Garavant Tourism Bureau

[garavant-temple]

Navigation Page!

I’ve made a page featuring as many tags and catagories as I can think of in order to make the blog a bit easier to go around/more accessible.

It can be found here ( booooooooop) and on my main page under 07 over on the side.

[garavant-temple]

The Nation of Albion and the Far Isles

The Nation of Albion, commonly just reffered to as Albion, is an island nation about 3 days sea travel from the Occultian Mainland. The collection of islands is collectively known as The Far Isles and sit in the North Occultian Sea at the very edge of the Endless Fog.

The Nation of Albion, The Sunken Isle and the Shattered Archipeligo were once a larger whole island until an incident around 500 years ago, following a long war against the mainland known as the Albion War of Seperation.

Since the Albion War of Seperation, they have been a completely independant nation, with their own government and economic systems. Despite the previous conflicts between Albion and Occultia, the two countries are relatively neutral and Albion relies on the Mainland for a lot of trade and resources. Albion is also considered a popular tourist destination for those from Mainland Occultia, particularly for the Shattered Archipelago. As such, many luxurious resorts have sprang up across the many islands. Albions main exports are fish and the rare minerals that are only found within the Cleaved Mountains.

The Sunken Isle is part of the Nation of Albion that was broken from the island and sunken as an act to end the War of Seperation. One common job in Albion is that of divers who go and try to recover old artifacts and treasures. It is also a popular tourist attraction, with boat rides and smaller diving trips as activities.

Ille de Torn is a small island nation with only one major settlement. It's main source of interest is it's proximity to the Endless Fog, which is both revered and monitored by the inhabitants.

The Endless Fog is a mysterious phenomenon, it has surrounded the Nation of Albion since before records were made. Even Celestia claims to not remember a time before its existance. No-one knows what lies beyond the fog but any who have ventured in have either never returned and the few who have never seem to able to recall ever having been in.

Albion and the surrounding Isles are mainly inhabited by humans and magic is not common here. It is thought that magic here will eventually deplete completely. While they are aware of Celestia and the history of the other gods, they are not worshipped here or part of daily life beyond Celestia being the leading dignitary of another country.

[garavant-temple]

In the Courtyard

Context: Sometime after in the stone circle. Jake's training is still not going well and he is getting increasingly frustrated. After one such session, Jake has stormed off to find somewhere quiet to clear his head.

I eventually found myself at the Temple's central garden. It was a very presentable area, cultivated with the express purpose of showing rare and beautiful flowers to passing dignitaries. A variety of flowers and shrubs were set in uniform patterns alongside deliberately placed footpaths and culminating at a large tree and benched area at the back wall.

I lazily dragged my sword by my side as I made way past the manicured hedges, pulling off leaves and scattering them behind me. There were plants here from all corners of Occultia, some from places I was sure to visit one day as a passing dignitary myself. I wondered if I should take the time to memorise each one. That way I would have at least one thing to talk about anywhere I went.

"Oh, so you're the mayor of Archknowswhere, I here the Whatsthis Pansy blooms beautiful here." I began dramatically whispering to myself as I pulled apart a delicate yellow flower. I drop myself down on a stone bench and sigh heavily into the evening sky.

"You're going to scare away the butterflies if you keep acting like that." A rather disgruntled yet hushed voice grumbled from the next bench down.

I glanced down to see Raville sat there, watching some butterflies flittering other a specific patch of red-orange flowers. They had a sketch pad pressed against their knee as they slowly drew out the scene. It was strange to see them in such a tranquil setting, considering our previous encounters.

"What are doing-" I began but Raville shushed me with a raised hand.

They waved a pencil. "The butterflies." My sword slid and dropped to the floor with a clatter, scaring said butterflies away. Raville let out a long beleaguered sigh. They rolled their eyes pointedly towards me and placed their sketching materials firmly by their side. "They were a pretty rare sight this far north, who knows when I'll get the chance to draw them again. Speaking of rarities," They stood and came slowly towards me. "That flower you turned to confetti was one of fifty left in Occultia, well fourty-nine now." Raville patted my shoulder in false congratulations.

I slid further down the bench, ending in a slump by my sword. "Sorry. For like, all that." I gestured with vague sympathy.

"What are you doing here anyway, other than ruining my quiet evening?" Raville huffed but helped me to my feet, pulling me little too roughly.

"I came here to think, I guess. I should probably ask you the same thing. Last I knew you were banned from the city."

Raville raised a incredulous eyebrow. "You need your sword to think?" They said, swiping it up from by my feet and tapping me under my chin with the tip. "And being banned is only a problem if they know I'm here."

"I was just coming from my training with Forrine. It… uh… went as well as it usually does." I flopped back down onto a bench, Raville sitting upright beside me.

"So they have Forrine teaching you. Makes sense that you'd be struggling under him. I assume they couldn't find someone with actual talent."

Raville inspects my sword with an eye that's all too familiar with them. They ran their battle-worn hands down the blade, tracing the engravings - an old elven saying to bring victory. "This isn't your - well, Dracarnius' - sword."

"Apparently Dracarnius' sword was never recovered after the last battle he died in." I shrugged. "The council allowed me to have this one."

Raville narrowed their gaze, suppressing a chuckle. "Now that doesn't sound right."

"What do you mean?"

"You're telling me that an indestructible sword, a weapon of the gods, just is nowhere to be found? After over 100 years, not a single sign or trace? That just doesn't sound right." Their gaze searched mine for a response. I shrugged, not really being able to offer one.

"It's just what I've been told, not even Celestia has said anything to suggest otherwise."

Raville looked over me scrupulously. "Hmm… is that right?" They leaned back and sighed deeply towards the darkening sky. "If you ask me, I think that's part of you problem."

"Well I didn't ask-" Raville interrupted me with a finger smushing into my cheek.

