House Velkori — The Attloi Family

South of the shadowed heart of Nulb, where the old Pilgrim's Way curves toward the haunted ruins of the Temple of Elemental Evil, a camp of brightly painted wagons rests just inside the treeline of the Gnarley Forest. This is the traveling home of the Attloi, a rare and shunned branch of the Rhennee Rhenn-folk people who have forsaken the waterways for the land. Dismissed as traitors by their seaborne kin and distrusted by the villagers of Nulb, the Attloi endure, ever adaptive, ever elusive—merchants, mystics, thieves, and survivors.

Though they trade wares and services openly in Nulb’s grimy taverns and dockside alleys, their true camp lies downriver, tucked in the tall grasses by the Imeryds Run, where the smoke of their cookfires drifts lazily toward the treetops and song echoes under the stars.

Origins and Culture

The Attloi represent a landbound divergence from the Rhennee’s barge-dwelling tradition, forming wagon trains that wind through the back roads of the Flanaess. Their identity is Rhennee to the core—insular, proud, and cunning—but tempered by a hardened resilience that comes from living under the scorn of both outsiders and their own kin.

Their wagons are painted in ochre, rust-red, and forest green, heavy with talismans and windchimes carved from bone and horn. The Attloi speak Rhopan among themselves and rarely, if ever, share it with outsiders. Fortune-telling, animal husbandry, leatherwork, and fire-juggling are common trades, but beneath it all is a foundation of smuggling, spying, and the illicit arts.

Despite facing prejudice from villagers, bandits, and even fellow cult agents in Nulb, the Attloi continue to conduct business with whomever has coin or secrets to offer. Their moral compass skews toward survival—they deceive outsiders with ease but adhere to strict codes within their own bloodlines.

The Camp at Pilgrim’s Hollow

Set at the edge of the Gnarley Forest, just out of bowshot from Nulb’s edge, the Attloi camp is a transient ring of wagons known locally as Pilgrim’s Hollow. Smoke curls from iron kettles, and children run between drying lines of cloth and tanned hides. Elders sit near the fire, sharpening blades or whispering fate into cards.

During the day, Attloi adults walk into Nulb to trade, steal, spy, and deliver messages—especially to the Boatman’s Tavern or the contraband broker Lorveth Thrask. At night, the camp remains lively, draped in colored lanterns and flickering light. It is during these twilight hours that stories are told, oaths made, and sometimes dark deals struck beneath the gaze of stars and spirits.

Activities in Nulb

• Illicit Trade: Smuggled herbs, rare trinkets, and minor magical items pass through Attloi hands to fences in the Boatman’s Tavern.
• Information Brokering: Vethra sells divinations and secrets to those willing to pay—or to those she’s blackmailing.
• Watchers of the Cults: Though they do not realize the Temple is rising again in full, the Velkori are well aware of Canon Belsornig’s movements and sense deeper unrest.
• Camp Defense: The Attloi warriors are not many, but they are fast, clever, and merciless. Woe to any who try to rob their wagons.

Politics and Perceptions

In Nulb, the Attloi are seen with a mixture of disdain and necessity. Pirates tolerate them for their wares, while cultists hire them for errands too low for their acolytes. Villagers suspect them of curses and theft. The Iron Talons do not interfere with their activities—rumor suggests even Lady Nysera Krivaltis has had her fortune read by Old Eyes.

The Velkori family remains proudly neutral in Nulb’s violent politics, dealing with everyone but pledging to no one. Still, there are whispers that Vethra sees something in the wind… something foul rising from the old temple path, and she’s preparing to move the wagons soon.

Motivations

• Preservation of the Velkori Lineage: Above all, Vethra protects her kin.
• Power through Secrecy: Information is more valuable than coin—and safer than loyalty.
• Spiritual Sight: Vethra believes a great storm of fate is rising in the east. She intends for her family to ride the edge of it, not be crushed beneath it.

Concerns and Watchfulness: Smigmal Redhand and the Broken Tower

Though the Attloi keep a low profile in Nulb, they are not blind to the dangerous powers stirring beyond its borders. One such threat is Smigmal Redhand, the merciless Commander of the Outer Defenses for the Temple of Elemental Evil. Her base of operations—the Broken Tower, a ruined bastion turned bandit keep—sits like a rotten tooth in the wilds, a hub for raiders and a conduit for Temple-bound supplies. The Attloi know the signs: increased bandit traffic on the south roads, movement through Pilgrim’s Way, and wagons laden with goods vanishing into the wilderness.

“There’s blood coming. Not coin, not secrets—blood. I’ve seen the eyes of Redhand’s men. They don’t look for profit. They look to kill.”

— Talla to her kin around the fire

Talla Velkori, their fiercest scout and most secretive blade, keeps a personal eye on Redhand’s operations. Where most see only smoke on the horizon or footprints in the mud, Talla sees patterns—a tightening noose, a coming storm. She has watched the Broken Tower from the trees, memorized its patrols, and marked the faces of those who meet with Redhand. Her mistrust isn’t paranoia; it’s survival. She believes Redhand is building more than defenses—she’s raising an army.

Vethra Velkori – Introduction Dialogue

You feel her before you hear her—the weight of a gaze too old and knowing to belong to anyone still drawing breath. A short, broad woman steps from behind a curtain of copper bells, her clouded blue eyes fixed on you as though she’s already read your bones. Her silver curls spill from beneath a crimson scarf, and her fingers—calloused and stained with ash—clutch a deck of worn, curling cards.

She stops before you, close enough that you catch the scent of old incense and wet earth.

“You carry the scent of choice, stranger,” she says, her voice like dry leaves brushing stone. “The wind follows you—but not always at your back.”

She lifts her chin slightly, tilting her head like a raven considering prey.

“I am Vethra of House Velkori. Old Eyes, if you prefer what the road calls me. Matron to these wagons, blood to all who carry the brass braid.”

She taps the edge of her cards against her palm once—soft, deliberate.

“Sit, if you like. I offer you three: smoke, card, or bone. One for each path not yet chosen. The price? A truth for a truth—yours for mine.”

Her eyes, pale as river fog, never leave yours.

“Deny it, and still the wind turns. Accept it, and perhaps you will know which storm you ride.”

Eryk Velkori – First Encounter Dialogue

You barely clear the thicket when the jingle of bells and the soft hiss of kicked-up dust announce his arrival. He strides from between two vardos, bold as brass, with fire in his step and a grin like a wolf that’s just found a lamb missing its flock. Braided hair swings with each movement, glinting with glass beads, bone trinkets, and bits of coin.

He plants his boots wide, arms crossed, and calls out in a sing-song voice that draws the attention of every pair of eyes in camp:

“Ho-ho, what we got ‘ere, eh? Travelers? Merchants? Or just soft-footed thieves who think the Attloi don’t watch their borders, eh?”

His accent is thick, rolled with a musical lilt, words dancing like sparks off a flame.

“This ground, it ain’t yours. Nor the spires of Nulb, nor the shadows what crawl from the swamp. This here’s Velkori land—an’ I’m Eryk.” He taps his chest with one ringed finger, bells chiming softly. “Son o’ Old Eyes, keeper o’ the trade, voice o’ the fire. You want pass or parley? Then speak fast, and speak true.”

He takes a slow step forward, eyes narrowing with mischief—or menace.

“’Cause if y’don’t, well… I been waitin’ for a chance to stretch m’legs since the last Reaper pissed blood on m’boots.”

Then, with a laugh that carries challenge and invitation both, he adds:

“So—what’ll it be, friends? Coin, story, or steel?”