#panerum

[jackydecavell-blog-blog]

New facial references for Heriak and Rhys.

[jackydecavell-blog-blog]

So there's this amazing online generator that lets you create realistic, beautiful models of your OCs and characters, and download the 3d file. It does require a log in, but they don't spam your inbox or anything, it's so you can have your models saved online and accessible from any computer. It's suprisingly powerful and sleek for an online app. Go check it out!

The two  characters shown are Heriak and Rhys, and belong to me, being part of my upcoming novel, Panerum (working title) the orc is a randomly generated character.

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Ears by tribe. Skin tones are not accurate, Just shape. For the rest of the tribal references, please consult this post

[jackydecavell-blog-blog]

Made up a ref for Heriak while i was doing Rhys', and even though none of you have any idea who she is, I'm going to put this up any ways, just cuz.

Also, still hate paint.

Stuff

Edit: Not actual clothes, btw.

[jackydecavell-blog-blog]

Here, have a really crappy Rhys ref. I have a bit of a love hate relationship with paint. Right now I hate it.

Stuff I used

EDIT: forgot to mention, these are not his clothes. The generator didn't have anything more accurate to the character, and everything else looks too modern. He'd have bracers, but that's about the only similarity clothes wise.

[jackydecavell-blog-blog]

Panerum Part 10/?

Rhys bided his time on the long road out of town, waiting for the last bits of light to disappear beyond the horizon before spreading his wings and taking to the sky. He flew quickly and silently, low over the trees, keeping as far from the road as he could without loosing sight of it for quite some time. Finally, in the distance he spotted what he was looking for.

A lonely hill stood in the dense forest, and at it’s crest a massive oak tree, it’s wide branches blotting out the stars. Within a few short minutes Rhys arrived and landed softly on a wide branch, then with his wings half spread, he glided down from branch to branch to the base of the old oak. There, among the roots stood a small cabin, completely dwarfed by the massive tree. Rhys landed soundlessly and walked over to the heavy wooden door. In place of a lock or latch there was a metal circle in it’s centre, with three narrow slots spiralling inwards to the shape of an owl’s head. It was Bernoir’s craftsmanship, and of Esmi’s design. Rhys carefully inserted the tips of three long talons into the slots and turned the disc, and pushed. The door swung heavily inwards, letting the meagre light of the newly rising crescent moon into the small cabin.

Rhys shut the door behind him and started a fire in the small stone fireplace, and lit a candle which he set on the small wooden table that sat opposite the hearth.

He carefully removed his new armour before carefully placing it, along with his bow and quiver on a large piece of wood that had been roughly hewn to resemble the form of a man. It wasn’t much, but he had made it himself. He remembered his father used to make the most beautiful wood carvings, which where the envy of everyone around. Rhys was much to young to have learned the skill from him, since his parents both died when Rhys was 7, and his older sister Talia, who had passed away shortly before his 19th birthday, had never taken an interest in such things. She had been much more concerned with getting back at the people who had killed their parents, and it cost her her life. Rhys had always tried to talk her out of her endless quest. If it had been up to him, they would have lived far away from any cities or towns, and been just the two of them. But she was obsessed.

While Rhys would never admit it, he felt like all of it was his fault. After all, had the manor not been attacked because they thought that the noblemen were harbouring a monster? Some winged demon or other, with talons sharp as razor blades? That was the story they told the gathering mob as they prepared to attack. He heard it himself from the tree he had hid in when the mob descended and the houses went up in flame. After that he flew. Flew as hard and as long as his little wings could handle, and then a little more. He crashed through the trees, and lay there on the forest floor, crying until there were no more tears to be shed. He slept there in the darkness for a long time. Then he went to the cabin, a hideout their father had built for hunting trips. No one but their family knew that spot, and if they got separated, they were to meet up there. So he waited. He waited for nearly a week, all alone, until Talia appeared. She had been badly burnt, but cared only that he was alright. She told him that everyone they once knew was dead. They had no home to return to, no family, only this old cabin. Ever since that first day together, Rhys always got the cot, no matter how much he insisted that she take it. She had spread some thick animal skins on the floor and insisted that he take the bed. There wasn’t much room on the floor and she felt it was too close to the fire, that he might burn his wings while he slept. She acted more like a mother than a sister usually, though being 8 years older, maybe it came naturally. He missed her guidance, her reassuring words, her smile.

