I've started on physical therapy over the last while. In fact, the first session was on my birthday and apparently my doctor was amazed I could move at all. His quote was "You have more physical resistance to moving than my Bowflex. I feel bad for not paying you a membership fee for this".
But after a day of recovery that legit felt like a body-migraine, I'm starting to be able to function again. And with that, I'm starting to slowly work my way back to putting in an extra hour each day for creative efforts. I'm still sticking to the 'maximum 3 hours' rule for now, until I recover, and then I'm going to be doing time-management better. No more 10 hour sessions straight at the board. It'll be small work cycles, broken up by stretches and moving around (and lunch.. I was bad at lunch too).
Today it's finally also allowing me to finish off this post that I've had in the wings for a while. It's the first 'Prep 0' phase of my ramblings on the world of Felwroth, and it's weird little spaces.
The biggest hurdle was to figure out a 'voice' to put this in. There is a trap that I've seen some world books fall into where they read like an instruction manual. That the culture and breadth is lost, often because there's some investor oversight sitting behind it that dilutes creativity entirely, and opts for safe blandness.
The Where?
So, the map above is one that I had mocked up in Inkarnate a long while back. Someday I'd like to do a more detailed revision, but for 'sketchwork' this map provided perfectly useful.
Crowsbury is a mid-stopping point for ships on the way from the southern coasts and ports of Valhaadrune, to the northern city of Stokenfire. It also serves as a large hub for the caravans of merchants and pilgrims who annually make the trips to and from the largest Western coast trade and spiritual center on the continent.
It is a town with many haunts around it. from Tower Isle of Cen Cargaast off it's western coast, to the Aldr Vharrow forests off to it's east, it's a town surrounded by the spirits of its past, and watched by the pinpoint eyes of fire from the hollows of cursed trees. It is a town that has sprouted up societies dedicated to the study of such phenomena, from the Black Psalm order of the Old Faith, dedicated to nature's fight against the curses of the Vharrow, to the Wayfinder's Collective, dedicated to unearthing the ancient Infernal Amantir artefacts on Tower isle, to the Brimclif Academy standing as staunch instructors in drawing the arcane from the ley line arteries of the world itself.
It is an annual meeting point for mercenaries of all walks of life. From the Thaumaturge Trinket-bearers who meet in creaking manors with rooms of dark-stained wood paneling to draw answers from esoteric items of paranormal magic of time most ancient, to rune-robed arcanists gathered in smoke-filled dens to whisper of new items in the iron-vaults of the Academy's deepest recesses, to the brew-hefting folk cloaked in dark-iron metals having one last drink before lending their martial prowess to caravan and pilgrim alike before the winter's grip takes the area.
Autumn is the time of candles in Crowsbury. Where lanterns blessed by the Shoalswept lost and Stormshoal temples are sold by Wright's Lights to the superstitious farmers and fishers who will be hunkering down for the coming winter. Guttering lights to be set in windowsills to ward off the cold touch of the unliving wandering from the growing mists of the tenebrous forests surrounding them.
It is a town of as many questions as there are answers. A town that can offer the brightest highlights to those who wish to make their trade, and darkest shadows to those who decide to delve too deep.
This will be a good starting point to branch out from, I think. One small area to spark off the writing that will cover a lot of territory.
The Who?
Not the band. But in this case, the 'guide' who will be the majority voice. It took me a long while to figure out a way to chronicle where it doesn't sound like I'm just reading an atlas at everybody. I had recently read a couple books that had the journey of a 'chronicler' and I admit I really like the idea.
I have a pretty large stable (no pun intended) of characters. However I've lost a lot of connection to many of them. Some of them I don't remember at all anymore. There are various reasons for this that I won't go into, but it left me kind of in a conundrum.
I then realized I had a chronicler from years ago that I had even drawn. A fey creature named Ellys, who travels with a Khettish inventor (A fox fellow with a penchant for interesting curse words when working) and a Lorrnathi Axebearer warrior (Who really needs to not sample the Khettu's invented drinks anymore).
Ellys was one of those characters that seemed to stick with me. I can't really explain it, but sometimes a soul just seems to take on it's own wind, and sail it's own course, and then inform me about things they found. She was one such soul. She bound herself to her two partners and the trio has since started to explore the bituminous depths of abandoned manors on craggy hills, to dust-swaddled tombs that were near Neolithic in age, but still held onto now forgotten history in their skeletal grasp.
Ruadhán, the Khettu inventor has always had a keen eye for ancient works of both gears and magic. From a time before the Exodus of the Indorai, from a time when the blood of ancestries were abundant only to disappear suddenly. He's intrigued by the deep silos that seem to bore into the earth for years beneath forgotten plateaus, and the 'rusting forests' of humanoid 'golems' that ceased functioning mid-harvest countless aeons past, and now hauntingly stare at passers-through with black, hollow eyes. He's been able to decode and decipher ancient blueprints to things that could revolutionize society, though only in the right hands.
Ásbjǫrn is a gentle giant. Born in the vicinity of Waeclenfaern he's from a large family of hearty stock. The colloquially 'wide' Lorrnath, with hooves the size of dinner plates and a penchant for relaxing by warm fires. As kind as he is to those he cares about, he just as fiercely protects his family. Trained by a master from Fort Brochfael, at a young age he knew he wasn't going to be a grain-puller like most of his family, and he set off to catalogue a world that intrigued him.
He's the 'door-kicker' of the trio.
A Start.. Hopefully.
These will be the trio that I 'write' the world through. There's a lot that I don't remember. Some of it lost to time, some of it re-written at one point or another, equally of which I don't remember. But at least it's both a place to start from, and a trio who's happy to tell the story of the things they come across.
North Western Valhaadrune is as good a place to start as any, since it's one of the few places I've had a lot written about that's in a form I can still access. I'm kinda looking forward to drawing these people again. They have a lot of contacts, a lot of friends made (A big rock-hauler mare is another I'd like to draw), and probably know more about this weird little planet than I do.
My brain works in weird, weird ways.
Now to start getting in gear.
-T.J.