NPC Epilogues

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    Rules Director

    These are the Epilogues for various NPCs, as submitted by those who played them. All posts that are not epilogues of NPCs will be removed.

    For posterity, these have also been saved in a different document.



    From the personal journal of Kaitlin Greycrow

    Arch-druid of the Greycrow Coven

    My time is no longer meted out in years, but in generations. I thought such a process would take longer, but there it is. It has not been decades or years that I measure the last time I was in Freehold, it’s in in sons and daughters.

    I find myself, as always, wistful and reminiscing on these missions. Wagons come to Port Dawson to carry the King’s Men and Greycrows to a land I can no longer inhabit. I wonder how many of the original heroes of the great Battle of Midworld still live in that precious new Kingdom, are any of them still alive?

    Clementine and I are vibrant and as full of life as ever, but I have lost count of the generations and rumors of the original Freefolk.

    No longer do we look for familiar faces in this port city, instead we watch the parade of rainbows and flags pass us by. Life continues, and however egregious our sins in the past have been, I feel there must have been purpose to it. Would these sects of Kingdoms that attend to Freehold exist were it not for the sacrifices made by so many people? Perhaps that is wishful thinking to wash my hands of a guilt that can and will never be cleaned. I can only hold my breath and peer in at the safe zone or as Corbin has jokingly called it “no crow’s land” from the relative safety of my ship’s cabin.

    Kingdom’s have fallen and risen. Nations have married into each other. Land has been ceded and gained. But the constant is life, a reality proved with each ship I see docked and the port children that play in the shallows of the water. Freehold showed Nihilus and his six siblings that the world would fight, that they would sacrifice, and that they would live as they wished to live.

    And if, when we dock I feel a little melancholy, or I whisper to every shrub and sapling I come across in hopes I hear the voice so many others have heard…

    Know this: the only truth that will remain certain for all my life; Midworld was worth it.

    "The End to War, the End to Pain,
    these will come in Seventh's reign"


    Rules Director

    Acolyte Pelavir

    After the victory against the Immortals, Acolyte Pelavir only rarely returned to the Overworld.  Instead, he spent his time defending people from the horrors of the Aether and other evils — not just containing his protections to Freehold but to Midworld itself. 

    Often people would talk of a Beacon of Hope out in in the world or they would simply tell stories of the Paladin.  

    Over time and over many generations the name of Pelavir Vard would fade, but there was always a rumor or a theory that the Paladin and Pelavir were in fact one and the same

    "The End to War, the End to Pain,
    these will come in Seventh's reign"


    Rules Director


    Even before the Aethyric Floodgates were open, when she had to convert the World-Locks into the Flood-Gates themselves, Gabriella knew that her purpose was done on Midworld. The Witch-Monarchs and the World-Locks were tied together and without one, there was no need for the other. 

    Upon releasing the Aethyric Flood upon Midworld, she almost perished in the casting with two Annihilating strikes. Fang-zhara was at her front, Nihilus at her back. And yet, with the aid of the Freefolk, she clung to the very last thread of life to rid them of their Immortal coils.

    Soon after, Gabriella disappeared alone into the dark of the Hinterlands. She could no longer jaunt back onto her ship. She didn’t even have a ship to jaunt to. With her golden feathers passed down to Gabi Laguna, she walked and sought passage to Port Dawson. Wordlessly, she passed the vigils for fallen family, loved ones, heroes and legends. Veiled, yet unmasked, she boarded the first ship off of the mainland.

    Gabriella was never able to fully recover from all the wounds inflicted upon her. Even with the amount of power she held, it was still futile against two God-killers. She could staunch her bleeding, watch the scars grow over, but the damage she suffered was everlasting. She aided and abetted the sailors of her ships whenever she could, but her broken health withheld her best when her diminished magics did not suffice.

    In the days that followed, all she sought was isolation. After months, perhaps years, of sailing from ship to ship, she had gained hope that life really would thrive despite what she had done, what she had to do. But the name Gabriella and the maddening power of the World-Locks needed to pass on into history. 

    The rumors claim that the only person to ever become the Witch-Monarch of the Center finally found rest at an isolated island. There, she enjoyed the taste of fruits and fish which she hadn’t been able to savor for over a century and so the stories claimed — she passed in peace.