"Maybe you should ask. You need to think more too. Seems to me since you got to the city you haven't had an original thought for yourself. Now don't scowl - you're far to pleased to go along with what ever anyone tells you - how to act, who to be. Have you even taken a moment to think about your own wants and feelings?" Raville looked back over to me, not like the hardened soldier I knew them to be but as someone who was all too familiar with kind of burden I found myself with.

I gazed into my empty hands. They were right. Since Celestia had brought me here, every had formed their own expectations of me - some good, many bad or rather, fearful. I'd gotten so focused on not being like the old Dracarnius that I'd started to lose any sense of myself. "I just… I don't know what I'm supposed to do. I have this power, this responsibility, this grand role to play. But I'm just me. Two months ago I was just some guy living on a farm and now I'm meant to be this God? And everyone is so scared of me that I don't think anyone realises how terrified I am." I pull the glove off my charred arm, showing the jagged remains underneath. I rub the rough edges slowly. "It still hurts…" I whisper to myself.

Raville grabs my wrist, startling me out of my self-pity. "Trust me, I know how that feels more than you'd think." They pull me clumsily up to my feet and takes several paces away. They whisper something into their cupped hands and release a shower of glowing orbs, lighting up the dimming evening. "Now take me through the first five stances Forrine drilled with you."

I looked at Raville quizzically, whip-lashing from the sudden shift in tone. They were once again stood with the severity of a trained soldier. Raville urged me with a wave of their hand. I picked up the sword by the bench and paced my way through the standard stances Forrine had been beleaguered to teach me.

Raville's expression remained unchanging as they stepped towards me and nudged my unpractised limbs slightly before taking their place again a few paces away. Again, they waved and I went through the stances once more. I heard an audible tut and Raville approached again, being firmer this time as they moved my arms into position. They stayed within reach this time as I redid my stances, correcting each one as I went. This went on until the skies were dark and littered with stars. Eventually I went through a cycle of stances without the firm adjustments from Raville. And then ten times without a mistake.

"Okay." They finally said. "I'll teach you."

I was going to argue with them for a moment but realised that besides Celestia, Raville was the best teacher I would ever get. There was just one problem - their banishment from the city. If they were to get caught it would be trouble for us both.

As if hearing my worries, Raville waved nonchalantly. "Don't worry about the logistics, I'll figure something out. I'll send word when I'm free for your next lesson. Now it's probably best we both skedaddle before the night patrol makes their first rounds."

Before I could respond, Raville clicked their fingers, dismissing the glowing orbs and disappeared along with their light.

[garavant-temple]

Inside the Stone Circle

Some context: This is a few weeks after Celestia has taken Jake under her wing and after she has begun trying to teach him the basics of magic. Word of Celestia having a new protege has spread around now, reaching the ears of people that are better off not knowing. The magic lessons had been going slowly so Jake has snuck out of the city to practice.

It was as early in the morning as I could muster the energy for. The sky was pale and cold, my breath blowing icily out of me. I hadn't appreciated how cold the being out on the Plains this time would be and was not dressed accordingly.

I took myself out to the nearest Stone Circle, far enough from the city to avoid catching the attention of any passerby's but close enough that any fires I might accidentally cause definitely would.

The bright morning sun started to peek between the mountains on the horizon. I counted the paces across the circle. There should be enough room. With my back pressed against one of the giant stone slabs, I focused between the stones directly across from me. I felt the granite sure and sturdy beneath my fingertips as I took long, measured breaths. I felt ground under my feet and the pressure of my feet on the ground. I felt the way my body connected to the world, and the world -through my body- to me.

Some time passed in this almost static state of focus. The sun slowly climbed up the sky dragging the morning along with it. It was a moment before I realized I had stopped breathing properly and began coughing and spluttering. I steadied myself before kicking the ground in frustration.

I'd followed all of Celestia's instructions in meditation and yet I couldn't catch a glimmer of the threads in the morning light. I thought back to our sessions and the gentle voice Celestia had used to guide me through the meditations.

—

"You need to feel the way the world flows around you, find the threads and follow them." She had said, guiding me round the room by my wrists, almost in a dance. "With enough practice, you might see the threads that weave this world together and then…" We twirled around in a slow and practiced way. Celestia suddenly reached out and plucked something invisible behind my head.All at once, the room shimmered with a thousand criss-crossing threads of light. "Then you can simply do anything." She held me tight and firm with one sure arm and tugged quickly with the other. The world flashed around us, seemed to stretch and disappear, then snap back into place. Just like that we had gone from being inside the Temple to stood on top of the city walls.

—

I centered myself again, palms flat against the stone. This time I tried to feel more than its cold, hard surface, to feel the energy that pulsed through the stone and the ground and the air around me. I measured my breathing once more, tracing the flow of energy into my lungs and through my body in my mind. I closed my eyes and imagined the flow between myself and the rock behind me. I felt the connections between myself and the stone and the ground and further, going all the way back to the city and to the mountains beyond.

I opened my eyes. The air shimmered, ever so slightly. The flow of energy I imagined flashing in front of me. I reached out tentatively, stroking the threads between my fingers. They were faint but they were there. I snapped my fingers shut around one of the threads but it faded away in my grip.

I planted my feet and reestablished my connections. The threads flash a bit brighter this time. I reached out and pulled, sending a small glimmer of light a small ways in front of me. I tried again. Feet sturdy on the ground. I pulled harder. The thread lit up, the light traveling down past the border of the stone circle. Again. The thread became solid in my hand. Again. I could weave the thread between my fingers. Again.

I suddenly found myself stood two-feet from the stone. The world began to spin around me and my body crumpled to the floor. A wave of intense nausea came over me as I stared up at the swirling sky. I rolled around pathetically for a moment, my own senses assaulting me. The sky too bright, the birdsong too loud, the ground too, well groundy. I crawled over to the stone to steady myself back to my feet.

