Home of the Dragon Council, Capital of the Draconic Isles and a symbol of the permanence of the Draconic Powers, Sar’Morah is a city unlike any other. Located with its back to the La’faggs Mountain range, with the bay of Sar’Iso and the forest of Sar’jagto to the east and nothing but rolling hills and vast plains to the south, Sar’Morah is a city that is secure in its place in the world. The city its self takes up a wide expanse of land having Four large districts, each separated by the ancient walls that have stood since the city was first built during the time of the first Dragon Council. The districts are distinct in their denizens and their importance. There is the Aujir, or Bronze, District, where the commoners and lower class workers live. The Orn, or Silver District, where most of the middle class and middling work is done. The Aurix or Gold District where the nobility and highly important people live and work. And then finally the Silney, or Adamantine District, where the Dragon Council resides, what is also known as the Forbidden Palace, which is housed at the very center of the city.
New Warforged Character - Basilisk - More story then I intended
Basilisk is a Warforged, or a humanoid machine that gained sentience through one mean or another. He was found by a master craftsman in the Drago’var Empire. The artisan went by the name of Kovgam Tobor and found the Warforged when he was looking for good scrap to turn into a master piece of art, as was his specialty. There were many robots in the world at the time, lifeless things of gears and programming, that was what Kovgam thought he had when he pulled the horribly rusted and at the time, lifeless, husk of Basilisk from the junkyard near Sar’kosen.
He brought back the skeleton and all the parts that he could salvage back to his work shop, a huge forge where he honed his art. Basilisk’s skeleton was still largely intact, though the rust had almost gotten it. The outer plating was in the worst shape, nearly entirely eaten away by the ravages of time. His wiring however thoroughly confused him along with many of the odd systems he had inside. The wires were built like veins, several of the pistons in his arms acted like muscle and in the center, an empty sphere shape that looked likes someplace a heart would have gone.
He was not one to collaborate but he needed help to get this machine back up and running. He enlisted the help of one of the only Machinists he knew, one who was in the local branch of the famed Deep Lantern Archaeological Society, Pliso Korshim, another Drago’var who specialized in these things. It was only under her examination that Kovgam knew what he had. Pliso had seen other Warforged in ruins of the Progenitors and they were mostly rusted all the way through or were locked down in such a way they couldn’t be removed. This was one of the few that was complete enough to know where things went, roughly. So, the two of them started to rebuild the rusted, ancient robot.
It took months to find the right parts, Pliso sneaking out parts of salvageable Warforged parts from the Deep Lanterns and Kovgam smithing and building the things he could fabricate: the plating, metal rods and other fastenings and parts that Pliso described and could not get from the Deep Lanterns. The plating was rather stylized for the project, Tobor was an artist in his own mind after all. He modeled the plating after a Drago’var at first but decided to take a page out of one of his old story books, the description of a Basilisk, a more streamlined look but still reptilian looking, smooth curves, nothing blocky. All markings on the plating were hand etched and any symbols were in Draconic. Even as the project grew to a close one part of the build eluded the two, the round spherical heart.
Warforged cores were much larger then normal Clockwork cores, so they would need to make a custom core and they would need a very volatile substance, Excited Ether. There was no doubt that the Progenitors used this substance for the core, but in the age where Pliso and Kovgam lived, it was rather hard to come by, at least with out questions being asked. There was also the matter of making a core big enough for it to fit inside of the socket. It took another few months to scrounge up the materials and the amount of Excited Ether needed to make the core work.
The final step was to simply install the core and wake Basilisk up to the world. They had no clue what they were fixing to wake up. Most Warforged in the Progenitor Age had things pre-programmed into them, knowledge they would need for their tasks, basic laws of robotics and how they should greet their makers. Basilisk’s mind was a blank slate, the memory that was installed wiped by time, no laws, no pre-programming. So when his deep blue eyes finally blinked on and he took in the images of the place he was created, the faces of the two Drago’var who built him, his first reaction was to flee. He turned on his table, easily breaking any restrains and ran into the dark parts of the workshop.
