Prelude: The First Sunset
The sun was moving. It had never done that before, and so Odyssial...
The sun was moving. It had never done that before, and so Odyssial...
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Prelude 1
Rihaku
The Internet
Prelude: The First Sunset
The sun was moving. It had never done that before, and so Odyssial was tracking it.
From the apex of its height in the sky, it had steadily descended towards the lip of the horizon. At this rate, it would disappear entirely, and soon. That did not bode well for Odyssial, or for the small tribe that he now led. What would they do if the sun... disappeared?
I must find a way, he reminded himself. He had to stay focused; to waver was death. Even if the sun vanishes, I must find a way for us to survive.
Once, they had been a great people. Prosperous, learned, capable of bending bronze from the earth into tools of agriculture, tradecraft, even war. In a land of mountains and valleys, they had colonized the valleys and made headway against the mountains.
Humankind had been built to quail in terror, to turn easily towards superstition and the worship of spirits. Their place, in the order of things, was to pray for succor, and thereby provide an easy source of adoration and reverence to the gods, who could metabolize that devotion into spiritual strength. But in this purpose, as in many others, mankind was imperfect, and Odyssial's people had aspired to a greater meaning.
It was not for this reason that they had been slaughtered.
There were those in the tribe who believed otherwise, but they did not know the daevas as Odyssial did. Odyssial had treated with daevas, traded with them. Long years he had spent, studying deep into the night, wracking his spirit so that he could twist his mind around the twenty-seven Trade Cants of their Grand Marketplace. He had risen as high in their estimation as a mortal could: lower by far than a peer, but somewhat above an insect.
In secret, he had even hunted the more bestial daevas, when they ranged too far into human lands and devoured children. He had learned how to sprint without breath to stalk the fleet-footed voshino. He had built great pit traps to strike down the hardy cogolem, conscripting gravity do what human thews could not. He had flayed off broad strips of his own shoulder and cured them in the sun to serve as bait for the wary selantis.
Daevas, Odyssial knew, did not think like humans did. Most of the time they did not even pay attention to humans, and they could fail to tell the difference between an impoverished village and a flourishing fortress-city.
Human cities had endured cataclysm in the past. Every so often there would come a blood-storm that boiled men from their homes, or a wind full of teeth that sliced flesh to ribbons, or a crimson flood that swept in over their walls, drowning every first daughter and second son. Sometimes full seasons would pass between decimations, and sometimes not. Tragedy had been an inescapable aspect of their lives, but they were not a people that easily gave in to despair. They'd had many children, and the valleys were bountiful. They had persevered, and that was simply the order of things.
Men, Odyssial reasoned, were created to be fearful, so it only stood to reason that many things in this world seemed fearsome to them. Even the mightiest of mortal warriors struggled to match a daeva of the First Circle. Ten thousand together would struggle even to scratch a daeva of the Third. They could do little but endure, and even in that they were flawed. Acid waterfalls, lava wellsprings, mists that blurred flesh into gold: Perhaps mortals were simply so frail, that the beautiful things of this world were just incidentally lethal to them.
But to its proper inhabitants, to the daevas and gods and the kings of gods above them, the world was probably a place of sublime glory and beauty.
Some of that beauty shined before him, as the bright orb above continued its slow decline. The mountain peaks were stone the color of blood, crowned with icecaps like knives. As the sun descended, they blazed like molten gold. The valleys were green grass stippled with black, rivers like glistening serpents, trees like puffs of cloud. From the height of this peak, he could see their home valley where, on that fateful day, the deadly flower had appeared. It had dwarfed even the mountains, a single impossible blossom, ochre and violet against the pale blue sky. Its buds splayed out for miles, leaves shooting up in a Titan's phalanx of blades. Its top brushed up against the very dome of the heavens. Under every petal, a civilization of daevas sheltered from the sun's zenith glare.
From the daevas Odyssial had learned that it was named Lethos, the Flowerbed Panoply, and that it was a Primordial Titan, an architect of the world. A god above all gods; even the daevas were merely its souls. It had desired a place to set down, and the tribes of men had simply been in its way. The daevas had assured him that Lethos bore them no malice, but surely men could not expect Her to lower Herself by warning them? That was how he knew that the death of their civilization had been a cataclysm like any other, the product of an unguessable and inscrutable alien whim. Some devastations killed two children in ten, and some killed ninety-nine in a hundred. Dooms like the latter simply did not leave anyone behind to record them, and so there were no such records in the annals of men.
