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
Last edited:
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:
Prelude 2
Rihaku
The Internet
The First Sunset, II
Odyssial headed back to camp. There was work to do.
The sun fell faster than he thought. By the time his trek was finished, it had already begun to dip below the horizon. Blazing with a final, desperate radiance, it emitted streaks of unprecedented hue - the sombre blues, burnt reds, and soft violets of the first twilight. Odyssial spared a moment, squinting his eyes into the glare, to affix the sun's dying moments in his mind. It might well be the last anyone would ever see of it.
He squeezed his eyes shut to dispel the afterimages, blinding white behind his eyelids, as he crested the small bluff that overlooked their encampment. He smelled fire, much of it. That was good. If they had the presence of mind to act quickly, they could still steal away to a complex of caves before light and warmth fled the world.
Then he smelled the blood.
His eyes snapped open, and shock hit him like a freezing torrent. Below lay the ash-strewn ruins of their encampment, still smoldering. Below lay the people of his tribe, twenty-two in all, commingled with the ash and burning wood, resting in pools of their own blood. Below lay their murderer, a spindly-limbed creature whose six swords flashed iridescent in the dying light. He knew that figure - Larsyifex of the Contingent of Valour, a Daeva of the Second Circle. An existence so far above the warriors of his tribe that they may as well have been insects. Odyssial had seen the creature once or twice in the gambling halls of the great markets.
I must find a way, his mind spat out instinctively, and stopped.
There was no way to be found. Not even the daevas could restore a human from death, for man would hardly fear an impermanent demise.
On his arm, Nio's talisman had blackened. A wind stirred, and its petals blew away. Odyssial frowned, mind still reeling. Cold reason forged ahead while the rest of him staggered. When had it blackened? If it was correlated with Nio's... passing, that would give a clue as to the daeva's time of arrival. Any scrap of knowledge could help.
No, he remembered now, thinking as if through a haze. It had blackened gradually from the moment he'd decided to turn back. That had been only an hour ago, hadn't it? But Odyssial knew that talismans of this type rarely reacted to their maker's life or death, instead withering away as the power within was discharged. The lore of his people lived in Odyssial's mind; he was no stranger to mathematics. And it was strange that the sun, whose rate of movement had been so predictable in the hours before, would deviate as he decided to return.
He doubted Nio's talisman could affect the sun. But it could very well affect one man, make him think that three hours had only been one. Delaying the pace of his return to the camp. Keeping him safe from Larsyifex's rampage. Had that been his "good luck?"
Hollowness yawned within him. Why had they trusted him? Why had they looked to him? Why was he alive, when they were all gone?
He, who was supposed to look after them. To protect them. In the end, it was the smallest member of their tribe that had protected him.
He was alive because she had found a way. Not to prevent a loss, for that was too much to ask of this world, but to make the loss not as total. Perhaps that was all any human could ask for, here.
Cleverness. Treachery. Prowess. Will. Without power, none of it sufficed.
He knew that he should run, that he should not throw away the life that Nio had miraculously preserved. He could not make himself do it. It was the wise choice, the advantageous choice. But all this year he'd been incessantly seeking advantage, and for what? To keep them alive. Now, he could no longer protect them.
But he could still avenge them.
All he had to do was slay a Daeva of the Second Circle.
All he had to do, was the impossible.
---
Odyssial's Dossier
Larsyifex, Daeva of the Second Circle.
This six-armed beast towers above any man, its mottled red skin armored by a coating of what appears to be crushed volcanic glass. The armor, if that is what it is, appears to have an extremely low melting point. Smears of it track down its legs, closest to the flames. Odyssial is not terribly familiar with the creature, but he does know that it is the progenitor of the selantis, and that it possess a heightened version of their ability to sense hostile intent. For this and other reasons, Larsyifex is a particularly dangerous foe for Odyssial - this is not an enemy that can be effectively fought by drawing into a prepared killing field of traps. Spontaneous, multi-angled aggression is your best bet.
Larsyifex has a reputation as an indolent gambler, who revels in the hostility of those he cheats, savoring it like a fine vintage. A prideful aesthete, he is unlikely to lower himself by fighting Odyssial seriously, at least not before he's had his measure of fun.
Available equipment -
Cogolem stones - Taken from the corpses of slain cogolem, these pitch black stones shine with an unnatural smoothness. As they approach the ground, they grow heavier. Odyssial is trained in their use for the sling.
Lightning gems - Uncharged, unfortunately.
Bronze sword - Exceptionally sharp.
Brace of poisoned knives - Covered with the toxin of Lethos, but that's unlikely to work on a soul of Lethos.
---
[ ] Turn Aside - It's what Nio would want you to do. To stay and face this enemy is nothing short of death. It is madness even to contemplate: contemplate it too seriously and it'll sense you. A human simply cannot defeat a Daeva of the Second Circle. That is known, and well-known. Do not throw away Nio's gift so callously. As long as you live, there is the hope of vengeance, faint as it might be.
[ ] Destroy Him - Enough. No excuses. No retreat. No mercy. Creation is far too vast for a mortal to have any hope of tracking down a Daeva of the Second, not in the span of a human's years. You will no longer scrimp and cower in the face of senseless cataclysms, even if you must charge in with your death preordained. Today, as the sun falls into nothingness, a Daeva of the Second Circle falls to a mortal's blade. Today, the cataclysm answers to you. It has never been done before, but that means merely that you will be the first to do it.
Note: There is no guarantee you will Exalt before Larsyifex slaughters you. I'm serious, you will likely have to survive multiple updates if you go this route.
[ ] Write In - You could try to talk to him or something. You could try the traps plan, despite what you know.
There are hidden Greatness and Heartlessness modifiers in this choice as well.
Odyssial headed back to camp. There was work to do.
The sun fell faster than he thought. By the time his trek was finished, it had already begun to dip below the horizon. Blazing with a final, desperate radiance, it emitted streaks of unprecedented hue - the sombre blues, burnt reds, and soft violets of the first twilight. Odyssial spared a moment, squinting his eyes into the glare, to affix the sun's dying moments in his mind. It might well be the last anyone would ever see of it.
He squeezed his eyes shut to dispel the afterimages, blinding white behind his eyelids, as he crested the small bluff that overlooked their encampment. He smelled fire, much of it. That was good. If they had the presence of mind to act quickly, they could still steal away to a complex of caves before light and warmth fled the world.
Then he smelled the blood.
His eyes snapped open, and shock hit him like a freezing torrent. Below lay the ash-strewn ruins of their encampment, still smoldering. Below lay the people of his tribe, twenty-two in all, commingled with the ash and burning wood, resting in pools of their own blood. Below lay their murderer, a spindly-limbed creature whose six swords flashed iridescent in the dying light. He knew that figure - Larsyifex of the Contingent of Valour, a Daeva of the Second Circle. An existence so far above the warriors of his tribe that they may as well have been insects. Odyssial had seen the creature once or twice in the gambling halls of the great markets.
I must find a way, his mind spat out instinctively, and stopped.
There was no way to be found. Not even the daevas could restore a human from death, for man would hardly fear an impermanent demise.
On his arm, Nio's talisman had blackened. A wind stirred, and its petals blew away. Odyssial frowned, mind still reeling. Cold reason forged ahead while the rest of him staggered. When had it blackened? If it was correlated with Nio's... passing, that would give a clue as to the daeva's time of arrival. Any scrap of knowledge could help.
No, he remembered now, thinking as if through a haze. It had blackened gradually from the moment he'd decided to turn back. That had been only an hour ago, hadn't it? But Odyssial knew that talismans of this type rarely reacted to their maker's life or death, instead withering away as the power within was discharged. The lore of his people lived in Odyssial's mind; he was no stranger to mathematics. And it was strange that the sun, whose rate of movement had been so predictable in the hours before, would deviate as he decided to return.
He doubted Nio's talisman could affect the sun. But it could very well affect one man, make him think that three hours had only been one. Delaying the pace of his return to the camp. Keeping him safe from Larsyifex's rampage. Had that been his "good luck?"
Hollowness yawned within him. Why had they trusted him? Why had they looked to him? Why was he alive, when they were all gone?
He, who was supposed to look after them. To protect them. In the end, it was the smallest member of their tribe that had protected him.
He was alive because she had found a way. Not to prevent a loss, for that was too much to ask of this world, but to make the loss not as total. Perhaps that was all any human could ask for, here.
Cleverness. Treachery. Prowess. Will. Without power, none of it sufficed.
He knew that he should run, that he should not throw away the life that Nio had miraculously preserved. He could not make himself do it. It was the wise choice, the advantageous choice. But all this year he'd been incessantly seeking advantage, and for what? To keep them alive. Now, he could no longer protect them.
But he could still avenge them.
All he had to do was slay a Daeva of the Second Circle.
All he had to do, was the impossible.
---
Odyssial's Dossier
Larsyifex, Daeva of the Second Circle.
This six-armed beast towers above any man, its mottled red skin armored by a coating of what appears to be crushed volcanic glass. The armor, if that is what it is, appears to have an extremely low melting point. Smears of it track down its legs, closest to the flames. Odyssial is not terribly familiar with the creature, but he does know that it is the progenitor of the selantis, and that it possess a heightened version of their ability to sense hostile intent. For this and other reasons, Larsyifex is a particularly dangerous foe for Odyssial - this is not an enemy that can be effectively fought by drawing into a prepared killing field of traps. Spontaneous, multi-angled aggression is your best bet.
Larsyifex has a reputation as an indolent gambler, who revels in the hostility of those he cheats, savoring it like a fine vintage. A prideful aesthete, he is unlikely to lower himself by fighting Odyssial seriously, at least not before he's had his measure of fun.
Available equipment -
Cogolem stones - Taken from the corpses of slain cogolem, these pitch black stones shine with an unnatural smoothness. As they approach the ground, they grow heavier. Odyssial is trained in their use for the sling.
Lightning gems - Uncharged, unfortunately.
