Tower of Babel: A Bronze Age Space Civ Quest

[Robotninja]

Follies of the past

We have the fortune to live in a society where the gifted wield their powers wisely and well for the benefit of all people. However, it must be noted that this virtue and wisdom are not innate. They are cultivated with great effort and force of discipline. Before the Doom, there were many practitioners of the noble arts throughout history. The example of the fate of Goetic Binding and Angelic Summoning shows the consequences of what hubris and vice can cause. Their arts have tragically been lost, but we do have a semblance of knowledge on what caused their downfall.

Foremost among the causes of their demise was strife. Rather than collaborate with one another for the benefit of all, they struggled with one another for resources and power. Neither Art acknowledged any merit or value in the studies of the other. Their rival was not another path to the Truth, but a heresy to be destroyed.

To be fair, neither Art started off wishing for nothing but the utter destruction of the other. However, the conflicts between them steadily grew in size and degree over time. While their conflict was bound by civility and common decency at first, it would steadily grow to bring out the worst in each of them.

To understand what happened, we must dive into their initial practices as best we are aware. The Goetic Binders bound that which was sinful and impure into devils and enslaved them to work towards better ends. They were renowned for holding personal will and ambition as the highest of virtues, for to bind Evil required a will sharper than any blade. Resolve turned into stubbornness, being unwilling to ever change course or admit to error. Rather than assess their mistakes, they instead simply doubled down on them. To say nothing of what the effects of the war itself brought out in them.

For the Binders Arts lay in the use of evil. Rather than seeking to redirect evil to the service of good, they soon found themselves tolerating or eleven encouraging it in order to bind ever stronger and more numerous demons to their will. The war between the two factions made them resort to greater and greater cruelties, wisdom discarded in search of ever greater power. As the records from this time period are incomplete, it is difficult to sort myth from fact when considering the atrocities performed in the name of victory. However, if even a fraction of them were true, they had gone from binding monsters to becoming them.

This is not to say that their counterparts were any better in the end. This does not seem the case at first, as while binding evils is very easy to see how it can go wrong and be twisted, how can a devotion to virtue and good be harmful? The answer is of course that it does not, provided that it is done with moderation and temperance. Sadly, extremism can ruin even the noblest of intentions and dreams. Simply because you are devoted to good does not make those who oppose or disagree with you evil, a lesson the Summoners failed to learn.

The summoners were extremely pious people, and they were genuinely devoted to good and ridding the world of evil. This quickly became a problem when they encountered the Binders, as they saw their arts as evil. They demanded they cease using demons and instead embrace a life of faith and penitence. It was only natural that the Binders refused.

They formed a large, communal church dedicated to spreading virtue. The exact tenants of the faith and details of the rituals practiced are long lost, but we can reconstruct a large degree of it. Heavily involved in mundane life, faith and devotion were seen as the highest of virtues.

Over the course of the war, they grew ever more fanatical, resorting to grand displays of devotion. In the latest days of it countless devotees would commit ritualistic suicide in the aim of martyrdom to empower the angels summoned.

Ironically for all their enmity with one another, the magical arts they used were more similar with one another than either side was willing to admit. When a lone genius mastered both arts and attempted to halt the war, he demonstrated a level of mastery beyond both factions. Sadly, while he was greater in skill, he underestimated the sheer degree of hate that had infected both factions. He was poisoned and presumably died, although folk legends have him making isolated appearances in the years to come.

The ultimate result of the war between arts was mutual destruction. Both sides unleashed such terrible weapons that all knowledge of the magical arts was lost. This would pave way to the rise of more mortal kings and queens that dominated the world prior to the rise of the Towers.

There is a lesson to be learned in this. As philosophers, we have a path towards the truth, but it is just that. A path. Others are capable of having their own paths to wisdom as well, and rejecting them too strictly harms not just them, but also oneself.

-Excerpt from a historical report, the accuracy of which remains disputed due to a lack of reliable sources.

 

[OldShadow]

Follies of the past

We have the fortune to live in a society where the gifted wield their powers wisely and well for the benefit of all people. However, it must be noted that this virtue and wisdom are not innate. They are cultivated with great effort and force of discipline. Before the Doom, there were many practitioners of the noble arts throughout history. The example of the fate of Goetic Binding and Angelic Summoning shows the consequences of what hubris and vice can cause. Their arts have tragically been lost, but we do have a semblance of knowledge on what caused their downfall.

Foremost among the causes of their demise was strife. Rather than collaborate with one another for the benefit of all, they struggled with one another for resources and power. Neither Art acknowledged any merit or value in the studies of the other. Their rival was not another path to the Truth, but a heresy to be destroyed.

To be fair, neither Art started off wishing for nothing but the utter destruction of the other. However, the conflicts between them steadily grew in size and degree over time. While their conflict was bound by civility and common decency at first, it would steadily grow to bring out the worst in each of them.

To understand what happened, we must dive into their initial practices as best we are aware. The Goetic Binders bound that which was sinful and impure into devils and enslaved them to work towards better ends. They were renowned for holding personal will and ambition as the highest of virtues, for to bind Evil required a will sharper than any blade. Resolve turned into stubbornness, being unwilling to ever change course or admit to error. Rather than assess their mistakes, they instead simply doubled down on them. To say nothing of what the effects of the war itself brought out in them.

For the Binders Arts lay in the use of evil. Rather than seeking to redirect evil to the service of good, they soon found themselves tolerating or eleven encouraging it in order to bind ever stronger and more numerous demons to their will. The war between the two factions made them resort to greater and greater cruelties, wisdom discarded in search of ever greater power. As the records from this time period are incomplete, it is difficult to sort myth from fact when considering the atrocities performed in the name of victory. However, if even a fraction of them were true, they had gone from binding monsters to becoming them.

This is not to say that their counterparts were any better in the end. This does not seem the case at first, as while binding evils is very easy to see how it can go wrong and be twisted, how can a devotion to virtue and good be harmful? The answer is of course that it does not, provided that it is done with moderation and temperance. Sadly, extremism can ruin even the noblest of intentions and dreams. Simply because you are devoted to good does not make those who oppose or disagree with you evil, a lesson the Summoners failed to learn.