Despite the initial panic of the moment, Pliso and Kovgam gained their wits and followed the robot to where he hid, the only thing lit around him being the two points of light his eyes made. Pliso was the first to make a move towards the scared robot. At first she wasn’t so sure what was going on, but when she heard the small electronic whimpers coming from the metal man, she was sure about what he was feeling. Kovgam soon understood as well. What would happen if someone had just woken to seeing them for the first time, not knowing what they were? It made sense.
The two were eventually able to coax the bot out from his hiding spot, soothing words and gentle hand motions being the ticket. They finally got him to sit on the table he woke up on. They were speaking excitedly to one another but tried to keep calm, as to not scare Basilisk again. After a few moments they noticed that he was following their conversation. At the least it seemed to be that way. Pliso asked if he could understand. A few sputtering syllables of Draconic came out before a word was formed. It was one of the words she was saying, parroted back. It wasn’t much but it was enough for the female Drago’var to clap and smile. He was trying to learn, like a child, first copying what he was hearing, and then, she hoped, making his own words. She was going to take care of his education, personally.
Kovgam knew this was going way beyond a piece of artwork for him. What was once a pet project and something that he hadn’t had a serious thought about, was now a living breathing thing. He had not even considered a family yet, but here was a big, metal child that he had to look out for now. It was quite a shock and responsibility. Though, looking at how Pliso was reacting and how happy she was with Basilisk, he figured he it was worth a shot. So the great metal artist and the wiry machinist agreed to share equally in the responsibility of teaching this Warforged everything they knew. All in secret of course, for as long as they could keep it that way.
Pliso would show up during the week as often as she could to teach Basilisk what she could, the Draconic language, common and many other practical things. Kovgam taught him more practical things, helping him in the forge on some projects and teaching him about the Drago’var empire. But perhaps, the most treasured thing to the big robot, was the cheap adventure books Tobor would slip him when he was having a hard time with certain concepts. Stories about knights, paladins, good people fighting bad people and the good triumphing in the end. Saving the world with their own Justice. When ever he was asked what he wanted to do with his life, it was always to be a hero, like in the books. And every time he was serious about it. Pliso was concerned but Kovgam reassured her it was child like inspiration, nothing would come of it seriously. Except those books were instilling into him certain things his mind craved, a set of laws and a code for how to live. Along with what the two Drago’var were telling him, these laws were shaping him into a wannabe hero.
His idealism and code of laws made him want to help those in need and out the evils of the world. Both real and abstract. He kept this mentality through out all of his teachings. It would shape his life and the life of others that met him in the future. Though his future with his ‘parents’ was fixing to come to an abrupt end.
The amount of things going missing from the Deep Lanterns’ labs and Pliso’s insistent need for time away from work was starting to make some of the heads of the local chapter suspicious. One day he had someone follow her from work to Kovgam’s Forge and home. When he found out where she was going, he paid him a visit. He told Tobor that he knew that Pliso was stealing and demanded to know what was making a previously dedicated employee do this. He didn’t take no for an answer as he barged his way into the forge, where Basilisk was. He was shocked at seeing a working Warforged, let along one that looked like Basilisk. The local Deep Lantern Director was not a man that was impressed with what Basilisk was, but with how much clout it would gain him among his peers. A plan hatched in his mind, he would commendeer the Warforged and make sure that Pliso and Kovgam’s names were pulled through the mud, thieves. Of course, he made the mistake of yelling and pushing Tobor, who was protesting the others treatment of the situation. Basilisk saw someone being cruel and unjust to his “father’ and it caused him to take the Director by his collar and lift him off the ground. The robot never hurt the director, not really, he only tossed him out of Kovgam’s house.