There was someone across the circle, leaning on the stone directly across from mine. My gaze met theirs, even at this distance, and seeing me acknowledge them, the stranger slowly moved towards me. They carried a large cleaver-like sword that looked far too heavy for anyone to handle with as much confidence as they did. I squinted as their features came into view. There was a vague sense of recognition that crept up in the far reaches of my mind. I remembered their face like one I would remember on a wanted poster or a history book, but I couldn't recall where. If I did ever know this person, it was not in this lifetime.

The stranger edged closer. I could see the smirk on their face, the sinister flash in their green eyes, the confidence in each stride. By the time they were within a few steps reach, the stranger completely over shadowed me. They had such a magnetism that I couldn't help but stare up at them as they regarded me.

"So," They spoke so low I had to force myself to hear them. They lifted their sword up with an impossible ease and pinned me to the rock with it tip. "You're Celestia's new protege, then?" They almost forgot to hide the ridicule in their voice. "You know you really shouldn't be all the way out here by yourself. There's all kinds of dangerous people lurking about these days."

"Who are-" With a violent thrust, the stranger threw me up and over their head using the end of their sword.

"Who am I?" They laughed, each word dripping with contempt. Even if I hadn't a clue who they were, they certainly had something against me. "Who are you?"

With a rush, they charged at me. I scrambled across the ground, only barely rolling out of the way of their lunging attack. I tried to stammer out a response but any words or sense were lost to me. I acted on instinct and fear as this stranger kept swinging his sword at me. Every time I managed to find my feet, they cruelly sent me flying again. Then it dawned on me - if they had wanted to cut me open with that massive cleaver-sword, they very well would have. They were missing expertly accurately on purpose. This was a game.

I waited until they were over me again and kicked hard into their stomach with both feet. My surprise rebuttal knocked them far enough back that I was able to gain enough distance between us to at least catch my breath. I turned round to see them hunched over, glaring at me through their fallen silver fringe. Before I could blink, the assault began again - quicker and more furious. This time, the stranger wasn't being as careful in missing me with their sword. More than once the dark steel grazed my skin, cut away wisps of hair. The fear swelled in my chest. If this carried on, I would end up on the ground permanently.

Without thinking, I reached out and pulled. When I opened my eyes, I found myself on the other side of the stranger who turned to look at me with rage, and a hint of something else. Curiosity, maybe.

"So she really has been teaching you. Okay," They stood up fully, tossing their sword down. "This might actually be interesting."They launched at me with a newfound speed now they were unencumbered by the giant sword.

I instinctively pulled on the threads again. And again, and again. I dodged their attacks, teleporting to different spots just few feet apart all across the Stone Circle. With each tug of the threads, I found it harder and harder to keep myself conscious. By the fifth or sixth time, I could barely stand. I'd managed to get myself close enough to one of the stones to prop myself up on. The stranger, however, showed no signs of tiring. I reached out feebly to try and tug a thread again. I got hold and pulled hard. I was snapped out of teleportation and sent careening to the ground before I reached my destination.

I saw the stranger wrapping the same thread I used round their hand, using it to pull me close to him. "That's a neat little trick." They pulled me across the ground, taunting me. "Now, let me show you some of mine." The stranger took a number of threads in between their fingers in the same way I'd seen Celestia manipulate them. They used the threads deftly, whipped the round to tie round my wrists and treat me like a wooden puppet. Any attempt I made to pull the threads was to my detriment as I was thrown about.

They pulled me in and out of the threads paths, using teleportation to hit my fast and hard. They took us high in the air and slammed me down into the ground with a force that made the dirt crack underneath me. They reached out and as if beckoned, the heavy cleaver-sword flew into their hand. They held it high above their head, its wide blade blocking out the sun. They swung.

I blocked the strike with my charred arm. Around us, reality seemed to shatter. Shards of the world around us shimmered in disjointed pieces, leaving us stagnant in this spot.

The stranger stared at me, confused as to why I was unharmed. They dropped the sword and reached other to pull the glove that covered the charred, scarred mess of my lower left arm, the skin harder than carbon after the incident. They looked me in the eyes for the first time. "So you really are him…" For a moment, they faltered, for just a second they were unsure.

Suddenly we were pulled back into reality in the center of the Stone Circle. Celestia loomed over us, her stern expression noticeable even in shadow. There had been very few time I'd seen her this clearly angry.

"Raville." She said, sending shivers through me. "What on Orkos do you think you're doing!?"

[garavant-temple]

Occultian 101 - Numerical System

Much like the alphabet, the numerical system in Occultia has become standardised over time. The system used is a base-12 or duodecimal system, with some significant numbers being 12, 60 and 300. This differs from the standard base-10 decimal system used primarily in our world.

Some examples of the base-12 system that are familar would be measuring time, calenders and the old Imperial system.

Hand counting is done differently as well in Occultia, using the joints four main digits of the right hand to count to 12 and using the left hand to keeps track of 12's. In this way, people can count to 60 on one hand.

A tilde above any given number symbol indicated for that number to be halved, a tilde over a group of symbols indicated for the total to be halved. Other than halving, fractions aren't a known practice in Occultia.

Ways the base-12 counting system are reflected in wider culture and traditions are somewhat similar to our own. Time is measured by sundial and sunmirrors and split into 24-hour days. Turning 60 years of age is seen as a special occasion in many of the peoples. Many offerings to the gods are made in groups of 3,4 or 12 depending on the situation. The money system follows 12 dire to a corus, 6 corus to a tenn, 4 tenns to an ingis, 3 ingi to a merret and 2 merret to a Garant. (Updates to the money 101 needed).

4 is seen as a fortunate number and naturally occuring groups of 4 are seen as a sign of good fortune to come. Gifts are often given in 4s or multiples of 4. For example if baking cookies for someone, you'd give them 4, 8 or 12 cookies. For superstitious people, tapping or ring a bell in a doorway 4 times is a way to ward off intruding spirits.

If writing a sequence of numbers, much like sentences, seperate numbers are defined by slashes /.

[garavant-temple]

Finally got round to finishing something on the switch version of Colors. Its uh different to colors3d i guess.