The summoners were extremely pious people, and they were genuinely devoted to good and ridding the world of evil. This quickly became a problem when they encountered the Binders, as they saw their arts as evil. They demanded they cease using demons and instead embrace a life of faith and penitence. It was only natural that the Binders refused.

They formed a large, communal church dedicated to spreading virtue. The exact tenants of the faith and details of the rituals practiced are long lost, but we can reconstruct a large degree of it. Heavily involved in mundane life, faith and devotion were seen as the highest of virtues.

Over the course of the war, they grew ever more fanatical, resorting to grand displays of devotion. In the latest days of it countless devotees would commit ritualistic suicide in the aim of martyrdom to empower the angels summoned.

Ironically for all their enmity with one another, the magical arts they used were more similar with one another than either side was willing to admit. When a lone genius mastered both arts and attempted to halt the war, he demonstrated a level of mastery beyond both factions. Sadly, while he was greater in skill, he underestimated the sheer degree of hate that had infected both factions. He was poisoned and presumably died, although folk legends have him making isolated appearances in the years to come.

The ultimate result of the war between arts was mutual destruction. Both sides unleashed such terrible weapons that all knowledge of the magical arts was lost. This would pave way to the rise of more mortal kings and queens that dominated the world prior to the rise of the Towers.

There is a lesson to be learned in this. As philosophers, we have a path towards the truth, but it is just that. A path. Others are capable of having their own paths to wisdom as well, and rejecting them too strictly harms not just them, but also oneself.

-Excerpt from a historical report, the accuracy of which remains disputed due to a lack of reliable sources.

Click to shrink...

Thank you for your work.

Semi-canon, the report exists, who knows how much true its hold.

Remnants of the conflict still exist, beyond the sight of the Order.

Choose it

A lone cage, where Evils forgotten are chained and bound.

The tomb of a being of light and healing.

A cavern dark and deep, where two masters that were once humans have been locked in battle for eons untold.

 

[Robotninja]

The tomb of a being of light and healing.

Click to shrink...

Tomb of a being of Light and Healing.

 

[Mithrill]

That feels really solid, though maybe i'm overthinking it here?

Click to shrink...

It's Philosophy. It's hard to overthink in this case.

 

[Sa'kage]

Remnants of the conflict still exist, beyond the sight of the Order

Click to shrink...

Actually reminds me of something. The order is the de-facto ruler of the planet, but do their "sight" only extend to the God-cities and the coasts? It's a bit hard to tell how far reaching their vision is when you involve the sundial and White tower as reader.

They were at the very least slightly suprised at the sight of people on the islands when we did boating. So are there vast pockets that the order thinks is still unexplored

 

[OldShadow]

Actually reminds me of something. The order is the de-facto ruler of the planet, but do their "sight" only extend to the God-cities and the coasts? It's a bit hard to tell how far reaching their vision is when you involve the sundial and White tower as reader.

They were at the very least slightly suprised at the sight of people on the islands when we did boating. So are there vast pockets that the order thinks is still unexplored

Click to shrink...

The Order has an almost perfect large scale ,constantly updated map of the geography of Cradle and the supernatural influences on it.
But to "zoom in" on a specific zone demand Workings, especially far from their infrastructures (The Towers, God-Cities and Hives).
For example, the Order knew there where islands on the sea, but would have needed to perform Workings to "zoom in" hundred of times in order to locate all the islands and know what is on them, for they were too smalls and too far away otherwise.
Now that there is a God-City on the sea, the islands can far more easely be watched.

Otherwise, the Sundial and White Tower have issues divining what is untouched by sunlight and starlight : buried ruins, the underground, the depths of the seas.

 

[Sa'kage]

The Order has an almost perfect large scale ,constantly updated map of the geography of Cradle and the supernatural influences on it.
But to "zoom in" on a specific zone demand Workings, especially far from their infrastructures (The Towers, God-Cities and Hives).
For example, the Order knew there where islands on the sea, but would have needed to perform Workings to "zoom in" hundred of times in order to locate all the islands and know what is on them, for they were too smalls and too far away otherwise.
Now that there is a God-City on the sea, the islands can far more easely be watched.

Otherwise, the Sundial and White Tower have issues divining what is untouched by sunlight and starlight : buried ruins, the underground, the depths of the seas.

Click to shrink...

It's basically like The Order has the sight of an eagle. They can see anything from the air, but they can't see the tree's in the forest nor what's hidden from the bird's eye.

It's good, but does mean we will be missing out on things

 

[bioticgrunt]

We all lift together

The fires of the smithies and masonries roared with life as craftsmen went about their task with zeal. Stone is deftly carved by craftsmen while apprentices load them onto carts. Smiths forge tools by the dozen, stocking their kiln's flames to an unheard rhythm. Each tool is a masterwork in its own right, devoid of flaws and weaknesses for the tasks ahead. They work from dawn to dusk to provide their fellow man with all they need. They sing to steady their hands, they sing with passion in their hearts.

Cold, the air and water flowing
Hard, the land we call our home
Push, to keep the dark from coming
Feel the weight of what we owe

Hive daughters and their children are ordered by mundane masters to prepare the land. Hive-Lizards drive away pests and predators from the work sits while Hive-Ants carve the canals. Large sections of dead trees are uprooted and cleared for construction by Hive-terminates. Alongside the beasts, laborers build massive dams and chisel away at the imperfections left behind by the Hive-Ants. The work is grueling but it is a worthy price to heal Cradle, to bring forth prosperity. All the while, they sing with passion in their hearts.

This, the song of sons and daughters
Hide, the heart of who we are
Making peace to build our future
Strong, united, working 'til we fall

A Doomed lays buried beneath large rubble struggling to breath. He had accepted his fate for he knew that his death here would spare the innocent from disaster. He is discovered by chance and dug out from by several passersby. It took them hours to free him from debris and by then he was barely clinging to life. They bring him to the closest healer where his wounds are treated where his wounds will be treated to the best of their ability. He drifts into a dreamless sleep as the healer hums to him a gentle melody.

