Eulalios
2013-12-22, 12:54 AM
OOC thread.
Setting: the seaside City of Foam.
5th day in the waning crescent of the Swelter moon.
Oppressively hot.
Very severe thunderstorms from the sea.
The city slouches on the side of a shallow hill that slumps into a really quite beautiful sandy beach. The beach curves north and gradually westward from the mouth of a good-size river, which steadily discharges brownish-black silt and fresh water into the sparkling greenish salt water of a bay. The bay spreads out west, north, and south from the river and the city and the beach, out into a vast ocean. Storms come in from that ocean, sometimes huge storms, and - thankfully, only in stories - things.
More prosaically, every morning and evening boats come in from that ocean, where they have spent all day fishing the banks ten to fifteen miles off the beach. Every week or so a ship or two come in or go out, coasting north or south. The boats and ships flock at the wharves that jut out beyond the beautiful beach, into the bay.
To the south the coast continues to the big city of Meltwater (about 1000 mi or two months by caravan, about ten days - two weeks coastal sailing), and beyond, to the jungles. To the north the coast continues past Wrack, Spray, Goodfish, and a few other towns and cities, onward beyond the Northwood, to the tundras under the Real Mountains. Nobody knows what's past the Real Mountains. They stand tall and cold, visible at more than fifty leagues distance after traveling nearly two months north from Foam.
Three-four days' sailing westward, beyond the sheltered coastal Sea, stand the volcanic range of Twilight Isles that shelter the Sea from the Ocean. The Isles trail southward, til they come within sight of the mainland just a few days north of Meltwater. However, sailors say, to see land on both sides of the southward transit, means one has made an error of navigation!
Eastward, one can follow the Cloud River up to the Elfwall; or, crossing the river, one can venture into the Dry Lands where the wild elves roam. Cattle droves come out of the Dry Lands in autumn. There are feed lots east of the river.
Closer to the city, a days-wide belt of farmland circles the hill on the beach. About a sixty mile radius, several hundred thousand souls, scattered woodlots, but pretty much all flat fields on a coastal plain.
The city has no particular walls; or if it had them centuries before, they have been re-used. Throughout the city are fountains, dribbling or spraying. The city drinks from an aqueduct, which lunges sword-straight toward the sea from the distant Elfwall, the river veering miles sidelong of its granite pilings. The aqueduct discharges in a fifty-foot roar of falling water that churns into a vast granite vat, at the top of the hill. Around the vat is a fortress, from which the water is released through valves to ancient pottery pipes that feed the fountains.
The city is busy and loud and filled with commercial smells of fish, hot iron, spices, salt meat, grain dust, and wine. About 60,000 people bustle through the city every day. It is not as large as Meltwater, but it is the largest city of the northern coast - and once, it was the Capital of the Coast. The Hall of Justice still stands, and the dwarf guard still stand at the doors of the Hall. The crown and tabard still are marked on the coins of the city. These, and the aqueduct, remind the city of the Old Realm that the city helped to overthrow.
In the Hall of Justice the lord of the city ponders the Old Realm and its wonders. In their various hovels the elves of the city ponder the Old Realm and its wonders. In the taverns and sidestreets the stories are mainly of Old Realm wonders.
It's nearly three centuries since the Old Realm fell, and some folk of the city are beginning to wonder, what's now? Within the past decade, the City Foam has faced violence from barbaric pirates (coming from the Twilight Isles or down the coast), as well as diplomatic pressure from the burgeoning River Cities of the Central Plain (led by the more populous port of Meltwater, further down the coast). The lord of the city seeks power to protect its wealth. Although the Old Realm established complex and powerful wards to limit spellcasting within the city and surrounding land, learned folk believe those wards might be tuned, or even lifted, using knowledge long-hidden Beyond the Elfwall.
The goblins are a hardy and clever race, but somewhat deformed, and only about half human size.
The goblins keep their own towns in the middle foothills of the Elfwall, and possibly higher up in the mountains as well. They venture down to Foam in caravans, seldom, bringing with them wealth of metal ores to be traded for salt and cloth and produce. Although they may sometimes hire to human employers under long-term contracts, either singly or in gangs, goblins refuse to establish their families among humans. Their favored professions are skilled and laborious: drover, soldier, merchant, miner, crafter.
The firstborn of any non-goblin mother might turn out to be a goblin. For goblin mothers, the situation is a bit more fraught.
A goblin woman's first coupling with a goblin man is guaranteed to yield a child. Thereafter, no more children from that lover. Her first coupling with her very first lover is guaranteed to grant a goblin child. Thereafter, her first coupling with any other lover will yield a child of random race.
Goblins tend to have eldritch features. For example, many goblins are "slippery": nobody can exactly remember a slippery character's appearance, even a moment after looking away. There's a general impression - typically, for a goblin, "unsettling" and "small" - but complete failure of language to describe the features. Goblins seem mentally capable of living with this. Non-goblins raised by goblins develop severe mental disorders quite early in childhood.
Thus, there is a flow of fosterlings both ways, with goblin families sometimes straight-up trading infant for infant at a crossroads, sometimes haunting a village for weeks til they find just the right family for their changeling.
Non-goblins often have trouble understanding why an infant has appeared on their doorstep, but old stories caution that such gifts should always be accepted.
Goblins' name for their people is Firstborn, and they will sometimes (snarkily?) address those of other races as "little brothers."
The elves are an ancient people, long-lived, renowned for their learning and beauty, but slight in stature and sometimes greeted with suspicion.
West of the Elfwall, the elves may be found in their own walled enclaves within or adjacent the larger towns, or dwelling clandestinely in rural hamlets apart from other peoples. They keep to themselves in small clans, no more than six or a dozen families together, perhaps a few score folk in a clan. Their favored professions are solitary: hunters, fishers, scholars, craftsmen. Although they live simply, their hidden wealth is universally rumored.
In their hidden homelands, the dwarfs have complex and generally pacific societies. However, in every generation there are a few who don't fit in; and those few are deemed well-suited to ensure that the rest are left alone. Thus, toward the outward world, the dwarfs have established a certain reputation: Taciturn, tactical, rough-necked, unstoppable; always in action. The shock troops and bodyguards of petty despots. Feared, and fine with that.
At the entrance to the Hall of Justice, day and night, stand a pair of dwarfs in armor, with halberds and maces. Twice a day, a new pair come up from the basement steps next to the entrance, and the off-going pair descend. Their beards poke out under the visors that cover their faces. They say nothing to anyone. They stand like stones, but twice as wide.
All the captains of coasting vessels and many of the harbor fleet, wary of the falling weather-glass, had weighed their anchors and set southward, four days past. A few, incautious or unduly trusting the breakwater and wind-wards, remained with the lubberly populace.
