if ever, or to drop the lute and find something else to do, somehow.
Litzel sighs as she plays, her fingers strumming the lute in the vain hope that everything will turn out okay in the end.
| [Jeeti] |
| Human, Female, Classless {Child} |
| Location: The Human Capital, Streets |
Music plays in the distance. The young girl is begging on the street corner with an empty bowl in front of herself, her head still throbbing from a moment ago when the woman hit her. It’s not unusual that she gets hit.
She is sitting alone, frail and disheveled, and her clothes are worn and torn to shreds. She has no family or home to return to. She is fully dependent on the generosity of total strangers in order to stay alive, as she can’t afford to go to school or learn a trade to earn her own money, but it would appear that none of them are willing to help her today.
She isn’t surprised. This happened last time too, when the sun went out.
Jeeti watches as individuals rush by with expressions of terrible determination on their faces, as if they all had very important places to be, as they walk with stiff expressions right past her. It’s not that they can’t see her, it’s just that they all pretend that they can’t see her. They don't even bother to offer her the courtesy of a sideways glance, let alone dig into their pockets to hand her a coin, which is a true luxury these days.
The girl is close to starving, and she is well aware that if she does not acquire some food as soon as possible, her health will deteriorate. Jeeti tries to get up the guts to approach other people and beg for assistance, but she is painfully shy and easily intimidated, and after the disaster from just before, she’s still too shaken to try again, despite the gnawing in her gut.
Although she got away lightly. She's witnessed people in the city ignoring panhandlers or treating them even more cruelly than that. She has witnessed how guards or even other beggars may chase them away or beat them if they refuse to go on, but they’re nice to her. It’s only because she’s young, though. If she gets older, then the guards get meaner, especially to the boys. In a sense, she’s still living in luxury.
The girl looks down at her empty bowl.
However, if this is luxury, then the others in the outer parts of the city are likely in a grim state.
She waits for hours, but no one gives her any money. She is beginning to feel dizzy, and she can hear the grumbling of her stomach. She is aware that she needs to locate some food as soon as possible because she is losing more and more strength, but there just isn’t any. It’s not even easy to steal trash anymore, because city ordinances tightened up on that and they’ll get in big trouble if caught, which is ridiculous in her mind, but she doesn’t make the rules. She only gets beaten for not following them.
Jeeti sighs, her head drooping, entirely unaware of the long, gnarled claws reaching out of the sewer grate next to her.
| [Fisilia] |
| Human, Female, Banker |
| Location: The Human Capital, Streets |
As she makes her way through the spooky alleys of the city, the woman tightly clings to her lantern as if for dear life; not only is it warm against her cold skin, but it is the only thing that lets her see the way back home. The sun has fallen from the heavens once more for who knows how long, and the only source of light are the flickering flames that are contained within many lanterns all around her. This conjoined light casts a dim, orange glow on the cobblestone path from above that lies in front of her, illuminating it as if it were ocher gold. She has the distinct impression that someone or something is following her every move from the shadows, but that’s just what life in general always feels like here when it is dark. It feels as if the total darkness were a living, breathing entity that is intent on consuming her and the world as a whole from every direction; it seems to press in on her from all sides. As the woman struggles to maintain her balance on the uneven stones, dread surges through her body and causes her pulse rate to quicken.
But there isn’t a reason, really. The city is perfectly safe.
The structures that surround her yet somehow still loom menacingly like grim sentinels, with their windows obscured and empty and their doors locked tightly against the night, despite it technically being only early morning. The woman picks up the pace of her walk, and the sound of her footfall reverberates through the full streets, which feel contrastingly lonely in this shadow-fall.
As she rounds the bend in the road, a person suddenly emerges from the darkness ahead of her and stands in her way.
Fisalia yelps in terror. She raises her lantern and feels her heart leap into her throat. However, after a moment of processing, she notices that the figure is really a beggar girl, with her eyes imploring for an obol or two.
“Mind your manners, girl!” scolds the woman, harshly lashing out at her with a finger that strikes her on the top of her head, causing the beggar to wince and retreat back into the darkness of the corner from which she came.
She sighs. She makes her way across the city, her nerves are still on edge, and her mind is running wild. Darkness has a way of making the human mind get twitchy eventually.
As Fisalia reaches the front door of her house, her hand begins to shake as she tries unsuccessfully to insert the key into the lock until she finally manages before slipping inside and pressing her back against the wood, sighing in relief.
Buying groceries is a real ordeal these days.
| [Markus] |
| Human, Male, Guardsman |
| Location: The Human Capital, Streets |
From up on his post atop the city walls, the guardsman observes the woman enter her house and then hears the door slam shut behind her as she goes inside.
He rotates his head to get another perspective on the city as he watches the night sky for any indication of impending danger. He has been on duty for a considerable amount of time, and the routine of monitoring the dark streets is starting to get to him. All he can see is lantern light. In a way, it’s like watching fireflies drift through the darkness.