Over a year later, Odyssial still vividly remembered that day. He remembered tendrils the size of tree trunks coiling down from heaven, sun and sky blotted out by the Titan's dreadnought canopy. Its movements had seemed lethargic from a distance, but they were of a scale that dwarfed comprehension. A Titan could move further in one stride than a man could in a year of sprinting. He remembered the sound of grinding bones as it settled over their city, too fast for all but the swiftest to dash clear of the edge. He remembered the sudden and total panic, the too-brief screams. A blood-red mist had puffed from the seams of the flower as it'd settled, the final respiration of their city-state.
Then came the swift, total poisoning of the valley grounds beneath them, all the grass dying off in a single blackening wave. Then came the long, hungry march outwards and upwards, passing the putrefied corpses of those that had chosen swifter deaths than starvation. Fourteen brothers and sisters he'd had before that day, and now they were three.
Idly he toyed with the talisman on his arm. Woven of weeds, flowers, and reeds, it was Nio's creation, her first thaumaturgical work. She was his littlest sibling, an inveterate brat, but already precocious in the mystical arts. The stubborn hint of a smile worked its way past his facade. He had no idea what the talisman did, if it even did anything.
"For good luck!" She'd proclaimed, as she'd pinned it on his sleeve. "One day, I'll be a mighty sorceress and protect all of the People. Until then," she'd sighed, patting the thing, "you'll have to make do with this."
Down to the mannerisms of the sigh, it was the same way their mother had spoken. Odyssial had never seen Nio cry. She didn't complain, even when the tribe force-marched at paces that made grown men groan. Tragedy had only made her work harder, learn faster. She may well have become a sorceress, one of the rare mortals to rise above the lot of mortality, if their civilization and its libraries had survived.
In his secret heart, he hated Lethos.
He was one of the few who dared. But he knew vengeance was not a practical endeavor. Survival was much more urgent, and difficult enough.
I must find a way, he repeated to himself.
He had turned his people away from the fat and powerful gods, seeking out spirits as bedraggled and desperate as the tribe itself. Better to have a minor power willing to act on their behalf, than a mighty one too lazy even to notice them. He had collaborated with their remaining priests and medicine men, breaking down superstition, deriving from first principles, carefully constructing a series of rituals to maximally strengthen those allies per unit of worship time.
When hungry ghosts had caught their scent, he'd killed a group of billy goats and strung them out on a trail that diverged from the one his tribe had taken. When the hoarstorm had come, threatening to rip away their tents, he'd weighted down their moorings with cogolem stones, pitting supernatural weight against supernatural wind. When a cataphract of the Fair had blocked their path, demanding slaves as tribute, he had offered himself instead, thereby getting close enough to bury a dagger in its gut. A normally useless gesture, but his blade had been coated in the grass-blackening poison of Lethos.
When the endurance of men failed, he diverted their tormentors or counter-attacked from ambush. When strength of arms could not carry the day, a rockslide trap might. Hunting wolves could be diverted towards daeva hunters. Storm winds could extinguish their campfires, but lightning jewels could harness that same storm to re-ignite them. Bestial daevas could be tricked. Civilized daevas could be bribed.
Thus far, they'd found a way past every disaster. Not infallibly, but enough to keep at least some of the band alive. This world was full of such possibility that even a human could do that much. And because the world was not actively trying to kill them, they had survived so far.
But they were still losing people. Each cataclysm they were being whittled down. One here, two there. What had been a troupe of seventy-five had, over the past year, become twenty-three.
And now the sun was moving.
Very possibly, it was going away. Where did that leave them? Could they survive without it? He held himself in stillness, observing the world. The shadows grew longer; the air grew less warm. If the sun dipped all the way below the horizon, would they be left in darkness? Would it return - he could not be that optimistic.
Crops in shade grew worse than crops exposed. Their dream, of finding a secluded meadow to settle, was likely gone. Fire would be at a premium, the only reliable source of heat and light. Spirits of darkness, cold, and associated emotions would grow stronger, while their opposites weakened. He would have to act fast, secure the alliance of one that was frail before it realized its coming strength. Could he bid one against another, set darkness against cold to see which spirit could offer greater benevolence in exchange for their party's small but efficient trickle of worship?