Bronze sword - Exceptionally sharp.
Brace of poisoned knives - Covered with the toxin of Lethos, but that's unlikely to work on a soul of Lethos.
---
[ ] Turn Aside - It's what Nio would want you to do. To stay and face this enemy is nothing short of death. It is madness even to contemplate: contemplate it too seriously and it'll sense you. A human simply cannot defeat a Daeva of the Second Circle. That is known, and well-known. Do not throw away Nio's gift so callously. As long as you live, there is the hope of vengeance, faint as it might be.
[ ] Destroy Him - Enough. No excuses. No retreat. No mercy. Creation is far too vast for a mortal to have any hope of tracking down a Daeva of the Second, not in the span of a human's years. You will no longer scrimp and cower in the face of senseless cataclysms, even if you must charge in with your death preordained. Today, as the sun falls into nothingness, a Daeva of the Second Circle falls to a mortal's blade. Today, the cataclysm answers to you. It has never been done before, but that means merely that you will be the first to do it.
Note: There is no guarantee you will Exalt before Larsyifex slaughters you. I'm serious, you will likely have to survive multiple updates if you go this route.
[ ] Write In - You could try to talk to him or something. You could try the traps plan, despite what you know.
There are hidden Greatness and Heartlessness modifiers in this choice as well.
Prelude 3
Rihaku
The Internet
The First Sunset, III
The world narrowed into a deadly corridor containing only himself and the object of his vengeance. Odyssial knew that Larsyifex had spawned the selantis, that it could scent martial intent like a bloodhound scented prey. He knew that once he merely considered harming Larsyifex, the daeva would know. This was not an enemy that one could skirmish and retreat from, lure into killing fields or traps. All this Odyssial knew, so he sprang forward, headlong into the attack. Like an arrow loosed from a hunting bow, he could not be turned back.
As he ran, he opened the pouch at his shoulder, loading stones into his sling. These were cogolem gems - feather-light when held over his head, but boulder-heavy as they approached the ground. Oddysial had practiced extensively to accustom himself to their strange arcs of flight. His whirling sling was a kneecapper's dream.
Larsyifex turned as he darted forward, slowly ambling to its feet. His stones caught it once, twice, striking thigh and hip, and the monster staggered back - slightly. It cocked its head with an air of amusement as Odyssial approached. It wove, seemingly without effort, through the hail of his further attacks, and though two more stones struck it - one even in the face - the daeva did not so much as draw its blades.
He launched one of his throwing knives, still smeared with the poison of Lethos, and this thudded half a centimeter into the creature's skin. Almost deferentially, it plucked out the blade and set it on the ground.
"You are the one," it said, "that kept this tribe alive for so long?" As it spoke, the words of the creature became iconographs of burning gold, seared into Odyssial's mind. It did not speak the tongue of men, but he understood it perfectly even so.
It loomed before him now, six arms and eyes like coals, flesh like crusted obsidian, painted with blood. Where the flames had licked at it, its skin was mottled, almost caramelized. Odyssial launched himself forward, lashing out with the whisper-keen bronze of his sword. A slight cut opened on the creature's side. It continued to speak.
"I must commend you on your efforts. That play against the Fair Folk - inspired! We had a betting pool going on, you know, at the market. Very few thought you'd last this long, so my payout will be considerable! But... well, my window is closing, and a daeva makes his own luck, hmm? Everyone knows that the house wins if you leave all of it up to chance!"
Halfway through Larsyifex's monologue, Odyssial had realized its purpose, and had tuned the daeva out, burning iconographs and all. The sheer senselessness of it, the pure monstrous indifference - those, he was used to. The idea that he may have caused this by treating with the daevas, by attracting their attention... He held down the pangs, the despair and mounting fury, and spent his precious moments methodically and efficiently cutting deeper into Larsyifex's wound.
There would be time for hatred later. Hatred of all kinds, if he won.
His time was almost spent. Larsyifex observed him for a moment longer, glancing briefly at the spurt of arterial blood coming from the wound on its own body.
"Disappointing," it finally said, shaking its ponderous head. "I had hoped for a better reaction than that."
Odyssial was already leaping backwards. By a full inch he avoided decapitation. From stillness, Larsyifex had erupted into a typhoon of shining blades. Shards of slicing wind sang past him as Odyssial found cover. He placed the edge of his blade into a nearby firepit, took out his brace of poisoned daggers, and awaited the daeva's approach. It had treated his thrown dagger differently. He considered that for half a moment.
"Mortal? Are you still alive?" Larsyifex emerged from the tempest, slowly twirling its blades, chuckling to itself. It walked, heedless of the dead, snapping limbs and ribs with its immense weight. Why was it pretending that it couldn't sense him by the martial intent he exuded? Despite the cuts it had taken, perhaps it still considered this part of the game.
Moving casually, with feigned caution, it stalked about in a circle, offhandedly crushing the bodies of the slain as it walked among them. It made no effort to respect the dead, instead going out of its way to gleefully trample when it could, perhaps trying to provoke some emotion in him. Odyssial's mind raced, considering and discarding tactics with frantic speed. And then Larsyifex's route caused it to approach Nio's relatively undamaged corpse, her fingers still clutching a half-finished talisman.
---
How does Odyssial respond to Larsyifex's revelation? That if not for Odyssial's involvement with the daevas, the clan may well never have drawn any undue notice?
Note: Odyssial will maintain full tactical awareness and ability regardless of what he is feeling. However, formative moments like these can certainly affect his actions and entire worldview in the millennia to come, assuming he survives.
[ ] Guilt - It is, of course, not necessarily his 'fault' that this happened. If one were to assign blame, it would fall squarely on Larsyifex's inhuman shoulders. But that does not spare Odyssial from the truth that his own actions played a necessary part in the chain of events leading to this outcome. He was the one that decided to consort with daevas, to trade with them, and to thus garner their notice. "The interest of a daeva brings only tragedy" - that is well-known, wisdom that Odyssial regarded, but dismissed as too general. If not for his ambition, his desire to grasp for that which was outside his reach, then his tribe would not have died horribly at the hands of this monster.
It is not his 'fault.' But he could have acted to prevent this outcome. Could have seen the nigh-inevitable conclusion of his dealings with the daevas. And because he could have changed this outcome, he should feel regret that it came to pass. That is only healthy, and correct. [Heartlessness -1. -100,000 XP from Greatness. Odyssial grieves normally for his family and will carefully consider the consequences of dangerous ambitions in the future.]*
*You don't actually lose the XP for spending, it just isn't included in the Greatness calculation.
[ ] Fury - No. He will not play the daeva's outrageous mockery of a game. The blame for these murders lies solely on the murderer, that is simplicity itself. And justice will be had, ten thousand times over for every brother and sister they have taken from this world. First Larsyifex, and then the daeva that spawned him, and then the Titan that spawned them, and then all the Titans who in their arrogance decided to create, and torment their creations. He will root them out with fire and sword. He will bring against them such terror that they will wish themselves never to have been born.
It is not wrong to care. But to those that care nothing for humankind, Odyssial will not extend even the slightest sliver of humanity. Let them suffer the fury of his thousandfold vengeance, and pray he does not ask more. [Heartlessness +1, can be argued down to +0 or up to +2**. No Greatness XP modifier. Odyssial, if he lives, will persecute the Primordial War with terrible effectiveness. However, he will remain emotionally available to some small circle of friends outside of his Lunar Mate.]
**High Heartlessness can be useful in certain situations!
[ ] Coldness - There are worlds where the warmth of emotional attachment is worth the risks of vulnerability. Worlds where weaknesses go unpunished, where the truly innocent can smile without being foolishly naïve. But this is not one of those worlds. He should have known better. To become an existence without weaknesses, one cannot invest too much in others that are weak. That is the nature of reality. And he will accede to its laws (fully exploiting any loopholes), until he becomes powerful enough to make new ones. Before, he thought he understood the system of the world, but pragmatic ruthlessness was merely another ideal to be rid of. It's not "I should find a way." But neither is it "I must."
"I will find a way." Always. [Heartlessness +2. +50% Greatness XP modifier. Odyssial... well, you probably know where this is going]
Also, please choose the style of combat with which Odyssial is most familiar. This will likely impact Ulyssian's post-Exaltation combat style as well, so please choose with that in mind.
[ ] Skirmishing - Mid-range hit and run, making full use of stealth and evasion. Damage is relatively low against a being of Larsyifex's caliber, but your chances of survival are higher. In general, however, it starts off with an extremely high burst of damage before tapering off; weak in prolonged direct engagements, but can make do if circumstances permit the use of stealth.
[ ] Melee - The most balanced and powerful option, especially as one approaches supernatural levels of power; a classic. High damage against Larsyifex, but highly risky as well. However, though it does everything well, it doesn't really have a single aspect in which it excels.
[ ] Unarmed - Striking and grappling arts. For purposes of this fight, we're mostly interested in the latter - Larsyifex's great strength and speed can be overcome by leverage, and his swords can be neutralized by getting inside his guard. However, it's even more outrageously risky than Melee, and your chances aren't good if he turns out to be skilled at grappling as well - he's got eight appendages to your four.
The world narrowed into a deadly corridor containing only himself and the object of his vengeance. Odyssial knew that Larsyifex had spawned the selantis, that it could scent martial intent like a bloodhound scented prey. He knew that once he merely considered harming Larsyifex, the daeva would know. This was not an enemy that one could skirmish and retreat from, lure into killing fields or traps. All this Odyssial knew, so he sprang forward, headlong into the attack. Like an arrow loosed from a hunting bow, he could not be turned back.
As he ran, he opened the pouch at his shoulder, loading stones into his sling. These were cogolem gems - feather-light when held over his head, but boulder-heavy as they approached the ground. Oddysial had practiced extensively to accustom himself to their strange arcs of flight. His whirling sling was a kneecapper's dream.
