PIPOTT

The Founding of Otari

6 min read

A Quick History

They say Otari was founded not by kings or merchants, but by heroes.

Long ago, a band of adventurers known as The Roseguard rose to fame in Absalom after facing down a monster at the docks. Their ranks included:

Together, they faced a dark sorcerer raising the dead near a remote lighthouse. They triumphed—but Otari Ilvashti fell in the battle.

To honour their fallen friend, the survivors built a seaside village in his name. For a time, Otari thrived as a quiet fishing town, but after the last of the Roseguard passed, the town faded and was eventually abandoned.

Years later, a kobold tribe moved in and turned Otari into a haven for shipwreckers—until new heroes drove them out. Their patron was Maklanni Menhemes, Aesephna’s granddaughter. She rebuilt the town as a lumber port, using an ingenious flume system to send timber from cliff to sea. This angered the powerful Kortos Consortium, but Maklanni stood her ground.

Otari grew once more, and it stands today as the largest town between Absalom and Diobel. The old heroes are long gone, but their stories live on—and their descendants still watch over the town that bears their name.

A Story Passed Down

This is a story every child in Otari knows before they know their own letters. It’s a tale as old as the cliffs and twice as true—though, mind you, the details may dance a little depending on who’s doing the telling.

Long, long ago—back when Absalom’s towers still cast shadows that reached the sea—there came together four unlikely heroes. They weren’t born as a group, no, but were forged in the fire of chaos one fateful day when a sea-beast tore through the docks of Absalom. That’s where it all began.

There was Aesephna Menhemes, the Huntress they called her. A young cleric of Erastil, barely older than a spring lamb, but with the wisdom of nineteen winters and the heart of a lioness. Some say she didn’t just lead the Roseguard—she was the Roseguard. Her voice could calm storms, and her bow never missed its mark. They say the stars themselves listened when she prayed.

Then came Otari Ilvashti, the Sea Hawk himself. A rogue and a rascal, aye, but with a heart cleaner than a priest’s conscience. He once hunted slavers up and down the Inner Sea, dropping on them like a bird of prey. Folk say he could laugh in the face of death and make his enemies laugh too—just before pickin’ their pockets. He gave up piracy, turned to justice, and dreamed of building a quiet town by the sea, where the fish were fat and the ale never ran dry.

Vol Rajani, now there’s a name the old timers still whisper. The Rose Knight, she was. Some say she claimed to be a princess from Nidal. All we know is she swapped a crown for a blade with her famous line “I’d rather be a hero than a princess.” Cold as steel in a fight, but loyal as a hound to those she trusted.

And last, there was Zarmavdian, the Watchful One. No one knows where he came from—not really. Some say a sky citadel, others say the deep jungles of the Mwangi. All agree he knew too much for one man. His head was full of stars and secrets, and his eyes saw things the rest of us couldn’t. He spoke in riddles, read the bones, and always knew when danger was coming.

Together, they were the Roseguard, named after Vol’s silver rose sigil. And together, they saved the coast from a darkness that had crept in like a fog. There was a lighthouse out west—strange things happening there. Undead, some say. Ghosts and ghouls, or worse. A sorcerer was behind it all, twisting corpses and cursing the land.

The battle that followed was the stuff of legends. They won, aye, but it cost them dear. Otari—their friend, their heart—was slain. Struck down before his dream could be built.

The rest of them—Aesephna, Vol, and Zarmavdian—they laid down their weapons then and there. With coin and care, they built a village in the cove below the cliffs. Quiet, simple, and free. They named it Otari, in memory of the Sea Hawk, and swore never to take up the adventurer’s path again.

For a time, the town thrived. Fish were plenty, and folks lived honest lives. The last of the Roseguard, Aesephna, passed in her bed, old and loved. But soon after, the wind left Otari’s sails. Folk moved on, chasing gold or glory elsewhere. By 4294, the place was empty but for the seabirds.

Then came the kobolds—nasty little Stonescales, nesting in the ruins. They tricked ships with false lights, lured them in, and plundered what they could. It was a dark time, but not the end.

For Otari’s blood still ran strong. A new band of adventurers came, sent by none other than Maklanni Menhemes, Aesephna’s own granddaughter. They cleared out the kobolds, aye, but it was Maklanni who truly brought the town back to life.

She had a vision, that woman did. Lumber! The forest was full of it, and she built a great flume—wooden, tall as the cliffs—to carry timber from forest to sea. Folk say it was a marvel of engineering, a serpent of wood and water that made her rich and Otari proud. The big houses in Absalom didn’t like it, mind—Maklanni stirred up trouble with the Kortos Consortium, but she stood her ground.

Two more lumber camps joined her, and just like that, Otari was back. Bigger than ever. A town reborn from bones and salt spray.

These days, it’s Oseph Menhemes, Maklanni’s kin, who watches over Otari as mayor. The Roseguard are long gone, but their names still echo in the gull cries and waves. And if you ever doubt the tale, just walk the docks, visit the Osprey Club, or gaze up at the cliffs where the old flume still runs. This town’s built on stories—and those stories built us.

So raise your glass to the Roseguard, to Otari the man and Otari the town. May the sea be calm and the past never forgotten.

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