Walking the World

Sunrise over WinterHeap has a reassuring consistency. The light filters in over the mountain peak through the ancient pine trees as the sun gradually creeps higher. The tops of snow covered, thatch rooftops shine a blinding white as they start thawing in the morning glow. The sun casts warm golden rays onto fields rich with crops and livestock; fields that every hand in the town has helped harvest year in and year out. The farmers are the men and women who set the rhythm of town life; their efforts both feeding their town, as well as providing the majority of the export income the town makes. This early, you can already hear the children playing, having been kicked out by their parents before breakfast. The children often play in the mud and bully the scarecrows around the fields, or cause all kinds of mischief if they can sneak further into town.

Down the cobbled roads, the craftsmen and artisans are hard at work. Their workshops hum with the sound of activity. The blacksmith hammer near constantly strikes hot metal upon the anvil, pumping out shovels, pitch forks, horseshoes, nails, pots, pans, and other daily necessities for the town folk. Merchant stall are already open for business, their wares on display. From imported spices, fabrics in every color imaginable, hand crafted wooden toys, and everything in between. The towns folk don’t have an excess of wealth, but they can afford a little beyond the pure necessities. The early shoppers haggle over prices, each coin a careful negotiation, small economic battles more done so for the enjoyment of bartering.

At the center of town, the council building is abuzz with activity. The grand front door to the building propped open for the first of many scheduled meetings. Administrators, elected officials, townsfolk, security, etc., make their way between offices to place requests, report incidents, debate inter-township business, or even simply enjoy a cup of coffee in the meal hall. Meeting discussions varied, from repairing the dilapidated town well to dealing with the occasional menace that stalked the woods just beyond the borders. The elders that made up the council took every matter seriously, deliberated profusely, and got everything done as efficiently as possible. Mostly so they can get back to their board games, but results are results.

Despite its size, the town was anything but stagnant. Each season as thing grew warmer, adventurers, hunters, or even some vacationers would flow in and out of town. Adventurers would come to dungeon delve for scarce monster components. The components found aren’t incredible, but a lot of them you can only find in the wild mountains where few care to spend much time. Hunters would follow the game as they migrate further north, usually selling the meat off in town, or making large quantities of jerky. Vacationers would come out to partake in the wild hot springs that occasionally spring up from the permafrost. They seldom pop up in the same spot, so finding one tends to be a semi lucrative way to pocket extra coin from visitors.

Within the bounds of [Town Name}, there was a vibrant interplay of races and species, an eclectic gathering that seemed almost accidental in its diversity. Humans, dwarves, elves -- all were present but in a modest number, easily overshadowed by the more unusual denizens that found a home here. The spotlight, however, belonged to the Limivari.

Standing shorter than most races, the Limivari were a distinct blend of feline agility and humanoid ingenuity. They possessed elongated tails that they used for balance, ears that flicked attentively with each sound, and eyes that held the piercing gaze of a predator. But their cultural significance transcended their physical traits. Rumor has it that the Limivari originated from a mystical crossroad between dimensions, a place where energy coalesced into matter and matter into life. Whether or not one believed such tales, it was impossible to overlook their deep-rooted traditions. One such rite involved a symbolic dance mimicking the hunt, a beautiful but complex series of movements that celebrated their duality of nature.

For those visiting WinterHeap, the most immediately noticeable shift from the norm is the architectural scale of things, tailored to the Limivari’s shorter stature. The oldest buildings in town are maybe up to two thirds the size a human might come to expect. Walkways have more, and shorter stairs; stories are measured five feet at a time instead of ten. Even the more modern buildings built tend to make the taller races slump or bend their head at a weird angles to avoid bumping into the ceiling fixtures. Over time, some of the more important or prosperous buildings became accommodating to even the tallest of visitors. Things like the council building, the town Inn, or the shopping stalls at the center of town.

Interacting with the dominant populous is also strange for the uninitiated. The Limivari are nothing if not welcoming of any and all intelligent races. However, being descendant from the Felidae family, they have their quirks. The body does as much talking in their daily lives as their tongues. A flick of the tail, the position of their ears, how their fur is standing, how their pupils are dilated, what they choose to focus on, all mean something different in their communication style. As well, their unique adaptations include bioluminescent patches in their fur concentrated mostly around their elbows, chests, in their tails, and on their ears. Before they interacted with the other races, they were discovered in dense mushroom forests, where everything was aglow with bioluminescent light. When hunting, they were be seen holding entire conversations with only the glow from their fur, maintaining stealth the whole while.

