Shireling
A Servant of King and Country
20 setting-calendar years.
World Building Dark Fantasy World-Building
- Thread starter Shireling
- Start date
20 setting-calendar years.
Shireling
A Servant of King and Country
I just had a super cool idea. What if the farmers in the setting had scarecrows that were alive?
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Maybe there's a certain level of "household magic" that's seen as common or acceptable. Farmers might call back ancestors or dead family members to serve as scarecrows via Animation during the planting and harvest season, and after planting, let them return to rest. The rich have their candle-holders enchanted so they light when a room is entered, and extinguish themselves when everyone leaves. Things like that.
Shireling
A Servant of King and Country
That would be really cool, actually. I like the idea of magick being something that almost anyone can pick up.
Shireling
A Servant of King and Country
I'm writing a piece on their religion. A story about a Magistrate who goes to see an Abbot from a far away monastery to collect his signature for a will. I'm struggling with a few things.
1. The idea I've tossed around can go one of two ways. Either there is no official Church, and the religion of the realm is entirely decentralized, or they have an organized Church called the Church of the Three.
2. The abbey I'm depicting has both nuns and monks. I'm not sure if they should be chaste, or if they should be in voluntary pairings. Highly religious marriages, if you will. Considering this religion doesn't have any of the common practices of most religions, just the tone of Christianity.
1. The idea I've tossed around can go one of two ways. Either there is no official Church, and the religion of the realm is entirely decentralized, or they have an organized Church called the Church of the Three.
2. The abbey I'm depicting has both nuns and monks. I'm not sure if they should be chaste, or if they should be in voluntary pairings. Highly religious marriages, if you will. Considering this religion doesn't have any of the common practices of most religions, just the tone of Christianity.
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Considering the virtue of Love, I'd say that strict religious pairings are the way to go. Whether or not those pairings are chaste probably depends on the monastery / sect.
Personally, I'm in favor of there being several attempts at a central organized church, but the major religious interpretations are still in an ideological war for dominance.
Personally, I'm in favor of there being several attempts at a central organized church, but the major religious interpretations are still in an ideological war for dominance.
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Shireling
A Servant of King and Country
Alright, well I've gone as far as I can go without getting more in depth on their practices. So lets flesh this out.
So these "factions" if you will. I'm tempted to divide them into three, by having one claim the importance of one virtue over another. But not only did I think this was lazy, but I also think they would all strive to emphasize all virtues equally. So I guess the difference would have to be in execution. Or maybe the difference comes in by their beliefs of human nature, or perhaps the difference between them is their level of fatalism/free will.
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If I had to propose my immediate idea, I think that the source of their schisms would be in the way that the virtues relate to each other.
All the virtues are to be equally represented--but what is "equal?" How much must one give in order to avoid sinning in the name of Greed? At what point does Love cross over into Lust? Does the virtue of Restraint ever clash with the virtue of Love, and if so, how does it? If you give yourself freely, are you being Charitable or Lustful? Is the human desire for Love something pure, or is it Greedy? Should it be tempered with Restraint unless Love is freely given by another? And just how bad are these "Sins" anyway? Is it okay to Hate bad people? Sinners, even? And what if Greed is a necessary component of personal survival? Is to lust evil, or merely human? Are the paired Cardinals separate, or can they interact between pairings? Do we swing one way or another when we're born, or are we clean slates?
All the virtues are to be equally represented--but what is "equal?" How much must one give in order to avoid sinning in the name of Greed? At what point does Love cross over into Lust? Does the virtue of Restraint ever clash with the virtue of Love, and if so, how does it? If you give yourself freely, are you being Charitable or Lustful? Is the human desire for Love something pure, or is it Greedy? Should it be tempered with Restraint unless Love is freely given by another? And just how bad are these "Sins" anyway? Is it okay to Hate bad people? Sinners, even? And what if Greed is a necessary component of personal survival? Is to lust evil, or merely human? Are the paired Cardinals separate, or can they interact between pairings? Do we swing one way or another when we're born, or are we clean slates?
Shireling
A Servant of King and Country
That makes it rather difficult doesn't it? We could have about a dozen sects at this rate.
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Potentially, yes, but I'd say that whether or not there are depends on whether or not there are certain ideas as to how the Cardinals interact that people prefer over others. Sure, there are a bunch of different combinations, but if there are a few, say, five or less, that most people in the setting point to and say, "it's got to be one of these; all the other ideas are ridiculous," then that would streamline things considerably (while still allowing for cults).