This dawn dimly gropes through a howling west wind, which drives warm and somewhat salty rain against the wharves and those boats beached or anchored tight. The paved streets are streams, the dirt streets are mud. The markets are closed and the buildings are shuttered. Few souls venture forth.
Fighter - Steely Eyed; Upkeep; Weapon of Choice [Shortspear]
Cunning: -1; Commitment: +4; Charm: -1
Boiled Leathers, Light Shield, Reach Weapon [Shortspear]. AC: 12
Awesomes: 10; spent 0.
Signature character trait: Incredibly goal-focused. Once his mind is set to something, his every effort is put into accomplishing that task.
Brief background: Mother died in childbirth of her first and only child. Father slowly unconsciously resentful of Lugaid's theft of his wife, if only because it made his life harder. Raising a child by himself was made all the harder by his inherent laziness and increasing drunkeness, which fed each other in a vicious cycle that largely excluded a more proper raising of his son. As such, he didn't much care when Lugaid left in his teenage years to join to join the Aqueduct Patrol and better his station in life though effort, something Lugaid's father never bothered to do; a lesson Lugaid took to heart and determined to never let himself fall into.
NPC Relationships:
Neutral: A drunken father named Cornelius. Caring in his own way, but a drunk and a gambler. Times are either quite well or very poor as Cornelius' doesn't know (or chooses not) to take his winnings and leave gracefully.
In town on leave to receive an inheritance of a distant great-uncle, as he's the only next of kin the Hall of Justice could track down. Much to his infuriation, however, the estate and his uncle's possession are being held by the City of Foam "in safety" until a decently sized debt said uncle owes them is paid off.
The patrolman, clad in stiff leather soaked to the skin, angrily paces the marble tiles of the shadowed hallway outside the Magistrate's chambers. He had to leave his spear and shield with the dwarf at the entrance. The dwarf had looked with profound skepticism at the edge on the spear head, but had laid the weapon aside without inquiry.
He has been more than an hour pacing amid the small puddles from his own dripping armor, listening to the heavy wooden shutters creak and pop under the continual wind from the sea. A short time ago there was a distant noise of massive breakage. Since then, the wind only has grown louder. The rain smashes against the outer wall.
"Her honor will see you now."
Dwarf - Fierce & Proud & Proud & Fierce; Braids o t Clain
Awareness +1; Brawn +1; Charm +1; Commitment +1
No armor; Light weapon [Craftsman's Hammer]. AC: 8
Awesomes: 6; spent 5.
Ruinever did not come to Foam by choice.
After leaving his Dwarven homeland, he had some success as a craftsman in human lands. Unfortunately, he also had some success with human women. Married women, to be exact.
One of those was the the wife of an important Guild leader in the River Cities. It was a bad choice. Caught in the act, Ruinever fled for his life—only to find he had been blacklisted everywhere that Guild had influence.
Ruinever came to Foam hoping the city would need a skilled dwarf craftsman to work on the famed Aqueduct or, more likely, just to repair pottery pipes through the city.
So far he's found that humans mostly think of dwarves as beasts of battle. He doesn't want want to take a job fighting, but he's fast running out of money. He might have to.
He was just turned out of a low-end hostel at the lower edge of the Stonebuilt. Little more than a tenement, it was still too expensive for his taste.
NPCs
Vortiver the Dwarf. Friendly.
Vortiver is one of the guards of the Hall of Justice. Turns out he and Ruinever have a third cousin in common by marriage. Vortiver has recommended several armed-guard type jobs that would pay better than a simple bouncer gig.
Sam Turnkey. Neutral.
Commissioner Turnkey is in charge of the Aqueduct operations and all public wells and fountains. Ruinever met with him briefly while inquiring about engineer work. However, Sam is far more concerned about increasing pressure from the River Cities, whence Ruinever came. If the diplomatic situation becomes tense, they could easily sever the Aqueduct far upstream, cutting off Foam's water supply. He asked if Ruinever would join a defensive force for the Aqueduct. It sounds too dangerous.
Mistress Nyvara. Decidedly Not Friendly.
Mistress Nyvara runs a fortune-reading racket in a poor part of town, which is about the only part Ruinever can stay in. She's respected and feared locally for her "powers." She also hustles constantly to keep customers coming in the door. She started telling customers that a "penniless dwarf" was bad news in their future and would be the "ruin bringer" for their families. Now he gets suspicious glances and closed doors wherever he goes. He's pretty sure she's a sham, but when he went to confront her she screamed as if he was attacking her. He steers well clear of her.
As the storm builds, he huddles in the doorway of an ancient mansion renovated as a boarding house. The warm, harsh wind roars and lashes rain near-horizontally along the street and sharp around the corner of the dirtied marble doorpost. The stone threshold is warm and wet; the heavy wooden door is warm and wet. Ruinever, also, is warm and wet. His beard and hair and clothing are stiff and wet and his moustache tastes of salt and fish. Wind-driven water ripples over the cobbles of the street. The world is filled with sounds of small things breaking and big things bending to the storm. A wooden shutter tumbles and clatters down the street, splintering apart as it passes.
There is a distant noise of massive breakage.
Elf - Perfect Accuracy; Pointed Awareness; Restless.
Awareness +3; Charm -1; Commitment +3; Daring +3
Elven chainshirt; Ranged weapon [Longbow]; AC 10.
Awesomes: 7; spent 0.
On the underside of Erdrin's forearm is a distinctive scar. There are three lines that join together to point towards his palm. This mark is a symbol of his membership in the Seekers. The Seekers are a inter-clan organization of elves whose mission is to uncover the secrets of a mythical elven empire that supposedly existed long before the Old Realm. It is unknown whether this empire was ever real. It is a very secretive organization; even full members like Erdrin don't know everything about it. Erdrin doesn't even know who leads the group or even if there is a central leadership. He is only in contact with a few other Seekers from his village. Currently he is being sent to receive something that has been left at an abandoned hovel, about an hour north from Foam.
Erdrin is a silent but very perceptive person. He mostly keeps to himself but gives off the impression that he is constantly observing everything.
NPC's:
Positive: Garnhoth Helnvir is a childhood friend of Erdrin's who left their village long ago moving to an enclave in Foam with his family. Erdrin hasn't seen him since. Garnoth was often full of energy, and the only time Erdrin would play as a child was with Garnoth.