Cold, the air and water flowing
Hard, the land we call our home
Push, to keep the dark from coming
Feel the weight of what we owe

Within the Sundial Tower, Philosophers divine and strategize potential sites for excavation. They mark pathways and dams that would be best for water flow and natural purification. Divinations are made for future lakes, crafted or purified, that can provide vitality to the land. Doomed are ordered to where they are best needed to divert disaster to the workers. It was a daunting effort but like always they labor for a better world for all of Cradle's children. And within the halls of their Tower, one may hear them add their voices to the masses.

This, the song of sons and daughters
Hide, the heart of who we are
Making peace to build our future
Strong, united, working 'til we fall

A young Mundane woman stands nervously towards a Hive-Ant as she is watched by the Blood Scribes. Next, to the creature are several marble blocks and at the far end of the chamber is an empty cart. She takes a moment to take a breath before she performs the rites she had been taught. Her pronunciation is fluent and her timing is accurate, there doesn't appear to be a single flaw at her actions. For a moment the beast doesn't and she wonders if she has failed before the Ant starts to move. It carries one block after the other to the cart with only a little guidance from her until none are left. She turns to her instructors to see them nod their heads in approval at her accomplishment. A smile breaks out on her face and she bows respectfully to the philosophers.

And we all lift, and we're all adrift
Together, together
Through the cold mist, 'til we're lifeless
Together, together

A new day shines upon Cradle with it comes the promise of a new day for its people, one built by the strength and spirit of its children. For only united can they face the darkness.

 

[OldShadow]

We all lift together

The fires of the smithies and masonries roared with life as craftsmen went about their task with zeal. Stone is deftly carved by craftsmen while apprentices load them onto carts. Smiths forge tools by the dozen, stocking their kiln's flames to an unheard rhythm. Each tool is a masterwork in its own right, devoid of flaws and weaknesses for the tasks ahead. They work from dawn to dusk to provide their fellow man with all they need. They sing to steady their hands, they sing with passion in their hearts.

Cold, the air and water flowing
Hard, the land we call our home
Push, to keep the dark from coming
Feel the weight of what we owe

Hive daughters and their children are ordered by mundane masters to prepare the land. Hive-Lizards drive away pests and predators from the work sits while Hive-Ants carve the canals. Large sections of dead trees are uprooted and cleared for construction by Hive-terminates. Alongside the beasts, laborers build massive dams and chisel away at the imperfections left behind by the Hive-Ants. The work is grueling but it is a worthy price to heal Cradle, to bring forth prosperity. All the while, they sing with passion in their hearts.

This, the song of sons and daughters
Hide, the heart of who we are
Making peace to build our future
Strong, united, working 'til we fall

A Doomed lays buried beneath large rubble struggling to breath. He had accepted his fate for he knew that his death here would spare the innocent from disaster. He is discovered by chance and dug out from by several passersby. It took them hours to free him from debris and by then he was barely clinging to life. They bring him to the closest healer where his wounds are treated where his wounds will be treated to the best of their ability. He drifts into a dreamless sleep as the healer hums to him a gentle melody.

Cold, the air and water flowing
Hard, the land we call our home
Push, to keep the dark from coming
Feel the weight of what we owe

Within the Sundial Tower, Philosophers divine and strategize potential sites for excavation. They mark pathways and dams that would be best for water flow and natural purification. Divinations are made for future lakes, crafted or purified, that can provide vitality to the land. Doomed are ordered to where they are best needed to divert disaster to the workers. It was a daunting effort but like always they labor for a better world for all of Cradle's children. And within the halls of their Tower, one may hear them add their voices to the masses.

This, the song of sons and daughters
Hide, the heart of who we are
Making peace to build our future
Strong, united, working 'til we fall

A young Mundane woman stands nervously towards a Hive-Ant as she is watched by the Blood Scribes. Next, to the creature are several marble blocks and at the far end of the chamber is an empty cart. She takes a moment to take a breath before she performs the rites she had been taught. Her pronunciation is fluent and her timing is accurate, there doesn't appear to be a single flaw at her actions. For a moment the beast doesn't and she wonders if she has failed before the Ant starts to move. It carries one block after the other to the cart with only a little guidance from her until none are left. She turns to her instructors to see them nod their heads in approval at her accomplishment. A smile breaks out on her face and she bows respectfully to the philosophers.

And we all lift, and we're all adrift
Together, together
Through the cold mist, 'til we're lifeless
Together, together

A new day shines upon Cradle with it comes the promise of a new day for its people, one built by the strength and spirit of its children. For only united can they face the darkness.

Click to shrink...

A Reward, for Unity invoked, for the dream of a thousand labors creating a better world.

I give to you one floatting Mundane Point, to be used when you wish in any future turn.

 

[Lord_Abaddon]

Another day's light graces itself upon the Cradle. The humble radiance of the Sun warming the verdant lands cultivated by mundane hands, carefully yet imperfectly maintained. Looking upon the dawn's glow a young boy wonders. The Sun rises above them, loving and warm, every day, but why?

He asked his father, a gardener, 'Papa, why does the Sun rise?' To which his father quickly replied, 'because without it we wouldn't have plants to grow, son.' In the tone one replies to the ignorant question of a toddler.

But this answer didn't feel right. What does the Sun care that the plants grow?

So the boy went to his mother, a seamstress, 'Mama,' he asked, 'Why does the Sun rise?' And his mother said, 'young child, because without it I could not see my stitches.' In a tone of motherly patronization.

And yet this answer didn't feel right either, for what does the Sun care about his mother's stitches?

Thus he went to his older brother, a layabout, 'Baba,' he asked, 'Why does the Sun rise?' And his brother laughed, 'To force us to get up in the morning, of course!' He said with good humor.