As visitors become residents, they also start expecting you to follow the in depth customs. Their anatomy makes it unnecessary to wear footwear for most daily life, so wearing any inside is seen as a threat, or at least incredibly rude. The few times they would wear footwear would include war, or an exceedingly dangerous hunt; so wearing shoes of any sort inside signals ill intent. Territory claims are also a large part of daily dealings. In town its a lot more tame, as territory disputes are far less tolerated by the community there. However, each of the stronger Limivari families have land claims to hunting grounds, or gathering spots that are constantly in dispute further into the forest. Frequently, the older generations of the family will live in the forest territory instead of in town. Knowing what is and isn’t allowed within these areas, as well as knowing how to identify them are key to having good relations as a hunter in the deep forest. Disputes seldom turn violent in the modern day, tending to only result in coins changing hands, or portions of the haul being “taxed.” But the further you get from the established part of town, the more likely you are to find the old “might makes right” mentality.

The interspecies dynamic within WinterHeap has evolved a unique equilibrium. The other races each exist in town, intermixing with the younger generations of Linivari. Its not unheard of for the other races to have substantial dealings with the more wild Linivari deeper in the forest, but they do tend to deem the effort not worth the hassle. Tensions exist, but they are the exception rather than the rule. In town, social standing was less a matter of race and more a matter of what one could contribute to the collective; in the wilds, its more about familial ties and how one can make their family stronger than the other families. Individual contributions, versus familial superiority tend to be the arguing points, but each live peaceably at arms length from one another; slowly mixing as the culture develops further. A dissident or two looking to cause trouble might spout off about how the other races are incompatible with familial power. Or converse, how the old familial ways are slowing down the pace of progress that interspecies relationships have provided.

Limivari magic is also unique to the races. Like the elves, each Limivari has an innate connection to magic. Their flavor of connection is through manipulating their Life Essence. Theirs may not be the most powerful magic, but they cultivate a deep relationship between the self and the universe, making theirs highly suited to accomplish the goal at hand. Unlike mages, who practice and study for years to gather mana, then use that mana to influence the world; Linivari magic bridges the gap by using their Life Energy instead of mana. Instead of using internal reserves of mana, they use external mana from the world around them. They can spin their soul into a dance, an intermingling with the universe’s intent, and can be a collaborator in the grand plan. As you can imagine, this method is imprecise. Akin to a warlock’s power, you’re not the holder of the power, and who you ask for the power from can say no. Or what is more likely, the collaborators don’t understand one another. The universe is many things, but well educated on the needs of mortals is not one of them. At its novice level, the universe is kind enough to accommodate the intent of any request. So if the intent is to lift a rock, it can manifest as increased strength of the individual, or converting untamed mana into a gravity type mana to levitate the rock. At the more advanced levels, learning how to communicate your intend more precisely is how you achieve mastery.

Intention, emotion, focus, and artistry are crucial elements in how this brand of spell slinging is taught. Intent may seem self explanatory, until your intent is to remove a weed, and the universe determines starting it and everything around it on fire is a valid removal method. A more trained intent might be: to cause the roots of anything other than the crops planted by a Linivari farmer to be unable to absorb water from the soil. This of course, ultimately leads to the death of a weed, and leaves a lot less up for interpretation. The cost then becomes, with no room for creativity from your collaborator, the emotion, focus, or artistry need to be far more brilliant to elicit a proper casting. To get a specific event to occur, you need to have genuine passion enough to move the universe into action. If you care whether you fireball attack only hurts an enemy, you need to really make the universe feel it with you. The most recent discovery to the craft, has been artistry. Physical works of art: sculpture, paintings, writings, and any combination of which, helps with communication ability, in getting your intents across.

Suziss, a young fixture in town, is the the first to be taught from the start the importance of artistic expression as a magical medium. She spends long hours perfecting her chosen art forms, making elaborate and breathtaking works to do anything and everything. She is the leading potion maker in town, her art guiding mana to extract more from each ingredient, increase purity, or even stretch a potion into more doses than usually feasible. Her enchantments last longer, take less charges per use, and are far more beautiful than the older vessels. Each potion or enchantment she creates in her alchemical corner isn’t a mere manifestation of energy; it’s a reflection of her emotions, intent, and profound concentration. While most Limivari are capable of basic magical feats, genuine mastery lies in the ability to harmoniously meld power with sentiment. Through the work of all of the local magic users, its become possible for the town to grow crops, despite their year long winter conditions. As a precaution to any of those who would want to try to use this kind of magic; be aware, power has a cost and a risk.

In this case, you’re magic will never rival the archmagis from more traditional schools in raw power. To achieve mastery takes far less time than wizardry, but takes far longer to prepare properly. As well, utilizing ones own life force is inherently dangerous. While your energy is outside your body, your mind and soul are at risk to a multitude of ailments or insidious magics that would ordinarily bounce off an intelligent mind. As well, your magic is not your own. Do. Not. Piss off your collaborator. At best, if you make the collaborator angry, they can say no. At worst, the magic you’re borrowing from can do anything to you instead of for you. As well, there is no “strengthening the muscle” type of growth. Your Life Essence is finite, is constantly shrinking, and the only way to advance is through technique.