The Director threatened Tobor again as he ran from the house, he was going to get Basilisk, even if he had to take him piece by piece. Pliso arrived sometime later, thinking maybe she could have gotten there before her boss. Kovgam told her what had happened and she was devastated, not over losing her job, but at possibly losing their ‘son’. The Drago’var artisan felt the same way. It was difficult to deny the feeling. They built him together, they taught him the best they could, and now it seemed like they both were going to lose him. It was then that Pliso came up with the plan to get him out of the city. There was no discussion, it was the only way the two could make sure that Basilisk was safe. They explained it so that he would understand, which he did. He couldn’t express how he felt in any facial expression, but the tone of his electronic voice was clear. He was scared about leaving. He had never left the house, let alone the city. He didn’t want to leave his home, he did not want to leave his parents.
Kovgam explained it to him in a different way. In a way he would understand more. He said it was like the novels he gave Basilisk. The Hero sometimes had to leave their home in order to save it. That this was the same. He then asked him what happened at the end of those stories. Basilisk knew all to well what happened at the end of those. When the hero was done with thier travels they would return home, to their families. This was enough to convince Basilisk that what he was doing was the right thing. He agreed to leave, but said he would return when it was time.
They wrapped him up in leather cloths and a clock so he could conceal his features, wrapping his face up in bandages so he could pass himself off as someone who had been horribly injured. They packed other things he would need, a map and a pack full of supplies. The final thing they gave him was his favorite books, the ones that he liked the most, as well as the first Adventure book he had read. These were things he would treasure most in his journey, keeping them safe out of everything.
The two Drago’var felt the hours growing late and that it was time to get Basilisk away from the city. They escorted him all the way to the outskirts, though he stopped them every once in a while when he saw something that amazed him, which was more often then they liked. When they finally arrived at the edge of the city they said their goodbyes. It was more emotional then they thought, Kovgam was better at keeping himself together, but Pliso was not so reserved. The time came to leave and Basilisk went reluctantly. He looked back a few times but soon gathered up the strength to continued on. Soon he was gone over the horizon. That was the last time he would see his parents, for now.
He was told to head towards one of the port towns, perhaps to head to one of the other islands or even towards the Human and Ror countries. The later sounded more of a interesting time than going to another island, though it all was new to him. He enjoyed the sights as he traveled, the roads being kind to him, free of bandits and Savage, the Drago’var Home Guard doing their jobs. He had met a merchant or two on the way, staying in a camp or two. Hearing stories about their travels before moving on.
He faced his first real hardship when he arrived in the port city of Sar’Orro. As with most towns of this quality, it was rife with petty crime and had more seedy types then a watermelon. It was one of these types that he ran afoul of when he was searching for passage to Torch, a city close to the Draconic Isles but far enough away to not be in the Empire’s reach. He was distracted by a child who was crying, his ‘code’ telling him to help. When he was dealing with the kid, another came up and sliced what little coin he had off of his belt. As soon as that happened the tears of the previous child dried up and he was running along happily with his friend, jeering at the naive Basilisk.
This dumbfounded him, why would someone just steal from him like that. He tried in vain to catch up to the thieves but lost them in the busy crowd of the city. Many people saw but few helped, though the guard did make a token attempt to catch the children. He was upset but he didn’t make it audible. He slumped his shoulders as he suddenly felt hopeless and lost. He was in a strange city, far from home, and he knew no one.
It was then a voice spoke up behind him, low, rough sounding, but it carried a sympathetic tone. He turned towards a tall Drago’var clad in a crimson coat and carrying a sack. He had seen what had happened and seemed to genuinely feel sorry for the unknown stranger. The one-eyed Drago’var seemed oddly observant, he knew that Basilisk was not from around the city and seemed like he had just came off a farm for the first time. Basilisk gave scarred man his story, with the parts about him being a robot out of it. He said he got in trouble back home because someone was harassing his father, he struck out to defend him, but caused more trouble then he solved. When asked about the bandages, he said it was from an accident from when he was a boy.
The Drago’var stranger was skeptical but didn’t press the issue, he figured it wasn’t his business. He introduced himself as a blacksmith that lived in Torch and that his name was Bax. He had come back to the Isles to get some materials that he knew that most other countries didn’t have. Basilisk said that was where he was going to go before he was robbed. Bax just nodded and rubbed his chin. He had a natural need to help those who really needed it and this young man, he assumed, needed help. He offered to pay Basilisk’s way to Torch, in exchange for a week or twos work in his forge.