[garavant-temple]

Occultia 101: Some notes on Magic

Occultia and Orkos are lands filled with magic of various kinds that can be split between two main groups, Innate/Natural Magic and Practical/Learned magic.

Innate/Natural Magic:

Innate magic is that which exists within someone or any living thing from the moment they are born. Levels vary from person to person and while this cannot change, someones atunement or ability to access this can be increased and improved. Not everyone is born with an inate level of magic. Inate magic is closely tied to the ancient magic of the land and is thought to derive from the gods of old. It is also typically more elemental or cosmic in nature, hence considered 'natural'. Someone with a high inate magic level and high atunement would be able to atune to the magical threads that exist naturally in the world and others around them and perform great feats. Those with this level of magical ability often specialise in a particular element, such as water, or particular form, such as manipulation in order to become masters. Certain people very rarely have such and inate level of magic they are proficient in all areas and considered 'chosen' by the gods. Innate magic is typically more powerful than learned magic but does have as much usage in day to day practicallity, it also comes with a lot more drawbacks.

Learned magic on the other hand is widely used across even those who don't have much inate magical ability. Magic through runes is the most common application of learned magic. Pretty much anyone can learn to craft and design runes, as well as other magical applications as potions/apothecary and even cooking is seen by some as a form of learned/practical magic. While inate magical ability is not required, someones level of inate/natural magic or ability to atune to magic will dictate how powerful and complex the runes etc. they create can be. Many people will know a handlful of runes and rituals that a helpful in day to day life or those that relate to their careers.

The University has courses on how to harness the best of both streams of magic. Even those who don't have great magical ability can also learn about the applications and effects of magic. It is seen as much of science as physics or biology is and it is this view that has expanded the applications of learned magic.

Since Learned magic is seen as newer and less refined, there is some prejudice against it by those with Inate magic in the older generations, and with Siaritenian elves in particular. This view is widely regarded as outdated at the uses and availablity of Learned magic increase and become accepted.

[garavant-temple]

Occultia 101: Cameras and Telephones

While Occultia and Orkos is a land governed mainly by magic, it still has some forms of technology relatively similar to ours. Electricty isn't a widely used power source so the use of runes and alchemical reactions is much more commonplace. This is true in the case of cameras and telephones.

Cameras in Occultia are typically larger box cameras, fairly cumbersome to move around so photography is often restricted to studios or to hire professional photographers. Smaller portable 'disposable' cameras are in developement, however the main reason they are disposable is that the runes needed for flash capabilities tends to destroy them after a few uses.

In order for cameras to work, a rune is enscribed on the side of the wooden casing. A small section is left incomplete which the photographer will use chalk to complete when shooting. This ensures the camera won't randomly fire when not in use. Runes can be altered to add flash or delay capalities, in which the rune triggers a reaction inside the box camera with a flash compound that needs reset each time.

In addition, photographers will ask the model to say the runes trigger word to activate the rune and thus take the picture. Some photographers have their own words but 'yalsiim' (occultian flower) is widely used.

Similarly, telephonic and telegraphic communication is made in much the same way. Gramophones and wall hanging phones are engraved with blank rune circles with which a caller can input another phones connection rune to make a call. Each phone has its own unique rune, which certain secure lines being more complex and even use jewel embedments to prevent people accidently calling the wrong number.

Specially made mirrors can be used in much the same way in order to have something similar to a video call. Miniature pocket mirrors are becoming more popular in the cities for people to call eachother outside of the home or specially deignated buildings.

Telephonic runes are set typically 4-6 bands with anywhere from 9-20 points set on them aligned with the times on a clock. Most people have connection runes at the lower 9-12 points range where larger businesses use upto 15 and the most private lines, such as those used by the Elders, use 20 points across 6 bands. Connection runes are read outside-in, starting with 12 o'clock going clockwise. People share their runes either by drawing them our or writing down their sequence in accordance to that system. As long as a telephone or telemirror has an active enscribed communication rune, then thoeretically anyone can try to communicate with it from their own teledevice.

As with camera runes, telephonic runes have common activation words. A telephone or telemirrors rune will glow if someone has inputted it on there own teledevice and the activation word is used to accept and open communication. Similarly, a deactivation word can be used to decline, and must also be used on both ends to close the communication channel. At the end of a call, the input runes are cleaned/emptied until the next call.

In many towns and cities, there are dedicated places with many teledevices for people to use, or often combined with the local post office in smaller places. It isn't yet commonplace for households to have their own teledevices but many businesses and especially those in cities are beginning to. Teledevices and communication runes are very much still an emerging technology and it is fairly limited in its range For example, a rune made in the far reaches of Sopolia would have difficulty reaching the Marshlands of Penirler, or even reaching one end of Umbruskia to another would be a fair feat. It also currently requires at least some magically proficiency or the wealth to buy magic reserves which not everyone has or can afford. As such, letter writing is still the prominent form of long distance communication.

[garavant-temple]

Character Profile - Mr. Mallone-Devond

Name: Mr. Mallone-Devond / Age: 260 / He/him / Half-elf

Mr. Mallone-Devond is a solicitor and records keeper. He has an uncanny ability to track down and find anything and anyone - a skill that he regularly hires out to others.

Appearance:

Mr. Mallone-Devond is 6'1'' and incredibly lanky, his arms and legs seem almost too long for him, and he is somewhat gaunt. He has bright ginger hair and scruffy beard which only contrasts with his sickly almost grey skin. His brown eyes are so dark you can't really see his pupils. His overall appearance and demeanor is rather unsettling but in a way many can't put their finger on.

Background:

Mr. Mallone-Devond was orphaned at a young age after his mother died in childbirth and his father died in The Red Marsh Uprising. He grew up as a pickpocket, eventually making his way as a young teen to the streets of Garavant. There, he caught the eye of two local solicitors, a Mr. Mallone and a Mr Devond, from whom he gets his name. After their untimely death, he took over their business as well as starting some less scrupulous side hustles of his own. His ability to track down anyone and anything was something that he has honed over his life, though over time Mr. Mallone-Devond has gained a less than favourable reputation due to rumours that this ability comes from demonic heratige. In recent years, Mr. Mallone-Devond has been part of Celestia's personal roster of 'useful people' for exactly those abilities.