But he was alone now.

He fetched himself a loaf of bread and some dried meat from his stores, and sat at his little table and ate in silence. He listened to the crackling of the fire and the cricket’s song outside as he let his thoughts consume him.

[jackydecavell-blog-blog]

Panerum Part 9/?

Isol and Teidn chatted like old buddies as the deck hand whom Teidn had barked orders at in Skosani scurried off to fetch their tea. Fin found himself leaning against the rail where their boat had been tied. A broad shouldered Skosani sailor who Fin guessed might be 5’4” or so walked up and leaned against the rail next to him. He smiled, showing a few missing teeth, and a pair of silver pointed canines. “No tea for you?” He said, his accent was incredibly thick, but Fin had little trouble understanding his Ealorn, being used to trading with the Skosani.

"No tea for me. Just for the captains. Not like I’d know what to talk about, am I right?" Fin smiled nervously as the man returned a blank smile. "How much Ealorn do you actually speak?"

The man smiled widely “Yes. Ealorn bring us fish. Nice Ealorn.”

"That’s what I though. The captain taught you a few phrases so you could pass for normal sailors, but why would he do that when he normally has a crew of seasoned sailors and-" he cut him self off when he saw the sailors blank smile again. "Ordis damn you all." He smiled sweetly at the sailor and nodded. "You’re his just in case, huh. One sign of this heading south and we’re done. Good gods I hope you know what you’re doing Isol."

The sailor smiled again flashing his canines and spoke rapid fire Skosani, and gestured wildly with his hands. From what Fin could gather with his limited grasp of Skosani, it was a fishing story. A ‘the one that got away’ with the usual fisherman’s embellishments. He feigned surprise at what he hoped would be the right moments, and patted the mans back when he began to weep, presumably because the fish in his story had escaped, though there was no real way to be sure.

He watched as the small Skosani deck hand emerged from the kitchen with a tray with a tall slender tea pot invented by the Drothi, along with a pair of fine bone China cups that were so delicately sculpted and painted that they must have come from Mourneholme, though how Teidn could afford fine cups like that he had no clue. Though he could guess how else he might come by them.

He turned his attention back to the man next to him as the man with the tea disappeared into the captain’s quarters. He was appeared to be telling another fishing story, so fin played along again and bided his time.

Time passed quickly, and soon the sun began to sink below the horizon. Fin began to get nervous and motioned toward the captain’s quarters, only to have the burly sailor tut tut him and shake a thick finger at him.

"Tea for captain" the man growled, his teeth flashing in the light of the slowly setting sun.

Fin sighed in frustration, but didn’t push the issue, knowing that the man knew very little Ealorn and that the situation was tense as it was.

He took to watching a pair of sailors scrub a portion of the deck for a while, before deciding the sunset was more worthy of his attention.

As he looked out over he sea he spotted a ship, coming full speed in their direction.

Fin shouted out “Ship ahead!” Only to be grabbed roughly by the sailor. “Ealorn betray!” He snarled, shouting out orders to the crew in Skosani.

The man threw Fin roughly over the railing with a growl. He landed with a loud thud on the deck of his own ship, knocking the wind out of his lungs, and sending pain searing throughout his body. He gasped for breath and fought to try to discover what was happening past the sound of the blood pounding loudly through his skull. He could hear shouting as several sailors scurried around the deck, pulling down the flags and disabling the ship. One of them had just removed the flag and was looking for a place to hide it when they spotted the red box. He opened it up and shouted in Skosani to the others, and they all scrambled to get the box aboard their own ship, and hide it below deck.