Venturing far from shelter would become excessively dangerous, that was likely the greatest threat. Exposure and heavy wind would kill with the cold, so they would have to find a cave complex to settle in. Water and food would be more difficult to secure, but animals that relied on sight would be vulnerable. Without a large source of water in or near the cave complex, they would die. That meant they needed to shelter next to an icecap, or find a cave with a lake inside.
A time of great disorientation was coming, and its apparent factors did not favor them. But if they acted swiftly, perhaps they could exploit the change enough to emerge stronger than before.
An eon of darkness, isolation, and cold. It was sheer lunacy to think they'd come out ahead. But the Titans had been wise in their crafting of men. Odyssial feared not just for himself, but for all those that were counting on him. And because of that, it was not, "I should find a way." It was and could only be, "I must."
Failure was not an option he could entertain. Even if he could see the dire and hopeless trend. Even if he knew more than anyone how slim their chances were. Two-thirds of their tribe gone in a year - even so, he could not stop trying. Even if they could never win, neither could they stop playing this world's futile game. The mere prospect of a loss was too horrible to comprehend.
---
[ ] Dawn - Turn back East, and return to the camp. That darkness will fall, seems inevitable. Whatever abyss may come, you will confront it head-on, stare into its depths unblinking. The world may be changing, but the paths to victory remain the same. Ruthlessness. Strategy. And above all else, the unrelenting will to prevail. It is not by choice that you live by the sword - but if not for the sword, you would not have a life to live.
Aspect: The Strategist
Superlative Quality: Will
Greatness: 9 to 10
Heartlessness: 7 to 10
[ ] Twilight - Continue to observe until the sun disappears. This is crucial data, an irretrievable resource in a world where knowledge is often humanity's only recourse to power. With that data, you will plan. You will iterate and adapt. Preparation and foresight are your watchwords, the ceaseless accumulation of advantage.
Aspect: The Schemer
Superlative Quality: Cunning
Greatness: 7 to 10
Heartlessness: 5 to 9
[ ] Night - Strike out alone, and further, performing forward reconnaissance. You will have to trust in the ability of Nio and your lieutenants to discern the proper strategies. In the meantime, you, most capable of your tribe's scouts, must find a place for the tribe to shelter, during the darkness to come. Always you have been alone, forging the path, finding the way. Though you are their chieftain, in many ways you are an outsider to your own clan. But that does not mean you will fail to protect them.
Aspect: The Solitaire
Superlative Quality: Perceptiveness
Greatness: 6 to 10
Heartlessness: 5 to 8
The sun was moving. It had never done that before, and so Odyssial was tracking it.
From the apex of its height in the sky, it had steadily descended towards the lip of the horizon. At this rate, it would disappear entirely, and soon. That did not bode well for Odyssial, or for the small tribe that he now led. What would they do if the sun... disappeared?
I must find a way, he reminded himself. He had to stay focused; to waver was death. Even if the sun vanishes, I must find a way for us to survive.
Once, they had been a great people. Prosperous, learned, capable of bending bronze from the earth into tools of agriculture, tradecraft, even war. In a land of mountains and valleys, they had colonized the valleys and made headway against the mountains.
Humankind had been built to quail in terror, to turn easily towards superstition and the worship of spirits. Their place, in the order of things, was to pray for succor, and thereby provide an easy source of adoration and reverence to the gods, who could metabolize that devotion into spiritual strength. But in this purpose, as in many others, mankind was imperfect, and Odyssial's people had aspired to a greater meaning.
It was not for this reason that they had been slaughtered.
There were those in the tribe who believed otherwise, but they did not know the daevas as Odyssial did. Odyssial had treated with daevas, traded with them. Long years he had spent, studying deep into the night, wracking his spirit so that he could twist his mind around the twenty-seven Trade Cants of their Grand Marketplace. He had risen as high in their estimation as a mortal could: lower by far than a peer, but somewhat above an insect.
In secret, he had even hunted the more bestial daevas, when they ranged too far into human lands and devoured children. He had learned how to sprint without breath to stalk the fleet-footed voshino. He had built great pit traps to strike down the hardy cogolem, conscripting gravity do what human thews could not. He had flayed off broad strips of his own shoulder and cured them in the sun to serve as bait for the wary selantis.
Daevas, Odyssial knew, did not think like humans did. Most of the time they did not even pay attention to humans, and they could fail to tell the difference between an impoverished village and a flourishing fortress-city.