And the young boy laughed along with him, yet felt unsatisfied. Why would the Sun care that people got up?

So the boy sat with his younger sister, and complained. 'I have asked everyone in our family why the Sun rises, and none of them gave good answers!' he whined. And his Sister pouted, 'you didn't ask me!' to which the young boy nodded, 'you're right, I didn't ask you. Why does the Sun rise, Mimi?'

The sister screwed her face into the most exaggerated thinking expression for as long as she could muster before declaring with childish finality. 'Because it wants to see us!' and with an exuberant nod she went off to play.

And while the boy didn't quite think that was true, it felt the truest out of all of them, a product of childish wisdom. And so he held it to his heart when he watched the Sun rise over his home day after day, until by chance a Philosopher was passing by, clad in robes and wearing a glass mask.

And by chance the question was on his mind, and he thought, if anyone could answer it would be him. 'Good man,' he asked, 'before you leave this place, I must know. Why does the Sun rise?'

And the Philosopher stopped and regarded this young boy. He saw the curious gleam in his eye, and replied, 'I do not know, young one, what a curious question. Would you like to come with me and find out?'

 

[OldShadow]

Another day's light graces itself upon the Cradle. The humble radiance of the Sun warming the verdant lands cultivated by mundane hands, carefully yet imperfectly maintained. Looking upon the dawn's glow a young boy wonders. The Sun rises above them, loving and warm, every day, but why?

He asked his father, a farmer, 'Papa, why does the Sun rise?' To which his father quickly replied, 'because without it we wouldn't have plants to grow, son.' In the tone one replies to the ignorant question of a toddler.

But this answer didn't feel right. What does the Sun care that the plants grow?

So the boy went to his mother, a seamstress, 'Mama,' he asked, 'Why does the Sun rise?' And his mother said, 'young child, because without it I could not see my stitches.' In a tone of motherly patronization.

And yet this answer didn't feel right either, for what does the Sun care about his mother's stitches?

Thus he went to his older brother, a layabout, 'Baba,' he asked, 'Why does the Sun rise?' And his brother laughed, 'To force us to get up in the morning, of course!' He said with good humor.

And the young boy laughed along with him, yet felt unsatisfied. Why would the Sun care that people got up?

So the boy sat with his younger sister, and complained. 'I have asked everyone in our family why the Sun rises, and none of them gave good answers!' he whined. And his Sister pouted, 'you didn't ask me!' to which the young boy nodded, 'you're right, I didn't ask you. Why does the Sun rise, Mimi?'

The sister screwed her face into the most exaggerated thinking expression for as long as she could muster before declaring with childish finality. 'Because it wants to see us!' and with an exuberant nod she went off to play.

And while the boy didn't quite think that was true, it felt the truest out of all of them, a product of childish wisdom. And so he held it to his heart when he watched the Sun rise over his home day after day, until by chance a Philosopher was passing by, clad in robes and wearing a glass mask.

And by chance the question was on his mind, and he thought, if anyone could answer it would be him. 'Good man,' he asked, 'before you leave this place, I must know. Why does the Sun rise?'

And the Philosopher stopped and regarded this young boy. He saw the curious gleam in his eye, and replied, 'I do not know, young one, what a curious question. Would you like to come with me and find out?'

Click to shrink...

Oh, a new recruit...
Semi-canon, there are no Mundane farmer, at best the father could be a gardener or own an orchad inside a God-City.
And I have already found the perfecg gift.

Please roll 1d3+1. In this number of turns, a new Philosopher will join the White Tower, one fascinated by the sun.

(If you want, you can add more details to the recruit, thing like City of origin, Mundane and Hermetical name...)

Edit : also I gave a temporary name to the Omake, ask if you though of a name.

 

[Lord_Abaddon]

i'll change the father's occupation, then, and think of more details to add to the story to flesh him out.

the name's perfect, i couldn't think of one, i just went where my muse would take me.

now to roll:

oooh, lucky

Lord_Abaddon threw 1 3-faced dice. Reason: training time Total: 1

 

[Lord_Abaddon]

wrote a continuation of first step, i don't think it's worth much of a reward, but it should give him a name, hint at his origin city, and an interesting artifact and an insight into the towers' induction rituals at least. @OldShadow

---

From humble home does this supplicant seek to join our grand Order. By fate found and by chance claimed, this young one seeks truth to answer his yearning for wisdom. The White Tower sees him, and looms over his future with both joy and foreboding. By birth his name is Eucharos, He of Good Joy, yet now he is borne into a new world to seek that beyond the mundane. He steps into the forbidding unknown to gain Mastery over it. He has been willed to join in our great working, that of Harmonious Servitude, to guide the Light of Fate and the Hearts of Man.

A new name has he chosen, one to mirror his First Question. Eoparatiratis, The Dawn Watcher. Wish does he to know the mysteries of the Fates, to learn why through darkest nights the fated dawn always comes. To learn the nature of the Inevitable, to learn why it has, why it will, and why it must. He has committed, set himself upon the Path of the Love of Wisdom, to learn for learning's sake, and the sake of those below, beside, and above!

And so shall he learn! His induction trial, a vigil shall he observe. From dawn 'til dusk 'til dawn again shall he face west into a mirror of his own making, crafting his own gray robe, and upon the first crack of second true dawn shall he shatter his mirror and from the broken visage of his greatest ardor create his mask. To gaze through the Ineffable Prism and see what is truly there.

In that shattered light shall he gain the first glimpse into the nature of Fate, and of the Sun, and in that grand and humble moment shall he begin his long journey into the sublime and marvelous! And then we shall welcome him, Eoparatiratis, into our Tower. May Fate's Light guide him.

 

[bioticgrunt]

"The Binding Shadows: Chronicles of the Goetic Descent"

Within the dimly lit chamber, bathed in an eerie glow from the flickering candlelight, an elderly man hunches over several scrolls. The air crackles with the resonance of forgotten rituals, as the room itself seems to breathe with an otherworldly energy. This weathered sage, his face etched by the sands of time, delicately inscribes arcane symbols onto the yellowed pages of the ancient scrolls.