    "The End to War, the End to Pain,
    these will come in Seventh's reign"


    Rules Director

    Eva Caterwaul  

    Eva Caterwaul had traversed the kingdoms long before the cataclysm that scarred the world, much of her wanderlust being sated before she ever set foot in Freehold. However, with the approach of the Flood, the inquisitive innkeeper knew these short days would be her last chance to catch glimpses of the old face of Midworld before it was forever changed. So, about a year after the Aethyric Gates had been opened, she stepped out of Annie’s Inn (promising a quick return), packed a few bags, and walked out into the world. She saw the shattered remains of Clan Gohrrim’s holdings and the new, permanent fixture of undead that now dotted the bogs and fens. She picked her way past Gotterdammerung and the glassy crater that marked where Lichenstein once stood. She marveled at Malak Travak, or what was left of it. Its people had left in full exodus, fleeing into the sunlight and voiding the mountain of mortal life. Only shadows and monstrous things remained. She even entered Callas Selvarion for the first time, gazing up in awe at the towering spires and beautiful architecture that defiantly stood next to crumbling farmstead and broken home. She ran her hands along the rubble of the Gate of Patience, crept beside Akasha’s stormy Mirror, and roamed the edges of the frozen northern kingdoms. Every place she visited bore scars of the Immortals or Anubisath, held people that jumped too nervously at shadows. The world had grown darker and more fearful since her last visit.

    Everybody knew somebody who had lost someone, or whole families of someones. Kingdoms had had their capitals obliterated or entire swaths destroyed. And yet, as Eva traversed the altered face of Midworld, she found more than just destruction. In every bar and tavern she was surprised to find hopeful faces and swelling songs. She passed recovery efforts in every city, neighbors and family members salvaging wood and rock from wrecked homes to create new ones for the dispersed, the sound of working hammers and saws ringing out from every corner. Communities banded together against anarchy and looters, keeping the peace within their neighborhoods and protecting those who were shakily rising back to their feet. 

    And each of them, from the recovery crews in the cities that still stood, to the lines of refugees that wound from the fallen ones, to the criers in every small hamlet and large town, spoke about Freehold. Some whispered of the battles that took place in that wild land, cataclysmic affairs that shook the bones of the world. Others talked about the heroes that had grown there and the impossible deeds they had done. Many conversed about the new barrier that lay atop the town like a thick branch, shielding the area from the coming Aethyr as leaves shielded against the rising sun. In a world that bore open wounds all across it, a hero-filled sanctuary protected against evils was a welcoming beacon for the beleaguered. 

    Eva briefly considered rejoining the Crystal Fleet. With its new King and mission, she would see plenty of the world and its people again, help maintain the unity that now spread between kingdoms like wildfire. It was tempting, but she knew she couldn’t. Even if the Writhing Curse had still been nipping at her heels, she couldn’t deny the feeling that her heart had, at long last, put down roots.

    And so she returned to Freehold, her home, following the lines of refugees that trickled through the Hinterlands and from Port Dawson. The once small town saw its population explode in the years preceding the Flood’s full deluge, collecting a diversity of skills and minds. Inspired by the town’s legendary history, artisans, warriors, farmers, and teachers displaced from the apocalypse found a new start in Freehold.

    Eva found herself humming as she cleaned tables in Annie’s Inn, her crystal pendant swinging lightly with the motion. She rubbed it absentmindedly as she glanced at the crowd seated in the tavern that evening. Many of the old regulars had disappeared within a year of Nihilus’ defeat. Some, like her, wanted to see the world before the Flood arrived, while others visited their home for the first time in months or years. Some would remain there, she knew, this chapter of their lives closing for good. These heroes had been swept up in the grand machinations of the world for so long, obliged to leave family and hearth to protect itself while they battled demons and gods. But Freehold’s ranks had grown, and its threats diminished. Quite a few happily doffed the mantle of Freefolk when it became clear that things had calmed for good, and she watched many a title of Envoy and Hand change over.

    Young adventurers had taken their place, as was the cycle of things. They spoke of making their mark in this fledgling new world, following in the footsteps of names that were quickly becoming legends. She would miss them, those heroes, even if she didn’t miss the heavy weights that had sat on all their shoulders. Eva opened a belt pouch, pulling out a scrap of paper that had been tugging at her mind for a few days now. Whenever she felt a wave of nostalgia, she always knew the cure.

    Who here is good at reading maps? I think I may have found something y’all might be interested in.” She called out, parchment in hand. She tried her best not to look directly at the few who she knew would react first.

    Several jumped up at once, pulling notebooks and quills from their pockets.


    I’m skilled with languages, I can translate any notes that may be on it.”

