Welcome to Vasara

Written by World Smithy

Off the Boat

You find yourself drawn to the cottage door, its stained and grimy window panes exuding warm light onto its front step. The air here reeks of set in rot and still water, and the insects are incessant; many of which are drawn to your open wound. Limping, step by step, you make it to the door and knock twice. It opens slowly with a squealing creak, revealing a hobbled old gnomish man clad in a leather vest and tattered trousers. Through his bushy, white beard you saw a grin split across his face showing off the few teeth he had remaining.

“Welcome 'o Vasara, 'raveler! I know no' from whence you came, bu' please, come in ou' of the dark. You look like you've seen be'er days, friend; I'll have ole' Agnes pa'ch you up,” he said, waving you in through the open door. “Tha's my wife, you see; grea' wiff herbs!”

You found an old, rickety wooden chair that was missing a few nails and collapsed in it. You're surprised that the chair held you at all, given your size compared to the diminutive yet humble enough denizen of the seaside cottage. With a groan, you leaned back, holding your gut tight to keep the blood from flowing freely onto the moldering wooden floorboards below. A few moments passed and an old gnomish woman with a shock of white hair hobbled out of the back room carrying a sewing kit and a bundle of herbs shoved into a morter & pestle.

The gnomish man comes in behind her carrying a few scrolls, each sealed with an ornate wax stamp depicting an open eye. He unloaded them onto a nearby side table as he called to you from the other side of the room, “While you wai' for her to work her magic, I have a few scrolls for you 'o read. One fing I will 'ell you now as you get comfor'able is 'o never ven'ure wiffou' a 'orch or lan'ern. Shadows here ge' a bi' an'sy when fresh souls come frough wiffou' a ligh'.”

The old woman sets to work on you, removing your torn shirt up and over your head. The wound, while fresh, seemed to have started to fester as evidenced by a ring of black and yellow pustules forming at the edges. She poked it once with a needle and shook her head, turning instead to the mix of plants and her morter. The old man walked over, a few of the scrolls in hand, and bowed slightly.

“Where are my manners? I'm Ansur, a re'ired professor from Sigil Ins'i'u'e... In..sfi...toot! Damn!” he yelled, reaching into his pocket. Ansur pulled out a grubby and slightly hairy set of well-worn dentures and popped them in his mouth. His jaw moved about and saliva dripped from the corner of his lips before the false teeth found their purchase on his gums. “Sorry, not used to havin' to pull out me good teeth. What I was tryin' to say is that I used to conduct research at the Sigil Institute; doubt you've heard of em', though. Right uppity folk. Read these while me wife works on ye', it'll get your head on straight methinks!”

Brief on Thematics and Genres

This setting of mine, the Continent of Vasara, is meant to be akin to your typical grim-dark, post-apocalyptic settings, but I will be heavily pulling and implementing elements of high and dark fantasy, along with gaslamp and other forms of fantasy. Some of the most common themes that you will find in my works across the whole of this project will include light, death, mortality, morality, and divinity. Some honorable mentions include decay/rot, hope, found-family, and love. I know this general vibe is not for everyone, of course; but what is that one saying? ‘A story for everyone is a story for no one’—that's what it was! I hope everyone that has found themselves here enjoys my work, and more importantly, has a wonderful day!

May the Fadelight illuminate your travels, friends!

Ansur's Scrolls