Larsyifex turned as he darted forward, slowly ambling to its feet. His stones caught it once, twice, striking thigh and hip, and the monster staggered back - slightly. It cocked its head with an air of amusement as Odyssial approached. It wove, seemingly without effort, through the hail of his further attacks, and though two more stones struck it - one even in the face - the daeva did not so much as draw its blades.
He launched one of his throwing knives, still smeared with the poison of Lethos, and this thudded half a centimeter into the creature's skin. Almost deferentially, it plucked out the blade and set it on the ground.
"You are the one," it said, "that kept this tribe alive for so long?" As it spoke, the words of the creature became iconographs of burning gold, seared into Odyssial's mind. It did not speak the tongue of men, but he understood it perfectly even so.
It loomed before him now, six arms and eyes like coals, flesh like crusted obsidian, painted with blood. Where the flames had licked at it, its skin was mottled, almost caramelized. Odyssial launched himself forward, lashing out with the whisper-keen bronze of his sword. A slight cut opened on the creature's side. It continued to speak.
"I must commend you on your efforts. That play against the Fair Folk - inspired! We had a betting pool going on, you know, at the market. Very few thought you'd last this long, so my payout will be considerable! But... well, my window is closing, and a daeva makes his own luck, hmm? Everyone knows that the house wins if you leave all of it up to chance!"
Halfway through Larsyifex's monologue, Odyssial had realized its purpose, and had tuned the daeva out, burning iconographs and all. The sheer senselessness of it, the pure monstrous indifference - those, he was used to. The idea that he may have caused this by treating with the daevas, by attracting their attention... He held down the pangs, the despair and mounting fury, and spent his precious moments methodically and efficiently cutting deeper into Larsyifex's wound.
There would be time for hatred later. Hatred of all kinds, if he won.
His time was almost spent. Larsyifex observed him for a moment longer, glancing briefly at the spurt of arterial blood coming from the wound on its own body.
"Disappointing," it finally said, shaking its ponderous head. "I had hoped for a better reaction than that."
Odyssial was already leaping backwards. By a full inch he avoided decapitation. From stillness, Larsyifex had erupted into a typhoon of shining blades. Shards of slicing wind sang past him as Odyssial found cover. He placed the edge of his blade into a nearby firepit, took out his brace of poisoned daggers, and awaited the daeva's approach. It had treated his thrown dagger differently. He considered that for half a moment.
"Mortal? Are you still alive?" Larsyifex emerged from the tempest, slowly twirling its blades, chuckling to itself. It walked, heedless of the dead, snapping limbs and ribs with its immense weight. Why was it pretending that it couldn't sense him by the martial intent he exuded? Despite the cuts it had taken, perhaps it still considered this part of the game.
Moving casually, with feigned caution, it stalked about in a circle, offhandedly crushing the bodies of the slain as it walked among them. It made no effort to respect the dead, instead going out of its way to gleefully trample when it could, perhaps trying to provoke some emotion in him. Odyssial's mind raced, considering and discarding tactics with frantic speed. And then Larsyifex's route caused it to approach Nio's relatively undamaged corpse, her fingers still clutching a half-finished talisman.
---
How does Odyssial respond to Larsyifex's revelation? That if not for Odyssial's involvement with the daevas, the clan may well never have drawn any undue notice?
Note: Odyssial will maintain full tactical awareness and ability regardless of what he is feeling. However, formative moments like these can certainly affect his actions and entire worldview in the millennia to come, assuming he survives.
[ ] Guilt - It is, of course, not necessarily his 'fault' that this happened. If one were to assign blame, it would fall squarely on Larsyifex's inhuman shoulders. But that does not spare Odyssial from the truth that his own actions played a necessary part in the chain of events leading to this outcome. He was the one that decided to consort with daevas, to trade with them, and to thus garner their notice. "The interest of a daeva brings only tragedy" - that is well-known, wisdom that Odyssial regarded, but dismissed as too general. If not for his ambition, his desire to grasp for that which was outside his reach, then his tribe would not have died horribly at the hands of this monster.
It is not his 'fault.' But he could have acted to prevent this outcome. Could have seen the nigh-inevitable conclusion of his dealings with the daevas. And because he could have changed this outcome, he should feel regret that it came to pass. That is only healthy, and correct. [Heartlessness -1. -100,000 XP from Greatness. Odyssial grieves normally for his family and will carefully consider the consequences of dangerous ambitions in the future.]*
*You don't actually lose the XP for spending, it just isn't included in the Greatness calculation.
[ ] Fury - No. He will not play the daeva's outrageous mockery of a game. The blame for these murders lies solely on the murderer, that is simplicity itself. And justice will be had, ten thousand times over for every brother and sister they have taken from this world. First Larsyifex, and then the daeva that spawned him, and then the Titan that spawned them, and then all the Titans who in their arrogance decided to create, and torment their creations. He will root them out with fire and sword. He will bring against them such terror that they will wish themselves never to have been born.
It is not wrong to care. But to those that care nothing for humankind, Odyssial will not extend even the slightest sliver of humanity. Let them suffer the fury of his thousandfold vengeance, and pray he does not ask more. [Heartlessness +1, can be argued down to +0 or up to +2**. No Greatness XP modifier. Odyssial, if he lives, will persecute the Primordial War with terrible effectiveness. However, he will remain emotionally available to some small circle of friends outside of his Lunar Mate.]
**High Heartlessness can be useful in certain situations!
[ ] Coldness - There are worlds where the warmth of emotional attachment is worth the risks of vulnerability. Worlds where weaknesses go unpunished, where the truly innocent can smile without being foolishly naïve. But this is not one of those worlds. He should have known better. To become an existence without weaknesses, one cannot invest too much in others that are weak. That is the nature of reality. And he will accede to its laws (fully exploiting any loopholes), until he becomes powerful enough to make new ones. Before, he thought he understood the system of the world, but pragmatic ruthlessness was merely another ideal to be rid of. It's not "I should find a way." But neither is it "I must."
"I will find a way." Always. [Heartlessness +2. +50% Greatness XP modifier. Odyssial... well, you probably know where this is going]
Also, please choose the style of combat with which Odyssial is most familiar. This will likely impact Ulyssian's post-Exaltation combat style as well, so please choose with that in mind.
[ ] Skirmishing - Mid-range hit and run, making full use of stealth and evasion. Damage is relatively low against a being of Larsyifex's caliber, but your chances of survival are higher. In general, however, it starts off with an extremely high burst of damage before tapering off; weak in prolonged direct engagements, but can make do if circumstances permit the use of stealth.
[ ] Melee - The most balanced and powerful option, especially as one approaches supernatural levels of power; a classic. High damage against Larsyifex, but highly risky as well. However, though it does everything well, it doesn't really have a single aspect in which it excels.
[ ] Unarmed - Striking and grappling arts. For purposes of this fight, we're mostly interested in the latter - Larsyifex's great strength and speed can be overcome by leverage, and his swords can be neutralized by getting inside his guard. However, it's even more outrageously risky than Melee, and your chances aren't good if he turns out to be skilled at grappling as well - he's got eight appendages to your four.
Prelude 4
Rihaku
The Internet
The First Sunset, End
All of a sudden, Larsyifex turned, an ever-so-slight wariness now in its stance.
Odyssial shot forward, apparently heedless of the monster's guard, blade heading directly towards the wound he'd previously made. Amused, Larsyifex made the obvious counter, a strike to the neck - and hesitated.
All across his neck and down to his shoulder, Odyssial had smeared the poison of his daggers, the poison of Lethos. Larsyifex could not be harmed by the toxin of its progenitor, but it was loathe to act in a way that might even imply offense to the divine nectar of a Titan. For a moment it froze, and Odyssial plunged the full length of his coal-heated blade into the wound at Larsyifex's side. Angled down, so that the cogolem stones he had tied to the edge lent their increasing weight to the already-grievous blow.
Now the daeva howled, in pain and vicious frustration, and thrashed backwards, jerking its torso with such force that Odyssial's sword shook loose of his hands, still embedded in Larsyifex. Good. Loosely tied, the stones were likely already detached from the body of the blade, working deeper into the now-ragged wound, lower to the ground. Blood spilled forth, sizzling luridly on the charcoal mire.
Odyssial himself was already sprinting away, evading the creature's wild retaliatory frenzy, thoughts churning. Everything had gone to plan, except for the end. Larsyifex seemed more irritated than hurt, and his blade - the only weapon that had managed to injure the monster - was gone. He could not outrun the daeva in a straight sprint, not if it was serious, and it had turned deathly serious.
Running away would only lead to death. If he fought without the sword, he would lose. There was nothing for it. Odyssial turned around and sprinted directly at Larsyifex again, hoping that this time the daeva would at least be wary, would be unwilling to call Odyssial's bluff. Unfortunately, Larsyifex had all six blades out, daring him to approach, and it appeared fully committed to cutting him down, divine nectar or no. Luckily it was not thinking straight, or it would have pulled out Odyssial's weapon and thrown it far away. Or perhaps it simply desired that Odyssial approach it, running to his own execution.
It didn't matter. He plotted a course in his mind, the most likely path through its six-sword stance, and gambled. Halfway through his leap, he knew he was finished. With perfect timing, Larsyifex moved to strike, to bisect him in full. But again, the daeva stopped.
It stopped because Nio was stabbing it in the heel, half-finished talisman burning across her neck. A thaumaturgical disguise of false death, strong enough to fool a daeva of the Second?
Odyssial completed his jump, bodily pulling his blade out through the creature's side, hewing through a full chunk of its half-divine flesh. He turned with utmost speed, hope and desperation stirring in his breast, striking with abandon, hoping to pull its attention away from his little sister-
It ignored him.
Even as he carved a great furrow into its back, it twisted around and cut Nio down, sliced through her as if she were dust and air. For a moment, Odyssial dared to hope that it had been another trick, that Nio, who was so clever, had pulled through again-
But she hadn't.
Twice she'd saved him. Despite himself, this time Odyssial could not stop the tears. They tracked down his face even as his expression remained frozen.