His eyes, once vibrant and full of life, now conceal a depth of wisdom that speaks of untold experiences. Each stroke of the pen appears to extract a toll, as if the very act of transcribing these mystic runes drains the vitality from his frail form. The scrolls, a formidable presence in the room, emanates an unsettling mix of power and malevolence. The pages hold secrets that echo through the ages, both captivating and ominous.

Amidst the spectral ambience of the chamber, the distant sounds of battle infiltrate the space. The room itself trembles, but the elderly man remains undeterred. His focus remains unbroken, even as the walls reverberate with the tumult of war. The flickering candlelight casts shadows that dance in rhythm with the echoes of conflict, creating a surreal tableau within the mystical sanctum.

As the man continues his arcane endeavors, his mind becomes a portal to the past. Memories cascade like an unbroken river, revealing the intricate tapestry of events that brought him to this pivotal moment. His face, marked by wariness, hints at the burdens carried through a lifetime of mystic pursuits. The struggle etched onto his features suggests a relentless pursuit of knowledge and the sacrifices made along the way.

The first part of this enigmatic tale draws to a close, leaving the room resonating with the echoes of past battles and the secrets enshrined within the grimoire. The elderly man remains a stoic figure, his connection to the arcane and the shadows of his past shrouded in an aura of mystery.

In the hallowed silence of the chamber, the elderly man's mind drifts back through the corridors of time, traversing the annals of his memories. His thoughts weave through the rise and fall of the Goetic Binders, his once-honorable order that sought mastery over the very darkness they endeavored to bind.

The recollection takes him to a pivotal moment—a time when he and his apprentices, emboldened by ambition and guided by the forbidden knowledge gleaned from the demon Marchosias, successfully summoned and bound entities of both greater and lesser power. Through these occult pacts, they believed they could harness the malevolence of the demonic realm and turn it to virtuous ends. Their efforts improved the lives of their people, bending the forces of evil to the service of good.

However, pride became a shroud over their eyes, blinding them to the inherent dangers of their craft. The elderly man reflects on his own arrogance, the belief that they were immune to the temptations and malevolence they sought to control. As the demons whispered promises into their ears, their pursuit of knowledge morphed into a descent into the shadows.

The fractures within the order became glaringly evident when the zealous adversaries, known as the Zealots, descended upon them with fire and steel, denouncing the Goetic Binders as heretics. War erupted between the two factions, escalating into a catastrophic conflict that shook the very foundations of their existence.

The horrors unfolded in the name of survival haunted the old man's conscience. Demons unleashed to counter the Zealots' angels, curses cast upon the land, and unspeakable atrocities committed in a desperate bid for victory. The line between good and evil blurred, and the very principles the Binders once championed seemed to crumble in the crucible of war.

As the elder continues to pen his reflections within the scrolls, the weight of regret and the acknowledgment of the order's profound fall hang heavy in the air, casting a pall over the once-sanctified chamber.

As the elderly man completes the final strokes of his reflection, the air in the chamber seems to hang heavy with the weight of regret and a somber understanding of the order's descent into darkness. With a heavy heart, he seals away the scrolls, sealing within the ancient pages the teachings, the knowledge of demons bound, and his last desperate plea for the future generations of Binders to learn from their mistakes.

With a deep breath, the old sage carefully locks the scrolls away, concealing it within a hidden crevice in the chamber. Mystical wards spring to life, wrapping the precious papers in layers of protection, shielding it from those who might seek to misuse its arcane secrets.

Yet, just as he believes the sanctuary of his thoughts is safe, a familiar but twisted voice echoes through the chamber, calling his name—Solomon. The voice, once resonant with a sense of duty, now carries a mocking tone. It demands that he forsake his reflections, casting them aside to fulfill his duty to fight and die for the order.

Resigned but resolute, the elderly man makes his way out of the chamber, leaving behind the sanctuary of knowledge and self-reflection. The flickering candlelight casts shadows on his weathered face as he steps into the unfolding darkness that awaits beyond the confines of his mystical haven. The impending clash with the Zealots looms, and the once-honorable Goetic Binders are now mired in their darkest hour.

As he prepares to join his brethren in the impending battle, the old sage carries with him the weight of his past and the fervent hope that his desperate plea within the grimoire might somehow guide future Binders away from the treacherous path they have tread. The chamber is left in silence, bearing witness to the echoes of a bygone era and the uncertain destiny that awaits the order in their confrontation with the forces that seek to extinguish them.

A/N: wanted to make something connected to the falling of the past omake by @Robotninja

 

[OldShadow]

wrote a continuation of first step, i don't think it's worth much of a reward, but it should give him a name, hint at his origin city, and an interesting artifact and an insight into the towers' induction rituals at least. @OldShadow

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From humble home does this supplicant seek to join our grand Order. By fate found and by chance claimed, this young one seeks truth to answer his yearning for wisdom. The White Tower sees him, and looms over his future with both joy and foreboding. By birth his name is Eucharos, He of Good Joy, yet now he is borne into a new world to seek that beyond the mundane. He steps into the forbidding unknown to gain Mastery over it. He has been willed to join in our great working, that of Harmonious Servitude, to guide the Light of Fate and the Hearts of Man.

A new name has he chosen, one to mirror his First Question. Eoparatiratis, The Dawn Watcher. Wish does he to know the mysteries of the Fates, to learn why through darkest nights the fated dawn always comes. To learn the nature of the Inevitable, to learn why it has, why it will, and why it must. He has committed, set himself upon the Path of the Love of Wisdom, to learn for learning's sake, and the sake of those below, beside, and above!

And so shall he learn! His induction trial, a vigil shall he observe. From dawn 'til dusk 'til dawn again shall he face west into a mirror of his own making, crafting his own gray robe, and upon the first crack of second true dawn shall he shatter his mirror and from the broken visage of his greatest ardor create his mask. To gaze through the Ineffable Prism and see what is truly there.