The road north from Foam runs crookedly down the hillside, crosses a short and broad stone bridge built for wagons, then bends round the seaward side of a second hill to avoid the city dump at the landward side. This route, on this rain-wracked morning, first required Erdrin to struggle through calf-deep floodwaters that stream through the granite railings of the bridge. Then the road turned directly into the salt wind, which drove warm raindrops sharply into his downturned face. Now he is soaked through his garments, wet as a frog. Fortunately, the abandoned hovel should be just a half mile ahead, in the lee of the hillock that rises at the lefthand (seaward) side of the road. It's not impossible that Erdrin might be able to light a fire and possibly share some food with the shadowy fellow who supposedly found an ancient scroll in the city dump.
Another ten or twelve minutes slogging through the water standing on the sunken road, and Erdrin comes into the lee of the hillock. Under the bluff near the road squats a windowless stone building, the walls barely higher than Erdrin's head and the thatched roof caved in. The two pieces of the rotted wooden door lintel dangle at angles from their respective posts.
Despite the rain, Erdrin can see someone crouched just inside the doorway. For a moment, he feels intensely the rainwater crawling down his skin.
Magic User: Veil Touch, Power Hungry, Book of Power (The Grimoire of Xyrdendank the Poorly Named, Second Edition)
Commitment +4; Charm -1; Awareness +4
reach weapon: Staff (1 dmg); Robes (No armor, 8 AC)
Awesomes: 2; spent: 7.
Silzar set off to journey the world following his studies in magic. His parents are long-gone, and Silzar isn't one to make friends easily - subtle and quick to anger. Though, he's befriended a few traveling merchants and gypsies, who act as his eyes and ears on the road. He lives for his journeys, and is forever seeking greater power and lost artifacts in the darkest corners of the world.
The wizard sat in the corner of the Foamy Squirrel Tavern in the city of Foam. As rain poured down, he thumbed the pages of an ancient book in his hands.
He hears a sharp crash outside, breaking his concentration. He grumbles and slams the book shut.
"All I ask is a little peace and quiet..."
Deciding to make his way back to the local inn, he steps out into the pouring rain, winds lashing at his robes. He suddenly stiffens, and raises his eyes. He can feel something coming through the darkness. But what, not even the Wise can say...
Goblin - Dungeon-wise; creepy; slippery.
Awareness -1; Brawn -2; Charm -2; Daring -1.
No armor; Reach weapon [flail]; AC 10.
Awesomes: 12; spent 0.
A foundling goblin, brought by a despondent young widower to a crossroads north of Foam. His appearance is indescribable: when he's in direct view, his features slip out of the viewer's head too quickly to permit description. Non-goblins generally gain a measure of comfort by not looking directly at him. Goblins like to closely study his face while drunk.
The goblin has skulked since sunset within the roof-caved hovel near the city dump. It was a wet, wet night when small creatures sought whatever shelter from the wind and rain. Even the small dry spaces at the base of the old stone wall. It was a good night for snacking.
Zealous Acolyte of Questionable Piety: Divine Favor; Humility; Prayers of the Hurt.
Daring:+2 Commitment:+3 Charm:+2
light weapon: Studded Leather Bound Holy Book of Many Verses; light Armor (AC 11 w/holy item): Holy Vestments starched by the salty tears of starving orphans.
Four-Limbed Star of Piety, Bread, Cheese, Sm. bottle of wine, Ornate box of incense and ritual items, Soap, Bandages. 7GP 3SP
Awesomes: 9; spent: 3.
Alexi von Righteousgloryfellow grew up in meltwater under a hardworking lower middle class family, through this he had never needed much but was always in want of things other children had, but his family couldn't afford to provide. Whenever he would get on his fathers nerves with his pleading for the newest puzzlebox or whoop and stick his father would simply send him to the local church to have him assist the preachers with daily chores and prayers.
His father had hoped this kind of punishment would help teach him of hardwork and responsibility, but it mostly just caused Alexi to hold envy of those in the church as they did nothing but talk a couple times a week to the congregation and people would pretty much throw money at them and gave them so much respect! They even had kids from the neighborhood who would be forced to do the little bit of real work the preachers did have!
When he told his father he wanted to be a man of THE GOD, he was thrilled to say the least. Imagine his son being the divine connection between the people and THE GOD! It would bring much respect to the family indeed! His father saved much gold pieces over the next few years so he could send his son to the Seminary Schools so he may learn the ways of THE GOD through secular study and training. Even to this day his father knows not why Alexi wished to truly become a man of THE GOD.
At Seminary school, Alexi was made to do all the mundane tasks with the other students as they were over watched by the Sisters of the Measuring Stick. The sisters were always afoot watching with their scrupulous gaze, looking for the slightest indignation of their hardships. This treatment was called provided as training in humility and patience, and was the hardest of all the trials Alexi faced. He had seen many other trainees disciplined at the hands of the sisters, and the fear it wrought was great.
After a year of this treatment Alexi was allowed to begin the actual study of the Book with the preachers. He would spend 3 hours of the day listening with 10 other students to a preacher speak of THE GOD and his glory, and of all the things THE GOD wanted the students to be, all they had to do was to try and be what THE GOD wanted them to be and their lives would be happier ones. After these hours all the students were placed in a room and each student was given a rather large holy book of text to study, and they were expected to write their views and thoughts on its teachings. The students would do this for 5 hours, only finished when the call for lunch was given. After lunch he would be back to helping out with mundane tasking as the Sisters of the Measuring Stick would review the writings and discipline those who they deemed daft from their understandings, sometimes, if they were lucky, they wouldn't be caught in heresy but would simply be lectured for an hour.
Life progressed this way for another 2 years, until Alexi was given a position as a junior acolyte and was expected to help out the pastors and preachers with their daily lectures to the younger students for his final year. At the end of each week Alexi would have a conference with the pastors and speak to them about his beliefs in THE GOD and how he could best serve him and how he had served him thus far.
Finally after 4 years of training and education Alexi was free to return to the world from his cloistered life, best of all he was heading back to his home city of Meltwater to be apart of the church there, but his excitement didn't last long as he was told he would be sent out to establish a new church over 900 miles away, near the town of Foam. He would accompany a senior preacher and several other Acolytes to bring the word of THE GOD closer to these people.
Nearly as soon as the church had been established 55 miles away from the town of Foam, it had started taking in orphans from the land. Many of them sent out in hopes they would fair better elsewhere than in the homes of their starving and poor families. They helped out as much as they could, but being malnourished and so young they couldn't do much and it was left to the acolytes to continue with the tedious works around the church. It was at this moment Alexi realized that his choice in life may not give him the life he was looking for, he had made a terrible mistake!