Human cities had endured cataclysm in the past. Every so often there would come a blood-storm that boiled men from their homes, or a wind full of teeth that sliced flesh to ribbons, or a crimson flood that swept in over their walls, drowning every first daughter and second son. Sometimes full seasons would pass between decimations, and sometimes not. Tragedy had been an inescapable aspect of their lives, but they were not a people that easily gave in to despair. They'd had many children, and the valleys were bountiful. They had persevered, and that was simply the order of things.
Men, Odyssial reasoned, were created to be fearful, so it only stood to reason that many things in this world seemed fearsome to them. Even the mightiest of mortal warriors struggled to match a daeva of the First Circle. Ten thousand together would struggle even to scratch a daeva of the Third. They could do little but endure, and even in that they were flawed. Acid waterfalls, lava wellsprings, mists that blurred flesh into gold: Perhaps mortals were simply so frail, that the beautiful things of this world were just incidentally lethal to them.
But to its proper inhabitants, to the daevas and gods and the kings of gods above them, the world was probably a place of sublime glory and beauty.
Some of that beauty shined before him, as the bright orb above continued its slow decline. The mountain peaks were stone the color of blood, crowned with icecaps like knives. As the sun descended, they blazed like molten gold. The valleys were green grass stippled with black, rivers like glistening serpents, trees like puffs of cloud. From the height of this peak, he could see their home valley where, on that fateful day, the deadly flower had appeared. It had dwarfed even the mountains, a single impossible blossom, ochre and violet against the pale blue sky. Its buds splayed out for miles, leaves shooting up in a Titan's phalanx of blades. Its top brushed up against the very dome of the heavens. Under every petal, a civilization of daevas sheltered from the sun's zenith glare.
From the daevas Odyssial had learned that it was named Lethos, the Flowerbed Panoply, and that it was a Primordial Titan, an architect of the world. A god above all gods; even the daevas were merely its souls. It had desired a place to set down, and the tribes of men had simply been in its way. The daevas had assured him that Lethos bore them no malice, but surely men could not expect Her to lower Herself by warning them? That was how he knew that the death of their civilization had been a cataclysm like any other, the product of an unguessable and inscrutable alien whim. Some devastations killed two children in ten, and some killed ninety-nine in a hundred. Dooms like the latter simply did not leave anyone behind to record them, and so there were no such records in the annals of men.
Over a year later, Odyssial still vividly remembered that day. He remembered tendrils the size of tree trunks coiling down from heaven, sun and sky blotted out by the Titan's dreadnought canopy. Its movements had seemed lethargic from a distance, but they were of a scale that dwarfed comprehension. A Titan could move further in one stride than a man could in a year of sprinting. He remembered the sound of grinding bones as it settled over their city, too fast for all but the swiftest to dash clear of the edge. He remembered the sudden and total panic, the too-brief screams. A blood-red mist had puffed from the seams of the flower as it'd settled, the final respiration of their city-state.
Then came the swift, total poisoning of the valley grounds beneath them, all the grass dying off in a single blackening wave. Then came the long, hungry march outwards and upwards, passing the putrefied corpses of those that had chosen swifter deaths than starvation. Fourteen brothers and sisters he'd had before that day, and now they were three.
Idly he toyed with the talisman on his arm. Woven of weeds, flowers, and reeds, it was Nio's creation, her first thaumaturgical work. She was his littlest sibling, an inveterate brat, but already precocious in the mystical arts. The stubborn hint of a smile worked its way past his facade. He had no idea what the talisman did, if it even did anything.
"For good luck!" She'd proclaimed, as she'd pinned it on his sleeve. "One day, I'll be a mighty sorceress and protect all of the People. Until then," she'd sighed, patting the thing, "you'll have to make do with this."
Down to the mannerisms of the sigh, it was the same way their mother had spoken. Odyssial had never seen Nio cry. She didn't complain, even when the tribe force-marched at paces that made grown men groan. Tragedy had only made her work harder, learn faster. She may well have become a sorceress, one of the rare mortals to rise above the lot of mortality, if their civilization and its libraries had survived.
In his secret heart, he hated Lethos.
He was one of the few who dared. But he knew vengeance was not a practical endeavor. Survival was much more urgent, and difficult enough.
I must find a way, he repeated to himself.