Basilisk agreed, it was a pretty reasonable request, and he had some knowledge from Kovgam’s teachings. Bax was happy to hear it and said they would be leaving in a short while. He was actually just about to head to the harbor to head back to Torch. It was good fortune that the two of them ran into each other. Basilisk couldn’t help but agree, quickly comparing it to something in the books he carried with him.
The week or two that they shared on the ship that took them to Torch they got to know each other well enough. Bax would quietly probe Basilisk about himself but the Warforged was smart enough to steer him away from the truth with out lying, at least not lying much. It was a miracle that his identity wasn’t reveal in such a tight space. Though the Drago’var was suspicious about his behavior. That luck wouldn’t hold up much in Bax’s Forge when they arrived.
Basilisk made it a week before having an unfortunate accident in the forge. It was his own fault really. Despite his experience, Bax was a harder task master then his father was. Kovram was slow and methodical with him, teaching him. Bax was expecting results and wanted things done right. He wasn’t mean, but he didn’t let up on him ether. Basilisk was rushing one day in the forge and tripped over a piece of scrap he had dropped. He landed face first into the hot coals of the open fire pit. Bax ran over quickly to pull his young friend from the fire, but got a surprise to what was really under those wrappings, metal.
After Bax closed up the shop, Basilisk begged the middle aged Drago’var not to tell anyone. He was told that it would be dangerous if people knew what he was. Bax felt dumb for not really noticing anything out of place, but he also expected a machine to be more bulky then what Basilisk was. He was cautious but said that he would keep it a secret. The faux reptilian robot thanked his friend and said he would work for him as lone as he wanted. Bax wasn’t interested in keeping Basilisk as an indentured servant, he only agreed to keep him on as long as Basilisk wanted. Basilisk was happy to help someone who had showed him as much kindness as Bax had.
With the Warforged secret out between the two, they finally got to know each other truly, with out lies. It was when Bax asked what Basilisk wanted to do in his life that he found that the robot had a goal to reach. He knew that he wanted to go home, but he didn’t know how much the books he caught him reading had influenced him. He said that he wanted to be a hero, someone who stood up for people who couldn’t stand up for themselves, he wanted to be a hero. Bax laughed him off a little bit. Heroes like the ones Basilisk were reading about didn’t exist, not really. Anyone who seemed to have a shining reputation and seemed good always seemed to have some corruption in them. Even he had his bad qualities, but seeing the belief and fervor that Basilisk spoke about his ideals. It made him want to believe in that stuff. His own experience though kept telling the ‘kid’ that it wasn’t possible, at least not with out the means to make it happen. Force was often needed when things went bad, and he didn’t think the Warforged had the strength to fight when he needed.
Basilisk agreed with him on that point, he never really had the drive to fight someone. The only one that he came close to harming was the Director, even then it wasn’t much more then throwing him out of his Father’s house. Bax heard that story before though he didn’t think much of it at the time. He old Drago’var then got the idea that the robot did have a spark in him that could fight if he had to. He told the Basilisk that he used to be part of the Drago’var Imperial Army, which prompted the robot to start badgering him about stories before he was silenced by the Drago’var’s glare. He then said he would teach the Warforged a few things, if he really wanted to be a Hero. So he would be able to defend himself if he needed to. Basilisk’s answer was simple and straight to the point, it was a resoundingly ‘yes.’
So every other night, Bax and Basilisk would go to a secluded spot and the Drago’var would teach the Warforged how to fight. Basilisk’s favorite weapon was a Glave, which was one of his favorite character’s weapons. He learned that it was a good distance weapon, that he could deal damage from a good ways away and still be safe if the enemy struck at him. He didn’t need armor training as his metal plating was basically protection enough. It was another month off and on with this training. Being a Warforged, he caught on to the techniques quickly, being able to record them and replay them in his mind with near perfect clarity.
