Jammin'

In short, Orea chose Jam from a jar in The Dark Lady, Queen of Death's "Library of Restless Souls" so yes, Jam died before, but now shes back and Orea's sidekick. The Jam on the left, is the typical Jam, smart, wizardly and archer-esque always prepared and reading. The Jam on the right is the result of the resurrection. No one gets a "Get Out of Death Free" card. When Jam is overcome with anger, rage, fear, guilt or sorrow, she becomes Dark Jam, who becomes even more of an uncontrollable killer than Orea, but the good part is that Dark Jam is stronger, quicker and more agile than regular Jam.

Epitaph

In short, my idea for a setting leaked early...goddamn twitter...SO I MUST STAKE MY POSITION AS CREATOR OF EPITAPH, THE POST-APOCALYPTIC FUTURO-SCIFI FANTASY SETTING.

Basically, in the far flung future where all is wireless yet always connected, shit got real. Apocalypse real. Not nuclear war no, but collision of the realms. A fey realm, one of magic and fantasy, sword and sorcery, collided with the terrestrial realm, resulting in not only mass destruction to both parties, but a combination of the realms. Now the world they once knew was a mere memory, a pdf file in a history e-book. The world now was populated with abberant beings of the direst fel origins and the survivors of the Arcanapocalypse had to band together quickly if they sought survival. Races originally on different planes of being, united under one tattered, homemade banner for the most part, each displaying the ways of their previous culture in an effort to help the other side, and in return, gain the knowledge they possess. With nuclear power gone, the races of the other-realm taught what little magic they had left in their spellbooks to mankind, giving them a power source to the surviving tech. Most of the old society was vaporized, but smaller devices, ones similar to PDAs and cybernetic implants had survived, along with a few other pieces. With magic powering them like batteries, they fundamentally acted the same, with a few chance changes. The newly refounded tech is used by all nowadays, all linking up the magical leylines that control the flow of arcane energy throughout the world, instead of systems like wifi and 36G.

Most cities have been reduced to rubble, but that only leaves opportunities. Scavengers and raiders are the main movers and shakers of the world, usually with knowledge of far off places with the greatest loot they could imagine. The only problem was what lies between Point A and Point B. Beasts of unimaginable terror and atrocity. Sure not all magically altered creatures are bad, but anything with a mouth with more teeth than remaining humanoids on the plant, yeah, those things are bad.

To The Dogs

Despite having a busy day (it's now officially 3am) I've still managed to crank out some unnecessary concept art once again. The top drawing, the War Shepard, is the main mode of individual land transport, are similar to German Shepard/Hyena hybrids, they're like modern day sled dogs, only 6 feet tall. The one shown would be more of a scout or messenger shepard, seeing as it lacks the barding and muscle mask a battle shepard might wear. The bottom drawing is just my interpretation of lycanthropic lupines, y'know, werewolves. In my setting they're not only rather intelligent and eloquent, they bear resemblance to the stereotypical brit. These kinds of werewolves are also impervious to silver, that whole "you can only kill a werewolf with silver" thing was just a misconstruen translation, or the equivalence to a world wide game of telephone.

Butterfly Babe (UPDATED)

Mostly the product of boredom, but I've just been trying to populate the regions of my world I call "The Savage Norths" with various totemic tribes, some druidic, some shaman, some barbarian, some a mix of the three. But I forget what exactly triggered this idea, but it's essentially a halfling butterfly totem druid, who can transform into a swarm of butterflies, in this case, nice teal blue ones, the clan itself is very pacifistic, preferring to spend their time planting various flowers and growing things, rather than fighting or adventuring.

Just designing some general gear for the butterfolk, setting rules for their culture too.

Dem Youngins

Reworking Orea's timeline so that she was around 16 when her village was burned, then she spent 2 years with the White Raven Clan where she learned the ways of shadow and reforged her bastard sword, then found her way to Dockmoon and met up with little Jam. Though, I've always had the idea of her having burns under her gloves, uncontrolled arcane magic can do that to ya.

SeaFox Clan

Just some concept art for the nearby primal group within walking distance of Orea's home base in Moondock.

The Seafox clan claim the territory north of Moondock, but west of the main road leading out from it. The Seafox clan hosts the monthly Moonfeast on the full moon of every month, to rejoice in the power it confers. The moon is the master of the seas and the mutual connection between these clansmen and the common traders, pirates and sailors that come through this town, and by making themselves more well known and building a reputation they have become many a trade partner, in return offering blessings of the moon to those who need guidance or the blessing of the fox for those who wish this nights deeds be done without capture. Either way, Foxbeard, the clan warden, leads his druids, shamans, barbarians and kinsmen in their daily lives and festivities, and his dwarven heritage lends him an amazing tolerance for the ales he adores so much.