Shireling
A Servant of King and Country
Alright. Well, the first divide seems pretty straightforward, the question of how to approach Greed. You'd most likely have a very communitarian approach, suggesting that people should willingly share anything that is beyond what is needed to attain a comfortable living (thus not just giving all your stuff away). Another camp would argue that anything you gain by the sweat of your brow you are entitled to, and the only way to be truly Greedy is to pursue gain at other people's expense. This would be the sort of individualist, libertarian wing of the faith if we were to put it in political terms.
Vudukudu
Farseer to the Warsong Clan
I'm having more trouble than I'd expected to have on the Festivals side of things. This one is pretty much all I've been able to come up with, as I think I'm having a bit of writer's block.
The Red Sacrament - The First Fyrsdeg of Twin Fangs in the Ascendant
The Red Sacrament - The First Fyrsdeg of Twin Fangs in the Ascendant
The Red Sacrament is an ancient holiday first created by the peasant-folk. Its timing in the Twin Fangs Ascendant has nothing to do with Twin Fangs - rather, it is focused entirely on the Waxing Witch's Eye. As the Witch's Eye grows in influence, witches are said to begin plotting the capture of young girls to be raised as future witches. The Red Sacrament is an elaborately ritualized ceremony which is believed to protect girls from kidnapping once the Witch's Eye reaches its Ascendant state.
Preparation for the Red Sacrament takes a few days at most, though every village has its own small differences in how it is practiced, and thus, how it is prepared for. The universal strands of the Festival day are as follows -
1. All girls between the ages of 3 and 16 participate. For the three days leading up to the ceremony, the girls live together, often in the nearest monastery or whatever building may provide for them. During this time, the older girls are expected to take care of the younger. There is no adult supervision throughout this process. Rather, the three oldest girls are expected to cooperatively move things along.
2. An animal of sufficient size (roughly 60 pounds, to provide enough blood) is slaughtered and its blood is gathered in a bowl. The blood is then heated over a flame until it boils, before it is used to paint the Scythe on the foreheads of every girl, as this Sign marks the end of the influence of the Witch's Eye. The remaining blood is used to mark the doors of the girl's households similarly.
3. Once marked, the girls make a pilgrimage throughout their town or village bearing simple gifts of handcrafts or prepared meals. These gifts are offered to the heads of every household, who in return permit the girls the right to enter their homes if it means escaping capture. In some places, this journey is guarded by the young men and boys of the village, though they are expected to remain entirely silent and separate from the girls throughout.
4. Once the pilgrimage is complete, water from melted snow is used to wash away the blood marks, though the doors are often kept marked until the Witch's Eye is no longer influential.
Preparation for the Red Sacrament takes a few days at most, though every village has its own small differences in how it is practiced, and thus, how it is prepared for. The universal strands of the Festival day are as follows -
1. All girls between the ages of 3 and 16 participate. For the three days leading up to the ceremony, the girls live together, often in the nearest monastery or whatever building may provide for them. During this time, the older girls are expected to take care of the younger. There is no adult supervision throughout this process. Rather, the three oldest girls are expected to cooperatively move things along.
2. An animal of sufficient size (roughly 60 pounds, to provide enough blood) is slaughtered and its blood is gathered in a bowl. The blood is then heated over a flame until it boils, before it is used to paint the Scythe on the foreheads of every girl, as this Sign marks the end of the influence of the Witch's Eye. The remaining blood is used to mark the doors of the girl's households similarly.
3. Once marked, the girls make a pilgrimage throughout their town or village bearing simple gifts of handcrafts or prepared meals. These gifts are offered to the heads of every household, who in return permit the girls the right to enter their homes if it means escaping capture. In some places, this journey is guarded by the young men and boys of the village, though they are expected to remain entirely silent and separate from the girls throughout.
4. Once the pilgrimage is complete, water from melted snow is used to wash away the blood marks, though the doors are often kept marked until the Witch's Eye is no longer influential.
Shireling
A Servant of King and Country
I like it. So, first day of the Twin Fangs.
Count Gensokyo
Super Smash Bros. Melee is a Fair & Balanced Game
You knew this obligatory question was gonna be asked:
Have you ever played Dark Souls? Great dark fantasy locales and setting for inspiration.