"That one hurt, hm?" The monster turned, spiteful satisfaction in its voice. "Finally! You should know your place, mortal. She should have known hers. And now, you die."
I will destroy you, Odyssial vowed silently. I will find a way.
After that, there were no words between them.
From then on it was as if his mind burned with a fire of genius. Larsyifex was hurt, but it was twice as fast as him and twenty times as strong. Its six blades, fae-forged steel, passed through flesh as though it were water. Somehow he stayed one step ahead, anticipating every maneuver, punishing every gambit, threatening the immense wounds at its back and side. Larsyifex was furious, but cautious. Likely it regretted its earlier recklessness, had resolved not to lose any more body parts to a mortal. Odyssial's mind emptied, and his body blurred through forms, faster than thought. He fought like a man with nothing to lose.
But still he was losing. Minutes wore on, and then hours. The sun disappeared for good, all light leeched from the world. All the while, impossibly, they fought. The poison on his neck evaporated into the chill air of this sunless world. His limbs burned with exhaustion, every breath felt like acid fog, but Odyssial continued to fight. That he fought was not enough. Larsyifex and its scything blades wore steadily at him, whittling him down, drawing them both towards the inevitable conclusion, and slowly Odyssial began to run out of tricks.
All the edges of his body now were flensed and bleeding, and there were more close-call nicks to his torso and throat than he dared to count. The world fused into a single red point, and still they fought. Odyssial felt as if they had been fighting for an eternity, that the start of their clash had been the birth of some narrow universe, a realm where only the dance of blades mattered. Something propelled him onwards, something beyond bitterness, beyond even his futile fury at the world of his birth. As if the sun had disappeared only so that it could rise as a star of hatred within his breast.
I will find a way, that had been his promise. A promise of destruction, and he did not break promises. It burned within him, but it was burning up. He felt that if he did not die to the daeva's sword, he would disperse into a mist of blood and blow away, a flame extinguished. The darkness around them even began to lighten, as if the night itself tired of their fray.
Instants or hours later, the daeva's sword sliced the tendons in his left arm, and before Odyssial could compensate, a second ripped through his left leg while a third ran him through. Ten thousand tiny cuts covered his body, his face. He was blind in one eye and all his limbs were numb. This world's twisted game had always been impossible, but they'd had no choice but to play. This was the loss that they had staved off for so long.
It was finished.
Odyssial could not bring himself to accept it. This was the end, but he felt no peace. He had failed his tribe, failed Nio, failed to find a way. He wanted nothing so much as the chance to keep fighting. Despite the protests of his body and mind, his spirit raged unflagging. He would fight ten eternities more, a hundred. He would fight until the uncaring sky shattered before his scream of hate, until all the daevas lay broken on the field, until the very Titans were ripped from their thrones.
He would, but he could not. He could barely even move, and the fourth blade was coming, this one aimed for his head.
The sun returned, a bare glimmer of light. The world saw its first dawn.
Out of nowhere, sudden and total, something collided with him. Something unutterable, faster even than the daeva's steel.
A white thunderbolt of focus struck his brain, racing along the length of his spine, seizing upon his beating heart, radiating out - out from every capillary, out to every synapse, out through every pore. And in the paroxysm of that sublime electrification, he moved, but it was not the twitching throes of a dying man. He moved, and now the skill of his single blade turned aside all of the daeva's six.
A thousand times before, he'd tested the limits of his personal skill to find himself pressed against a cage made of physical law. A human could only move so fast. A human could only perceive so much. Now he pressed, and found no limits at all. It flooded into him, like memories he'd never truly forgotten, all he would have learned if he hadn't been caged.
Now he struck, and it was avenging fury. It was light given sharpness, fire given form. In the space between heartbeats he struck, and Larsyifex died.
Grace. Beyond a man's, beyond even a daeva's. Grace enough to rival the Titans that had built the world.
Grace. Unasked for, undeserved. When he could not find a way, a Way had found him.
O Titans,
Beg not for mercy, for ye shall see none,
Beg not forgiveness, for ye shall find none,
Beg not for quarter, for we shall heed none.
Ye shapers of worlds, ye eaters of men:
Tremble.
Tremble, ye gods of gods, ye kings of kings.
For the hour of reckoning is come,
And the price of your hubris is blood.
-Battle-Hymn of the Odyssians, Records of the Primordial War
---
What is the nature of the Dawn Caste, Odyssial?
[ ] The Field Commander - Swift as sunlight, he lead always from the front. A masterful strategist, ever-inventive, his tactics and thoroughness shocked and bewildered enemies and allies alike. A consummate polymath, he commanded the unwavering and absolute loyalty of his legions despite his cold, furious disposition.
[ ] The Obliterator - Always he fought alone, but there was no Titan or army so mighty that it would not quail before his terrible fury. Silent as a sunbeam, he forged a legend of invincible destruction that echoes still to this day. To face him is the direst folly; to defy him is to beg for death. There was no angle by which he would fail to attack, and often he struck from every angle at once, like a hurricane sprung from sudden mists. Like a sun risen from nothingness, returned to scour a lightless world.
The nature of Odyssial's build does not impact his Heartlessness directly. It will mostly affect his First Age feats and the legacy he leaves behind.
No matter how lonely his path, there was one always willing to give aid, counsel, and comfort to Odyssial. Not because the Sun and Moon had ordained it, but simply because she fit with him, and he with her. To her alone was given the privilege of calling him "Ody," without fear of termination or more terrible fates. And to him alone, she went by Lea.
What was her nature?
[ ] Best Friend - Though they were not romantically attracted to each other, nonetheless no one understood Odyssial better than she. Moderate where he was extreme, her counsel often blunted the too-sharp edge of his policies, and helped him remain in touch with the hunter he had been, so many thousands of years ago. Between them, all hurts could be forgiven, and there were no secrets, nor madness, in the space that they shared.
[ ] Masked Queen - Strong where he was weak, direct where he was circuitous, together they eclipsed even the sun and moon. The thousand-faced seductress stalked the gardens and courtyards of the Titans and the Fair, plying her wiles, pouring poison and honey into their councils of war. Masks beneath masks she hid, and in all the history of Creation her true name was spoken only when they were alone. A love made strong by weakness: the weakness of her true face, and the weakness of his kindness.
[ ] Mortal Foe - Adversity propels growth only for the insufficiently motivated; otherwise, it is an unproductive distraction. That was what he believed, before he met her. Their love was devastation, the shattering of nations, for no mortal force could stand in its wake. A love true and pure, a star of paradox, for those two spirits could in no way cooperate otherwise. His equal in power, his utter nemesis in purpose, nature, and name.
Remember, all options only describe Lealope, in a general manner, as she was during the First Age. Your Heartlessness and Greatness scores, as well as the passage of time, will all affect her development in the Second. Additionally, please remember that Lea's relationship with Odyssial, depending on context, may complicate (or severely complicate) matters with Moon, or other love interests that Ulyssian may encounter. Of course, if Lea is your preferred love interest, that is an advantageous feature.
Additionally, since the Prelude will end next update and I'd like you to have a shot at Greatness 10, for the next two days there will be a 50% bonus on fanwork XP.
All of a sudden, Larsyifex turned, an ever-so-slight wariness now in its stance.
Odyssial shot forward, apparently heedless of the monster's guard, blade heading directly towards the wound he'd previously made. Amused, Larsyifex made the obvious counter, a strike to the neck - and hesitated.
All across his neck and down to his shoulder, Odyssial had smeared the poison of his daggers, the poison of Lethos. Larsyifex could not be harmed by the toxin of its progenitor, but it was loathe to act in a way that might even imply offense to the divine nectar of a Titan. For a moment it froze, and Odyssial plunged the full length of his coal-heated blade into the wound at Larsyifex's side. Angled down, so that the cogolem stones he had tied to the edge lent their increasing weight to the already-grievous blow.
Now the daeva howled, in pain and vicious frustration, and thrashed backwards, jerking its torso with such force that Odyssial's sword shook loose of his hands, still embedded in Larsyifex. Good. Loosely tied, the stones were likely already detached from the body of the blade, working deeper into the now-ragged wound, lower to the ground. Blood spilled forth, sizzling luridly on the charcoal mire.
Odyssial himself was already sprinting away, evading the creature's wild retaliatory frenzy, thoughts churning. Everything had gone to plan, except for the end. Larsyifex seemed more irritated than hurt, and his blade - the only weapon that had managed to injure the monster - was gone. He could not outrun the daeva in a straight sprint, not if it was serious, and it had turned deathly serious.
Running away would only lead to death. If he fought without the sword, he would lose. There was nothing for it. Odyssial turned around and sprinted directly at Larsyifex again, hoping that this time the daeva would at least be wary, would be unwilling to call Odyssial's bluff. Unfortunately, Larsyifex had all six blades out, daring him to approach, and it appeared fully committed to cutting him down, divine nectar or no. Luckily it was not thinking straight, or it would have pulled out Odyssial's weapon and thrown it far away. Or perhaps it simply desired that Odyssial approach it, running to his own execution.
It didn't matter. He plotted a course in his mind, the most likely path through its six-sword stance, and gambled. Halfway through his leap, he knew he was finished. With perfect timing, Larsyifex moved to strike, to bisect him in full. But again, the daeva stopped.
It stopped because Nio was stabbing it in the heel, half-finished talisman burning across her neck. A thaumaturgical disguise of false death, strong enough to fool a daeva of the Second?
Odyssial completed his jump, bodily pulling his blade out through the creature's side, hewing through a full chunk of its half-divine flesh. He turned with utmost speed, hope and desperation stirring in his breast, striking with abandon, hoping to pull its attention away from his little sister-
It ignored him.
Even as he carved a great furrow into its back, it twisted around and cut Nio down, sliced through her as if she were dust and air. For a moment, Odyssial dared to hope that it had been another trick, that Nio, who was so clever, had pulled through again-
But she hadn't.