    Do you need an artificer? I know my way around traps and devices.”

    Eva tried to hide a grin. The faces may have changed but the eagerness sure hadn’t. The thrill of discovery and exploration were as much a rooted part of Freehold as Unity’s tree was. It was part of why she loved this place. 

    She laid the map down, smoothing it on a table. “It’s half a day’s hike southwest, but I have it on good authority that an old Immortal ruin was just uncovered, and this map the expedition found could lead to a good find in there. I’ll just need help translating the key and dispatching some of the local fauna.”

    The young band hardly noticed as she slipped out of the crowd of people that now surrounded the map, preparing a travel bag of elixirs and lockpicking tools. Her keen nose for secrets and unshakeable luck kept her supplied with a steady stream of maps, buried relics, and uncovered mysteries, and she had gained a reputation for it. She rarely took her share anymore, as she was paid well enough by the Brotherhood and her other commissioners, so she never lacked for travel companions. 

    We have an idea of what’s hidden there, and it definitely hints at traps.” A scholar called to her, quill in hand. Through a gap in the crowd she saw that the map was already covered with translated scribblings. “We can leave in the hour, I think.”

     “Then let’s take advantage of the daylight while we have it.” She replied, cinching up her pack. 

    The company left Annie’s Inn shortly after, spirits high. One or two talked about political rumors, another boasted about a recently caught bounty. Eva smiled, her heart and steps light as a feather. 

    Thank you for giving us this place, she thought, sending a silent prayer of gratitude to her old friends, You go live your lives. We’ll take it from here.

    "The End to War, the End to Pain,
    these will come in Seventh's reign"


    Rules Director


    The Unity-expansion ritual was dangerously taxing to Kaitlin, and Clementine did what she could to help her swoop out of there to safety. As she carefully tended to her wounds, the two of them both felt when the Aethyric Flood ritual was successfully cast. Clementine tried to assuage Kaitlin’s worries as best she could as she recovered, reminding her that she wasn’t alone for whatever lay ahead.

    She supported Kaitlin as she ascended to the head of the Greycrows, beaming with pride and gushing at how far she’d come and grown. She carefully listens to vents or complaints, offers a hug or piece of fresh fruit when she’s overwhelmed, and gives advice when asked. Kaitlin, the Greycrows, and those of Fir’bolg are part of her herd now, and she would defend them from the worst of this new era, just as they protected her years ago.

    Having come from the Aether, and now sure that Midworld can defend both itself and her, Clementine placidly sees the Aethyric Flood as a part of the cycle of life. In nature, continents shift, weather patterns change, and new species come and go, after all. The Aethereal is more at peace these days than at any point in the recent past, and thinks to the future often, wondering about her place in a world full of mortals. However, she knows she has a place beside Kaitlin, and that’s all the future she feels she needs to concern herself with for now. 

    Her cheery nature never diminishes, even as Midworld is washed in the Aether. She tries to coax a smile from her witch companion as often as she can, knowing how close the shadows of the past and fears of the future can cling. She misses Freehold and its citizens deeply. They killed her fearful pursuer and saved the two of them from grim futures, and she feels she never got to fully repay that debt. In her spare time, she tends to a small grove of clementine trees in the little nook the two of them have settled into within Fir’bolg’s borders. She wards the place from the undead and Aethyrial alike, creating a safe haven where the two can take the rest that they deserve – when they aren’t helping alleviate the kingdom’s woes. 

    Throughout the year, a few crates of clementines make their way to Freehold proper within the cart of a passing merchant or farmer. The faun, plucking and packing the fruit with care, secretly hopes that the Freefolk who see them still think of her, and that they take care of themselves as much as she always wanted to.

    "The End to War, the End to Pain,
    these will come in Seventh's reign"


    Rules Director

    Sister Kestrel and Brother Roy

    No matter how many weird Aethyric creatures she caught in her traps, Kestrel didn’t think she’d ever see an end to their diversity. Multiple legs, scintillating skin colors, too many teeth. She kicked a clod of dirt into the pitfall hole, the soil hitting the lifeless corpse at the bottom. She hated how these monstrosities messed with the ecosystem, but at least she was able to live in an area where things were mostly normal.  

    “Other trap’s full, Kestrel. We caught a lot of ‘em this time.” came an easy drawl from behind her.

    Brother Roy rounded a tree, a male cardinal flapping closely behind. “I guess we should dig more, huh.”