@Shireling
Have you ever played Dark Souls? Great dark fantasy locales and setting for inspiration.
@Shireling
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Shireling
A Servant of King and Country
I believe it has been brought up, and no. I haven't.
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I think, at the moment, the idea is to go as all-in with original thought as possible by trying to keep other franchises out of mind.
Count Gensokyo
Super Smash Bros. Melee is a Fair & Balanced Game
I'd highly suggest at least watching someone play through some of it on Youtube or something. Seeing the setting is one thing, and reading about it on a wiki is another. Just thought I'd put that out there in case you're looking for some extra spice to add to your world.
@Shireling
Keyword: inspiration.
All things are inspired by other works, in a way. There's not really much in the way of escaping that.
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Shireling
A Servant of King and Country
I don't mean to be rude, your advice is highly appreciated. But like Line said, the idea is to try not to prejudice our creative minds too much.
Shireling
A Servant of King and Country
The sect that is featured in the story is the Order of the Almsgivers. They are described as "distributionists," a term used pejoritavely by the aristocracy. Their main teaches involve the promotion of social cohesion, promotion of healthy family institutions, and especially a "more equitable economic arrangement." They frown upon anyone more than well-to-do. While they are not opposed to living comfortably, they believe that attaining riches beyond what is desired to be comfortable is mild form Greed. They are the most popular sect with the poor, but disliked by the aristocracy.
The Order of the Almsgivers is headquartered at Briartyne Abbey in the eastern part of the isle.
Shireling
A Servant of King and Country
The second short story is finished. This one isn't as good, but it introduces some religious stuff and a new animal, the landstrider. The setting's equivalent of a horse.
The Magistrate grumbled in a severe tone, considering what madness had driven him out into the unforgiving badlands of the east for naught but to attain a signature on a will. And what more, in the blighted Warp Ascendant, only the day before the Black Congress! If it were not his duty to discharge the affair in the speediest sense by law, he would never have undertaken such an untimely journey to visit the Abbot, but as it were, he must fulfill the obligations of his station. Furthermore, the abbey was known to be a sanctuary in both the spiritual and literal sense, with powerful enchantments against necromantic magicks.
He gripped the reigns of his landstrider loosely, the large bipedal animal mostly guiding itself along the road. These beasts, along with their larger, quadruped brethren, had an almost uncanny knack for human systems of navigation. It was said that such beasts of conveyance would merely have to travel a route once before they could again carry the rider back with almost no input from them whatsoever. The Magistrate did not own won, as striders were almost exclusively the transport of the wealthy, but this specimen had been lent him by Commodore Brandybuck, and it certainly knew the way to the distant abbey.
The first glimpse of the abbey was captured as the Magistrate crested the last hilltop. From afar, it appeared a quaint, old fashioned structure. Roughly the size of a manor house, the abbey was hewn of mossy old stones that had stood since the end of the Third Age. The main building was an elongated, two-story rectangle, with a turret terminating in a spired roof comprising the north end of the structure. Another wing projected out to the east, and almost the whole second story was buttressed. The grounds of the abbey held fallow fields left barren by the harvest, and they were encompassed by a low stone wall and a gate, left ajar. The Magistrate wondered if that was symbolic. All about the ancient monastery, the hallowed, antediluvian ground was populated by tall spruces and wild rye.
No sentries were posted as he road his strider up to the gate. He passed right through and down an abandoned cobblestone path where he found two individuals, a man and a woman, in monastic robes talking about something. As he approached, their voices dimmed to a whisper before the male cleric addressed him.
“Salutations, traveler. From whence do you ride?”
“Rydlinton,” the Magistrate explained as he dismounted and went to tie the strider to a nearby post.
“A long way,” the monk mused as he fished in his robes and produced a tart apple, which he fed to the hungry beast as he took the reigns from the Magistrate.
“What business brings you so far from home, mesir?” The nun asked as the monk led the landstrider away to a nearby stable.
“I am a Magistrate. I was sent to collect the signature of the Abbot, for the fulfillment of a will.”
The nun nodded grimly and crossed herself. “Another soul to rest There.”
The Magistrate didn't have the heart to tell her that the dead man in question had been a hopeless drunk, and a frequenter of tavern backrooms where the menagerie of whores hawked their wares. He might be somewhere, but he was certainly not There.