Personality:

Despite his tragic background, Mr. Mallone-Devond keeps his head held high and always maintains an air of self-reckognised superiority. His has a keen analytical ability and keeps himself cold and distant from those around him. Perhaps due to all the loss he has endured, Mr. Mallone-Devond almost refuses to see others a things he can use or just means to an end. He is a very skilled solicitor and is very knowlegable on a wide variety of things. He makes it his business to keep his ear to the ground and have his fingers in as many pots as possible. He is generally a very hard person to read but it is clear he is someone who only really does things to suit his own favour.

Likes:

Mr. Mallone-Devond likes nothing more that keeping very organised. He revels in plannig out things exactly and executing those plans with efficiency. He very much likes being left to his own devices to get things done. Other than that, Mr. Mallone-Devond doesn't devote much energy to enjoying this for the sake of enjoyment. He simply does what must be done.

Dislikes:

Mr. Mallone-Devond dislikes most other things and people - or he would if he cared to put any energy into actively disliking anything. The one things that does truly displeasure him is that he now finds himself under the command of Celestia's orders.

[garavant-temple]

Character Profile: Raville

Name: Raville Arumat / Age: 114ish / Ze/zir / Elf

Raville is one of the greatest warriors in Occultia's history and at one point Celestia's personal guard and closest friend.

Appearance:

Raville is a 6'3'' elf with tanned skin and is very toned in build. Ze has a lot of scars over zirs body from a life as a warrior and zirs own recklessness. Ze has floppy silver hair that almost appears greenish in some lights that ze wears tied back in a loose ponytail. Raville is rarely seen with a full shirt on, prefering to wear loose robes that are only sometimes tied.

Background:

Born as a 'child of prophecy' or 'chosen one', Raville has lived every moment of zirs life in defience of the idea that fate is definite. However, ze was never less than a progedy in all ze did. Profient in bothe magic and swordsmanship from a very young age, Raville was the youngest to ever graduate from the University at 14, became a Temple guard at 20, Golden Guard at 24 and also the youngest appointed Elder on the council in zir 30s. All of this went a very long way to prove the prophecy ze was born into. To try and defy this, Raville went to extreme lenghts to prove zirself master of zir own destiny.

Personality:

Raville is a very much disciplined and dependable individual. Zir skill not only comes from the boon of being a 'chosen one' but from zirs own dedication to perfecting whatever ze sets zirs mind on. On the flip side, when Raville is not on duty, ze is very laid back and a real people person. Ze can get along with anyone ze comes across and is incredibly charismatic. Zirs own percieved strenght, a 'plot armour' also comes with a downside of zir being reckless and getting into situations ze shouldn't, leading to Celestia often bailing zir out.

Likes:

Beyond zirs life and duties as a soldier and council Elder, Raville has a deep connection and appeciation for nature. Ze has a collection and knowledge of rocks and plants and keeps a beautiful private greenhouse on the Temple grounds. Raville also has a keen interest in insects and loves any opportunity to show off some of zirs pets, as well as zirs endangered moth breeding hobby.

Dislikes:

Raville feels perpetually trapped in the prophecy thats been laid out about zirs life. Despite zirs best attempts, as well as zirs worst, Raville always seems to steer towards the path that's been set. Raville also as a deep seeded dislike towards those that are needlessy cruel to insects and wouldn't think twice about treating them the same as they treat bugs. Ze also has a surprising fear of lightning. This somewhat complicates zirs relationship/interactions with Jake.

[garavant-temple]

Character Profile: Jake Bennett

Name: Jake Bennett / Age: Currently 18 / He/Him / Human-God

A very introverted human boy that to his displeasure ended up being the reincarnation of Dracarnius, God of Destruction, the Great Betrayer. He really would just like to have a good nap.

Appearence:

Jake is a comparatively short 5'7'' and very averagely built. He is very pale and has a few freckles on his face. His hair is a shaggy black mess that he cuts himself just above the shoulder. He has unatturally blue eyes but otherwise would look no different from any other human.

Background:

Jake was raised as human in the small village of Netherfell. He's one of the few humans that still remain in Occultia after the majority left for the Far Isles. Growing up, Jake seemed to attract bad luck wherever he went, which lead to him becoming increasinly anxious and introverted. This bad luck was however just the manifestation of the God Dracarnius before he fully awakened to his true power. Currently, Jake lives with Celestia at the Temple in Garavant, and is simply trying his best.

Personality:

Despite being the reincarnation of the God of Death and Destruction, Jake is very quiet and gentle. He is very easy to get along with even if he is a little nervous and awkward about it. He is very eager to take on hands-on work and would think nothing of trying to fix a broken roof. However, Jake is naturally very clumsy and is just as likely as to break something or make matters worse as he is of fixing it. He also like to collect knickknacks wherever he goes as a sort of physical diary. His room is lined with shelves of thngs that at one glance might seem a load of junk but to Jake all hold precious memories or mark important milestones and he can recount perfectly what each thing represents if asked.

There are times however, despite his usual gentle nature, Jake can really let his anger or anxiety get the better of him. This often leads to big messes that he has no problem in trying to reconcile, but has lead to a lot of people being wary around him, especially as his powers increase.

Likes:

Jake very much enjoys being left to his own devices. He loves rainy days as they give him the excuse to stay indoors wrapped up in comfy clothes over the usual expected attire. He also enjoys any opportunity where he can spend time with Celestia where they don't have constantly act like gods and rulers and they can just be, normally over a perfectly brewed pot of tea and accompanying cake that Celestia has put together. Jake also likes cats and will often be found in the streets of Garavant surround by a crowd of kittens as he plays and treats them.