In that shattered light shall he gain the first glimpse into the nature of Fate, and of the Sun, and in that grand and humble moment shall he begin his long journey into the sublime and marvelous! And then we shall welcome him, Eoparatiratis, into our Tower. May Fate's Light guide him.

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This will simply enhance the future character, very nice.
Just so everyone know, I tried to see if I could use Mycean Greek as one of the tongue of the Order and thatvis not really possible. So we shall use mostly Classical Greek.

"The Binding Shadows: Chronicles of the Goetic Descent"

Within the dimly lit chamber, bathed in an eerie glow from the flickering candlelight, an elderly man hunches over a massive grimoire. The air crackles with the resonance of forgotten rituals, as the room itself seems to breathe with an otherworldly energy. This weathered sage, his face etched by the sands of time, delicately inscribes arcane symbols onto the yellowed pages of the ancient tome.

His eyes, once vibrant and full of life, now conceal a depth of wisdom that speaks of untold experiences. Each stroke of the pen appears to extract a toll, as if the very act of transcribing these mystic runes drains the vitality from his frail form. The grimoire, a formidable presence in the room, emanates an unsettling mix of power and malevolence. Its pages hold secrets that echo through the ages, both captivating and ominous.

Amidst the spectral ambience of the chamber, the distant sounds of battle infiltrate the space. The room itself trembles, but the elderly man remains undeterred. His focus remains unbroken, even as the walls reverberate with the tumult of war. The flickering candlelight casts shadows that dance in rhythm with the echoes of conflict, creating a surreal tableau within the mystical sanctum.

As the man continues his arcane endeavors, his mind becomes a portal to the past. Memories cascade like an unbroken river, revealing the intricate tapestry of events that brought him to this pivotal moment. His face, marked by wariness, hints at the burdens carried through a lifetime of mystic pursuits. The struggle etched onto his features suggests a relentless pursuit of knowledge and the sacrifices made along the way.

The first part of this enigmatic tale draws to a close, leaving the room resonating with the echoes of past battles and the secrets enshrined within the grimoire. The elderly man remains a stoic figure, his connection to the arcane and the shadows of his past shrouded in an aura of mystery.

In the hallowed silence of the chamber, the elderly man's mind drifts back through the corridors of time, traversing the annals of his memories. His thoughts weave through the rise and fall of the Goetic Binders, his once-honorable order that sought mastery over the very darkness they endeavored to bind.

The recollection takes him to a pivotal moment—a time when he and his apprentices, emboldened by ambition and guided by the forbidden knowledge gleaned from the demon Marchosias, successfully summoned and bound entities of both greater and lesser power. Through these occult pacts, they believed they could harness the malevolence of the demonic realm and turn it to virtuous ends. Their efforts improved the lives of their people, bending the forces of evil to the service of good.

However, pride became a shroud over their eyes, blinding them to the inherent dangers of their craft. The elderly man reflects on his own arrogance, the belief that they were immune to the temptations and malevolence they sought to control. As the demons whispered promises into their ears, their pursuit of knowledge morphed into a descent into the shadows.

The fractures within the order became glaringly evident when the zealous adversaries, known as the Zealots, descended upon them with fire and steel, denouncing the Goetic Binders as heretics. War erupted between the two factions, escalating into a catastrophic conflict that shook the very foundations of their existence.

The horrors unfolded in the name of survival haunted the old man's conscience. Demons unleashed to counter the Zealots' angels, curses cast upon the land, and unspeakable atrocities committed in a desperate bid for victory. The line between good and evil blurred, and the very principles the Binders once championed seemed to crumble in the crucible of war.

As the elder continues to pen his reflections within the grimoire, the weight of regret and the acknowledgment of the order's profound fall hang heavy in the air, casting a pall over the once-sanctified chamber.

As the elderly man completes the final strokes of his reflection, the air in the chamber seems to hang heavy with the weight of regret and a somber understanding of the order's descent into darkness. With a heavy heart, he closes the grimoire, sealing within its ancient pages the teachings, the knowledge of demons bound, and his last desperate plea for the future generations of Binders to learn from their mistakes.

With a deep breath, the old sage carefully locks the grimoire away, concealing it within a hidden crevice in the chamber. Mystical wards spring to life, wrapping the precious tome in layers of protection, shielding it from those who might seek to misuse its arcane secrets.

Yet, just as he believes the sanctuary of his thoughts is safe, a familiar but twisted voice echoes through the chamber, calling his name—Solomon. The voice, once resonant with a sense of duty, now carries a mocking tone. It demands that he forsake his reflections, casting them aside to fulfill his duty to fight and die for the order.

Resigned but resolute, the elderly man makes his way out of the chamber, leaving behind the sanctuary of knowledge and self-reflection. The flickering candlelight casts shadows on his weathered face as he steps into the unfolding darkness that awaits beyond the confines of his mystical haven. The impending clash with the Zealots looms, and the once-honorable Goetic Binders are now mired in their darkest hour.

As he prepares to join his brethren in the impending battle, the old sage carries with him the weight of his past and the fervent hope that his desperate plea within the grimoire might somehow guide future Binders away from the treacherous path they have tread. The chamber is left in silence, bearing witness to the echoes of a bygone era and the uncertain destiny that awaits the order in their confrontation with the forces that seek to extinguish them.

A/N: wanted to make something connected to the falling of the past omake by @Robotninja

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Very nice, appart from a fews little things (books did not truly exist in the bronze age, scrolls were mistly used) but nothing major.

I propose a pact, writer far away.

If you accept it, hidden in ruins forgotten, the arts of the Binders will survive.
But so will the shadows of theirs sins and the evils they gave forms too.

Choose

 

[bioticgrunt]

This will simply enhance the future character, very nice.
Just so everyone know, I tried to see if I could use Mycean Greek as one of the tongue of the Order and thatvis not really possible. So we shall use mostly Classical Greek.

Very nice, appart from a fews little things (books did not truly exist in the bronze age, scrolls were mistly used) but nothing major.