Twice she'd saved him. Despite himself, this time Odyssial could not stop the tears. They tracked down his face even as his expression remained frozen.
"That one hurt, hm?" The monster turned, spiteful satisfaction in its voice. "Finally! You should know your place, mortal. She should have known hers. And now, you die."
I will destroy you, Odyssial vowed silently. I will find a way.
After that, there were no words between them.
From then on it was as if his mind burned with a fire of genius. Larsyifex was hurt, but it was twice as fast as him and twenty times as strong. Its six blades, fae-forged steel, passed through flesh as though it were water. Somehow he stayed one step ahead, anticipating every maneuver, punishing every gambit, threatening the immense wounds at its back and side. Larsyifex was furious, but cautious. Likely it regretted its earlier recklessness, had resolved not to lose any more body parts to a mortal. Odyssial's mind emptied, and his body blurred through forms, faster than thought. He fought like a man with nothing to lose.
But still he was losing. Minutes wore on, and then hours. The sun disappeared for good, all light leeched from the world. All the while, impossibly, they fought. The poison on his neck evaporated into the chill air of this sunless world. His limbs burned with exhaustion, every breath felt like acid fog, but Odyssial continued to fight. That he fought was not enough. Larsyifex and its scything blades wore steadily at him, whittling him down, drawing them both towards the inevitable conclusion, and slowly Odyssial began to run out of tricks.
All the edges of his body now were flensed and bleeding, and there were more close-call nicks to his torso and throat than he dared to count. The world fused into a single red point, and still they fought. Odyssial felt as if they had been fighting for an eternity, that the start of their clash had been the birth of some narrow universe, a realm where only the dance of blades mattered. Something propelled him onwards, something beyond bitterness, beyond even his futile fury at the world of his birth. As if the sun had disappeared only so that it could rise as a star of hatred within his breast.
I will find a way, that had been his promise. A promise of destruction, and he did not break promises. It burned within him, but it was burning up. He felt that if he did not die to the daeva's sword, he would disperse into a mist of blood and blow away, a flame extinguished. The darkness around them even began to lighten, as if the night itself tired of their fray.
Instants or hours later, the daeva's sword sliced the tendons in his left arm, and before Odyssial could compensate, a second ripped through his left leg while a third ran him through. Ten thousand tiny cuts covered his body, his face. He was blind in one eye and all his limbs were numb. This world's twisted game had always been impossible, but they'd had no choice but to play. This was the loss that they had staved off for so long.
It was finished.
Odyssial could not bring himself to accept it. This was the end, but he felt no peace. He had failed his tribe, failed Nio, failed to find a way. He wanted nothing so much as the chance to keep fighting. Despite the protests of his body and mind, his spirit raged unflagging. He would fight ten eternities more, a hundred. He would fight until the uncaring sky shattered before his scream of hate, until all the daevas lay broken on the field, until the very Titans were ripped from their thrones.
He would, but he could not. He could barely even move, and the fourth blade was coming, this one aimed for his head.
The sun returned, a bare glimmer of light. The world saw its first dawn.
Out of nowhere, sudden and total, something collided with him. Something unutterable, faster even than the daeva's steel.
A white thunderbolt of focus struck his brain, racing along the length of his spine, seizing upon his beating heart, radiating out - out from every capillary, out to every synapse, out through every pore. And in the paroxysm of that sublime electrification, he moved, but it was not the twitching throes of a dying man. He moved, and now the skill of his single blade turned aside all of the daeva's six.
A thousand times before, he'd tested the limits of his personal skill to find himself pressed against a cage made of physical law. A human could only move so fast. A human could only perceive so much. Now he pressed, and found no limits at all. It flooded into him, like memories he'd never truly forgotten, all he would have learned if he hadn't been caged.
Now he struck, and it was avenging fury. It was light given sharpness, fire given form. In the space between heartbeats he struck, and Larsyifex died.
Grace. Beyond a man's, beyond even a daeva's. Grace enough to rival the Titans that had built the world.
Grace. Unasked for, undeserved. When he could not find a way, a Way had found him.
O Titans,
Beg not for mercy, for ye shall see none,
Beg not forgiveness, for ye shall find none,
Beg not for quarter, for we shall heed none.
Ye shapers of worlds, ye eaters of men:
Tremble.
Tremble, ye gods of gods, ye kings of kings.
For the hour of reckoning is come,
And the price of your hubris is blood.
-Battle-Hymn of the Odyssians, Records of the Primordial War
---
What is the nature of the Dawn Caste, Odyssial?
[ ] The Field Commander - Swift as sunlight, he lead always from the front. A masterful strategist, ever-inventive, his tactics and thoroughness shocked and bewildered enemies and allies alike. A consummate polymath, he commanded the unwavering and absolute loyalty of his legions despite his cold, furious disposition.
[ ] The Obliterator - Always he fought alone, but there was no Titan or army so mighty that it would not quail before his terrible fury. Silent as a sunbeam, he forged a legend of invincible destruction that echoes still to this day. To face him is the direst folly; to defy him is to beg for death. There was no angle by which he would fail to attack, and often he struck from every angle at once, like a hurricane sprung from sudden mists. Like a sun risen from nothingness, returned to scour a lightless world.
The nature of Odyssial's build does not impact his Heartlessness directly. It will mostly affect his First Age feats and the legacy he leaves behind.
No matter how lonely his path, there was one always willing to give aid, counsel, and comfort to Odyssial. Not because the Sun and Moon had ordained it, but simply because she fit with him, and he with her. To her alone was given the privilege of calling him "Ody," without fear of termination or more terrible fates. And to him alone, she went by Lea.
What was her nature?
[ ] Best Friend - Though they were not romantically attracted to each other, nonetheless no one understood Odyssial better than she. Moderate where he was extreme, her counsel often blunted the too-sharp edge of his policies, and helped him remain in touch with the hunter he had been, so many thousands of years ago. Between them, all hurts could be forgiven, and there were no secrets, nor madness, in the space that they shared.
[ ] Masked Queen - Strong where he was weak, direct where he was circuitous, together they eclipsed even the sun and moon. The thousand-faced seductress stalked the gardens and courtyards of the Titans and the Fair, plying her wiles, pouring poison and honey into their councils of war. Masks beneath masks she hid, and in all the history of Creation her true name was spoken only when they were alone. A love made strong by weakness: the weakness of her true face, and the weakness of his kindness.
[ ] Mortal Foe - Adversity propels growth only for the insufficiently motivated; otherwise, it is an unproductive distraction. That was what he believed, before he met her. Their love was devastation, the shattering of nations, for no mortal force could stand in its wake. A love true and pure, a star of paradox, for those two spirits could in no way cooperate otherwise. His equal in power, his utter nemesis in purpose, nature, and name.
Remember, all options only describe Lealope, in a general manner, as she was during the First Age. Your Heartlessness and Greatness scores, as well as the passage of time, will all affect her development in the Second. Additionally, please remember that Lea's relationship with Odyssial, depending on context, may complicate (or severely complicate) matters with Moon, or other love interests that Ulyssian may encounter. Of course, if Lea is your preferred love interest, that is an advantageous feature.
Additionally, since the Prelude will end next update and I'd like you to have a shot at Greatness 10, for the next two days there will be a 50% bonus on fanwork XP.
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The Wars of Glory
Rihaku
The Internet
The Wars of Glory
The general stood silently on the fields of dust and blood. Below raged the battle; their foes had fallen upon them with frantic and furious savagery, and the pernicious din of steel and bone wafted up to him from the valley. He surveyed no maps and had no attendants, but the general understood perfectly the circumstances of this battle.
Vibrations reached him from the ground, through the deeply worn soles of his boots, and with that he knew the exact facing and disposition of each and every soldier in the fight, against him or for. Pressed on the defense, his forces fell back, yielding few casualties, but much ground. It was the first time they'd fought without him at the front. The wind whispered, a hissing sibilance, the susurration of countless grains of sand, tumbling and abrading against each other. He could hear the single grains, in all their numberless magnitudes: where each had come from, their patterns and velocities, which siblings they would strike, and where the wind would deposit them.
Lea had told him he needed better listening skills, and so he had resolved to improve his hearing.
This was the result. It was distracting, mildly.
The enemy, scenting weakness, poured into the valley, the cul-de-sac formed by mountains with only one aperture. Cornered, his army seemed to compress, men folding themselves away behind blessing-gilded plate and sheets of sigil-steel. An indestructible redoubt, they repelled the charging foe, leaving the ground slick with blood grey and blue. The sands devoured it all, and the enemy continued to come. Growing denser, packed until all the massive breadth of the valley was swarming with their ranks, their battle-standards of hide and glowing blood serried thick as spears in a phalanx, reaching back, back, to the very mouth of the valley.
Daevas and godlings and stranger things. It was curious, Odyssial mused, how like men they sometimes were. Offer them an opportunity for glory, present the weakened flank of an as-yet undefeated foe, and all reason fled them. Perhaps they were still young to wars like this, to battles fought with true desperation, to stakes as high as extermination. To wars against foes and forces that seemed incomprehensible to them.
Nineteen, he counted, daevas of the Second. Three, he counted, daevas of the Third. That was all the officers, the full General Staff of Markosial's War aspect. Their command: a horde, ravenous but disciplined, enemies beyond number.
But not beyond end.
Odyssial stepped off the edge of the cliff. Like thunder he fell, blocking off the valley's single entrance, its single exit. His blade was a tempest, a matte blur of grey, and he passed through the lesser daevas like a pike skimming water. Like water, they yielded no resistance, a mirage dispelled without even the formality of thought.
Before the First Circles registered his arrival, he'd struck down seven of the Second. The icon of the sun burned golden against his brow. His blade was an eightfold immortal bulwark against which even Titan's strength would break. Trapped, the enemy could only die. Some begged for mercy, remembering the fate of Lethos, who had once been a rainbow and a flower, and now was only a river. No tale would escape of their fates.