Dislikes:

The reputation the Jake has from being the reincarnation of the god of Destruction, despite being his own person. He is trying his best to carve his own meaning of being Dracarnius but his past lives haunt him and his every decision. However, he must still perform his duties as a god of Death, even if it is not necessarily well percieved.

[garavant-temple]

Character Profile - Celestia

Name: Celestia / Age: ??? / She/Her / God

The current form of Archridrekylle, the God of Creation and Perfection, First Born of the Universe. This current appearance has been in use since the Golden Age of Occultia as it has become a familiar face to the peoples.

Appearance:

Celestia stands at anywhere between 6' and 7' 4'' depending in her mood and whatever point she is trying to make. She has long deep red hair that flows to the nape of her back which she wears loose or in braids. While she is trying her best approximation of the average Occultian citizen, there is still something Not Quite Right with her appearance, which she has slightly too narrow pupils and slightly too sharp teeth. She also has a large blackened scar that goes down the left side of her face from battles past, however she tends to cover this with glamours.

Background:

Celestia is the current form of the God Archridrekylle, and has been around in one way or another since the beginning of time. She currently fulfils her role as 'Lady of the Land' and lives in the Temple in the capital city of Garavant, being the top governing body as well as tending to day to day needs of her citizens. She is also perputually bored. After such a long lifetime, and experiencing everything there is to experience, Celestia does anything to occupy her time and her mind. She is bestowed with all the powers of creation and everything that entails, however in this form they are much more limited than when she was in the pure form of Archridrekylle.

Personality:

Celestia is a fair and benevelant God, as long as she's in a good enough mood. Her people are her priority and she regulary walks about the city to help with little day to day things as much as overall governing of Occultia. She is never meaningly cruel but sometimes her general malaise can get the better of her and she'll make a decision to just get something done for the sake of getting it done. She can also become very single minded and obsessive of her own personal goals; in those cases other people can become collateral damage. Due to her level of power and long lifespan, Celestia also has a sense of detatchment from those around her. She does her best to try and connect but things and people change faster that she is able. Despite her boredom, Celestia is still full of the joys of life and takes care to find little things to appreciate and be excited about.

Likes:

Whenever she is able to get some downtime, there is nothing Celestia likes more than a warm fire set in the Temples library and a good pot of tea. She has an extensive tea collection and takes time to commit everyone she knows preferences. Whenever she recieves personal guests at the temple, Celestia takes great pride in pouring them the perfect cup. Although she doesn't really need to eat as such, Celestia also greatly enjoys good food. She has an incredible sweet tooth and is known to track down the finest patisseries wherever she goes in order to sample their goods. If you want to get on her good side for a favour, bringing her some candied nuts and rare variety of tea will get you a long way.

Dislikes:

Celestia is very much an impatient person and the thing she hates most is anything that could be seen as wasting her time. Since she has a wealth of power at her disposal and the ability to do pretty much anything, she hates the idea that the are certain processes and procedures she must follow as part of the governmental system. She also has a habit of forgetting that she doesn't have quite the same level of power as when she was Archidrekylle and certain overuse of power will cause her to be fatigued for days, for example if she wanted to travel across the country, Celestia wouldn't just be able to teleport where she wanted without serious drawbacks (depending on distance travelled, popping in the next town over might just need just enough rest to enjoy a nice pot of tea).

[garavant-temple]

A dump of a ton of olf art of the guys pulled from my old Colors!Live account

All of these were drawn on my 3DS.

[garavant-temple]

The Diary of a Professional Kidnapper - The Pickpocket 

My first memory is that of my father's death. It came when I was six, with two soldiers, to my aunt's doorstep. I recognised one from when my father would sneak me into game nights with the lads from his regiment. The other was fresh-faced; he had just come from his first battle down in the Dracarnian country. There wasn't meant to be a battle then: it should have been quite the opposite actually. A new King had ascended, and peace terms were being rewritten with the blueskins. But it wasn't long until somebody went rogue and made an attempt on the High Lady's life and all talk of peace was forgotten. My father, the then Commander of his regiment, was one of the first to be killed. The battle was over by the time the soldiers appeared at my aunt's door, and he had been dead for two weeks.  

I talk about this now, because my latest request triggered the memories. 

I was at the Jenire Café, a tearoom near Garavant's central plaza, sipping a very specific coffee and purveying over the lives of people in the square. It was a busy day, with the clamour of a market crowding the cobblestones. Amongst the hoards of shoppers, to-ing and fro-ing between stalls showcasing a delightful array of goods there was a young boy who piqued my interest. I took long sips of my speciality coffee while I watched with nostalgia as the boy darted between the legs of unsuspecting market-goers. He had a brown pouch in one hand, bulging with the  goods he had already acquired and a small pocket knife in the others. I beheld his masterful dance of sliding under stalls and twisting his knife in the chosen purses. I saw his eyes glisten as speckles of gold and silver poured into his already plentiful sack. 

The thing that intrigued me most about the little pickpocket was his attire. He had all the features of your regular street child; grubby feet, hardened by a life skipping across cobblestones; wiry hair, moulded but dirt and grime; shins bruised into Dalmatians by his Master and the twitchy reactions of one who has always has to keep an eye over his shoulder. However, he was dressed in the decadent colours of the wealthy. 

It was this that gave him away. I slipped into the café and ordered a second coffee to go, all the time keeping an eye on him. I strutted out into the square, swinging a jar by my side in my freehand. Everyone in the city knew who I was and what I meant and they all gave me the respect I deserve and kept themselves occupied by the market. Blind eyes cannot be held witness. I followed the boy out of the crowds and down the damn alleys. He knew I was his shadow and tried to take routes that would catch me off guard, except I knew the streets better than he ever would. I had not crawled the streets like this for years but I remember treading on each stone, the paths spreading before me like a map. I eventually chased him down a dead end with a wall so high, he couldn't possibly hope to climb it. All it would have taken was for me to remove the lid on my jar. I ended up giving him my coffee. 