Eventually the church started to fail and fall apart, so much of the tithe they received from the congregation was spent feeding and caring for the orphans the Senior preacher had brought in, and in fear of being punished by THE GOD, Alexi did not say a word about wanting to throw them out. Then several days ago the aged Preacher came to his Acolytes, telling them that if they wanted to continue this church here they would have to find homes for the children, but they must be sent to homes of good, solid beliefs of THE GOD so that these children would not go astray. With this in mind, Alexi volunteered to go on a mission to find homes for these children (taking with him some funds for the road!).
It is now that Alexi has made his way to the town of foam, and it seems he had left at the right time, to arrive in the calm of a storm that had pressed into the city.
The city slouches on the side of a shallow hill that slumps into a really quite beautiful sandy beach. The beach curves north and gradually westward from the mouth of a good-size river, which steadily discharges brownish-black silt and fresh water into the sparkling greenish salt water of a bay. The bay spreads out west, north, and south from the river and the city and the beach, out into a vast ocean. Storms come in from that ocean, sometimes huge storms, and - thankfully, only in stories - things.
More prosaically, every morning and evening boats come in from that ocean, where they have spent all day fishing the banks ten to fifteen miles off the beach. Every week or so a ship or two come in or go out, coasting north or south. The boats and ships flock at the wharves that jut out beyond the beautiful beach, into the bay.
To the south the coast continues to the big city of Meltwater (about 1000 mi or two months by caravan, about ten days - two weeks coastal sailing), and beyond, to the jungles. To the north the coast continues past Wrack, Spray, Goodfish, and a few other towns and cities, onward beyond the Northwood, to the tundras under the Real Mountains. Nobody knows what's past the Real Mountains. They stand tall and cold, visible at more than fifty leagues distance after traveling nearly two months north from Foam.
Three-four days' sailing westward, beyond the sheltered coastal Sea, stand the volcanic range of Twilight Isles that shelter the Sea from the Ocean. The Isles trail southward, til they come within sight of the mainland just a few days north of Meltwater. However, sailors say, to see land on both sides of the southward transit, means one has made an error of navigation!
Eastward, one can follow the Cloud River up to the Elfwall; or, crossing the river, one can venture into the Dry Lands where the wild elves roam. Cattle droves come out of the Dry Lands in autumn. There are feed lots east of the river.
Closer to the city, a days-wide belt of farmland circles the hill on the beach. About a sixty mile radius, several hundred thousand souls, scattered woodlots, but pretty much all flat fields on a coastal plain.
The city has no particular walls; or if it had them centuries before, they have been re-used. Throughout the city are fountains, dribbling or spraying. The city drinks from an aqueduct, which lunges sword-straight toward the sea from the distant Elfwall, the river veering miles sidelong of its granite pilings. The aqueduct discharges in a fifty-foot roar of falling water that churns into a vast granite vat, at the top of the hill. Around the vat is a fortress, from which the water is released through valves to ancient pottery pipes that feed the fountains.
The city is busy and loud and filled with commercial smells of fish, hot iron, spices, salt meat, grain dust, and wine. About 60,000 people bustle through the city every day. It is not as large as Meltwater, but it is the largest city of the northern coast - and once, it was the Capital of the Coast. The Hall of Justice still stands, and the dwarf guard still stand at the doors of the Hall. The crown and tabard still are marked on the coins of the city. These, and the aqueduct, remind the city of the Old Realm that the city helped to overthrow.
In the Hall of Justice the lord of the city ponders the Old Realm and its wonders. In their various hovels the elves of the city ponder the Old Realm and its wonders. In the taverns and sidestreets the stories are mainly of Old Realm wonders.
It's nearly three centuries since the Old Realm fell, and some folk of the city are beginning to wonder, what's now? Within the past decade, the City Foam has faced violence from barbaric pirates (coming from the Twilight Isles or down the coast), as well as diplomatic pressure from the burgeoning River Cities of the Central Plain (led by the more populous port of Meltwater, further down the coast). The lord of the city seeks power to protect its wealth. Although the Old Realm established complex and powerful wards to limit spellcasting within the city and surrounding land, learned folk believe those wards might be tuned, or even lifted, using knowledge long-hidden Beyond the Elfwall.
The goblins are a hardy and clever race, but somewhat deformed, and only about half human size.
The goblins keep their own towns in the middle foothills of the Elfwall, and possibly higher up in the mountains as well. They venture down to Foam in caravans, seldom, bringing with them wealth of metal ores to be traded for salt and cloth and produce. Although they may sometimes hire to human employers under long-term contracts, either singly or in gangs, goblins refuse to establish their families among humans. Their favored professions are skilled and laborious: drover, soldier, merchant, miner, crafter.
The firstborn of any non-goblin mother might turn out to be a goblin. For goblin mothers, the situation is a bit more fraught.
A goblin woman's first coupling with a goblin man is guaranteed to yield a child. Thereafter, no more children from that lover. Her first coupling with her very first lover is guaranteed to grant a goblin child. Thereafter, her first coupling with any other lover will yield a child of random race.
Goblins tend to have eldritch features. For example, many goblins are "slippery": nobody can exactly remember a slippery character's appearance, even a moment after looking away. There's a general impression - typically, for a goblin, "unsettling" and "small" - but complete failure of language to describe the features. Goblins seem mentally capable of living with this. Non-goblins raised by goblins develop severe mental disorders quite early in childhood.
Thus, there is a flow of fosterlings both ways, with goblin families sometimes straight-up trading infant for infant at a crossroads, sometimes haunting a village for weeks til they find just the right family for their changeling.
Non-goblins often have trouble understanding why an infant has appeared on their doorstep, but old stories caution that such gifts should always be accepted.
Goblins' name for their people is Firstborn, and they will sometimes (snarkily?) address those of other races as "little brothers."
The elves are an ancient people, long-lived, renowned for their learning and beauty, but slight in stature and sometimes greeted with suspicion.
West of the Elfwall, the elves may be found in their own walled enclaves within or adjacent the larger towns, or dwelling clandestinely in rural hamlets apart from other peoples. They keep to themselves in small clans, no more than six or a dozen families together, perhaps a few score folk in a clan. Their favored professions are solitary: hunters, fishers, scholars, craftsmen. Although they live simply, their hidden wealth is universally rumored.
In their hidden homelands, the dwarfs have complex and generally pacific societies. However, in every generation there are a few who don't fit in; and those few are deemed well-suited to ensure that the rest are left alone. Thus, toward the outward world, the dwarfs have established a certain reputation: Taciturn, tactical, rough-necked, unstoppable; always in action. The shock troops and bodyguards of petty despots. Feared, and fine with that.
At the entrance to the Hall of Justice, day and night, stand a pair of dwarfs in armor, with halberds and maces. Twice a day, a new pair come up from the basement steps next to the entrance, and the off-going pair descend. Their beards poke out under the visors that cover their faces. They say nothing to anyone. They stand like stones, but twice as wide.