Fin watched helplessly, his whole body hurting and refusing to obey his commands. They quickly untied the ships from each other, and fin could just make out something being thrown over board as they took off as fast as the wind could carry them towards Skosani waters.

Fin drifted in and out of consciousness several times before he became aware of a scrabbling sound at the side of the ship. A few moments later Isol crawled on board an lay coughing up water on the deck.

By the time Fin had mustered the strength to raise his head, the coughing had ceased, and Isol lay gravely quiet, his tunic stained a deep red at his belly, and a slowly widening circle of blood was forming beneath him, barely visible in the growing dark as the sun slipped below the horizon. Fin tried to get up to run to his fathers side, but as he began to move the darkness swallowed him whole and there was silence.

Sorry for the long wait, here’s the next segment.

[jackydecavell-blog-blog]

Panerum Part 8/?

A cloaked figure slipped through the streets on nimble feet, managing to not bump into anyone despite the market day crowd that bustled around them. Not that anyone would have willingly bumped into this particular figure if they happened to notice them. The figure was gangly and hunchbacked, wearing a heavy dark cloak that kept their face in deep shadows, though people tended to guess at the disfigured face that surely lay beneath. The few shop keepers who had actually interacted with the figure were not the type for idle gossip, though one old baker woman insisted the figure had bought some bread from her a few years earlier, and spoke in a deep raspy voice, and when they went to pay, she noticed long clawed fingers, and skin darker than night. She would insist it was a shade, though that quickly earned her the title of madwoman, seeing as even small children knew that was only a story to remind children to not go out after dark, and to lock their houses at night.

Even so, people got out of their way when the figure drew near. No one asked any questions, or hassled them. No merchants tried to sell them anything, even when the figure would come and inspect their wares. No one tried to make eye contact, and would quickly look away if the figure turned in their general direction, which was just how he liked it. It allowed him to move throughout the city as he pleased.

He looked over his shoulder to make sure no one was watching before slipping into a shadowed alley, and through an open door, shutting it silently behind him. He listened for a second in the dark before crossing the room and peeking out a small crack in the wooden door. He watched as a large barrel chested man shook hands with a rather proud looking young noble. He watched as the young man gave the merchant a sack of gold, and receive the long thin sword from the smith. Their words were lost amid the roar of the forge and the bustling crowd beyond, but he knew the young man was praising his craftsmanship. Not even a stuck up noble could deny that he was the best smith in the city, perhaps even in all of Panerum. After a few moments, the young man left.

The smith closed the large doors of the smithy, locking them behind him, and turned towards the back wall and called out. “Its just us, Rhys. You can come out now.”

The door opened and the cloaked figure stepped out into the light.

“I was beginning to wonder if you would show up today.” The smithy chuckled and motioned for him to follow him to a table in the back corner, where there was a large piece of canvas covering something on the table. “Now I know you didn’t want anything too fancy, and you don’t want to pay an arm and a leg for things you don’t need, so consider the extras on the house, as a thank you for your patronage.” The smithy pulled back the cloth to reveal an unusual set of leather armour, along with a matching quiver and an assortment of sheaths, all with intricate tooling and scroll work. “Now I know we took a lot of measurements before hand, but it’s probably best to try it all on here, so I can make any adjustments as necessary, and save you an extra trip.”

The figure hesitated a moment before asking in a voice that sounded like the rumble of a landslide “Are you absolutely sure that we’re alone?”

The smithy nodded seriously “No one here but us two, and as long as you closed the doors behind you, everything is locked up tight.”

The figure slowly lifted black clawed hands and undid the cloak’s fastening, and let his hood slip back over his head, revealing a handsome angular face with turquoise eyes. His long straight hair was a soft chestnut colour, and framed his face neatly in the front, with the rest tied at the nape of his neck. His skin was a ruddy caramel, looking almost more Gakali than Ealorn. He slipped the long cape off his shoulders and lay it on the table, and straightened out to his full height, adjusting the dark tight fitting tunic he wore underneath. From behind him a set of wings extended out to either side, stretching after their confinement. They were large and rounded like an owl’s wings, and of a light tawny grey colour with dark bars along the undersides.