As the nun led the Magistrate into the abbey, she started to tell him of its history. Her voice echoed and reverberated around the cobblestone walls of the long hallway, portraits of the saints adorning the otherwise barren surfaces.
“The Briartyne Abbey was constructed as the headquarters of the Order of the Almsgivers.”
“Bleeding distributionists, eh?” The Magistrate asked, in an almost accusatory tone.
“We prefer to be thought of as 'socially conscious,' sir. Besides, there is no element of force to our theology.” The nun smiled serenely. “In a world so barren of the concept of plenty, why should men keep more that what is needed for their own comfortable existence?”
The Magistrate merely muttered some non-concomitant reply in an effort to shut the conversation down before it turned to unpleasant argument. As a lower tier member of the aristocracy, he was prejudiced against the communitarian goals of the Almsgivers, but he was not so far removed from the common folk not to see the appeal of such teachings to them.
“At any rate, the abbey was constructed in the late Third Age. At that time, under the Valiant, there was a war between the Black Banner and the assemblage of free towns that stood to oppose them. It is said that Briartyne was founded as a sanctuary for the war refugees. Others still proclaim it was a great fortress of the Lord Deramire. Our records conflict one another, but it may be possible that the abbey served as both.”
The Magistrate nodded along as they took a right turn and ended up in a courtyard that he had failed to see from the road. The small, square enclosure was flanked on two sides by the monastery and on the other two by a low stone wall. In the center, a statue of a saint was situated. The statue held a shield adorned with an eldritch symbol that glowed a faint gold color.
“The Scrive of Protection,” the nun explained, “must be replenished before the Black Congress. The Abbot is preparing for the rites now, but I will take you to him.”
They passed by a severe looking pair of men in white robes with red trim, brandishing bucklers and staves. The Magistrate nodded to them, but they said or did nothing. Zealots of the Three, the paramilitary arm of the churches. They were the invaluable bodyguards of the anointed.
Passing through another portal, this time they entered a dimly lit commons. The inhabitants of the abbey seemed to be sitting apart from one another, besides the scattered monk and nun duo here or there. They were engaged in a myriad of activities, from dictating the Holy Scripts to eating wheat creamed and roast field vermin, and drinking chilled beer from a stein. Maybe the monastic life wasn't that bad after all.
Once more, they passed through a low stone archway and up a flight of stairs, down a hallway past rows of currently-uninhabited cells. At the end of the hallway, they mounted a flight of spiral stairs and began their ascent.
“Will the Abbot be displeased at my coming at such an inopportune time?” The Magistrate asked.
“Quite to the contrary. I have heard him say that he was expecting a visitor.”
“That's funny, I didn't know that divination was anything more that a plot device in old folktales.”
“It isn't. No man can know more about the future than what little the stars will tell him,” said the nun, “but the man whose will you come bearing was the Abbot's brother. The special connection formed by those that share blood and memories is one that is hard to miss when severed by death. Most of us call this sensation grief.”
The Magistrate mumbled internally about magick mumbo-jumbo before they finally reached the door at the top of the stairs, the Abbot's cell. He moved to put his hand on the knob, but the door yielded on its own, and when he had stepped into the room, it shut on its own initiative as well. The footsteps of the nun leaving to perform her other duties could be heard behind him.
The Abbot's chamber was dominated by a large, semi-circular, oaken desk that was piled high with tomes of both the ancient and modern variety. Astrolabes, globes, various instruments for brewing, and other such magickal refuse cluttered any open space left by the books. On the walls, various scrives were hung, richly woven in red pigment on white tapestry, the scrives that together formed the enchantment for Mental Clarity.
And on the far side of the room, the doors to the balcony lay open and a figure in a brown cloak, hood let down over the shoulders, stood. The figure quietly turned around, shut the doors against the elements, and entered the room. As the light from outside was extinguished, several candles sprung aflame to light the room. By then, the Abbot was seated. The man was perhaps stereotypically suited for his position. He had a bald head, with thinning hair ringing it. Keen blue eyes peered out from a thin, axehead face that made him seem professorial and respectable. His frame was similarly thin and angular, although helped by the loose nature of his robes.
“I take it Adolpho is dead.” The Abbot said. His voice was a tired, melancholic chord on a violin. The Magistrate withdrew a piece of paper from his coat and placed the paper down upon the desk.
“Your signature here, your grace. Then I must be on.”