Setting: the seaside City of Foam.
5th day in the waning crescent of the Swelter moon.
Oppressively hot.
Very severe thunderstorms from the sea.
The city slouches on the side of a shallow hill that slumps into a really quite beautiful sandy beach. The beach curves north and gradually westward from the mouth of a good-size river, which steadily discharges brownish-black silt and fresh water into the sparkling greenish salt water of a bay. The bay spreads out west, north, and south from the river and the city and the beach, out into a vast ocean. Storms come in from that ocean, sometimes huge storms, and - thankfully, only in stories - things.
More prosaically, every morning and evening boats come in from that ocean, where they have spent all day fishing the banks ten to fifteen miles off the beach. Every week or so a ship or two come in or go out, coasting north or south. The boats and ships flock at the wharves that jut out beyond the beautiful beach, into the bay.
To the south the coast continues to the big city of Meltwater (about 1000 mi or two months by caravan, about ten days - two weeks coastal sailing), and beyond, to the jungles. To the north the coast continues past Wrack, Spray, Goodfish, and a few other towns and cities, onward beyond the Northwood, to the tundras under the Real Mountains. Nobody knows what's past the Real Mountains. They stand tall and cold, visible at more than fifty leagues distance after traveling nearly two months north from Foam.
Three-four days' sailing westward, beyond the sheltered coastal Sea, stand the volcanic range of Twilight Isles that shelter the Sea from the Ocean. The Isles trail southward, til they come within sight of the mainland just a few days north of Meltwater. However, sailors say, to see land on both sides of the southward transit, means one has made an error of navigation!
Eastward, one can follow the Cloud River up to the Elfwall; or, crossing the river, one can venture into the Dry Lands where the wild elves roam. Cattle droves come out of the Dry Lands in autumn. There are feed lots east of the river.
Closer to the city, a days-wide belt of farmland circles the hill on the beach. About a sixty mile radius, several hundred thousand souls, scattered woodlots, but pretty much all flat fields on a coastal plain.
The city has no particular walls; or if it had them centuries before, they have been re-used. Throughout the city are fountains, dribbling or spraying. The city drinks from an aqueduct, which lunges sword-straight toward the sea from the distant Elfwall, the river veering miles sidelong of its granite pilings. The aqueduct discharges in a fifty-foot roar of falling water that churns into a vast granite vat, at the top of the hill. Around the vat is a fortress, from which the water is released through valves to ancient pottery pipes that feed the fountains.
The city is busy and loud and filled with commercial smells of fish, hot iron, spices, salt meat, grain dust, and wine. About 60,000 people bustle through the city every day. It is not as large as Meltwater, but it is the largest city of the northern coast - and once, it was the Capital of the Coast. The Hall of Justice still stands, and the dwarf guard still stand at the doors of the Hall. The crown and tabard still are marked on the coins of the city. These, and the aqueduct, remind the city of the Old Realm that the city helped to overthrow.
In the Hall of Justice the lord of the city ponders the Old Realm and its wonders. In their various hovels the elves of the city ponder the Old Realm and its wonders. In the taverns and sidestreets the stories are mainly of Old Realm wonders.
It's nearly three centuries since the Old Realm fell, and some folk of the city are beginning to wonder, what's now? Within the past decade, the City Foam has faced violence from barbaric pirates (coming from the Twilight Isles or down the coast), as well as diplomatic pressure from the burgeoning River Cities of the Central Plain (led by the more populous port of Meltwater, further down the coast). The lord of the city seeks power to protect its wealth. Although the Old Realm established complex and powerful wards to limit spellcasting within the city and surrounding land, learned folk believe those wards might be tuned, or even lifted, using knowledge long-hidden Beyond the Elfwall.
The goblins are a hardy and clever race, but somewhat deformed, and only about half human size.
The goblins keep their own towns in the middle foothills of the Elfwall, and possibly higher up in the mountains as well. They venture down to Foam in caravans, seldom, bringing with them wealth of metal ores to be traded for salt and cloth and produce. Although they may sometimes hire to human employers under long-term contracts, either singly or in gangs, goblins refuse to establish their families among humans. Their favored professions are skilled and laborious: drover, soldier, merchant, miner, crafter.
The firstborn of any non-goblin mother might turn out to be a goblin. For goblin mothers, the situation is a bit more fraught.
A goblin woman's first coupling with a goblin man is guaranteed to yield a child. Thereafter, no more children from that lover. Her first coupling with her very first lover is guaranteed to grant a goblin child. Thereafter, her first coupling with any other lover will yield a child of random race.
Goblins tend to have eldritch features. For example, many goblins are "slippery": nobody can exactly remember a slippery character's appearance, even a moment after looking away. There's a general impression - typically, for a goblin, "unsettling" and "small" - but complete failure of language to describe the features. Goblins seem mentally capable of living with this. Non-goblins raised by goblins develop severe mental disorders quite early in childhood.
Thus, there is a flow of fosterlings both ways, with goblin families sometimes straight-up trading infant for infant at a crossroads, sometimes haunting a village for weeks til they find just the right family for their changeling.
Non-goblins often have trouble understanding why an infant has appeared on their doorstep, but old stories caution that such gifts should always be accepted.
Goblins' name for their people is Firstborn, and they will sometimes (snarkily?) address those of other races as "little brothers."
The elves are an ancient people, long-lived, renowned for their learning and beauty, but slight in stature and sometimes greeted with suspicion.
West of the Elfwall, the elves may be found in their own walled enclaves within or adjacent the larger towns, or dwelling clandestinely in rural hamlets apart from other peoples. They keep to themselves in small clans, no more than six or a dozen families together, perhaps a few score folk in a clan. Their favored professions are solitary: hunters, fishers, scholars, craftsmen. Although they live simply, their hidden wealth is universally rumored.
In their hidden homelands, the dwarfs have complex and generally pacific societies. However, in every generation there are a few who don't fit in; and those few are deemed well-suited to ensure that the rest are left alone. Thus, toward the outward world, the dwarfs have established a certain reputation: Taciturn, tactical, rough-necked, unstoppable; always in action. The shock troops and bodyguards of petty despots. Feared, and fine with that.
At the entrance to the Hall of Justice, day and night, stand a pair of dwarfs in armor, with halberds and maces. Twice a day, a new pair come up from the basement steps next to the entrance, and the off-going pair descend. Their beards poke out under the visors that cover their faces. They say nothing to anyone. They stand like stones, but twice as wide.
All the captains of coasting vessels and many of the harbor fleet, wary of the falling weather-glass, had weighed their anchors and set southward, four days past. A few, incautious or unduly trusting the breakwater and wind-wards, remained with the lubberly populace.