The problem was that he reminded me too much of my younger self. 

"After the soldiers left, my aunty packed my bag. Before, I was her brother's son but now I was an orphan that was of no interest to her. I was thrown, along with my bags, to the streets. From then, I wandered about for a week or two until I found the place where other lost causes found themselves: the Orphanage. This was the last time I held my family name. 

"When I entered I was assessed and then my possessions shared out. I never had many of my own things, even living with my aunty so I didn't mind sharing what little joys I did have. There was one thing I was allowed to keep all to myself - my journal. The very same that I write in today, it comes from the elven country and is charmed to never run out of pages. A gift from my father. 

"I was also given a gift at the orphanage. A new certificate and a new name. For the next four years, I was Monty, an urchin who roamed the streets with a band of misfits, searching for spare food or spare change.  

"I lived like this until two men came to buy me. 

"One Mr. Mallone and one Mr. Devond, two men of business around the city. They approached the Orphanage with a pouch of glittering coins, more than I had scavenged in my life as an orphan. They had been keeping an eye one me, or more specifically, my pickpocketing. Apparently, they thought I would be a valuable asset to their debtor's business. 

"I was indeed a very clever investment. 

I was trained as a cutpurse and I was nothing short of brilliant. When they had particularly stubborn clients over, I would sneak in, like a fog and expertly slit their wallets and purses open. The client would then leave, unknowing that they had repaid the debt they had been so defiant to return. 

I grew up in Mr Mallone and Mr Devond's care. They molded the world into what I see today. They gave me the best start I could wish for, yet I still blame them for my loneliness now. 

I was 20 when they died, on the very cusp of adulthood. Mr Devond was first to go, stabbed in the street and left to die. The news reached home. The last time I saw Mr Mallone, I saw him as if stricken with leprosy. He was whitewashed and moved feebly. He hobbled away through the corridor to the bathroom. I sat at the desk, listening to the bath slowly filling with water, a meloncholic timer ticking away to that final gunshot.  

I was once again orphaned and all I had was my journal and the furniture that was too heavy to move. 

I gave myself a new name. Mr. Mallone-Devond. Appropriate homage, I thought, to my late parents, for I considered them as such. 

So I had a large house and my own life. I could finally be my own man, have my own stuff, act on my own whimsy. I had a business, left to me in the will of my successors and that meant money. But while, in documents I was rich, in possessions I was a pauper. So, I took my inheritance and began collecting." 

The pickpocket stared at me in wonder while I told him my story. He sat on a crate, sipping my coffee and watching me with as much intent as I had watched him with that morning.  

"There's someone out there who still cares for you, you know," I said, dangling his jar in front of us. "Otherwise I wouldn't need this." 

"What are you going to do with me?" His voice had the confident twang of a street child. 

"Dear boy, I'm going to keep you safe in this jar and hang you from the ceiling until your owner arrives." The look of horror that marked his face almost made me chuckle. "Don't worry, I look after the collateral with upmost care." 

"When do we go?"  

"Now. But first, dear boy, let me buy you some proper clothes." 

[garavant-temple]

The Alcoholic's Wife

Nurldunt, Third quart of Erisson, 1148 ACR 

Today I stole somebody. Well, I guess stole is the wrong word. Stole suggests that there was no payment given for it, when in fact there was. 

About a fortnight ago, the wife a supposedly wealthy patron of the Land found herself on my doorstep, asking for a way to see if her husband was the slime ball she thought he was. She was in what she thought would be considered peasant's clothes but she was Middle Class at best. It was an unusual request, but I agreed anyway. Only desperate people show up at my doorstep, and I could tell by the deep crease in her brow that she was indeed at the end of her tether. 

You see, I run a debt collection agency, given to me by two brilliant men. Over the last 6 or so years, I've expanded into performing different services, helping people with no other options than to crawl the gutter that leads them to my house. I've had some cases that have had me running around the Plains just to find a thief and retrieve a single item. This was the thing. I had a reputation of being exceedingly good at getting what I want.  

I get a variety of things as payment for my services. For the debt collecting side of business, it's usually money or precious jewels, something of universal value. The more obscure cases however tend to produce more exotic rewards. The rarer and the more unique, the quicker I would be inclined to get a job done. I accept everything from original manuscripts of plays to the secrets of several kings to even nearly extinct creatures and impossible to get plants. More valuable than anything found in these lands, are treasures retrieved from Urf. These had a special worth, as travel between the Realms was becoming more and more restricted. However, most of the pieces I collect are purely of interest for there is one thing I wish to own more than any other; the name my parents bestowed on me. 

The payment offered in return for my spying on Lord Slime ball was a tour of their manor. From that, I was permitted to take what I fancied. I liked deals like that. While I might not know what I was getting in return, it was a secure deal on both sides. And security is precious. 

I invited the woman in, apologising for the smell of death that comes with living between a butchers and a funeral directors. I sat her down with a cup of Gumlon and perched myself on the chair opposite. 

"So, dear, what makes you suspect he's cuckolding?" I asked. 

"I don’t suspect anything. I know he is a filthy lowlife." She scorned between sips of her tea. "I just can't get him to admit it. He says I imagine it all, that I'm jealous. The ladies think that I should ignore it. I almost did, until I heard one of their shrill giggles echo through my halls." 

I found it odd she didn't look at me once during the slaying of her husband and friends. She just glared out of the window at any passer-by's as if she suspected them of the same crime. 

"I need you to follow him for me, at night." 

"Why come to me? Why not do it yourself?" 

She was taken aback by my comment. "Because, Mr Mallone-Devond, I am a respectable women and would much rather take responsibility for my husband's bastard sons than crawl the streets at night. At least the former would save me some dignity. Besides, I heard you're very good at finding things and taking them without anyone even knowing you were there. That is an asset I just do not have, especially when it comes to the nitty gritty." 

"And what am I to do when I catch him?" 