I propose a pact, writer far away.

If you accept it, hidden in ruins forgotten, the arts of the Binders will survive.
But so will the shadows of theirs sins and the evils they gave forms too.

Choose

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I'll fix the book thing later

I think I'll go for the latter option for story potential unless others disagree with it

 

[Lord_Abaddon]

well we certainly have to go into the ruins now! can't just leave demons sitting there!

 

[Sa'kage]

Yeah. In my current pre-turn plans, i'm thinking we do the eye and ruins in the upcoming turn. We'll have to see what other options there are, but i'm thinking battle-hall and the world spire, with the other two AP up in the air atm. Assuming, there isn't something super good that comes up(or you know, another crisis)

After that, i'm guessing we'll probaly need to start the God-Fortresses, so we can start going to other planet, so if we do unlock the Tower/workings from the discovery actions, we're going to have enough scale that we can actually use them.

 

[Pyro Hawk]

Just so everyone know, I tried to see if I could use Mycean Greek as one of the tongue of the Order and thatvis not really possible. So we shall use mostly Classical Greek.

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Easy enough to give an explanation. Mycenean Greek was the 'royal' language of that region when the Doom started encroaching upon the world. Whilst a Proto-Classical Greek was the language of the commons. Add in a few disasters occurring along with some of the Royalty and Aristocracy going rather bad indeed and you have a situation where there's some remnants of Mycenean Greek in the language still, but it's more or less solidly a more developed aka actual Classical Greek language instead.

Potentially allows you to also state that one of the issues with the loss of information is that there were limited scribes who knew the Mycenean Written Language and they didn't make it. So there's a whole bunch of libraries the Philosophers have where everyone knows it's full of information, including a bunch of lore on various existent, no longer existent and never developed into even a proto-Order. But no one has managed to crack the translations yet even with magical aid. The White Tower does feel the fates are leaning towards a breakthrough sometime soon they think...

 

[Sa'kage]

I think the primary issue is that writing down information, as like a concept doesn't really properly exist yet? Like, there may be scrolls here and there, but they are (to my limited knowledge), more unwiedly to produce and write down on. Which means that saved information is going to be a lot less around.

I suspect, that Statues, Clay tablets, and engraved stone, with perhaps remants of previous workings is the primary method in which the Order uses for studying and writing down their own information. Of course, before the Order, there was apparently not that many gathered Philosophers around, and information tends to become accumulate the more people there are around, even if some are lone geniuses.

It does bring up the big question of whom the Thrice-Great Philosopher was though. Did he actually master all the art? Is he a theoretical God-Being that people are assuming existed, and just attributing different people's action to him? Or something else in between. I don't think the Order know, though i assume the common belief is that he existed. Finding out information about him, might lead to Working stuff. I'd assume the ruin actions is the leading one for that

 

[OldShadow]

Easy enough to give an explanation. Mycenean Greek was the 'royal' language of that region when the Doom started encroaching upon the world. Whilst a Proto-Classical Greek was the language of the commons. Add in a few disasters occurring along with some of the Royalty and Aristocracy going rather bad indeed and you have a situation where there's some remnants of Mycenean Greek in the language still, but it's more or less solidly a more developed aka actual Classical Greek language instead.

Potentially allows you to also state that one of the issues with the loss of information is that there were limited scribes who knew the Mycenean Written Language and they didn't make it. So there's a whole bunch of libraries the Philosophers have where everyone knows it's full of information, including a bunch of lore on various existent, no longer existent and never developed into even a proto-Order. But no one has managed to crack the translations yet even with magical aid. The White Tower does feel the fates are leaning towards a breakthrough sometime soon they think...

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Good idea
And on the subject, I offer you the reason why everything is so hard to translate.

This is linear B, used to write Mycenaean Greek.
On our world, it is a writing system that may come from Crete.
Still not entirely translated.

So yes, the Order must deal with a lots of issues to rediscover and integrate all the traditions of Cradle.

 

[OldShadow]

I think the primary issue is that writing down information, as like a concept doesn't really properly exist yet? Like, there may be scrolls here and there, but they are (to my limited knowledge), more unwiedly to produce and write down on. Which means that saved information is going to be a lot less around.

I suspect, that Statues, Clay tablets, and engraved stone, with perhaps remants of previous workings is the primary method in which the Order uses for studying and writing down their own information. Of course, before the Order, there was apparently not that many gathered Philosophers around, and information tends to become accumulate the more people there are around, even if some are lone geniuses.

It does bring up the big question of whom the Thrice-Great Philosopher was though. Did he actually master all the art? Is he a theoretical God-Being that people are assuming existed, and just attributing different people's action to him? Or something else in between. I don't think the Order know, though i assume the common belief is that he existed. Finding out information about him, might lead to Working stuff. I'd assume the ruin actions is the leading one for that

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Sorry for the double post, but as a history nerd, I need to answer.
During the bronze age, writing was mostly something used by the elites and a few riches merchants, for two use :
- Record keeping : How much grain is in a granary, how much a merchant owns, contracts between nations or individuals...
- Religious text, offerings to the gods, myths, rituals tablets, and various uses for divination.
Later on, a few tablets of laws were written (Code of Hammurabi) and the tales of hero (Epic of Gilgamesh) but not what we would call philosophical or scientific texts (one of the earliest time when those would be written is the Spring and Autumn period of Chinese history, beginning at 770 BCE).
So writing down information was done at the time of the Doom, but little that was useful for the Order.

So beyond what could be gleaned from religious texts and the personal journals of isolated proto-Philosophers that could be gathered and translated, the early Order had a cruel lack of useful texts.

This is when the Bronze Age status quo breaks.
One of the first things done by the Order was to gather and write down as much information on their arts as possible, and from this information create a coherent framework for the major Workings of the Order and for the training of new Philosophers.
On Earth, you need to wait for the creation of the Chinese Bureaucracy for the development of something akin to a unified intellectual system.
This was, of course, not easy, and imposed cruel choices on the young Order. This is one of the reasons why the Order only has 4 Towers.

