An excerpt from The Depths of Norhaven: A Complete Guide, Volume Four – Of Eleudis and Avera's Hope, by Alerdy Parlyle…It usually takes a few weeks before one notices something amiss in Avera's Hope. The other colonies define themselves on the rhythms of their homes: the unending echo of mining picks striking against stone in Gauth; the humble creak of the Telling Tree’s roots in Darkthorn Den that awakens its citizens and puts them to bed; and the half-choked whispers and uplifting praises that fill the Warrens, day in and day out – though such a word has long since lost its meaning. Even the caverns under Norhaven are filled either with the dull thrum of a distant waterfall or a silence so deep one might think they are in a tomb. And, depending on the circumstances, they very well might be.
In Avera's Hope, though, every sound you hear is organic and alive: the idle chatter of its citizens, the calls and grunts in the loading of timber, the soft thrum and hiss of bow and arrow as rangers prepare for their duties. It is a chaotic symphony given purpose and beat by a common string wound through its citizens. It is the collective soul of a people singing the joys of life after so many years laboring under chains.
For them, it is the sound of freedom.
Less than a decade ago, the citizens of Avera's Hope had a very different life, living as slaves under the rule of their cruel elven masters, the Draelen. It was the only life they knew for centuries, until a prophet came amongst their ranks: a halfling by the name of Avera. She spoke adamantly about the freedom and independence taught by Eleudis, He of Four Faces, the One True God. Fearing the whips and chains of the Dralen, the slaves were dismissive and frightened at first, but Avera persisted in spreading the word of Eleudis without fear of repercussion. Her followers quickly gathered in number - the most adamant of these being the Six Sisters - as the slaves were offered their first taste of hope in decades.
Realizing the threat that rose in their midst, the Draelen seized Avera and cast her upon the Breaking Wheel. True to its name, within hours Avera passed from this world. However, far from forcing the slaves into submission, it sparked a rebellion. Months passed as slowly, quietly, as the daring and the cunning joined together in common cause, stockpiling stolen weapons and purloined armor. When the time was right, they struck like a thundering hammer, simultaneously shattering every Draelen-forged chain. Freedom was theirs.
Avera's Hope has since risen from a band of penniless slaves into an economic power, utilizing the raw resources of the area and specializing in woodcraft. At first glance, Hope would to be appear no more than a lawless band of criminals and outcasts, but this masks a deeper social order that is maintained by a sense of collective pride and mutual agreement between disputing parties. The Reeves patrol the city, with their only seeming concern being to prevent violence from escalating past dangerous levels.
Many of the former slaves, convicts and outcasts have embraced the words of Avera and built the Church of Eleudis, served by those who call themselves the Lightkeepers. While a casual glance at the colony would mark it as a tribute to the prophet of Eleudis and the establishment of his order, anyone who labored under the Draelen would tell you that it is the freedom and the colony itself that symbolizes Avera's Hope: that freedom shall, inevitably, triumph over slavery and tyranny.
Avera's HopeKyrran Volkarov could taste the gold already.
As he sat in the Central Warehouse of Avera's Hope, a slow grin came to his face as he thought about the trees that waited outside. Not only had anybody in the history of Avera's Hope ever brought in a full-grown spruce before, but his band of Harvesters had been able to bring in two. They were chastised as fools as they headed to the surface, too young and inexperienced for a task only veterans dared take; told they were overreaching themselves and that they'd get themselves killed... or worse. But they were wrong, and now two of the biggest trees anyone had ever seen growing on the surface were floating gently in the canals of Avera's Hope.
Like all good things in life, though, it came with its price. Ethan had been killed in a skirmish with Grehta's winter wolves on the surface and Victor had gotten lost in a blinding blizzard that lasted almost an entire day. His body would never be found. But they all knew the risks, and Kyrran recognized that Victor and Ethan would be proud of their deaths, knowing that the majestic whitewoods rested safely outside. Both would have axes raised in their honor tonight, their names permanently carved into the handles of the survivor's axes in memory.
But the trials that had claimed his two friends were not even the worst part of the voyage. No, it came from getting the wooden behemoths underground. Most Harvesters purposefully relied on felling smaller trees as they can be quickly cut and easily transported to anywhere in the Cradle by hand. Larger trees had to be floated down an underground river which flowed into Avera's Hope. Even then it took five days to navigate the behemoths through the twisting network of caves, even forcing them to split the trees in half at one particularly sharp junction.
Still, the buzz of excitement was almost palpable as they floated down the river feeling like heroes of legend, the cheers of a small crowd welcoming them as they rode into Avera's Hope. Kyrran and his men smiled and waved to the people, nestling the trees amongst the other, smaller logs that were waiting to be treated.
It was an effort for Kyrran to stop from breaking into a run through the dusty streets of Avera's Hope. He instead forced himself to look about the city, to the buildings scattered almost casually about the colony. The colony was almost like a living creature, constantly changing itself. Each day it was a little bit different than the last. A shanty home that blocked your path one day might be gone the next, only to find it blocking the path you used yesterday. The buzz faded further into the town as he strode through the shanties where suspicion was necessary to survive. Other than politely working his way around a fanatic screaming that the Draelen were returning, the journey was uneventful and he soon found himself standing before the Central Warehouse, knocking a meaty fist upon the door.
The Reeves who opened it acted as if they heard nothing of his arrival, but admitted him into the warehouse after a series of rude and intrusive questions about his business.
And so, here he waited for Harold Mercer to climb from the depths of the warehouse, almost like waiting for a spirit to rise from its grave. An hour passed. Then two. Then three.