And that was Wednesday, the third of Descending Fire, in the seventh year of the Primordial War, the one hundred and seventy-second victory. How many hundreds more, wondered the general, before his work was done?
It mattered not. What vengeance he could get, he would take, and it would have to be enough.
---
They had glaives made of thunder, sinews made of stone. Lashes of lava that could flagellate a mountain-range, sear devastation across nations at whim. They had hordes full of screamers, stoic nether-saints, thousand-headed giants with teeth like calcite crags, fists like falling stars. They had a wind full of swords, serpents spun from nectar, horsemen forged from nightmare and gleam. They had world-leveling thunder, sky-puncturing fangs, the Apocalypse fury of their proud and immutable King.
But he had cunning, courage, a heart full of a hatred and a strong sword arm. And there were seven hundred of him.
They fell, and the Age of Glory passed into dreams.
Hours of Reign: The Sword
Heartless Might: For each point of Heartlessness willingly accepted, you may pick one additional option, but no more than two options per epoch. You do not receive foreknowledge of the eras to follow, and you cannot use this power once voting for an epoch is closed. Maximum Heartlessness is 11. It is not advised to raise Heartlessness above 10. Seriously. You don't have to use this ability.
How did Odyssial distinguish himself in the Primordial War and its aftermath?
[ ] Lord Strategos - The thoroughness and genius of his tactics, culminating in the episode of the Odyssian Horse, led to Odyssial's ordination as the Lord Strategos of the Exalted Host, the highest of High Command. His dictates would shape the very nature of the Primordial War, and by its end the Titans indeed began to wish that they had never heard the name Odyssial.
*As the foremost military commander of the Host, Odyssial's political power and prestige are greatly augmented.
*Unlocks certain options in later epochs.
*For each point of Heartless Might, raise the total Greatness XP multiplier by 20% linearly.
+ / - If Odyssial has too many titles, he may be seen as too powerful. This will attract enemies, and their inevitable destruction will further solidify Odyssial's terrifying reputation. However, dealing with them will obstruct the progress of actual work.
[ ] Protector of the West - As one of the most formidable of the Host, Odyssial was granted the mandate of a Directional Protectorate. With authority to monitor, investigate, and defend an entire Direction of Creation, his rightly paranoid self was able to install countless caches of arms, equipment, and loyalist cells throughout the archipelagos and beyond.
*Grants the legendary Black Ship, Ithacaral (Artifact 5). It is silent as a gliding shadow and four times as swift, as unsinkable as a moonlight image floating on water's surface.
*Greater spread and permanence of Odyssian legend.
*Western Stray Eggs have a chance of hailing from a tribe descended from an Odyssian loyalist cell.
---
As the civil wars of the Exalted raged, Odyssial slew countless of his peers. From the crucible of this thousand-span cataclysm, peace began to rise again, like a mist fearful of the morning light.
[ ] The Conquering King - Acquiring much territory in the countless conflicts of this Era, Odyssial learned how to conquer and rule. In the millennia to follow, his peoples would want for little, and never suffer the deprivations of a triumphant aggressor, not even as a part of Odyssial's schemes.
*Fourfold expansion of Odyssial's personal kingdom.
*Superb infrastructure and civil traditions, along with extremely capable rulership and empirically validated policies, created an abiding loyalty in his populace. [+100,00 XP towards Greatness]
*Reduces effective Heartlessness rating for certain purposes of rulership.
[ ] The Rose Blossoms - Though he spent much of his time pursuing self-improvement, Odyssial spent much time as well with his closest companion from the Primordial War. Together, they suffered many tribulations, went on many adventures, and shared many joys. In the blackness of his hatred for the world and its makers, she comforted and supported him without judgement. When she danced in the maelstrom of masks, when she lost all memory of her own heart, he was there to remind her of the true shape of her face, which to him was always its most beautiful.
*Improves relationship with Lealope.
*Lealope is more likely to be affectionate during the Second Age.
*Halves effective Heartlessness rating when dealing with Lealope.
+/- Reduced effective Heartlessness is sometimes a benefit, sometimes a drawback, when dealing with one of the Exalted. Even one so close as one's Lunar mate.
[ ] The Sword of Endings - Sepulchral Pearlescence was a spry, slight Chosen of Endings, violet of eye and black of hair, with a crooked (and knowing) grin ever present on her face. Her delicate alabaster fingers, unblemished by even a single day's hard work, were threaded through with prayer strips to the Haywain and the Sword. In her right hand she held mourning, and in her left hand she held death. She began following Odyssial in the Primordial War, to manage and observe the effects that his storm of endings sent through Fate. Later, that was made her permanent assignation, after it was determined that this was cheaper than setting up a separate sub-Bureau to handle endings of which Odyssial was the cause.
*Gain a powerful ally, Sepulchral Pearlescence.
*On their many adventures together, Odyssial and Pearl accumulate a staggering quantity of Artifact ingredients. They are all of them used to forge a sword whose legend will echo down the centuries, a sword formed from the severing of ten thousand legends.
*The Unfinished Blade is Artifact 4. Options in further epochs may increase its Artifact rating.
*If this option is not chosen, she may still be assigned to Odyssial, but may not like him or the immense amount of work he generates for the Bureau of Destiny.
The general stood silently on the fields of dust and blood. Below raged the battle; their foes had fallen upon them with frantic and furious savagery, and the pernicious din of steel and bone wafted up to him from the valley. He surveyed no maps and had no attendants, but the general understood perfectly the circumstances of this battle.
Vibrations reached him from the ground, through the deeply worn soles of his boots, and with that he knew the exact facing and disposition of each and every soldier in the fight, against him or for. Pressed on the defense, his forces fell back, yielding few casualties, but much ground. It was the first time they'd fought without him at the front. The wind whispered, a hissing sibilance, the susurration of countless grains of sand, tumbling and abrading against each other. He could hear the single grains, in all their numberless magnitudes: where each had come from, their patterns and velocities, which siblings they would strike, and where the wind would deposit them.
Lea had told him he needed better listening skills, and so he had resolved to improve his hearing.
This was the result. It was distracting, mildly.
The enemy, scenting weakness, poured into the valley, the cul-de-sac formed by mountains with only one aperture. Cornered, his army seemed to compress, men folding themselves away behind blessing-gilded plate and sheets of sigil-steel. An indestructible redoubt, they repelled the charging foe, leaving the ground slick with blood grey and blue. The sands devoured it all, and the enemy continued to come. Growing denser, packed until all the massive breadth of the valley was swarming with their ranks, their battle-standards of hide and glowing blood serried thick as spears in a phalanx, reaching back, back, to the very mouth of the valley.
Daevas and godlings and stranger things. It was curious, Odyssial mused, how like men they sometimes were. Offer them an opportunity for glory, present the weakened flank of an as-yet undefeated foe, and all reason fled them. Perhaps they were still young to wars like this, to battles fought with true desperation, to stakes as high as extermination. To wars against foes and forces that seemed incomprehensible to them.
Nineteen, he counted, daevas of the Second. Three, he counted, daevas of the Third. That was all the officers, the full General Staff of Markosial's War aspect. Their command: a horde, ravenous but disciplined, enemies beyond number.
But not beyond end.
Odyssial stepped off the edge of the cliff. Like thunder he fell, blocking off the valley's single entrance, its single exit. His blade was a tempest, a matte blur of grey, and he passed through the lesser daevas like a pike skimming water. Like water, they yielded no resistance, a mirage dispelled without even the formality of thought.
Before the First Circles registered his arrival, he'd struck down seven of the Second. The icon of the sun burned golden against his brow. His blade was an eightfold immortal bulwark against which even Titan's strength would break. Trapped, the enemy could only die. Some begged for mercy, remembering the fate of Lethos, who had once been a rainbow and a flower, and now was only a river. No tale would escape of their fates.
And that was Wednesday, the third of Descending Fire, in the seventh year of the Primordial War, the one hundred and seventy-second victory. How many hundreds more, wondered the general, before his work was done?
It mattered not. What vengeance he could get, he would take, and it would have to be enough.
---
They had glaives made of thunder, sinews made of stone. Lashes of lava that could flagellate a mountain-range, sear devastation across nations at whim. They had hordes full of screamers, stoic nether-saints, thousand-headed giants with teeth like calcite crags, fists like falling stars. They had a wind full of swords, serpents spun from nectar, horsemen forged from nightmare and gleam. They had world-leveling thunder, sky-puncturing fangs, the Apocalypse fury of their proud and immutable King.
But he had cunning, courage, a heart full of a hatred and a strong sword arm. And there were seven hundred of him.
They fell, and the Age of Glory passed into dreams.
Hours of Reign: The Sword
Heartless Might: For each point of Heartlessness willingly accepted, you may pick one additional option, but no more than two options per epoch. You do not receive foreknowledge of the eras to follow, and you cannot use this power once voting for an epoch is closed. Maximum Heartlessness is 11. It is not advised to raise Heartlessness above 10. Seriously. You don't have to use this ability.
How did Odyssial distinguish himself in the Primordial War and its aftermath?
[ ] Lord Strategos - The thoroughness and genius of his tactics, culminating in the episode of the Odyssian Horse, led to Odyssial's ordination as the Lord Strategos of the Exalted Host, the highest of High Command. His dictates would shape the very nature of the Primordial War, and by its end the Titans indeed began to wish that they had never heard the name Odyssial.
*As the foremost military commander of the Host, Odyssial's political power and prestige are greatly augmented.
*Unlocks certain options in later epochs.
*For each point of Heartless Might, raise the total Greatness XP multiplier by 20% linearly.
+ / - If Odyssial has too many titles, he may be seen as too powerful. This will attract enemies, and their inevitable destruction will further solidify Odyssial's terrifying reputation. However, dealing with them will obstruct the progress of actual work.
[ ] Protector of the West - As one of the most formidable of the Host, Odyssial was granted the mandate of a Directional Protectorate. With authority to monitor, investigate, and defend an entire Direction of Creation, his rightly paranoid self was able to install countless caches of arms, equipment, and loyalist cells throughout the archipelagos and beyond.