This is when the Order began to develop tools to reproduce writing without taking too much time from Philosophers and without risking their secrets being stolen by Mundanes Scribes, witch was mostly done by creating specialized Spaws of the Hive-Empress to copy text on scrolls or painted and using what was, at the time, Prototypes for the futures God-Cities, to mass produce stone and clay tablets.
Those methods are not perfect, and the most powerful text cannot be copied without risks of unacceptable mistakes, which is why the Order has also created various places of learning.
Mundanes cannot go in the Towers because the secrets of the Order are imbued and engraved in their inner walls.
And of course, writing down the lore of the Order is considered a sacred task by the Philosopher.

So in the current date on Cradle, writing amongst the Order is considered something as important and sacred, if not more, than writing down the words of Confucius for Chinese scholars of the Han Dynasty, the Order as developed a written intelectual tradition that can be favorably compared with Classical Greece, and means of mass reproductions of written texts exist, even if they are somewhat less efficient than modern printing or, of course, the Internet.

For the Mundanes, literacy is still somewhat rare, even if the Order encourages literacy by making the God-Cities copy various texts on their walls. Mostly philosophicals and mythological texts, and poetry, since there as seen by the Order as a good way to encourage the development of potential recruits.

To put many words into a simple phrase : the relationship between the Order and the Mundanes toward writing is much like the relationship between the Chinese bureaucrat-scholars and the general population toward writing in Imperial China.
Witch is one of the elements that is somewhat anachronistic in the quest for a Bronze Age level of development.

As for the Thrice-Great Philosopher, they are mostly seen as an ideal or an archetype of the perfect philosopher.
If they have truly existed, the Order think it would be at the dawn of History, just before the invention of writing. A true miracle born of nothing.

 

[Pyro Hawk]

I think the primary issue is that writing down information, as like a concept doesn't really properly exist yet? Like, there may be scrolls here and there, but they are (to my limited knowledge), more unwiedly to produce and write down on. Which means that saved information is going to be a lot less around.

I suspect, that Statues, Clay tablets, and engraved stone, with perhaps remants of previous workings is the primary method in which the Order uses for studying and writing down their own information. Of course, before the Order, there was apparently not that many gathered Philosophers around, and information tends to become accumulate the more people there are around, even if some are lone geniuses.

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Clay tablets were a lot more used than you might think actually. By which I mean their use was extremely widespread with one crucial caveat.

There's a difference between clay tablets being used and clay tablets being fired. We are used to thinking of something being written down being 'preserved' for the future unless damage destroys it. But with clay tablets? It's been learned that a lot of the time instead what happens is 'mundane', 'routine' or 'daily' activities were etched into the clay tablet to keep track of them and then at the end of the day, the tablet gets 'recycled' for the next day/week/whenever's use rather than being fired to make a permanent record.

The same thing happened with parchment actually, where they'd 'scrape' the parchment clean to reuse them if whatever was written on the parchment wasn't judged important enough to preserve. So when you make your calculations about how much got written in the ancient world?

Don't just do the usual '1% of what's written survives damage, and of that fraction we have found 1%' calculation you might think is the case. Or well, whatever is the actual one for how optimistic that is. Instead it's '1% of what's written is fired for permanency, of which 1% survives damage, of which we have found 1%'.

Except here, they are a lot closer in time to what they were written down so there's less damage and they specifically worked to preserve everything they can just in case or for the future rather than the case with us where more 'worldly' concerns tended to take the fore. Or you had to deal with 'heresy', 'pagan knowledge' and all that. All that means a lot more gets preserved even with the Doom making a mess of everything even if actual understanding of what is preserved isn't.

 

[Sa'kage]

This is when the Order began to develop tools to reproduce writing without taking too much time from Philosophers and without risking their secrets being stolen by Mundanes Scribes, witch was mostly done by creating specialized Spaws of the Hive-Empress to copy text on scrolls or painted and using what was, at the time, Prototypes for the futures God-Cities, to mass produce stone and clay tablets.
Those methods are not perfect, and the most powerful text cannot be copied without risks of unacceptable mistakes, which is why the Order has also created various places of learning.
Mundanes cannot go in the Towers because the secrets of the Order are imbued and engraved in their inner walls.
And of course, writing down the lore of the Order is considered a sacred task by the Philosopher.

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Ohhh, that whole post is really cool! Ton of interesting information, but this makes me curious about a spesific part. Are the towers like, still being expanded? As the Order find out more information, like the Living tower inventing and experimenting with all the potion and elixirs as a result of the Eye. Would there be a new section carved(formed(?) for the living tower containing the secrets of Alchemy.

How do they deal with the fact that they are probaly learning more on a yearly basis now, then what they did when the Cycle of Rebirth started

 

[OldShadow]

Ohhh, that whole post is really cool! Ton of interesting information, but this makes me curious about a spesific part. Are the towers like, still being expanded? As the Order find out more information, like the Living tower inventing and experimenting with all the potion and elixirs as a result of the Eye. Would there be a new section carved(formed(?) for the living tower containing the secrets of Alchemy.

How do they deal with the fact that they are probaly learning more on a yearly basis now, then what they did when the Cycle of Rebirth started

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The Towers are being extended somewhat, but remember, each Tower is the size of a mountain. They have space to spare. But they will probably be filled one day, since, much like the Egyptians, the Chinese and us today, the Order write down and stock everything they do or learn.
This is the tryparties of the actions of the Order : They have consequences on the World (Body), they create supernatural influence (Spirit) and they generate information that change the very way the Order think (Mind).

They can deal with it, since the Order has more resources, but this is one of the reasons why it is hard to get new Action Points without new Towers : The Order grows in might, but also in the numbers of things it has to manage. More information to write down, study and stocks. More Workings to take into account in your works. More Scale bound to the Order to manage.

There is a reason why choosing to turn the Mundanes into bureaucrats back in Fruitless Tree of Unfulfilled Doom would have given an additional AP.