This dawn dimly gropes through a howling west wind, which drives warm and somewhat salty rain against the wharves and those boats beached or anchored tight. The paved streets are streams, the dirt streets are mud. The markets are closed and the buildings are shuttered. Few souls venture forth.
Fighter - Steely Eyed; Upkeep; Weapon of Choice [Shortspear]
Cunning: -1; Commitment: +4; Charm: -1
Boiled Leathers, Light Shield, Reach Weapon [Shortspear]. AC: 12
Awesomes: 10; spent 0.
Signature character trait: Incredibly goal-focused. Once his mind is set to something, his every effort is put into accomplishing that task.
Brief background: Mother died in childbirth of her first and only child. Father slowly unconsciously resentful of Lugaid's theft of his wife, if only because it made his life harder. Raising a child by himself was made all the harder by his inherent laziness and increasing drunkeness, which fed each other in a vicious cycle that largely excluded a more proper raising of his son. As such, he didn't much care when Lugaid left in his teenage years to join to join the Aqueduct Patrol and better his station in life though effort, something Lugaid's father never bothered to do; a lesson Lugaid took to heart and determined to never let himself fall into.
NPC Relationships:
Neutral: A drunken father named Cornelius. Caring in his own way, but a drunk and a gambler. Times are either quite well or very poor as Cornelius' doesn't know (or chooses not) to take his winnings and leave gracefully.
In town on leave to receive an inheritance of a distant great-uncle, as he's the only next of kin the Hall of Justice could track down. Much to his infuriation, however, the estate and his uncle's possession are being held by the City of Foam "in safety" until a decently sized debt said uncle owes them is paid off.
The patrolman, clad in stiff leather soaked to the skin, angrily paces the marble tiles of the shadowed hallway outside the Magistrate's chambers. He had to leave his spear and shield with the dwarf at the entrance. The dwarf had looked with profound skepticism at the edge on the spear head, but had laid the weapon aside without inquiry.
He has been more than an hour pacing amid the small puddles from his own dripping armor, listening to the heavy wooden shutters creak and pop under the continual wind from the sea. A short time ago there was a distant noise of massive breakage. Since then, the wind only has grown louder. The rain smashes against the outer wall.
"Her honor will see you now."
Dwarf - Fierce & Proud & Proud & Fierce; Braids o t Clain
Awareness +1; Brawn +1; Charm +1; Commitment +1
No armor; Light weapon [Craftsman's Hammer]. AC: 8
Awesomes: 6; spent 5.
Ruinever did not come to Foam by choice.
After leaving his Dwarven homeland, he had some success as a craftsman in human lands. Unfortunately, he also had some success with human women. Married women, to be exact.
One of those was the the wife of an important Guild leader in the River Cities. It was a bad choice. Caught in the act, Ruinever fled for his life—only to find he had been blacklisted everywhere that Guild had influence.
Ruinever came to Foam hoping the city would need a skilled dwarf craftsman to work on the famed Aqueduct or, more likely, just to repair pottery pipes through the city.
So far he's found that humans mostly think of dwarves as beasts of battle. He doesn't want want to take a job fighting, but he's fast running out of money. He might have to.
He was just turned out of a low-end hostel at the lower edge of the Stonebuilt. Little more than a tenement, it was still too expensive for his taste.
NPCs
Vortiver the Dwarf. Friendly.
Vortiver is one of the guards of the Hall of Justice. Turns out he and Ruinever have a third cousin in common by marriage. Vortiver has recommended several armed-guard type jobs that would pay better than a simple bouncer gig.
Sam Turnkey. Neutral.
Commissioner Turnkey is in charge of the Aqueduct operations and all public wells and fountains. Ruinever met with him briefly while inquiring about engineer work. However, Sam is far more concerned about increasing pressure from the River Cities, whence Ruinever came. If the diplomatic situation becomes tense, they could easily sever the Aqueduct far upstream, cutting off Foam's water supply. He asked if Ruinever would join a defensive force for the Aqueduct. It sounds too dangerous.
Mistress Nyvara. Decidedly Not Friendly.
Mistress Nyvara runs a fortune-reading racket in a poor part of town, which is about the only part Ruinever can stay in. She's respected and feared locally for her "powers." She also hustles constantly to keep customers coming in the door. She started telling customers that a "penniless dwarf" was bad news in their future and would be the "ruin bringer" for their families. Now he gets suspicious glances and closed doors wherever he goes. He's pretty sure she's a sham, but when he went to confront her she screamed as if he was attacking her. He steers well clear of her.
As the storm builds, he huddles in the doorway of an ancient mansion renovated as a boarding house. The warm, harsh wind roars and lashes rain near-horizontally along the street and sharp around the corner of the dirtied marble doorpost. The stone threshold is warm and wet; the heavy wooden door is warm and wet. Ruinever, also, is warm and wet. His beard and hair and clothing are stiff and wet and his moustache tastes of salt and fish. Wind-driven water ripples over the cobbles of the street. The world is filled with sounds of small things breaking and big things bending to the storm. A wooden shutter tumbles and clatters down the street, splintering apart as it passes.
There is a distant noise of massive breakage.
Elf - Perfect Accuracy; Pointed Awareness; Restless.
Awareness +3; Charm -1; Commitment +3; Daring +3
Elven chainshirt; Ranged weapon [Longbow]; AC 10.
Awesomes: 7; spent 0.
On the underside of Erdrin's forearm is a distinctive scar. There are three lines that join together to point towards his palm. This mark is a symbol of his membership in the Seekers. The Seekers are a inter-clan organization of elves whose mission is to uncover the secrets of a mythical elven empire that supposedly existed long before the Old Realm. It is unknown whether this empire was ever real. It is a very secretive organization; even full members like Erdrin don't know everything about it. Erdrin doesn't even know who leads the group or even if there is a central leadership. He is only in contact with a few other Seekers from his village. Currently he is being sent to receive something that has been left at an abandoned hovel, about an hour north from Foam.
Erdrin is a silent but very perceptive person. He mostly keeps to himself but gives off the impression that he is constantly observing everything.
NPC's:
Positive: Garnhoth Helnvir is a childhood friend of Erdrin's who left their village long ago moving to an enclave in Foam with his family. Erdrin hasn't seen him since. Garnoth was often full of energy, and the only time Erdrin would play as a child was with Garnoth.