*Grants the legendary Black Ship, Ithacaral (Artifact 5). It is silent as a gliding shadow and four times as swift, as unsinkable as a moonlight image floating on water's surface.
*Greater spread and permanence of Odyssian legend.
*Western Stray Eggs have a chance of hailing from a tribe descended from an Odyssian loyalist cell.
---
As the civil wars of the Exalted raged, Odyssial slew countless of his peers. From the crucible of this thousand-span cataclysm, peace began to rise again, like a mist fearful of the morning light.
[ ] The Conquering King - Acquiring much territory in the countless conflicts of this Era, Odyssial learned how to conquer and rule. In the millennia to follow, his peoples would want for little, and never suffer the deprivations of a triumphant aggressor, not even as a part of Odyssial's schemes.
*Fourfold expansion of Odyssial's personal kingdom.
*Superb infrastructure and civil traditions, along with extremely capable rulership and empirically validated policies, created an abiding loyalty in his populace. [+100,00 XP towards Greatness]
*Reduces effective Heartlessness rating for certain purposes of rulership.
[ ] The Rose Blossoms - Though he spent much of his time pursuing self-improvement, Odyssial spent much time as well with his closest companion from the Primordial War. Together, they suffered many tribulations, went on many adventures, and shared many joys. In the blackness of his hatred for the world and its makers, she comforted and supported him without judgement. When she danced in the maelstrom of masks, when she lost all memory of her own heart, he was there to remind her of the true shape of her face, which to him was always its most beautiful.
*Improves relationship with Lealope.
*Lealope is more likely to be affectionate during the Second Age.
*Halves effective Heartlessness rating when dealing with Lealope.
+/- Reduced effective Heartlessness is sometimes a benefit, sometimes a drawback, when dealing with one of the Exalted. Even one so close as one's Lunar mate.
[ ] The Sword of Endings - Sepulchral Pearlescence was a spry, slight Chosen of Endings, violet of eye and black of hair, with a crooked (and knowing) grin ever present on her face. Her delicate alabaster fingers, unblemished by even a single day's hard work, were threaded through with prayer strips to the Haywain and the Sword. In her right hand she held mourning, and in her left hand she held death. She began following Odyssial in the Primordial War, to manage and observe the effects that his storm of endings sent through Fate. Later, that was made her permanent assignation, after it was determined that this was cheaper than setting up a separate sub-Bureau to handle endings of which Odyssial was the cause.
*Gain a powerful ally, Sepulchral Pearlescence.
*On their many adventures together, Odyssial and Pearl accumulate a staggering quantity of Artifact ingredients. They are all of them used to forge a sword whose legend will echo down the centuries, a sword formed from the severing of ten thousand legends.
*The Unfinished Blade is Artifact 4. Options in further epochs may increase its Artifact rating.
*If this option is not chosen, she may still be assigned to Odyssial, but may not like him or the immense amount of work he generates for the Bureau of Destiny.
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Vote Update, The Wars of Glory
Rihaku
The Internet
Okay, there is currently such a variety of combinations that it's difficult to isolate factions for judging, and, as most people picked their options in manner that is context-sensitive to their other options, I can't simply take the most popular ones. Therefore, after reviewing the arguments and general disposition of the thread, I have come up with two combination choices. Three options is the overwhelming standard, so both choices will contain three options. Both options maximize internal synergy given the number of options available and the limit of two options per epoch.
[ ] The Wanderer - Lord Strategos, The Rose Blossoms, Sword of Endings
This option focuses on companionship and conflict on the personal scale: an adventuring party that focuses on Odyssial's spectacular prowess at killing things, setting out to solve the problems that this prowess makes them uniquely suited for. The Lord Strategos Title gives massive personal power due to its Heartless Might synergy, and because it involves less actual work than the Protector of the West, Odyssial has much more time to adventure and develop his relationships with Lea and Pearl. Of course, by adventure, we refer to the countless Titanic-scale (or nearly-so) threats still remaining in the wake of the Primordial's Surrender; though this episode focuses on specific persons, the threats they encounter well could imperil all Creation.
[ ] The Imperator - Protector of the West, Conquering King, Sword of Endings
This option focuses on conflict of a national scale: the struggle to create a perfect utopia in this imperfect world. By harnessing the force of his superlative determination, Odyssial sets about to bend the course of the world to his will, at the cost of somewhat neglecting (relatively speaking...) his personal concentration of power. Burdened as he is with the duties of rulership, and far from the courts of the Blessed Isle, he and Lea do not have much time for intimate connection. However, he does often consult Pearlescence, his Sidereal Adviser, and her nation-spanning Astrologies are well-suited to fruitful management.
Pearl gets to be in both options because she got a lot more votes than Lea. Poor Lea...
[ ] The Wanderer - Lord Strategos, The Rose Blossoms, Sword of Endings
This option focuses on companionship and conflict on the personal scale: an adventuring party that focuses on Odyssial's spectacular prowess at killing things, setting out to solve the problems that this prowess makes them uniquely suited for. The Lord Strategos Title gives massive personal power due to its Heartless Might synergy, and because it involves less actual work than the Protector of the West, Odyssial has much more time to adventure and develop his relationships with Lea and Pearl. Of course, by adventure, we refer to the countless Titanic-scale (or nearly-so) threats still remaining in the wake of the Primordial's Surrender; though this episode focuses on specific persons, the threats they encounter well could imperil all Creation.
[ ] The Imperator - Protector of the West, Conquering King, Sword of Endings
This option focuses on conflict of a national scale: the struggle to create a perfect utopia in this imperfect world. By harnessing the force of his superlative determination, Odyssial sets about to bend the course of the world to his will, at the cost of somewhat neglecting (relatively speaking...) his personal concentration of power. Burdened as he is with the duties of rulership, and far from the courts of the Blessed Isle, he and Lea do not have much time for intimate connection. However, he does often consult Pearlescence, his Sidereal Adviser, and her nation-spanning Astrologies are well-suited to fruitful management.
Pearl gets to be in both options because she got a lot more votes than Lea. Poor Lea...
The Long Peace
Rihaku
The Internet
The Long Peace
Years ago, in an Age of Glory:
"Why are you spying on me?" He was still new to his power, but his eyes were sharp.
The pale mouse shifted, outline briefly glowing silver, as it became a woman. She was incredibly striking, in the flower of her youth, but her hair was pale as moonlight. Not her true form, he noted absently. He was unsure how he knew that, and that made him suspicious.
"I've been trying to copy you," she said liltingly, without preamble, walking a playful circle around him. Unafraid, despite his reputation. She was clearly harmless, at least to him or his troops. Lunars were strange, he knew that well enough.
Question answered, he grunted in recognition and returned to his maps. In two days' time would be his first sally against Isidoros. Four of that Titan's souls he'd assassinated, ensuring four very premature re-assignments, and now fourteen such souls watched their backs, each believing that the others conspired with forces unknown. They believed, amusingly, that things couldn't get much worse for them. Once he implemented today's plans, they would learn that things could always get worse...
Only afterwards would he strike.
"You're not afraid?" Her face poked out in front of his, a grin tinged with a hint of malice. He could see a sprinkling of freckles, very light. Their eyes met. He felt a sudden frisson, raw lightning that almost reminded him of Exaltation, but hardened himself against impulses.
"There's nothing to fear," he said, continuing to write even as he stared her down unflinchingly. He'd memorized the map image; it was there only for convenience. "One could more justifiably ask the same of you."
"You are a strange one," she mused, raising a finger to her lips. Her face remained where it was, intimately close to his. He could see her pupils slowly dilating. Her eyes changed color with an almost hypnotic cadence, emerald into cerulean like wave striking shore. Scarce had that shift finished before another one started, this time to pale blue, like the sky lightening in winter. "Aren't you concerned that your security didn't stop me?"
"They're instructed not to stop infiltrators of a certain caliber," he remarked, still writing. "The guards are there to save me time, not to get themselves killed."
He paused. "They've clearly misjudged your capacity, however. I shall reprimand them. Next time, you'll be dragged out of my camp before you've taken two steps in."
"Hah!" She straightened up, and turned to lean on his chair. "I'm curious. Everyone I've met, I've been able to copy, thoughts and mind and shape, just by seeing the glint in their eyes. But it seems not to work on you..."
That was good to know. It was a trait he'd developed, a countermeasure against the Dragon's Shadow. He'd never faced the Dragon's Shadow on the battlefield, but against an enemy like that, it paid to be prepared.
Blurring movement. His arm, down and to the side, as he collected his papers and moved them away. Her legs, up and around, as she slid onto his desk. She glanced down at him from her vantage point, the grin still playing across her face, as if threatening at any moment to burst into full-throated laughter.
"Maybe you can help me," she said. "I've got a bit of a problem, you see."
"I do see that," he replied levelly.
"I've always been very good at acting and disguises," she began, "but recently, I've begun to reach the limits of my ability. One day, I decided to return to my true self, but I found that I didn't remember what I looked like! I searched further, and found that I didn't remember who I was."
"So the way you're acting now," Odyssial asked, "that's an affectation?"
She shook her head. "No, this is how I really am, right now."
"A shame," he cut in briefly.
The Lunar pouted. "Whatever I change into, that's how I really am. Any preference, any life or dislike, any dream or seeming or quirk of personality - I can call it into being as truly part of me, or just as easily wipe it away."
And as she said that, all trace of tone and affect fell away from her voice, and her face went slack of emotion: her eyes moonsilver voids, undisturbed and utter.
"I do not think I lost my true self," she enunciated neutrally. "I was very small when I learned to imitate, so whatever 'me' there was, behind the mask, simply never developed. I have no true self. I have no true form. I have no spirit totem. I do not exist."
Odyssial frowned. "This capability of yours, is it unique to your anima? Do you think you could teach me?"
"Teach you?" The Lunar repeated. "It is unique, I believe. Why?"