He had turned his people away from the fat and powerful gods, seeking out spirits as bedraggled and desperate as the tribe itself. Better to have a minor power willing to act on their behalf, than a mighty one too lazy even to notice them. He had collaborated with their remaining priests and medicine men, breaking down superstition, deriving from first principles, carefully constructing a series of rituals to maximally strengthen those allies per unit of worship time.
When hungry ghosts had caught their scent, he'd killed a group of billy goats and strung them out on a trail that diverged from the one his tribe had taken. When the hoarstorm had come, threatening to rip away their tents, he'd weighted down their moorings with cogolem stones, pitting supernatural weight against supernatural wind. When a cataphract of the Fair had blocked their path, demanding slaves as tribute, he had offered himself instead, thereby getting close enough to bury a dagger in its gut. A normally useless gesture, but his blade had been coated in the grass-blackening poison of Lethos.
When the endurance of men failed, he diverted their tormentors or counter-attacked from ambush. When strength of arms could not carry the day, a rockslide trap might. Hunting wolves could be diverted towards daeva hunters. Storm winds could extinguish their campfires, but lightning jewels could harness that same storm to re-ignite them. Bestial daevas could be tricked. Civilized daevas could be bribed.
Thus far, they'd found a way past every disaster. Not infallibly, but enough to keep at least some of the band alive. This world was full of such possibility that even a human could do that much. And because the world was not actively trying to kill them, they had survived so far.
But they were still losing people. Each cataclysm they were being whittled down. One here, two there. What had been a troupe of seventy-five had, over the past year, become twenty-three.
And now the sun was moving.
Very possibly, it was going away. Where did that leave them? Could they survive without it? He held himself in stillness, observing the world. The shadows grew longer; the air grew less warm. If the sun dipped all the way below the horizon, would they be left in darkness? Would it return - he could not be that optimistic.
Crops in shade grew worse than crops exposed. Their dream, of finding a secluded meadow to settle, was likely gone. Fire would be at a premium, the only reliable source of heat and light. Spirits of darkness, cold, and associated emotions would grow stronger, while their opposites weakened. He would have to act fast, secure the alliance of one that was frail before it realized its coming strength. Could he bid one against another, set darkness against cold to see which spirit could offer greater benevolence in exchange for their party's small but efficient trickle of worship?
Venturing far from shelter would become excessively dangerous, that was likely the greatest threat. Exposure and heavy wind would kill with the cold, so they would have to find a cave complex to settle in. Water and food would be more difficult to secure, but animals that relied on sight would be vulnerable. Without a large source of water in or near the cave complex, they would die. That meant they needed to shelter next to an icecap, or find a cave with a lake inside.
A time of great disorientation was coming, and its apparent factors did not favor them. But if they acted swiftly, perhaps they could exploit the change enough to emerge stronger than before.
An eon of darkness, isolation, and cold. It was sheer lunacy to think they'd come out ahead. But the Titans had been wise in their crafting of men. Odyssial feared not just for himself, but for all those that were counting on him. And because of that, it was not, "I should find a way." It was and could only be, "I must."
Failure was not an option he could entertain. Even if he could see the dire and hopeless trend. Even if he knew more than anyone how slim their chances were. Two-thirds of their tribe gone in a year - even so, he could not stop trying. Even if they could never win, neither could they stop playing this world's futile game. The mere prospect of a loss was too horrible to comprehend.
---
[ ] Dawn - Turn back East, and return to the camp. That darkness will fall, seems inevitable. Whatever abyss may come, you will confront it head-on, stare into its depths unblinking. The world may be changing, but the paths to victory remain the same. Ruthlessness. Strategy. And above all else, the unrelenting will to prevail. It is not by choice that you live by the sword - but if not for the sword, you would not have a life to live.
Aspect: The Strategist
Superlative Quality: Will
Greatness: 9 to 10
Heartlessness: 7 to 10
[ ] Twilight - Continue to observe until the sun disappears. This is crucial data, an irretrievable resource in a world where knowledge is often humanity's only recourse to power. With that data, you will plan. You will iterate and adapt. Preparation and foresight are your watchwords, the ceaseless accumulation of advantage.
Aspect: The Schemer
Superlative Quality: Cunning
Greatness: 7 to 10
Heartlessness: 5 to 9
[ ] Night - Strike out alone, and further, performing forward reconnaissance. You will have to trust in the ability of Nio and your lieutenants to discern the proper strategies. In the meantime, you, most capable of your tribe's scouts, must find a place for the tribe to shelter, during the darkness to come. Always you have been alone, forging the path, finding the way. Though you are their chieftain, in many ways you are an outsider to your own clan. But that does not mean you will fail to protect them.
