vaelis
Snorlax is my spirit totem.
Prologue: I was a god, once.
I could barely move. I was trapped in my lesser form, bound within some calamity of an iron cage, within the gaping hull of a ship. A brigantine, was it? Judging by the sea brine that kept me in a pathetic, sodden state, there must be a storm approaching. The first breaths of that insurmountable god - the sea - breathed down the hatch with vengeful delight. A dark humor stirred my heart. I was destined for death. What difference did it make if I drowned? I’d wager it was a cleaner end than being butchered and sold as a cure-all. Such nonsense, this business about my organs, and the ghoulish speculations about which diseases they could cure. My liver, granting decades of youth? A drop of my blood, curing gout? And they called me a beast. A monster. It was a joke. Did that insane laughter ricocheting off the planks belong to me?
My weak, human flesh trembled against the chill. Waiting, it was such a chore. Too much time to reflect. To remember. To wallow. I was a god, once. Young in my godhood, but a matriarch of the Skymaw Clan, secure in the knowledge that I would - some day - command my clan. We were what the humans of the lower slopes called Spirit Wolves. Colossal in aspect, with the lesser species trembling at our passing. Some bordering clans marked the humans as prey. The Bear Clan, what fools. Those creatures had thick skulls, and were as immovable as a mountain. Perhaps that would explain my predicament. But my clan? We had a relationship of mutual benefit with our tenants. How else were we to acquire mead? Firewater? And that delicious confection they called cardamom buns? My mouth watered at the thought. I hadn’t devoured an ounce of flesh since the blood moon - or as these disgusting merchants called it - the strawberry moon. Wouldn’t be much of me left for them to butcher, would there?
The brigantine was swaying wildly now. I would have retched, had it not been weeks since my last meal. I was stored so low in the hull, that I had to bate my breath when the water sloshed portside. Where were the sailors with their buckets? Parasites, the lot of them. With every spare breath, I howled my rage. I’m here to meet you, death. Even a god can die.
The narrow stretch of sand known as the Caller’s Cove was littered with wood, canvas, and other debris - including corpses. Even a child could discern the evidence of a shipwreck, as if the half hulking skeleton of a ship wasn’t sign enough. And they did notice. Malnourished urchins from a local village clambered across the dunes like sand lice, rummaging for valuables. The winter had been hard. After the last rumblings of a storm sounded overhead, their fathers had sent them on a cursory errand to discover ‘the bounty of our mistress’. A fickle mistress she was; today, she spat square in their faces.
“Some bounty,” one of the older children snickered. The barrels strewn along the beach had been shattered, the disgorged rations devoured by fish and gull. There would be no succor for the village on this cloud-stricken day. Still, scouring the beach was a delightful reprieve from their mundane chores, even under the opaque stare of dead men. Hopscotch. Barrel riding. Wrestling. Laughter pierced the skies. It was that depraved screeching that drew Cloudspire from the wavering grasp of death, her conscious lapsing in, and out. In, and out. Synchronized with the tide.
“Gerric, look here!”
A stick prodded her ribs. The demonic child had aimed for a gaping wound, the most efficient means of determining whether she was a corpse, or - by some miracle - alive. A second prod determined just that, drawing an anguished groan from the... woman? It was met by a series of shrieks. A headache was in store, the pain an insignificant ache against her litany of wounds.
“What is it?” Must be Gerric. His voice was shrill, edged with terror.
The conversation frayed beneath the constant susurrus of waves. Time passed. It was difficult to track. The petrified children scuttled across the dunes to their village, babbling some nonsense about sea monsters. Daylight acquiesced to dusk, the sieve of clouds making the change so gradual it almost passed unnoticed. Cloudspire spent the last dregs of her energy clinging to consciousness, vaguely pondering whether the children would return with their elders.
It rained the next day. Or was it the day after that? Another windfall. Her blistered lips parted, drawing sustenance from the sky. The water trickled down her throat. Slowly, so slowly. But it was enough. Salt-crusted lashes crackled as her eyes split open, witnessing a blanket of slate clouds. Her namesake. In that moment, her instincts surfaced, searing through every nerve in her desiccated body. She would survive. She was Cloudspire, a Clan Spirit of Skymaw. Indomitable. Resolute. Alive.
“Bastards.”