But no matter how long he stares into the darkness, he just can't shake the nagging sensation that something is wrong. There’s something off tonight in a way that can’t really be put into words without sounding like a moonsick madman. The darkness appears to be more oppressive than usual, and the shadows, the same as always, simply appear to be deeper. Even though he can't see anyone or anything moving around, he can definitely sense eyes on him. He can't help but go back to the legends he heard in his distant childhood about creatures waiting in the shadows for unsuspecting citizens to stumble upon them and become their victims.
Of course, he’s older now and doesn’t believe in such nonsense — at least not within the walls of the city.
The guardsman has a firm hold on his spear, and the whites of his knuckles are showing. He has spent years as a guardsman and has never been frightened to defend his home, but today is different. Today, he is afraid of something. The atmosphere is heavy with dread, and he just can't escape the idea that something awful is about to take place, even though he knows it's not true. What the hell is supposed to happen? Everything is quiet. It’s a day like every other.
As he patrols the perimeter, he looks over the walls to make sure that his fellow guardsmen are awake and prepared to respond to any potential threat. He can't help but wonder if he's making things up in his head or if his mind is playing tricks on him. It has to be the darkness that’s making him jumpy for no reason.
He inhales a long, slow breath and makes an effort to calm his jittery nerves. As a guardsman, he has taken an oath to defend his city and the people who live there. He is not going to give in to his fears and allow them to control him. He walks back to his station and resumes his watch, resolute in his mission to protect his city from harm in any form it may take.
Not that there is any harm to befall it begin with, this deep in the heartlands.
But it’s about the principle of the matter.
| [Brother Vindici] |
| Orc, Male, Priest |
| Location: The Human Capital, A Small Chapel |
Brother Vindici meditates in the dimly illuminated chapel, his practice accompanied by the hushed recitation of prayers and the soft flicker of candlelight. He is a man like any other, but he is one who has devoted his life to the service of his gods and the propagation of the teachings of those greater powers. Because he is a priest — a man of the cloth — it is his responsibility to guide the members of his congregation toward living righteously in these dark times.
He has been preparing a new sermon for the service that will take place the following day, and the subject of the sermon is the dawn. Even if it will likely take weeks still, until the sun returns again to their world, because the sunrise is a symbol of fresh starts, hope, and the triumph of light over darkness, he thinks it is especially appropriate in this context. In his view, it is a potent allegory for the spiritual journey that each individual who attends his congregation is obligated to take. Quietly, he sits and thinks, constructing each sentence with great care, skillfully interweaving his personal experiences and observations with passages from long-ago texts. He crafts plans about how the blackness of the night is symbolic of the challenges and adversities that we all have to go through in life. However, he also makes note to mention the optimism that comes with the dawn and the promise of a new day that is free from the gloom of the previous ones.
It is often vital, when making a good sermon, that a certain amount of pageantry is involved so that the people not only stay attentive, but so that it hooks into them.
In his schemes, he emphasizes the significance of confronting our anxieties and skepticisms, and he describes how the dawning of a new day exemplifies the victory of light over shadow in a manner that is both figuratively and literally accurate. He thinks about the power that faith possesses and the strength that it bestows on those who have it. It takes a while, but after he has finished meditating on his sermon, he takes a few deep breaths to settle it all in before rising to his feet and grabbing some writing implements and parchment to write it down so he can better memorize it for tomorrow.
It looks bad as a priest if you have to read from notes.
But he’s been doing well, and so has his growing congregation. Dark times have a way of driving people towards religion. He is confident that the members of his flock will relate to what he has to say and that the message he delivers will bring them solace in these troubled times.
He nods as he writes, ready to face the new beginning that the next day will bring with it, just as the sunrise does every day.
It’s all about symbolism.
| [Jakob] |
| Human, Male, Baker |
| Location: The Human Capital, A Street Bakery |
The baker is engaged in a heated discussion with a number of clients as he stands in front of his shop with his arms crossed.
“There’s nothing I can do,” he reaffirms, receiving only groans and eye rolls in return.
The people are upset about the rising price of his bread, and they blame him for causing the increase in the first place, as if he were trying to pull one over on them. They don't seem interested in his repeated explanation that the price of wheat has increased ever since the sun went out. They accuse him of trying to profit from their tragedy by taking advantage of the situation.
The baker, in an effort to maintain his composure, states, "I can't control the price of wheat, you fools! It's gotten to the point where I can barely afford to make the bread because of how expensive it is. As it stands, I'm just about able to make ends meet," explains Jakob, trying to get them to get it.
“Nice new shoes there, Jakob,” calls a man from the crowd, pointing down at his boots.
Jakob looks down at his three year old boots that he had simply polished up the other day. “These are old, you ninny!” barks Jakob. “Maybe if you polished your own shoes sometimes, you’d have standards.”
“Seltzer’s bakery hasn’t raised its prices!” argues a woman.