The smith smiled widely as he commented “Never get tired of seeing those. Mighty fine wings you’ve got there.”

Rhys shifted uncomfortably, not being used to getting compliments on his wings. “Thanks?” he mumbled before gesturing to the pile of armour.

“Right.” The smithy grabbed a few of the pieces. “Would you like me to show you how to put the pieces together?”

The young man nodded and let the smith dress him. First came a chest piece that was built in several layers, and well articulated, strapped on by wide straps that went over his shoulders, crossed between his wings, and came around just above his hips. Then came a piece that covered his lower back, with straps that attached to the front piece. The smithy carefully disentangled a series of thin leather straps before attaching a set of articulated pauldrons firmly on his shoulders, carefully braiding the straps through a series of loops designed to make them fit tightly without reducing his range of motion or touching his wings. Lastly the smith strapped on grieves and a set of archers bracers. “Give that a go, see how it all feels.”

Rhys extended his wings as high and wide as they could go, then flapping them just enough to get his feet off the ground. He set down and folded his wings tightly against himself, and shuffled them for a few seconds before nodding “Fits well.”

The smith beamed. “ I’ve never made anything like this before, but to be fair other than you I don’t know many people with wings.” He laughed a deep belly laugh that tapered off to a chuckle when he noticed the boy didn’t laugh along with him.

“Alright. So the last bits here…” He paused to gather up the various pieces. “ This one gave me a bit of trouble, but I finally got it all figured out.” He handed Rhys a hip quiver that was attached to a wide belt with several pouches and small metal and leather loops. “The quiver has a special mechanism in it that makes sure that your arrows don’t move around when you’re flying, and won’t fall out if you pull any fancy moves.” He pointed to the leather loops as he spoke. “These are for attaching your smoke shields, which by the way, I have more made…” The smith wandered of for a few moments to a back room, and reappeared carrying a few handfuls of small black orbs that looked like dried fruit. “Remember, you have to crush these to get them to work right. You stick them in like so, and they wont be falling out. But just tap right here,” He demonstrated with deft hands. “and they pop right out.” He then pointed to the small metal loops. “These are designed to go along with these sheaths.” He picked them up off the table and showed him how to attach them.

“While I appreciate your thoroughness, I do already have sheaths for my weapons.”

The smith tutted him off. “Nonsense. They wouldn’t have matched. Besides, those are old and probably don’t even hold the weapons firmly anyways.” He quickly waved off any protest, and spoke in a parental voice, raising a finger and shaking it at the younger man. “Now remember, this won’t save you from a broken wing. You have got to be more careful flying in the forests. You could end up being caught by gods know what kind of creatures, that would do gods know what to you, not to mention the embarrassment of being downed by a tree.”

Rhys smiled sheepishly before reaching for his cloak and putting it on as he spoke, careful to tuck his wings up close to his body. “Your concern is duly noted. I will certainly be more careful after that last incident.” He handed the smith a large pouch of coins. “The armour is beautiful, Bernoir. I thank you from the bottom of my heart for this great kindness you have done.”

Bernoir waved off his thanks. “It’s the least I could do. And if you want to thanks somebody for the design, you should go talk to Esmi. She designed all of it, especially for you. I think that girl’s got a crush on you.” He gave Rhys a nudge with his elbow and winked at him. Benoir’s youngest daughter was head over heels for him, and they both knew it. While Rhys couldn’t really find a particular flaw with her, or any reason why they wouldn’t make a good match, he simply never felt any attraction to the girl. Or anyone in general really. He was content being alone, and felt no need to change that. The excuse he gave was that he wouldn’t be able to take care of her with his life style, and she deserved the better things in life. ‘Besides,’ He would joke ‘what would our children look like?’ That always got a bright eyed smile out of her.

Rhys laughed nervously and asked him to pass on his thanks before saying a fond farewell, and slipping back into the streets, once again becoming the well known hunchbacked figure in the dark cloak.