Kyrran realized he must have drifted to sleep after he jumped when a cool breeze passed over him, stirring the dust in the warehouse. A moment of panic came over him as he forgot where he was, reaching instinctively for his axe before realizing he had left it with the guards. Cursing under his breath, he turned his head to see a dull sliver of light casting itself into the musty office from the market outside. The hum and buzz from the people outside was louder than he had remembered, pierced by a Lightkeeper praising Avera and Eleudis before the door snapped shut.
It was then Kyrran thought to look upon the visitor, one that caused his heart to skip a beat. Though youth had long since left her face, the visage of Cynthia Mynea - the Matron of Light - was unmistakable. The half-elf gave a slight but courteous nod as she entered the room, the dull white of her gown cascading her body as she seemed to float across the dusty floorboards. With an almost wry grin, she embraced the two Reeves who had greeted him so rudely at the door, whispering something in the older Reeve's ear that caused them to both smile warmly like only old friends can. She then whispered something to the younger Reeve, and though Kyrran could not hear what she said to him, he could see the fierce shade of red that now flushed his face, accompanied by an awkward grin.
"Corrupting my men again, Matron?"
The Reeves immediately bolted to attention as the Matron turned slowly towards the voice. Kyrran sat further back in his chair, slightly annoyed, but at the same time grateful that Harold Mercer had finally revealed himself from the depths of the warehouse. Harold was a short, balding man dressed in fine clothing, but it was the way he held himself that made Kyrran take notice. This was not a man who took no for an answer.
"Only saving them from the darkness that seeks to claim them from the bowels of your domain", she said playfully. "You should really get some more light in here, Harold."
Harold grunted. "Light is money. What can I do for you today, Matron?"
Though Cynthia's smile never wavered, it seemed to lose a bit of its warmth as she spoke. "Preparations are going smoothly for the ceremony to mark of Avera's passing, but it appears that vandals have made off with some of our supplies." She plucked a scroll from a pocket in her robe, handing it to Harold. "They will need to be replaced."
Harold scoffed slightly as he read over the list, holding it under one of the few magical globes that provided the warehouse's light. "If people are going to steal from Hope, the least they could do is make it interesting. Nobody ever wrote an interesting story about retrieving a crate of blankets." He folded the list and placed it on a nearby desk, turning his head to speak. "I'll send the order in to Gauth to get this replaced, along with 20 swords to prevent further attacks."
Cynthia blinked. "Attacks? Harold, this was probably just some kids having some fun or somebody trying to find a meal for the night."
"I'm aware of this", Harold said. "However, you above all else should know the importance of keeping up a good image, Cynthia." Harold stood to his full height, placing his hands behind his back. "By ordering more weaponry - which we needed anyway - we show that despite having few laws, the ones we do have we take very seriously and are enforced without hesitation. We use a moment of weakness to appear strong to our... friends. And, by ordering from Gauth, it gives them that slight sense of smugness that though the convicts and outcasts talk big, we have to rely on them to keep us safe." Harold snorted. "I'd been holding off on this order for some time, the next order we place to keep us safe after someone swipes a pastry from the market will go to the Warrens."
"The Draelen lost their empire because they were careless", Harold continued, answering Cynthia's unspoken question. "We can not afford to do the same."
Cynthia looked at Harold for a moment, the silence hanging in the air. She glanced briefly at the two Reeves before giving Harold a nod. "The Church appreciates your efforts in keeping the citizens of Avera's Hope safe. I'll leave you to your business."
"Your concern is kind Matron, as always. Glory to Avera."
"Hail always the days of Light, in His name", she said as she stepped casually out of the warehouse, the brief chatter of the outside world snapping shut as the door closed behind her.
"Now", the Master of Trade said, turning towards Kyrran, "Let's talk about this oversized toothpick you've left rotting in the river for the past week while smashing it constantly against giant boulders. Of course, nobody would pay nothing more than some leavings for that useless piece of driftwood, but I might be willing to strike a deal for the services of a man who can hold his secrets."
A new taste filled Kyrran Volkarov's mouth, decidedly more bitter than before.
SubracesHuman: OutcastDesperate exiles, wanted criminals, political dissidents - for what ever reason, these humans have been made unwelcome in Gauth or the Warrens. Only Avera's Hope will take them in now. Some such outcasts may even be former-slaves from before the Rebellion. Whatever the case, Outcasts take pride in two things above all else: their freedom and their privacy. Outcasts are wary of anyone paying them too much attention and resent being told what to do. They are an independent lot who, whilst generally mindful of the law, aren't afraid to operate on either side of it.
Outcast humans come in all shapes and sizes, reflecting the chaotic make up of Hope society.
Dwarf: ClanlessClan pride is important to a Dwarf. A clan provides a Dwarf with heritage, through which they gain a connection to their ancestors. The greatest punishment that can be inflicted on a Dwarf - short of death - is to be stripped of his clan. Clanless Dwarves cannot expect sanctuary, help or recognition from their former Clan - they are forgotten and exiled from Gauth. There are many reasons a Dwarf might be made clanless, not all of which are criminal. Thorin Proudshield himself was briefly made Clanless during his exile because he fell afoul of the then Warlord, Alfgar Deeptunnel. In turn, he would make the entire Deeptunnel clan themselves Clanless.
Most Clanless Dwarves make their homes in Avera's Hope, sharing their passion for freedom and independance. They are extremely private individuals, though Clanless often congregate together.
Clanless appearence tends to vary more widely than their Gauthian cousins. On the whole they are slimmer on average, and it is not unusual to find a Clanless with substantially less facial hair. Indeed, it is common practice to shave a Clanless' beard, so that his punishment is obvious to all. Some do not take it upon themselves to grow it back.