The Abbot took a quill from a nearby inkwell and began to sign. “Do you really intend to go out in this cold? With the Black Congress set to begin tonight?”
The Magistrate hadn't given that much thought. “I have a duty to return swiftly. The estate needs this signature to begin an auction.”
The Abbot nodded, “Then take this.” He took a necklace from around his own neck, with a religious signet tied about a piece of leather. “It should give you safe passage if you clear the wall by nightfall.”
The Magistrate took the amulet begrudgingly and put it on. He then took the signed contract and waved it around to dry the ink. “God protect you, your grace.”
“And you, sir.” The Abbot said, rising and opening the doors to the balcony again. As the Magistrate left, he could see the monk with a spyglass in his hand aimed at the rising full moon.
He gripped the reigns of his landstrider loosely, the large bipedal animal mostly guiding itself along the road. These beasts, along with their larger, quadruped brethren, had an almost uncanny knack for human systems of navigation. It was said that such beasts of conveyance would merely have to travel a route once before they could again carry the rider back with almost no input from them whatsoever. The Magistrate did not own won, as striders were almost exclusively the transport of the wealthy, but this specimen had been lent him by Commodore Brandybuck, and it certainly knew the way to the distant abbey.
The first glimpse of the abbey was captured as the Magistrate crested the last hilltop. From afar, it appeared a quaint, old fashioned structure. Roughly the size of a manor house, the abbey was hewn of mossy old stones that had stood since the end of the Third Age. The main building was an elongated, two-story rectangle, with a turret terminating in a spired roof comprising the north end of the structure. Another wing projected out to the east, and almost the whole second story was buttressed. The grounds of the abbey held fallow fields left barren by the harvest, and they were encompassed by a low stone wall and a gate, left ajar. The Magistrate wondered if that was symbolic. All about the ancient monastery, the hallowed, antediluvian ground was populated by tall spruces and wild rye.
No sentries were posted as he road his strider up to the gate. He passed right through and down an abandoned cobblestone path where he found two individuals, a man and a woman, in monastic robes talking about something. As he approached, their voices dimmed to a whisper before the male cleric addressed him.
“Salutations, traveler. From whence do you ride?”
“Rydlinton,” the Magistrate explained as he dismounted and went to tie the strider to a nearby post.
“A long way,” the monk mused as he fished in his robes and produced a tart apple, which he fed to the hungry beast as he took the reigns from the Magistrate.
“What business brings you so far from home, mesir?” The nun asked as the monk led the landstrider away to a nearby stable.
“I am a Magistrate. I was sent to collect the signature of the Abbot, for the fulfillment of a will.”
The nun nodded grimly and crossed herself. “Another soul to rest There.”
The Magistrate didn't have the heart to tell her that the dead man in question had been a hopeless drunk, and a frequenter of tavern backrooms where the menagerie of whores hawked their wares. He might be somewhere, but he was certainly not There.
As the nun led the Magistrate into the abbey, she started to tell him of its history. Her voice echoed and reverberated around the cobblestone walls of the long hallway, portraits of the saints adorning the otherwise barren surfaces.
“The Briartyne Abbey was constructed as the headquarters of the Order of the Almsgivers.”
“Bleeding distributionists, eh?” The Magistrate asked, in an almost accusatory tone.
“We prefer to be thought of as 'socially conscious,' sir. Besides, there is no element of force to our theology.” The nun smiled serenely. “In a world so barren of the concept of plenty, why should men keep more that what is needed for their own comfortable existence?”
The Magistrate merely muttered some non-concomitant reply in an effort to shut the conversation down before it turned to unpleasant argument. As a lower tier member of the aristocracy, he was prejudiced against the communitarian goals of the Almsgivers, but he was not so far removed from the common folk not to see the appeal of such teachings to them.
“At any rate, the abbey was constructed in the late Third Age. At that time, under the Valiant, there was a war between the Black Banner and the assemblage of free towns that stood to oppose them. It is said that Briartyne was founded as a sanctuary for the war refugees. Others still proclaim it was a great fortress of the Lord Deramire. Our records conflict one another, but it may be possible that the abbey served as both.”
The Magistrate nodded along as they took a right turn and ended up in a courtyard that he had failed to see from the road. The small, square enclosure was flanked on two sides by the monastery and on the other two by a low stone wall. In the center, a statue of a saint was situated. The statue held a shield adorned with an eldritch symbol that glowed a faint gold color.