Aspect: The Solitaire
Superlative Quality: Perceptiveness
Greatness: 6 to 10
Heartlessness: 5 to 8
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Rules 1
Rihaku
The Internet
Rules
1. This is a quest, where many posters debate and vote upon the actions of one character. Though votes are important, equally (if not more) important are the arguments made to justify those votes.
2. Your character's success or failure in this game will depend on the circumstances of the world and his current abilities, which you may or may not be able to change; and your personal and collective ingenuity in devising well thought-out strategies, tactics, and plans of action for a given course. Please include the code Fanwork## in your fanfics, fanarts, reactions, and anything else you would like me to consider for an XP award, including analyses and long discussion.
3. If you find typos, please PM me.
4. The Story-Only Thread is here.
5. Be excellent to each other.
6. This is a game about the consequences of incredible power and the hubris that may accompany it. You will craft the legacy of a character with truly apocalyptic might, and later play in the shadow of that legacy. Its echoes - consequences which resound through millennia - will deeply influence the world to come. Even for one of the Exalted, your character will have the power to shatter thrones, break the rules, and brand his legend across the face of the world. Whether that is a good thing for the world, is up to you.
---
Prelude Rules
Odyssial's final Greatness will be determined at the end of the prelude. Your actions during the prelude, as well as your XP total at its end, will contribute to this calculation. XP is awarded for insightful or entertaining discussion, as well as for all types of fanworks.
For reference, the canon Odyssial, referenced in our previous Exalted quest, had a Greatness value of ~9, [Surpassing the Unconquered]. As Greatness approaches 10, each point become more powerful, and it becomes exponentially more difficult to raise. Raising 9 to 9.5 would be equivalent to raising 6 to 8.
Finally, for those of you who like to archive binge, the early and middle parts of the story-only thread for that previous quest are mostly canon, and that thread is here.
---
The way XP works in 3E is, you get your normal (small) XP reward every session, and you can earn additional "Solar XP" for certain roleplaying goals. Solar XP is identical to normal for purposes of Abilities and Attributes, but it cannot be spent on Charms. It can be spent on Evocations, Martial Arts, and Spells, however. This is modeled by our XP system wherein you guys get XP for plot events (or you will, once conflicts start happening) and also for fanworks. However, so as to not disincentivize fanworks, all XP you receive from any source is split 60% / 40% into two sections, Normal and Solar. Thus you can earn Normal XP from roleplaying.
Until 3E comes out, you will purchase Titles, representing clusters of charms, which grant certain types of superhuman prowess in a given Ability. When 3E arrives, we'll break those down into actual Charms. Titles usually go for 120,000 to 360,000 XP, and can only be bought with Normal XP. Your Essence Level is determined by the total amount of XP you've spent on Titles.
You require a period of downtime, or training time, to spend your XP. More extensive purchases require more training. If you wish to ignore training time without an effect that allows it, you may - representing Ulyssian's extreme ingenuity and will. However, you will pay a 100% XP surcharge that does not count towards Essence advancement.
1. This is a quest, where many posters debate and vote upon the actions of one character. Though votes are important, equally (if not more) important are the arguments made to justify those votes.
2. Your character's success or failure in this game will depend on the circumstances of the world and his current abilities, which you may or may not be able to change; and your personal and collective ingenuity in devising well thought-out strategies, tactics, and plans of action for a given course. Please include the code Fanwork## in your fanfics, fanarts, reactions, and anything else you would like me to consider for an XP award, including analyses and long discussion.
3. If you find typos, please PM me.
4. The Story-Only Thread is here.
5. Be excellent to each other.
6. This is a game about the consequences of incredible power and the hubris that may accompany it. You will craft the legacy of a character with truly apocalyptic might, and later play in the shadow of that legacy. Its echoes - consequences which resound through millennia - will deeply influence the world to come. Even for one of the Exalted, your character will have the power to shatter thrones, break the rules, and brand his legend across the face of the world. Whether that is a good thing for the world, is up to you.
---
Prelude Rules
Odyssial's final Greatness will be determined at the end of the prelude. Your actions during the prelude, as well as your XP total at its end, will contribute to this calculation. XP is awarded for insightful or entertaining discussion, as well as for all types of fanworks.