Presenting: Jam Sharp-Ears!

Once a refugee gone street-thug, Jam has always had quite the adventurous spirit. A few winters back, some of the other children, mostly humans, were particularly cruel to Jam, constantly mocking her elven bloodline until she couldn't take it anymore and ran off into the woods for the night. Little did she know at the time, her retreat had saved her life. Around what most would call the late night, and others, the early morn, from her temporary treetop dwelling, Jam awoke to a smell that reminded her of the blacksmith and a sound resembling crushing a page of parchment. It didn't take long for this little lady to realize what was really going on. A fire. Not here, no. Back home. She skittered down the trunk of the large yew she slept in, and let her elven instincts guide her through the labyrinth of forests. When she finally reached her town, she couldn't believe what she saw. "It must be an illusion," She thought, "A foul, foul, prank!" but it was not. Her village was one large blaze at this point, and standing amidst the black, endless smoke, a group, not large by any means, they didn't need many. They were war-wizards. She would never forget their alliance, their crest, or any of their faces. Ever.

Fast forwarding a few years, Jam is now a city dweller, her heritage now accepted and barely noticed. She's in league with the local cutpurses and burglars. It's not a great living, but she has them and they all have each other. Fortunately and unfortunately, she stole from the wrong person one day. While she was giving her usual high-noon musical performance in the the town square, one on-looker caught her eye. A pale, slender woman, unusual facial markings, and a large, hefty sword. Big swords, big wallets. After the show, Jam quickly packed up and blended into the crowd, following the woman into a local tavern, "The Eighteenth Kobold". The woman drank heavily and seemed to be having a merry time, totally distracted. Now was Jam's time to act. She kept close to the shadowed wall, unbeknownst to her, the shadows themselves are what gave her away. But as her small hand wriggled it's nimble fingers in nervous anticipation of the reward her stealth would earn her. A few more inches. Just a few more. In the blink of an eye, maybe even half the blink of an eye, the woman's hand grabbed the little thief's wrist, she knew this was no ordinary woman, and this woman knew this was no ordinary thief.

The Amazing Me

Honestly, there's never much to say about the creator as much as his creation, so for my first post, I'll introduce my main character: Orea Ahr'lenndar.

Orea was born in The Savage North's, where the fey creatures of legend and horror live, and only the hearty dwell. Born into a clan of barbarians, Orea was trained from a young age to be a tough, gruff, fighter, though there was always something a bit off about her. Her lineage admits to mingling with Storm Giants many generations ago, granting them a natural affinity for the arcane that only truly revealed itself to few who had Storm Giant blood coursing through their veins. Since about age 6, Orea had been able to cast minor magical cantrips, prestidigitation, her favorite. Despite her barbaric up-bringing, she, like many of the other clan females, were trained to be more agile than strong, taking up a more roguish mantle, but Orea rejected that path. With her arcane ancestry, came the spells to enhance her physical prowess, letting her wield her birthrite bastard sword as if it were a common rapier. In time, she was more accepted into the Boar Clan hunting parties, ascending the ranks from being a common hunter to a much desired clan rank, a charger. Orea's unnatural speed gave her the momentum to deliver crushing death blows with momentum alone, ensuring her spot as both a scout and a party leader.


Orea's bastard sword has always had a special enchantment that would be a deciding factor in her life later on, the ability to deflect spells. As soon as her bloodline revealed itself, runes of arcane deflection were carved into her blade, knowing that her magical abilities, combined with her curiosity, might get her in deep with some other arcanists or magi. But no would could have anticipated what happened next, the village burning. Wizards, war mages, on a crusade for land and power, burnt down the boar clan village and scorched its halls and its people, charring both weapon and wielder, leaving them defenseless and afraid. No one would destroy what Orea cherished without retaliation, no one. As the onslaught persisted, Orea rose up to defend her home, knowing she was the only one who could. Like snowflakes into an oven, the wizards fell, their magic turned against them, their glory and hubris met with fury and rage. That sect of war mages died that day, taking all but one of the boar clansman with them, the one who really mattered. After a period of mourning, Orea made her way to a neighboring clan, The White Raven Clan, and stayed with them for a halfyear, learning their ways and coping with her loss. In this time, Orea started worship of their deity, a death god, who viewed death as a means of balance, not of cruelty. Through her, Orea made a pact granting her power over darkness itself, though, she had to give up some free will. As long as Orea carried out the deity's agenda, she can keep her shadow powers. The deity sends Orea's missions in the form of white messenger ravens, who can orally relay missions to Orea where ever she is.