Jakob looks at her. “Ma’am, that’s nonsense. Seltzer charges forty obols for a loaf of wheat bread these days,” he replies, knowing his competitor’s business in and out. “Feel free to buy your bread there if you want to walk half-way across town.”
The baker makes an attempt to reason with them, but they pay little attention to what he has to say. It’s not about him being right or wrong, it’s about them wanting to blame someone for their troubles, and he seems to be the target of that, as if he wasn’t hurting either. He's already losing money on the business himself. He’s spent his entire life in this industry and is terrified of losing his clientele, but what is he supposed to do here? He can’t charge less than he does, or he'll still lose money.
"I'm sorry," he says. "However, I am unable to alter the prices. I'm giving it the very best effort I can."
The patrons mutter under their breath and start to depart, shooting him cold glances. He is aware that this is just the beginning of the problem and that in the future he would have to deal with arguments of a similar nature with other clients and far more intensely as the darkness proceeds.
He goes back inside the shop, feeling disheartened as he does so, and wonders how much longer it will be until the sun rises again.
| [Litzel] |
| Elf, Female, Musician |
| Location: The Human Capital, The Old Market Square |
Litzel holds her lute as she stands at the intersection of two bustling streets. She is encircled by her group of street musicians, each of whom is playing their instrument with a high level of talent and enthusiasm. They are, as they have always been, determined to make a living off of their musical talents, but it is getting harder and harder for them to do so these days for obvious reasons.
In spite of the upbeat rhythms and songs that they play, it seems that fewer people are inclined to stop and listen, and even fewer are inclined to make donations. She can read the stress written all over her companions' faces; it is clear that they are all having a difficult time making ends meet, as is evidenced by their eyes, which are the opposite of the cheerful music they’re playing, and their cheeks, which are gaunt. The people walk quickly by them in the streets with their heads bowed and their hands in their pockets, as if they didn’t exist at all. Everyone is terrified to make eye-contact, out of some fear of a social obligation they might need to pay then. The appearance is that they are focused on their own challenges, and music is the last thing on their minds right now.
But she continues to play, despite the fact that it appears no one is paying attention to the music. What else is she supposed to do? This is her job, it always has been. She isn’t trained in any other industries, and she’s not gritty enough to become an adventurer.
However, as the night rolls on and their profits remain beyond meager, especially when split among five, the elf woman can't help but worry about what the future has in store for her and the other members of her group. She is aware that they will need to devise a plan in order to make ends meet, but it is questionable whether or not they will be able to do so with the meager income that they receive from performing music on the streets. All that remains for them is to tough it out until the sun finally returns, if ever, or to drop the lute and find something else to do, somehow.
Litzel sighs as she plays, her fingers strumming the lute in the vain hope that everything will turn out okay in the end.
| [Jeeti] |
| Human, Female, Classless {Child} |
| Location: The Human Capital, Streets |
Music plays in the distance. The young girl is begging on the street corner with an empty bowl in front of herself, her head still throbbing from a moment ago when the woman hit her. It’s not unusual that she gets hit.
She is sitting alone, frail and disheveled, and her clothes are worn and torn to shreds. She has no family or home to return to. She is fully dependent on the generosity of total strangers in order to stay alive, as she can’t afford to go to school or learn a trade to earn her own money, but it would appear that none of them are willing to help her today.
She isn’t surprised. This happened last time too, when the sun went out.
Jeeti watches as individuals rush by with expressions of terrible determination on their faces, as if they all had very important places to be, as they walk with stiff expressions right past her. It’s not that they can’t see her, it’s just that they all pretend that they can’t see her. They don't even bother to offer her the courtesy of a sideways glance, let alone dig into their pockets to hand her a coin, which is a true luxury these days.
The girl is close to starving, and she is well aware that if she does not acquire some food as soon as possible, her health will deteriorate. Jeeti tries to get up the guts to approach other people and beg for assistance, but she is painfully shy and easily intimidated, and after the disaster from just before, she’s still too shaken to try again, despite the gnawing in her gut.
Although she got away lightly. She's witnessed people in the city ignoring panhandlers or treating them even more cruelly than that. She has witnessed how guards or even other beggars may chase them away or beat them if they refuse to go on, but they’re nice to her. It’s only because she’s young, though. If she gets older, then the guards get meaner, especially to the boys. In a sense, she’s still living in luxury.
The girl looks down at her empty bowl.
However, if this is luxury, then the others in the outer parts of the city are likely in a grim state.
She waits for hours, but no one gives her any money. She is beginning to feel dizzy, and she can hear the grumbling of her stomach. She is aware that she needs to locate some food as soon as possible because she is losing more and more strength, but there just isn’t any. It’s not even easy to steal trash anymore, because city ordinances tightened up on that and they’ll get in big trouble if caught, which is ridiculous in her mind, but she doesn’t make the rules. She only gets beaten for not following them.
Jeeti sighs, her head drooping, entirely unaware of the long, gnarled claws reaching out of the sewer grate next to her.