For reference, the canon Odyssial, referenced in our previous Exalted quest, had a Greatness value of ~9, [Surpassing the Unconquered]. As Greatness approaches 10, each point become more powerful, and it becomes exponentially more difficult to raise. Raising 9 to 9.5 would be equivalent to raising 6 to 8.
Finally, for those of you who like to archive binge, the early and middle parts of the story-only thread for that previous quest are mostly canon, and that thread is here.
---
The way XP works in 3E is, you get your normal (small) XP reward every session, and you can earn additional "Solar XP" for certain roleplaying goals. Solar XP is identical to normal for purposes of Abilities and Attributes, but it cannot be spent on Charms. It can be spent on Evocations, Martial Arts, and Spells, however. This is modeled by our XP system wherein you guys get XP for plot events (or you will, once conflicts start happening) and also for fanworks. However, so as to not disincentivize fanworks, all XP you receive from any source is split 60% / 40% into two sections, Normal and Solar. Thus you can earn Normal XP from roleplaying.
Until 3E comes out, you will purchase Titles, representing clusters of charms, which grant certain types of superhuman prowess in a given Ability. When 3E arrives, we'll break those down into actual Charms. Titles usually go for 120,000 to 360,000 XP, and can only be bought with Normal XP. Your Essence Level is determined by the total amount of XP you've spent on Titles.
You require a period of downtime, or training time, to spend your XP. More extensive purchases require more training. If you wish to ignore training time without an effect that allows it, you may - representing Ulyssian's extreme ingenuity and will. However, you will pay a 100% XP surcharge that does not count towards Essence advancement.
Last edited:
AZATHOTHoth
༼ つ ☀️_☀️ ༽つ
[X] Dawn
We sound badass.
We sound badass.
Rihaku
The Internet
You are badass! And hopefully about to become a lot more, assuming you survive...
KleverKil'Vanya
Ortillery Operator
[X] DAWN
We will pierce the Heavens!
We will pierce the Heavens!
[X] Twilight
[x] Dawn
SirLagginton
Shadow Cabal Caerbannog Bun-Bun
- Location
- Arrrghhh
[X] Dawn
Odyssial is basically the quintessential badass. The kind of person whose whispered name can terrify the very gods themselves, even millennia after his death.
[X] Dawn
Of all the Solar Castes, the Bronze Tigers are the type most well suited to direct conflict, and there's a War on the horizon. The War, you could say. A Primordial conflict in which the rulers of the world will be cast down. Also, in choosing Dawn, we continue the tradition of both previous quests, which served us rather well.
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Rihaku
The Internet
It's not very tasty if you're a mortal! More... Death World-ish. If Death Worlds were also populated by nigh-omnipotent daemons capable of destroying human civilization on a whim.
[X] Dawn
Rihaku
The Internet
It should be concerning, shouldn't it? Well, you know what they say about terrible and great.
Eh, we are (or soon will be) a First Age Solar. Some flavor of monstrosity is inevitable; what can we do but be the greatest and most efficient monster possible, and endeavor to wield that power against Creation's enemies?
Rihaku
The Internet
Both Greatness and Heartlessness scores will have very significant impacts on the Creation to follow. Many such impacts will be so significant that they will redound for thousands of years after Odyssial himself has passed... Think well on the sort of legacy you would like to leave for Ulyssian in the future. Not to mention any possible effects on such luminaries that are likely to persist through the First Age, such as the Incarnae and his Lunar Mate!
Welcome to the ride. And yeah, we've kind of established a tradition of our own, during Sword and the Odyssey.
Da Boyz
The Cutest Apocalypse.
[X] Twilight - Continue to observe until the sun disappears. This is crucial data, an irretrievable resource in a world where knowledge is often humanity's only recourse to power. With that data, you will plan. You will iterate and adapt. Preparation and foresight are your watchwords, the ceaseless accumulation of advantage.
@Rihaku I remember you saying that the XP that Doctor Apocalypse had left would be carried over in the last thread, how much do we have left?
@Rihaku I remember you saying that the XP that Doctor Apocalypse had left would be carried over in the last thread, how much do we have left?
Rihaku
The Internet
It won't be carried over one-for-one, I still have to calculate the conversion rate. But Priest did do some excellent work near the twilight of that thread, and it will be fairly substantial, I think. You are also getting some XP carried over from The Odyssey itself, though that may not apply to Odyssial - it'll probably be used to raise Ulyssian's stats or something.