Appearances

Johan. You know, you couldn' find a braver man. A true hero he was. Held that bridge 'gainst the onslaught o' orcs, givin' those villagers a chance of gettin' out. That winter, when we were caught in them mountains an' we thought we were lost, Johan got us out. That day that skeleton woke up from his grave and went walkabout, an' everyone else fled, Johan stayed behind an' smashed that that boneman to splinters. A real hero he was, an' nobody better than you could have wanted at your side. I suppose that's what makes the whole thing so sad. You see, Johan, despite his strength an' courage was a real ugly feller. Ugly. An' all that heroism couldn' keep him from jumpin' off that bridge into them waters. I suppose that was his weakness, for all his strength o' character, he simply didn' get the respect he deserved on account o' his face."

They say Beauty is Only Skin Deep. It may be in the Old World that Beauty is not even that - that it is almost unknown for most, mostly myth.

Ulla, the youngest daughter of the tailor Werner Uhlrich, was reptuted to be the most beautiful woman in the town. Her face was light pale, untouched by the burning sun that aged so many women her age. Her face was unmarred by the ravages of the plague that had tortured the visage of nearly every woman when it had swept through the town five years ago. Most remarkable, was that not only did she still retain the majority of her teeth, but there was even a semblance of order to them. It was said that even the baron's son secretly desired her. Some whispered that he did have her, against her will. Such is the danger of beauty.

In the Old World, beauty is a luxury. Those who must work outdoors are vulnerable to the elements, blistering cold and heat. Poor health may cause one to lose their hair or their skin to turn unhealthy colors, or stunt one's growth. Any number of skin afflictions or blemishes may mar one's skin for life - often exacerbated by the folk cures that are offered. Wealth may shelter one from the whimsy of chance, but it is not enough to ensure beauty.

Beauty is elusive, and there are countless folk-tales that dismiss the importance of beauty. The foolish noble son who spurns one wealthy bride for a beautiful daughter of a poor impoverished knight - only to have his newly-wed wife and his firstborn taken from him during childbirth, and he lives the rest of his short life in abject poverty and loneliness. The wealthy merchant who married a gorgeous woman whose expensive tastes drive him to bankruptcy and then kills himself when she leaves him for a wealthy man. The young maiden who falls for a charming and handsome traveling man who promises to take her to the city, and when he loses interest, abandons her and she lives the rest of her days out as an embittered prostitute. Beauty is considred an illusion, a trifle, less important than marrying a hard working spouse or one that can provide children and care for them. The goal of most marriage and other relationships in the Old World is not to seek fulfillment, but to survive or provide a better standard of living. Love and infatuation in particular, are viewed as distractions that cloud one's judgment. Those people who are deemed unearthly beautiful are envied, yet also considered superficial, shallow, and more as baubles or ornaments than people.

Players in their heroic adventures all too often forget: life in the Old World is hard. Harsh weather: bitter winters, fickle springs, demanding summers, and foreboding autumns. Diets are bad: malnutrition rife, limited foods available, non-existent knowledge regarding nutrition. Medicine rudimentary: sometimes cures are worse than the affliction. Dangers abound, not just animals and monsters, but fellow humans: abusive spouses and husbands, spiteful neighbors, bitter rivals. Countless ills befall the residents of the Old World, and the harshness of their lives is reflected in their faces.

Marco returned home, after years at sea. The solid ground, still felt strange to walk upon, as if anticipating, and missing the gentle and ever present rocking of the ship. Leaving the ship he called home, he was now returning to the family home he had left so many years ago. Five years to be exact. His sister was waiting in the doorway. Three kids around her. He was startled: younger than him, she looked as old as his mother, standing outside at the oven, waving feebly at him. His sister looked back at him in wonder, seeing a man worn away by the forces, looking as old and haunted as their father who still tilled the fields beneath the merciless sun.