Hours crawled by, at the same unhurried pace as the corpse beetle skittering across her sunken cheek. The rain ceased. Despite a blazing will to live, Cloudspire’s body was weaker than a mewling pup. Too weak to ascend from her lesser, human form. She schemed. A sailor's corpse lazed a few yards distant, sans his eyes. Suppose the crows had been at him. What they’d spared, the crabs considered a feast. There wasn’t much left, but perhaps it was enough. It’d been so long since her last meal, the thought of putrefied flesh barely curdled her stomach. Perhaps it would even taste like cardamom buns?
And so it went, little by little. A pinch of apple fritters. A sliver of buttered rye bread. A handful of honeyed chestnuts. Baked pumpkin. Smoked salmon. Caramelized custard. Bread pudding. Oozing intestines. Wait, not that - focus. Apples. Blackberries. The divine delight of chocolate.
Enough calories had been consumed to crawl, inch by aching inch, to the conifer timberline that edged Caller’s Cove. Cloudspire curled beneath the low boughs of a pine, sodden tail curled against her naked flesh, and fell into a dreamless sleep. Were any of the villagers to return to that cursed stretch of sand, the carnage would rend their souls.
The premise of this story is about a deity that was struck down from godhood through a series of misfortunes. She’s not a werewolf. She’s basically a wolf god from a foreign land, about fifteen feet in height. Her clan, after developing a repertoire with the humans at the foothills of their mountains, attained the ability to transform into a lesser form. Their lesser form is that of a typical human, with the exception of fur ears and a tail. To transform between their true and lesser forms, the deity must receive a boon of blood, whether voluntarily or by violence.
Through oral legends, the existence of the spirit clans passed from the townships on the Skymaw Mountains, to the neighboring empire of Pernu. The first forays into capturing these mythical creatures began - primarily for profit. The seed of a black market was nurtured. It became a lucrative profession to butcher Clan Spirits. The bear and boar clans of the lower forests suffered the worst, hunted to near extinction. Residing at the Spire of the Skymaw Mountains, where the climate is untenable for humans, the Wolf Clan was insulated from this savagery. Their flesh became more valuable than rubies. Cloudspire was the first among her kith to be captured, during a harmless foray to the human villages called Skystead.
The merchant-pirates hired to transport her to the Empire of Pernu were struck down by a hurricane of prolific proportions. Through either fortune or misfortune, Cloudspire survived the ordeal, and washed up in a foreign land, called the Kingdom of Seris. Denizens of this kingdom have no knowledge of the spirit clans. Were someone to witness Cloudspire, she would most likely be mistaken as a demon. Though there are a few clan spirits like Cloudspire hide within the borders of Seris, they live cloistered lives, making every effort to disguise themselves and remain an unknown factor. Most of these spirits have fled the extinction of their clans.
Through oral legends, the existence of the spirit clans passed from the townships on the Skymaw Mountains, to the neighboring empire of Pernu. The first forays into capturing these mythical creatures began - primarily for profit. The seed of a black market was nurtured. It became a lucrative profession to butcher Clan Spirits. The bear and boar clans of the lower forests suffered the worst, hunted to near extinction. Residing at the Spire of the Skymaw Mountains, where the climate is untenable for humans, the Wolf Clan was insulated from this savagery. Their flesh became more valuable than rubies. Cloudspire was the first among her kith to be captured, during a harmless foray to the human villages called Skystead.
The merchant-pirates hired to transport her to the Empire of Pernu were struck down by a hurricane of prolific proportions. Through either fortune or misfortune, Cloudspire survived the ordeal, and washed up in a foreign land, called the Kingdom of Seris. Denizens of this kingdom have no knowledge of the spirit clans. Were someone to witness Cloudspire, she would most likely be mistaken as a demon. Though there are a few clan spirits like Cloudspire hide within the borders of Seris, they live cloistered lives, making every effort to disguise themselves and remain an unknown factor. Most of these spirits have fled the extinction of their clans.
The Clan Spirits
Each Clan Spirit serves as a guardian to the lesser members of their species. Clan Spirits are rarely born, perhaps once every sixty years. Their lives span many centuries, enough that humans often mistake them as immortal. They’re typically three to four times the size of their species. They can commune with their lesser aspects, but not with a different species. IE: A Wolf Clan spirit can commune with run-of-the-mill timber wolves, but not bears.
The spirit clans include:
Wolf, Bear, Boar, Raven, Elk, Owl, Rabbit, and Badger
The Kingdom of Seris
The capital city is Edris, the jewel of the crown, is a shining beacon of civilization. The climate is temperate, with frequent showers. The main exports of Seris are wheat, wool, and lumber, indicating that the medium-sized kingdom has fertile lands and ample resources. Due to this overflowing bounty of resources, the kingdom is constantly at war with its neighbors, Highriver and Yern, with minor conflicts occurring frequently at its northern and eastern borders. Despite this nuisance, the kingdom otherwise enjoys a relatively peaceful existence.