    “Yep. We have a line of refugees making their way here in a few days time, and the merchants have been talking about Aethyric harassers all along this side of the shield for a month now. No point to the shield if no one can get into it. We need to keep the path clear.” 

    Kestrel chewed her lip, picturing the area and mentally counting her resources. They could set up another half dozen before sundown, and scout out the other bend on their way back. That would be enough for today. Then they could return to the chapterhouse and see how the others were doing. 

    The Brotherhood’s numbers were the lowest they’d ever been after the Immortals were defeated, and they initially struggled to keep up with the swelling population of the town. Though their pragmatic nature was a long-running joke amongst the Freefolk , the Brotherhood commanded a certain amount of respect, and having a dedicated group of brethren watching your back wasn’t too bad either. Within a few years, more Brotherhood trickled in, and their chapterhouse grew once more.

    It beat hoofing it on one’s own in this new world, anyway.

    She didn’t agree with most of their methods, but the Brotherhood had become a strange kind of family in a relatively short time. Especially Roy. Being collectively locked in a strange dimension a long way from home for months at a time has a way of pushing folks together, it turns out, and Roy was already likeable as is. He was pacifistic and trustable, with an easy going nature. In other words, he was completely unlike most of the other Brotherhood members. 

    Kestrel rarely stayed at the chapterhouse, a habit that had kept her alive and unambushed a handful of times over the years, and Roy enjoyed nature just as much as she. He also had an odd knack for sensing out the Aethyric creatures that now roamed the area, a helpful talent when setting up traps.

    The two walked back through the shield towards the town, a few new components clacking in their packs. As they walked, Roy pointed toward the sky. Dark clouds roiled overhead, and the wind was beginning to pick up. “Looks like rain.” he said. The cardinal flitted around his hand until he tilted it downward to be parallel with the ground. The bird perched on his finger. “You wanna stay the night at my family’s farm?”

    Kestrel looked upwards and sighed. They still had over half a day’s travel to the chapterhouse, and she didn’t want to spend it soaking wet or hurriedly pitching camp. Roy’s family home, however, was decently close. “Sure,” she finally responded, “Just keep your mother away from me. I’m sick of her asking when the wedding is.”

    Roy chuckled, gently patting the cardinal’s head. “Good ol’ ma. I’ll have my pa remind her that we’re just good friends.”

    "The End to War, the End to Pain,
    these will come in Seventh's reign"


    Rules Director

    Lilith Puff/Lil Puff

    Since running away from home, Lil Puff wandered across Midworld and the Aether. Having an absent mother and a negligent father, she never had a true connection with anyone. Only when she met Unity did she finally knew what true companionship was like. She had finally found a sense of belonging and stayed with Unity until her last days.

    When the Unity-Expansion Ritual took place, Lil Puff knew that even though she would not be there physically, the memories of Unity would stay with her forever. She decided to stay in Freehold and eventually made amends with her mother. 

    After the Rite of Aetheric Flood, she realizes that the protective barrier would be saving her as well. Lil Puff sees familiar faces of Aetherals becoming chaotic and realizes that she does not want to live that fate. 

    Fulfilling a promise and her parental duties, her mother begins Bright Witch training with her. After all that had happened, Lil Puff now looks up to her mother and desires to walk in her footsteps. She trains hard and does not let her failures get her down. On her downtime, she loves to play pranks on the Freefolk and becomes the unofficial head of the party planning committee (considering there was no real election).

    "The End to War, the End to Pain,
    these will come in Seventh's reign"


    Rules Director

    Aemon Mac Nemain

    On the forefront of disaster relief for the Gohrrim Clanhold was Aemon Mac Nemain and her husband, Grugach Cu Gohrrim. They quickly rise to power and assume leadership of Clan Gohrrim. Through the aid of the Crimson and Crystal fleet, Aemon and Gru managed to rebuild Clan Gohrrim to its former glory. 

    Unwilling to let disaster wash away the history of Clan Nemain, Aemon builds a small team of willing scholars and courageous guards to aid her quest of salvaging history from Clan Nemain. Each expedition is troubling and gruesome, having to fight off undead and the perils of the bog. Yet, in the end, they experience small victories and meagre successes — bringing small amounts rite and lore back to their clanholds.

    When the Aethyric flood finally arrives, the successes slacken and casualties mount. The Aethereals bring both peril and death to Aemon’s project. However, she perseveres and she is readily joined by the survivors of her former Clan — together, they reclaim what they can of Clan Nemain’s legacy.

    "The End to War, the End to Pain,
    these will come in Seventh's reign"

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