“The Scrive of Protection,” the nun explained, “must be replenished before the Black Congress. The Abbot is preparing for the rites now, but I will take you to him.”
They passed by a severe looking pair of men in white robes with red trim, brandishing bucklers and staves. The Magistrate nodded to them, but they said or did nothing. Zealots of the Three, the paramilitary arm of the churches. They were the invaluable bodyguards of the anointed.
Passing through another portal, this time they entered a dimly lit commons. The inhabitants of the abbey seemed to be sitting apart from one another, besides the scattered monk and nun duo here or there. They were engaged in a myriad of activities, from dictating the Holy Scripts to eating wheat creamed and roast field vermin, and drinking chilled beer from a stein. Maybe the monastic life wasn't that bad after all.
Once more, they passed through a low stone archway and up a flight of stairs, down a hallway past rows of currently-uninhabited cells. At the end of the hallway, they mounted a flight of spiral stairs and began their ascent.
“Will the Abbot be displeased at my coming at such an inopportune time?” The Magistrate asked.
“Quite to the contrary. I have heard him say that he was expecting a visitor.”
“That's funny, I didn't know that divination was anything more that a plot device in old folktales.”
“It isn't. No man can know more about the future than what little the stars will tell him,” said the nun, “but the man whose will you come bearing was the Abbot's brother. The special connection formed by those that share blood and memories is one that is hard to miss when severed by death. Most of us call this sensation grief.”
The Magistrate mumbled internally about magick mumbo-jumbo before they finally reached the door at the top of the stairs, the Abbot's cell. He moved to put his hand on the knob, but the door yielded on its own, and when he had stepped into the room, it shut on its own initiative as well. The footsteps of the nun leaving to perform her other duties could be heard behind him.
The Abbot's chamber was dominated by a large, semi-circular, oaken desk that was piled high with tomes of both the ancient and modern variety. Astrolabes, globes, various instruments for brewing, and other such magickal refuse cluttered any open space left by the books. On the walls, various scrives were hung, richly woven in red pigment on white tapestry, the scrives that together formed the enchantment for Mental Clarity.
And on the far side of the room, the doors to the balcony lay open and a figure in a brown cloak, hood let down over the shoulders, stood. The figure quietly turned around, shut the doors against the elements, and entered the room. As the light from outside was extinguished, several candles sprung aflame to light the room. By then, the Abbot was seated. The man was perhaps stereotypically suited for his position. He had a bald head, with thinning hair ringing it. Keen blue eyes peered out from a thin, axehead face that made him seem professorial and respectable. His frame was similarly thin and angular, although helped by the loose nature of his robes.
“I take it Adolpho is dead.” The Abbot said. His voice was a tired, melancholic chord on a violin. The Magistrate withdrew a piece of paper from his coat and placed the paper down upon the desk.
“Your signature here, your grace. Then I must be on.”
The Abbot took a quill from a nearby inkwell and began to sign. “Do you really intend to go out in this cold? With the Black Congress set to begin tonight?”
The Magistrate hadn't given that much thought. “I have a duty to return swiftly. The estate needs this signature to begin an auction.”
The Abbot nodded, “Then take this.” He took a necklace from around his own neck, with a religious signet tied about a piece of leather. “It should give you safe passage if you clear the wall by nightfall.”
The Magistrate took the amulet begrudgingly and put it on. He then took the signed contract and waved it around to dry the ink. “God protect you, your grace.”
“And you, sir.” The Abbot said, rising and opening the doors to the balcony again. As the Magistrate left, he could see the monk with a spyglass in his hand aimed at the rising full moon.
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Been busy lately, but I should have time to compile some more thoughts and read things over either tomorrow or the day after.
Shireling
A Servant of King and Country
You're good. By the way, how would you feel about starting on a map by the end of this week?
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Shireling
A Servant of King and Country
By the way, I'm having some difficulty fleshing out what wagon-beasts and landstriders should actually look like. They will probably be mammalian. I'm imagining landstriders as sort of like a raptor in body structure, with the two powerful hind legs and the somewhat vestigial front paws. I haven't decided what sort of head they should have yet, though. Wagon-beasts will most likely be some kind of deformed ox.
Shireling
A Servant of King and Country
I don't want to lose this in the deluge so bump.
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