The road north from Foam runs crookedly down the hillside, crosses a short and broad stone bridge built for wagons, then bends round the seaward side of a second hill to avoid the city dump at the landward side. This route, on this rain-wracked morning, first required Erdrin to struggle through calf-deep floodwaters that stream through the granite railings of the bridge. Then the road turned directly into the salt wind, which drove warm raindrops sharply into his downturned face. Now he is soaked through his garments, wet as a frog. Fortunately, the abandoned hovel should be just a half mile ahead, in the lee of the hillock that rises at the lefthand (seaward) side of the road. It's not impossible that Erdrin might be able to light a fire and possibly share some food with the shadowy fellow who supposedly found an ancient scroll in the city dump.
Another ten or twelve minutes slogging through the water standing on the sunken road, and Erdrin comes into the lee of the hillock. Under the bluff near the road squats a windowless stone building, the walls barely higher than Erdrin's head and the thatched roof caved in. The two pieces of the rotted wooden door lintel dangle at angles from their respective posts.
Despite the rain, Erdrin can see someone crouched just inside the doorway. For a moment, he feels intensely the rainwater crawling down his skin.
Magic User: Veil Touch, Power Hungry, Book of Power (The Grimoire of Xyrdendank the Poorly Named, Second Edition)
Commitment +4; Charm -1; Awareness +4
reach weapon: Staff (1 dmg); Robes (No armor, 8 AC)
Awesomes: 2; spent: 7.
Silzar set off to journey the world following his studies in magic. His parents are long-gone, and Silzar isn't one to make friends easily - subtle and quick to anger. Though, he's befriended a few traveling merchants and gypsies, who act as his eyes and ears on the road. He lives for his journeys, and is forever seeking greater power and lost artifacts in the darkest corners of the world.
The wizard sat in the corner of the Foamy Squirrel Tavern in the city of Foam. As rain poured down, he thumbed the pages of an ancient book in his hands.
He hears a sharp crash outside, breaking his concentration. He grumbles and slams the book shut.
"All I ask is a little peace and quiet..."
Deciding to make his way back to the local inn, he steps out into the pouring rain, winds lashing at his robes. He suddenly stiffens, and raises his eyes. He can feel something coming through the darkness. But what, not even the Wise can say...
Goblin - Dungeon-wise; creepy; slippery.
Awareness -1; Brawn -2; Charm -2; Daring -1.
No armor; Reach weapon [flail]; AC 10.
Awesomes: 12; spent 0.
A foundling goblin, brought by a despondent young widower to a crossroads north of Foam. His appearance is indescribable: when he's in direct view, his features slip out of the viewer's head too quickly to permit description. Non-goblins generally gain a measure of comfort by not looking directly at him. Goblins like to closely study his face while drunk.
The goblin has skulked since sunset within the roof-caved hovel near the city dump. It was a wet, wet night when small creatures sought whatever shelter from the wind and rain. Even the small dry spaces at the base of the old stone wall. It was a good night for snacking.
Zealous Acolyte of Questionable Piety: Divine Favor; Humility; Prayers of the Hurt.
Daring:+2 Commitment:+3 Charm:+2
light weapon: Studded Leather Bound Holy Book of Many Verses; light Armor (AC 11 w/holy item): Holy Vestments starched by the salty tears of starving orphans.
Four-Limbed Star of Piety, Bread, Cheese, Sm. bottle of wine, Ornate box of incense and ritual items, Soap, Bandages. 7GP 3SP
Awesomes: 9; spent: 3.
Alexi von Righteousgloryfellow grew up in meltwater under a hardworking lower middle class family, through this he had never needed much but was always in want of things other children had, but his family couldn't afford to provide. Whenever he would get on his fathers nerves with his pleading for the newest puzzlebox or whoop and stick his father would simply send him to the local church to have him assist the preachers with daily chores and prayers.
His father had hoped this kind of punishment would help teach him of hardwork and responsibility, but it mostly just caused Alexi to hold envy of those in the church as they did nothing but talk a couple times a week to the congregation and people would pretty much throw money at them and gave them so much respect! They even had kids from the neighborhood who would be forced to do the little bit of real work the preachers did have!
When he told his father he wanted to be a man of THE GOD, he was thrilled to say the least. Imagine his son being the divine connection between the people and THE GOD! It would bring much respect to the family indeed! His father saved much gold pieces over the next few years so he could send his son to the Seminary Schools so he may learn the ways of THE GOD through secular study and training. Even to this day his father knows not why Alexi wished to truly become a man of THE GOD.
At Seminary school, Alexi was made to do all the mundane tasks with the other students as they were over watched by the Sisters of the Measuring Stick. The sisters were always afoot watching with their scrupulous gaze, looking for the slightest indignation of their hardships. This treatment was called provided as training in humility and patience, and was the hardest of all the trials Alexi faced. He had seen many other trainees disciplined at the hands of the sisters, and the fear it wrought was great.
After a year of this treatment Alexi was allowed to begin the actual study of the Book with the preachers. He would spend 3 hours of the day listening with 10 other students to a preacher speak of THE GOD and his glory, and of all the things THE GOD wanted the students to be, all they had to do was to try and be what THE GOD wanted them to be and their lives would be happier ones. After these hours all the students were placed in a room and each student was given a rather large holy book of text to study, and they were expected to write their views and thoughts on its teachings. The students would do this for 5 hours, only finished when the call for lunch was given. After lunch he would be back to helping out with mundane tasking as the Sisters of the Measuring Stick would review the writings and discipline those who they deemed daft from their understandings, sometimes, if they were lucky, they wouldn't be caught in heresy but would simply be lectured for an hour.
Life progressed this way for another 2 years, until Alexi was given a position as a junior acolyte and was expected to help out the pastors and preachers with their daily lectures to the younger students for his final year. At the end of each week Alexi would have a conference with the pastors and speak to them about his beliefs in THE GOD and how he could best serve him and how he had served him thus far.
Finally after 4 years of training and education Alexi was free to return to the world from his cloistered life, best of all he was heading back to his home city of Meltwater to be apart of the church there, but his excitement didn't last long as he was told he would be sent out to establish a new church over 900 miles away, near the town of Foam. He would accompany a senior preacher and several other Acolytes to bring the word of THE GOD closer to these people.
Nearly as soon as the church had been established 55 miles away from the town of Foam, it had started taking in orphans from the land. Many of them sent out in hopes they would fair better elsewhere than in the homes of their starving and poor families. They helped out as much as they could, but being malnourished and so young they couldn't do much and it was left to the acolytes to continue with the tedious works around the church. It was at this moment Alexi realized that his choice in life may not give him the life he was looking for, he had made a terrible mistake!
Eventually the church started to fail and fall apart, so much of the tithe they received from the congregation was spent feeding and caring for the orphans the Senior preacher had brought in, and in fear of being punished by THE GOD, Alexi did not say a word about wanting to throw them out. Then several days ago the aged Preacher came to his Acolytes, telling them that if they wanted to continue this church here they would have to find homes for the children, but they must be sent to homes of good, solid beliefs of THE GOD so that these children would not go astray. With this in mind, Alexi volunteered to go on a mission to find homes for these children (taking with him some funds for the road!).