The King of Seris is in his late forties, with three male heirs to secure his crown. The crown prince trains for his eventual ascension, the second prince is commander of the royal guard, and the third prince commands the military.
Weapons/Clothes/Culture of the Kingdoms Seris, Highriver, and Erinn:
These kingdoms are based on the medieval/renaissance periods (infused with fantasy) and have the governing principle of absolute monarchy. Architecture is gothic in style, with soaring arches, flying buttresses, and stained glass. Religion comprises several gods/goddesses, with Bornir (the Father/Warrior) the most prevalent among them. Weapons favored by these regions are swords, maces, spears, and longbows.
The Flatlands of Yurn
Loosely based on Mongolian culture, except with a matriarchal twist. The women of Yurn are the authoritative figures, with each clan led by a Mother and her lower council. The Mother is determined by a bout of strength, wit, and skill, and can be challenged for her position at any time. Their primary export is horseflesh, with Solveim boasting some of the finest horses in the world. The climate is dry and cold, with drawn out winters.
Weapons/Clothes/Culture of Yurn:
The clansmen worship their horses, and no family is respected without a claim to no less than three horses of decent pedigree. Mounted archery is their preferred method of combat, featuring the shortbow. Martial combat is supplemented with axes and long daggers. Clothing is comprised of furs and leathers, with flamboyant dyes and beads featured along the hems.
The Empire of Pernu
Despite the arid climate, the empire of Pernu is a nation of wealth, indulgence, and limitless greed. Three sultanates govern the empire, constantly in a political battle to shift the balance of power. Xia exports fish and exquisite liquor, distilled from the berries that flourish on the edge ofthe Glimmering Flats. Arkap primarily exports iron and precious metals mined from the Yaxal Mountains. Barrava exports exotic fabrics spun from the webs of munrir spiders, which nest within the swamps of the Barra Jungle. It’s rumored that the Sultan of Xia’s sister has suffered a rare disease since childhood that gradually petrifies her skin. Perhaps that would explain the obsession with hunting the Clan Spirits for the past few decades.
Weapons/Clothes/Culture of Pernu:
Pernu is based on the desert cultures of the persian empire. Preferred weapons include the spear, scimitar, and shortbow. Clothing serves as a ward against the desert heat (except in Barrava), with kandys (loose robes) and turbans as the standard. Men and women from Pernu have dark skin, bordering on a medium olive to a rich black. Denizens of the Xia sultanate typically dye their hair flamboyant colors (greens, blues, purples), derived from sea plants.
Magic
The Clan Spirits are some of the last vestiges of magic that still exist within this universe. While some artifacts survive from the previous era (the Astral Era), most of these items are useless baubles. Some moth-eaten scrolls may refer to the Fade - the world whence the Clan Spirits originate - but the location of the veil between worlds has been lost to men and spirits alike
More lore to come, but my fingers are worn out from typing.
Each Clan Spirit serves as a guardian to the lesser members of their species. Clan Spirits are rarely born, perhaps once every sixty years. Their lives span many centuries, enough that humans often mistake them as immortal. They’re typically three to four times the size of their species. They can commune with their lesser aspects, but not with a different species. IE: A Wolf Clan spirit can commune with run-of-the-mill timber wolves, but not bears.
The spirit clans include:
Wolf, Bear, Boar, Raven, Elk, Owl, Rabbit, and Badger
The Kingdom of Seris
The capital city is Edris, the jewel of the crown, is a shining beacon of civilization. The climate is temperate, with frequent showers. The main exports of Seris are wheat, wool, and lumber, indicating that the medium-sized kingdom has fertile lands and ample resources. Due to this overflowing bounty of resources, the kingdom is constantly at war with its neighbors, Highriver and Yern, with minor conflicts occurring frequently at its northern and eastern borders. Despite this nuisance, the kingdom otherwise enjoys a relatively peaceful existence.
The King of Seris is in his late forties, with three male heirs to secure his crown. The crown prince trains for his eventual ascension, the second prince is commander of the royal guard, and the third prince commands the military.