There came a time when Bax didn’t have much more to teach Basilisk about fighting and figured he would do good enough in a fight with almost anything. The robot was grateful for the teaching and for Bax’s honesty about the real world. That it wasn’t all shiny and gold. Despite that revelation, Basilisk still felt that he could do something to help the world. It needed people like him, people like Bax, Heroes that stood up for the little people. That helped them in their times of need. Something to feed them hope and make them determined in their lives.
That above all else is what drove Basilisk to finally leave the Forge. He wasn’t doing good by just sitting around, he had to go out and fight for it. Bax figured he had finally hit the stage where his ‘blood’ was boiling and he was ready to tackle the world. He only asked for Basilisk to wait for a short while more. He had something he wanted to do for his friend. He forged Basilisk a proper Glave, not the greatest weapon, but something good and reliable, with a few Draconic flares here and there. The perfect gift for a new hero. Before the Warforge left on his way, Bax gave him one more thing, a little black book filled with names and cities. He expained that if the Warforged ever needed help, go to the people listed, that they were friends of his and that they would get word to the Drago’var.
It was with that, that Basilisk started his real journey to be a hero, weapon on his back and his most prized possessions stored snugly in his pack, well worn books.
After the cataclysmic events that happened one thousand years ago, there was little left of the world that could be considered civilization. What was left of the Progenitors were ruins and broken technology. The races of Aeon had been more or less blown back to the bronze age. However, out of the ashes, and seemingly out of no where, an empire arose. Beings from beyond the stars, from a planet or realm not native to Aeon, came, and they were called Dragons.
Dragons were beings that were similar to the Archons, beings of immense powers and intelligence. It is not known where they came from but it is known among Draconic scholars and those who know such things, they were definitely not of Aeon. As other fledgling nations arose, the Dragons started the Dragon Council, a loose affiliation of dragons working together for a common goal. The first order of business was to establish their domain. In a very short time they carved out a territory that is today known as the Draconic Isles. The Dragon Council then continued on to a more pressing matter, the survival of their species. Dragons could not reproduce, weather a side effect from their being ripped from their world or simply by natural causes. They were not weak but against the ‘savages’ on the planet they could not withstand much if they were forced into conflict. So, with their knowledge of magical science and their own anatomies, they created a race that could protect them, and carry on the name of Dragons, The Drago’var.
The Drago’var were built to be strong and intelligent, servants worthy to be called Dragon Kin. The average height of the Drago’var is six feet or taller, males and females alike. Their abilities and scale tones depended immensely on their Dragon Patrons. With all the advantages given to them by the immortal Dragons, they spread quickly over the Isles and built cities to match the Glory and Majesty of their Overlords. However, as construction grew ever harder and ever more expensive on them, the Drago’var and their Lords soon turned to a ready and cheap resource, the other races of Aeon.
The enslavement of Humans and the Rol, or Ratfolk in the Common Tongue, happened quickly and with out much resistance to the Empire. The Drago’var were strong in martial strength and were backed by their Lords in battle. Many nations crumbled in awe of the terrible majesty of the Dragons, giving up with out a single arrow shot. This was a golden age for the Empire. They could build larger and more opulent cities thanks to their conquered servants. The Capital City, the seat of the Draconic Council had spires erected that were inlaid in gems and seemed to be dipped in gold. It seemed that the Drago’var Empire would be Eternal, just like the Dragons.
However, the greed and ambition of the Draconic Council eventually boiled over into open conflict. Petty rivalries and territorial disputes lead to horrible, bloody war between the Dragon Lords. At the same time, slave revolts had started, the Humans and Rol finally having enough of their servitude. The revolts, however, were seen as little importance when compaired to the wars of Dragons, a mistake that cost the Empire greatly.
Not all Drago’var were happy about having slaves, though it was an unpopular opinion, many saw the ownership of slaves as dishonorable and beneath the mighty Dragon Kin. It stayed the topic of fierce debate, until a single Drago’var Hero emerged. His name was Vorketh, or as history remembers him, “The Fang of Destiny”. He united the multitude of slave revolts under a banner of freedom and after securing the help of a exiled member of the Dragon Council, named Ohen, and marched them into the heart of the Empire. The current Dragon Council, weak and beaten from their own wars, fell under the foot of the freedom fighters, who secured freedom for all races of Aeon.