"Exactly that. Catch him, capture him, and make an example of him. I do not care how, just make sure I can see it when it happens." 

With that, the lady swiftly left with a flourish of her skirts, leaving behind a ghost of perfume in her place.  

I spent the next few nights observing my target. I tracked him from his manor house on the outskirts of the city to the brothel he wasted away the nights in. I'd never actually stepped inside a brothel before this, places like that repulse me. Once I had confirmed his almost nightly routine, I set my mind to the eventual humiliation. I never even thought at this point I'd be displaying him in one of my jars. 

The idea came to me three days ago; a merchant transporting Urfen goods was parading Templeforth Street, showcasing his wares to the peasants and Lords alike. Until an Urfen beast broke free from its harness - I believe it's called a Camel in Urfentung, and I don't know if you've ever seen a camel run but I can assure you, it was one of the strangest things the people of Garavant have ever witnessed. So strange in fact, that my services were deemed necessary by several of the townsfolk.  

I had used my jars before, for storing all my treasures in. When you're in my line of business, clutter adds up pretty quickly, and it's not just the payments. All the bookkeeping that is required takes up a whole room by itself. They're like any other jar, with a wide base, slimming towards the top before widening out again for the opening. The difference is that they're all charmed. I only have to pull out the cork and point it at what I want to trap inside. Then *shwoop*, it gets sucked in, now a much more manageable size. 

This was how I intended to capture the camel. I was successful, as if for a moment I doubted I would be. It was this success that lead me to formulate the plan that lead to Lord Slime Ball's capture. 

It was just a few short hours ago. I crept out of my abode just as the gates of the city were closing. I followed the Lord down his usual route to the brothel and this time, I continued to follow inside. It was far worse than anything I could have conjured. Women with spider-like limbs were straddled over the bulging stomachs of the clients. They had such a sadness in their eyes, I almost wanted to scoop them all up in my jars and set them free from their misfortunes. But I only had one jar and it was not for the sad eyed women. It was for my own client. 

I pursued him down a creaky corridor, keeping my steps in time with the flickering lamp. I looked at each door on my way, counting how many cases of immeasurable sin could be happening. I happened across an open door and I regretted it the instant I didn't look away. 

There was a slender man, with suave brown hair and his glasses in the teeth of one of the five women draped across him. His shirt had been torn open and buttons lay scattered across the floor amongst various items of skimpy underwear. One woman was feeding grapes into his mouth and one was wrapped around him, feeding their fingers through his oily hair. From what I could see, he seemed to be enjoying himself, laughing heartily at the sight of paid woman clamouring over him. One of those so-called ladies, with hair like a retriever, seemed to initiate the 'nitty gritty' as it were. I must have let out a noise because the man cocked his head towards me. "Oh, did you want to join us?" 

A nauseous feeling followed me down the hall with the faked giggles of those women. 

Lord Slime Ball’s room was in a nook around the corner, to offer more privacy I suppose. I slipped in through the jarred door barely breathing as I did so. The Lord must have heard the slight creak that announced my arrival for he slammed the door shut. I grimaced as he shimmied towards the spider sprawled across the four-poster bed, trying to be seductive as he eased himself of his clothing. 

I stood for a while, in the shadowed corner of the room where candle light seemed to avoid. I hung there like a tsantsa, watching with closed eyes, the proceedings in the room. I would have closed my ears too, to save me from the pained squeals of the sad woman barely breathing under the weight of the wealthy Lord.  

Then I heard a single cry. Stop. 

I decided we had all had enough.  

"Sir, I think that’ll do...”  

A groan escaped him and he cranked his meaty neck to face me in surprise. 

Without another word or a drop of remorse, I unplugged my jar. For a moment, I thought the bulbous gut of the Lord would struggle to fit within the glass confinement. I swung the jar in front of my face so that I could stare the Lord in his piggish eyes. My nose curled at the sight before me. In my haste, I had neglected to allow the lord to clothe himself first. 

I was then reminded, by a long draw of breathe, that there was another in the room. She lay paralysed to the bed. She was buried so deep in the sheets that it was difficult to tell if she was still whole. Though, I could see by the frightened deer of her eyes, that this poor creature was completely broken.  

She shivered as I approached. The way her skin flinched as I held out a hand told me all I needed to know. It pained me to gaze upon her insipid flesh. I found myself offering my jacket to her: whether it was out of pity or disgust, I do not know. 

I exited the brothel as discreetly as I could. Of course people noticed me. It’s fairly hard to ignore a man in a well-tailored burgundy suit, swinging a jar with a man trapped inside. The fact that I am cursed with a flaming mane of ginger hair doesn’t lend to keeping a low profile either. In these parts, ginger hair is seen as a curse or a bad omen. I guess it’s quite fitting actually. Bad luck clings to me like a shadow. 

When I crept back into my makeshift abode, mere moments ago, I slumped to the floor. For a while I laughed at the bizarre night I had just experienced. I kneaded my forehead, trying to make sense of what I had just done. If this had happened to anyone else, I would had sent them to the Witch Doctor, declaring their insanity as I shooed them down the street. I then collected myself and went about my business as if there was nothing uncommon about it.  

I found a dark corner of my jar room and hung the lord there. I pushed the jar and sent him like a pendulum, much to my amusement and less to his.  

I don’t exactly know why I decided to scrawl all this down in my journal. It just glimmered at me from the corner of my desk. I stroked its emerald spine tenderly. I had to fight back the tears of nostalgia as I slowly creaked open the cover. It had never been used, save the inscription penned on the second page. I read it for the thousandth time and a smile crept across my lips.  

A few heavy moments of deliberation passed before I finally picked the old fountain pen that had been left behind with the journal. 

Though looking back now, at the state of my rooms, I probably should have reordered my priorities. A lady will be at my door shortly after dawn and my house is in no state for such a guest. 

[myfairylily]

Fisherman’s Bastion, Budapest, Hungary | @georginatwong 

[expressions-of-nature]

Davenport, California by Jordan McQueen