It is now that Alexi has made his way to the town of foam, and it seems he had left at the right time, to arrive in the calm of a storm that had pressed into the city.
The city slouches on the side of a shallow hill that slumps into a really quite beautiful sandy beach. The beach curves north and gradually westward from the mouth of a good-size river, which steadily discharges brownish-black silt and fresh water into the sparkling greenish salt water of a bay. The bay spreads out west, north, and south from the river and the city and the beach, out into a vast ocean. Storms come in from that ocean, sometimes huge storms, and - thankfully, only in stories - things.
More prosaically, every morning and evening boats come in from that ocean, where they have spent all day fishing the banks ten to fifteen miles off the beach. Every week or so a ship or two come in or go out, coasting north or south. The boats and ships flock at the wharves that jut out beyond the beautiful beach, into the bay.
To the south the coast continues to the big city of Meltwater (about 1000 mi or two months by caravan, about ten days - two weeks coastal sailing), and beyond, to the jungles. To the north the coast continues past Wrack, Spray, Goodfish, and a few other towns and cities, onward beyond the Northwood, to the tundras under the Real Mountains. Nobody knows what's past the Real Mountains. They stand tall and cold, visible at more than fifty leagues distance after traveling nearly two months north from Foam.
Three-four days' sailing westward, beyond the sheltered coastal Sea, stand the volcanic range of Twilight Isles that shelter the Sea from the Ocean. The Isles trail southward, til they come within sight of the mainland just a few days north of Meltwater. However, sailors say, to see land on both sides of the southward transit, means one has made an error of navigation!
Eastward, one can follow the Cloud River up to the Elfwall; or, crossing the river, one can venture into the Dry Lands where the wild elves roam. Cattle droves come out of the Dry Lands in autumn. There are feed lots east of the river.
Closer to the city, a days-wide belt of farmland circles the hill on the beach. About a sixty mile radius, several hundred thousand souls, scattered woodlots, but pretty much all flat fields on a coastal plain.
The city has no particular walls; or if it had them centuries before, they have been re-used. Throughout the city are fountains, dribbling or spraying. The city drinks from an aqueduct, which lunges sword-straight toward the sea from the distant Elfwall, the river veering miles sidelong of its granite pilings. The aqueduct discharges in a fifty-foot roar of falling water that churns into a vast granite vat, at the top of the hill. Around the vat is a fortress, from which the water is released through valves to ancient pottery pipes that feed the fountains.
The city is busy and loud and filled with commercial smells of fish, hot iron, spices, salt meat, grain dust, and wine. About 60,000 people bustle through the city every day. It is not as large as Meltwater, but it is the largest city of the northern coast - and once, it was the Capital of the Coast. The Hall of Justice still stands, and the dwarf guard still stand at the doors of the Hall. The crown and tabard still are marked on the coins of the city. These, and the aqueduct, remind the city of the Old Realm that the city helped to overthrow.
In the Hall of Justice the lord of the city ponders the Old Realm and its wonders. In their various hovels the elves of the city ponder the Old Realm and its wonders. In the taverns and sidestreets the stories are mainly of Old Realm wonders.
It's nearly three centuries since the Old Realm fell, and some folk of the city are beginning to wonder, what's now? Within the past decade, the City Foam has faced violence from barbaric pirates (coming from the Twilight Isles or down the coast), as well as diplomatic pressure from the burgeoning River Cities of the Central Plain (led by the more populous port of Meltwater, further down the coast). The lord of the city seeks power to protect its wealth. Although the Old Realm established complex and powerful wards to limit spellcasting within the city and surrounding land, learned folk believe those wards might be tuned, or even lifted, using knowledge long-hidden Beyond the Elfwall.
The goblins are a hardy and clever race, but somewhat deformed, and only about half human size.
The goblins keep their own towns in the middle foothills of the Elfwall, and possibly higher up in the mountains as well. They venture down to Foam in caravans, seldom, bringing with them wealth of metal ores to be traded for salt and cloth and produce. Although they may sometimes hire to human employers under long-term contracts, either singly or in gangs, goblins refuse to establish their families among humans. Their favored professions are skilled and laborious: drover, soldier, merchant, miner, crafter.
The firstborn of any non-goblin mother might turn out to be a goblin. For goblin mothers, the situation is a bit more fraught.
A goblin woman's first coupling with a goblin man is guaranteed to yield a child. Thereafter, no more children from that lover. Her first coupling with her very first lover is guaranteed to grant a goblin child. Thereafter, her first coupling with any other lover will yield a child of random race.
Goblins tend to have eldritch features. For example, many goblins are "slippery": nobody can exactly remember a slippery character's appearance, even a moment after looking away. There's a general impression - typically, for a goblin, "unsettling" and "small" - but complete failure of language to describe the features. Goblins seem mentally capable of living with this. Non-goblins raised by goblins develop severe mental disorders quite early in childhood.
Thus, there is a flow of fosterlings both ways, with goblin families sometimes straight-up trading infant for infant at a crossroads, sometimes haunting a village for weeks til they find just the right family for their changeling.
Non-goblins often have trouble understanding why an infant has appeared on their doorstep, but old stories caution that such gifts should always be accepted.
Goblins' name for their people is Firstborn, and they will sometimes (snarkily?) address those of other races as "little brothers."
The elves are an ancient people, long-lived, renowned for their learning and beauty, but slight in stature and sometimes greeted with suspicion.
West of the Elfwall, the elves may be found in their own walled enclaves within or adjacent the larger towns, or dwelling clandestinely in rural hamlets apart from other peoples. They keep to themselves in small clans, no more than six or a dozen families together, perhaps a few score folk in a clan. Their favored professions are solitary: hunters, fishers, scholars, craftsmen. Although they live simply, their hidden wealth is universally rumored.
In their hidden homelands, the dwarfs have complex and generally pacific societies. However, in every generation there are a few who don't fit in; and those few are deemed well-suited to ensure that the rest are left alone. Thus, toward the outward world, the dwarfs have established a certain reputation: Taciturn, tactical, rough-necked, unstoppable; always in action. The shock troops and bodyguards of petty despots. Feared, and fine with that.
At the entrance to the Hall of Justice, day and night, stand a pair of dwarfs in armor, with halberds and maces. Twice a day, a new pair come up from the basement steps next to the entrance, and the off-going pair descend. Their beards poke out under the visors that cover their faces. They say nothing to anyone. They stand like stones, but twice as wide.