From that victory, a new Empire arose. Vorketh, wanting no power from his part in the rebellion, named Ohen as the Dragon King. True to the words he struck between Vorketh and the other races, he split the lands of Aeon for each race to do with as they chose, those lands becoming the City States of today.
The Drago’var Caste System
200 years have passed since the rise of the new Drago’var Empire under Ohen. The race as a whole still lives their lives rather comfortably. Despite how civilized the lands are, they are still bound by old ideals of class and honor. There are six Castes that the people are split up into: Noble, Divine, Artisan, Arcane, Martial an finally the Commoner Caste.
The Noble Caste are those of rank and privilege given to each by birth. Unlike some of the other Castes, they can retain their family name no matter if they chose to become part of the Arcane, martial or Divine castes. However it is rare that a noble would want to leave the opulence of their lives, rarely feeling the need to work in worldly affairs. The ambitious nobles aspire mostly to become politicians, magistrates and Viziers.
The Divine Caste are taken from their homes or Orphanages at the age of Three, adolescence for most Drago’var. Ones taken from their homes from the Commoner class are given away by their parents, they believing that it is better to abandon their family name if it means their child can have a better life. Before becoming a priest, initiates must pass a test of Devotion given to them by the High Priests of the Empire. If a priest or priestess is ambitious enough they often become Viziers or Grand Viziers, as they are keepers of the Empire’s Doctrine as well.
The Arcane Caste, like the Divine, Martial and Artisan Castes, are taken from Orphanages and homes to become the Mages of the Empire. They are split into small groups and then given to a single veteran Mage as pupils. The number of years an apprentice spends training is, on the average, twelve years. The final test for mages is an arcane duel, those who beat their rivals become Spell-casters in service to the Empire. Within the Arcane Caste there are two elite orders of Spellcaster. The Shan Qabal are Magus, Mages who train in Martial ways and the Jhal Shard, arcane rogues who use their magic to infiltrate and compete their missions.
The Artisan Caste is similar to some of the other Castes but for one large trait, they are allowed to keep their family name and can regularly visit their families. They apprentice under great masters of the Artisan caste under a period of twelve years, in which they study and assist in their chosen craft. At the end of this time, if they gain their master’s blessing, they may pursue their skill independently and work on their own masterpieces. They even gain the ability to have apprentices of their own. However, a pupil who fails their masters at the end may choose another vocation, but their time investment will be the same.
Then there is the Martial Caste. Each soldier is taken from a commoner family or an Orphanage at the age of three and are stripped of their family name, if they had one. This is perhaps the most grueling and unforgiving Caste one could be forced into. Each Recruit is put through 12 years of combat training and when they succeed that, are put into three years of Gladitorial training, fighting other Recruits and Criminals. Many do not survive the initial training, let alone the Gladiatorial training. Those who do survive are inducted into the Drago’var Imperial Army. There are several elite sects of the Martial Caste, to list a few are the Vost Miraj, Drago’var trained speciically in espionage and are legends in efficiency. Also there are Khygar’ Brood, a much feared Military Police that operates in the Capital of the Empire and is named after the Commander, Colonel Khygar. And then there is the Fire Drake battalion, soldiers lead on the battlefield by a Noble turned Soldier, General Saren Sosvri, who lead many campaigns personally against the foes of the empire.
Finally there are the Commoners, like in other nations the commoners fill out the jobs that no one else does. They live close together with their families, sometimes many different family units living under a single roof. They are the tavern owners, farmers, muck rakers, all the jobs you would expect of commoners. Despite their lot in life they are given more freedom then the other Castes, except for maybe the Noble class.
There are ways to jump over Castes by merit of ones duties in the Martial, Divine, and Arcane caste. Or if they somehow scrap together enough money they may pay 5000 gold drakes to jump to another caste, a hard feat for those who do not see that much in a year, let alone a life time.