Weapons/Clothes/Culture of the Kingdoms Seris, Highriver, and Erinn:
These kingdoms are based on the medieval/renaissance periods (infused with fantasy) and have the governing principle of absolute monarchy. Architecture is gothic in style, with soaring arches, flying buttresses, and stained glass. Religion comprises several gods/goddesses, with Bornir (the Father/Warrior) the most prevalent among them. Weapons favored by these regions are swords, maces, spears, and longbows.
The Flatlands of Yurn
Loosely based on Mongolian culture, except with a matriarchal twist. The women of Yurn are the authoritative figures, with each clan led by a Mother and her lower council. The Mother is determined by a bout of strength, wit, and skill, and can be challenged for her position at any time. Their primary export is horseflesh, with Solveim boasting some of the finest horses in the world. The climate is dry and cold, with drawn out winters.
Weapons/Clothes/Culture of Yurn:
The clansmen worship their horses, and no family is respected without a claim to no less than three horses of decent pedigree. Mounted archery is their preferred method of combat, featuring the shortbow. Martial combat is supplemented with axes and long daggers. Clothing is comprised of furs and leathers, with flamboyant dyes and beads featured along the hems.
The Empire of Pernu
Despite the arid climate, the empire of Pernu is a nation of wealth, indulgence, and limitless greed. Three sultanates govern the empire, constantly in a political battle to shift the balance of power. Xia exports fish and exquisite liquor, distilled from the berries that flourish on the edge ofthe Glimmering Flats. Arkap primarily exports iron and precious metals mined from the Yaxal Mountains. Barrava exports exotic fabrics spun from the webs of munrir spiders, which nest within the swamps of the Barra Jungle. It’s rumored that the Sultan of Xia’s sister has suffered a rare disease since childhood that gradually petrifies her skin. Perhaps that would explain the obsession with hunting the Clan Spirits for the past few decades.
Weapons/Clothes/Culture of Pernu:
Pernu is based on the desert cultures of the persian empire. Preferred weapons include the spear, scimitar, and shortbow. Clothing serves as a ward against the desert heat (except in Barrava), with kandys (loose robes) and turbans as the standard. Men and women from Pernu have dark skin, bordering on a medium olive to a rich black. Denizens of the Xia sultanate typically dye their hair flamboyant colors (greens, blues, purples), derived from sea plants.
Magic
The Clan Spirits are some of the last vestiges of magic that still exist within this universe. While some artifacts survive from the previous era (the Astral Era), most of these items are useless baubles. Some moth-eaten scrolls may refer to the Fade - the world whence the Clan Spirits originate - but the location of the veil between worlds has been lost to men and spirits alike
More lore to come, but my fingers are worn out from typing.
RP Partner/What I'm Looking For
I’m looking for a writing partner to create a story with. Preferably with excellent literary skills and a willingness to explore an ongoing world. There will be villains, pitfalls, slice of life, war, hilarity, sorrow, and (possibly) romance plots. Secondary characters/scenes will be necessary to flesh out the story, though they shouldn’t be too common. Story will be in third-person (except perhaps the prologue of each chapter).This story isn’t just about the main character, Cloudspire. Your character should also have their own goals/quests/desires/pitfalls. Does he/she decide that Cloudspire is a demon, to be turned over to the church? Perhaps she can be a tool to permanently rebuff the invasions from the Kingdoms of Highriver and Yern? Will he/she assist Cloudspire with her own goals? Did you character discover a reference to the Fade, with Cloudspire serving as evidence? There are countless possibilities. You will basically be a co-GM, and together we will plot all sorts of shenanigans for our characters!
Your OC
For the sake of interesting plot points, I would like it to be something more colorful than a basic villager/fisherman/etc. Just let me know your ideas, I’m pretty flexible otherwise. Considering this is a patriarchal society (and for the basic reason that stories involving romance usually have more flare), a male would make more sense. I can also double, if you can! We’ll both potentially be writing for a secondary character, anyways.I’m pretty friendly! We’ll chat OOC to plan plots and otherwise goof off. I can write 3-5 days a week (or more) during the summer. But if you only want to write once a week, I’m fine with that too! Winter is a more demanding season for me (with the holidays), so we can discuss that time when it approaches. Since this is a full-blown story, I’m hoping that my writing partner can contribute decent entries to each chapter/scenario. The longer, the better, with quality kept in mind.
If romance is involved, there will be no smut scenes, it will be ‘fade to black’
I can write via DM, share a google doc, or discord. Crossing my fingers that I find someone!
I can write via DM, share a google doc, or discord. Crossing my fingers that I find someone!
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