"It's a tremendous opportunity," Odyssial mused. "Rather than being a slave to impulses generated by circumstance, you can simply choose the personality and preferences that are optimal for growing your own strength and defeating the Primordials. There would be no struggle with self-discipline, no doubt. Every part of you would be aligned in perfect unity towards the pursuit of your goal."
Slowly, the Lunar tilted her head to one side. "Everyone else said I should just try to discover life organically. Your way is obviously better, how strange. But if I simply decide what traits I want to have, how would it be genuine?"
She thought his way was obviously better? Usually only he thought that. And Autochthon, sometimes.
"Every self that you create is genuine. That is not an issue. The problem is you erase all your old traits whenever you adopt a new identity, or return to your resting state as you are now. You can erase your personality, but not your abilities or memories. You acquired this ability after Exaltation as a result of superhuman skill, correct?"
"Talent," she said tonelessly, "but yes. It is a capability I developed."
"Talent." He repeated. Was that how the Lunars operated? "Regardless, if you developed the ability to assign yourself arbitrary traits, you might also be able to develop an ability to mark some of those traits as true, and inviolate, at least against your own powers. If you limited that ability to one finite configuration of traits, that would be as true a self as anyone else possesses."
She considered for a moment, face blank. Among the Exalted, it was a long moment indeed.
"You're right," she finally said, and there was something in her voice that had not been there before. "I just developed that power. I think I like you, Odyssial."
He was not surprised that she knew his name, but that was the least of his troubles at this moment, given what she'd just said. "You can't like me," he interjected, "you don't have likes or dislikes."
"I just gave myself one, on a whim. And then I marked it as true, and inviolate." She giggled, and it sounded more than a little like the person she had been when she'd snuck in. "I just added three more."
"You shouldn't add permanent traits recklessly," he cautioned, but he already knew it was futile. He could see where this was going, and it was not good. Was there time to find a way? Possibly not, at least not without permanently damaging a fellow Exalt. "You haven't yet decided on a goal to optimize towards!"
"Yes I have," she smiled, eyes coming alight. Somehow he felt that she had become far more dangerous than before. "Just because I can't copy you, doesn't mean I can't tell what you like..."
Her slender arm shot forth, seeking the papers in his hand. With unerring speed he intercepted her hand with his free hand, but she simply turned her palm and laced her fingers with his. It felt disturbingly right.
"I'm going to make you fall madly in love with me," she declared, and somehow her voice was the exact pitch to send shivers thrilling through his heart. Somehow the curve of her smile, the look in her eyes, the tilt of her head, all of it was irresistibly exquisite, moreso even than the any ideal he'd ever imagined. She already knew this part of him better than he did himself. "Every part of me is aligned in perfect unity towards that goal."
It was, in a sense, terrifying - but her traits were genuine, and now as permanent as any other human's.
If they had chanced upon each other in the field, he as he was now, and she as she now was, it would have seemed a miracle, or at least a Sidereal intervention. Two people moving in perfect synchronicity, an infinitesimal chance in a sea of possibilities.
Even this, he could resist, if he put forth his utmost effort. But she would never give up, and, if he had to be honest with himself, he would admit that she had been tolerable even before this now.
He supposed, in time, they would be able to look back upon this day and judge whether things had gone terribly, terribly wrong, or terribly, terribly right.
---
So! The somewhat disturbing story of how Odyssial and Lea met, during the War of Glory. In a sense, they are very well suited to each other. In the Age of Sorrows, it may seem nothing more than a distant dream... But what of the Age of Dreams itself? What of its peak, the High First Age, the golden age of Exalted humanity when the sun still blazed unceasing benevolence over Creation? What did the Lord Strategos of the Exalted Host do then?
Golden Age: You may choose two options from the following. Heartless Might may add up to two additional options.
[ ] Subduer of the Wyld - The Lord Strategos did not permit the Exalted Host to languish into complacency, not in those bright days. Countless horrors he had scoured from the face of Creations or its depths, in centuries past, and now that Creation was relatively secure, he sought to strike at the source. Amassing a grand expeditionary force of those Exalts willing to accompany him, including a full million of the Dragon-Blooded, he carved out great swathes of Creation from the infinite Wyld, doing battle with the grandest and most terrible hegemons of that primeval chaos.
*This is a title
*As the man who forged order from boiling chaos, first by slaughtering the numberless monsters it spawned, and secondly by taming great expanses of it to the Laws of Creation, Odyssial's legend will spread further and last longer, especially in the border-lands of Creation.
*The titanic wealth produced by this expedition greatly increases Odyssial's personal resources, and raises the already-superior standard of living in lands he administrates.
*Odyssial gains a loyal Dragon-Blooded coterie, lead by the fanatical steadfast Fire Aspect, Inexhaustible Ember.
+ / - Inexhaustible Ember's older brother, Relentless Ember, hates you.
+ / - The Fair Folk will remember their enemy, Odyssial, and know that to fight him is futility, that he is the End of Stories, for his Story is surmounted by that inviolable edict: He always finds a way.
[ ] Sorcerer of the Adamant Circle - Inaugurated into the Adamant Circle, Odyssial numbered among the greatest willworkers ever to live. Countless workings he wove into himself, power beyond the furthest reaches of mere superhuman skill, and the denizens of Hell learned to fear one summoner in particular. Sorcerous enlightenment became relatively common in his realm, and it is a stranger and more wondrous place, steeped in arcane traditions and myth.
*This is a title
*Odyssial's personal power is greatly augmented [+100,000 XP towards Greatness]
*Lea gains mastery of the Celestial Circle of Sorcery
*Greatly improves chances of successful reincarnation. Miscellaneous bonuses to effectiveness towards other options.
+ / - If taken along with Blade of the Battle-Maiden and one future Sidereal-related choice, this Prevents the Wracking. Creation is much less imperiled.
+ / - Odyssial's sorcerous workings may be scattered around Creation. At least, those that survived five thousand years of upheaval and deliberate suppression. They may still recognize their old master...
[ ] Apex Flight - Towards the highest and furthest reaches of personal perfection Odyssial ventured, power beyond finite comprehension, power beyond all reason. So great was he that he began to feel the very limits of Solar ability, a sense of constraint as he had not perceived since his mortal days. But he knew better than to surrender then. Even at the uttermost limit, he would find a way.
*Requires Greatness 9+
*Odyssial's persona power is supremely augmented. [+250,000 XP towards Greatness]
*Reduces the negative consequences of Heartlessness overall, as Odyssial both learns supreme self-discipline and becomes too powerful for consequences to stick.
*Odyssial may store one Artifact from the First Age in his anima. Learning the Charm Glorious Solar [Equivalent] yields the artifact to Ulyssian.
*The Incarnae, having perceived the true reaches of his power, know to treat Odyssial with caution and respect. For not even the Sun Unconquered favored his chances against the greatest of the Exalted Host. This caution emanates down to the least celestial functionary.
[ ] The Blade of the Battle-Maiden - Pearl's chief rival, Ascendant Rosary, grows in prestige and power. Though he harbors a magnificent hatred for Pearl herself, he is somewhat indifferent against Odyssial and mostly Lea, working against them half-heartedly. Still, the bizarre shenanigans this conflict breeds helps bring Odyssial and his Sidereal adviser closer together, while also adding a touch of much-needed levity to their work. In a somewhat misguided bid to drive a wedge between Odyssial and Pearl, Rosary delivered to him a peerless Sword-banner of the Maiden of Battles, which was well-integrated into the Unfinished Blade.
*Further improves relations with Pearl.
*The Unfinished Blade is now an Artifact 5, an instrument of peerless skill and formidable ambition.
*One day, Odyssial finds a superlative blackened armor, forged of moonsilver, starmetal, and soulsteel. It offers peerless protection while aiding greatly in his covert endeavors. (Artifact 5 Heavy Armor)
+ / - Ascendant Rosary is a Chosen of Battles, idealistic, brave, full of optimism for the world. He grows to become one of the strongest and most influential pillars of the Gold Faction. 50% chance he survives the Usurpation.
[ ] Petals of the Rose - Accompanying Lea on many of her own missions, Odyssial learns something approximating social graces and more intimately deepens his relationship with the Queen of Masks. Lea's influence over matters at court is expanded considerably, with Odyssial around to serve as the somewhat awkward iron fist to her velvet glove. Their love is strengthened to one capable of surviving menace, tribulation, and the passing of the ages: not even the Age of Sorrows can diminish this one shining answer.
*[Heartlessness - 1] Odyssial becomes a more well-rounded person, though he retains his... singular attributes. If you accept this benefit, you cannot buy off Heartlessness with XP in future epochs. Buying Heartlessness off with XP costs 250,000 XP before multipliers. Remember that "XP towards Greatness" is virtual XP that only affects your Greatness score. You will have to pay with real XP.
*Improves Lea's sanity in the Age of Sorrows.
*Further improves affection (synergy effect from prior choices).
*Lea becomes a better fighter; her combat prowess in the Age of Sorrows is improved.
Years ago, in an Age of Glory:
"Why are you spying on me?" He was still new to his power, but his eyes were sharp.
The pale mouse shifted, outline briefly glowing silver, as it became a woman. She was incredibly striking, in the flower of her youth, but her hair was pale as moonlight. Not her true form, he noted absently. He was unsure how he knew that, and that made him suspicious.
"I've been trying to copy you," she said liltingly, without preamble, walking a playful circle around him. Unafraid, despite his reputation. She was clearly harmless, at least to him or his troops. Lunars were strange, he knew that well enough.
Question answered, he grunted in recognition and returned to his maps. In two days' time would be his first sally against Isidoros. Four of that Titan's souls he'd assassinated, ensuring four very premature re-assignments, and now fourteen such souls watched their backs, each believing that the others conspired with forces unknown. They believed, amusingly, that things couldn't get much worse for them. Once he implemented today's plans, they would learn that things could always get worse...
Only afterwards would he strike.
"You're not afraid?" Her face poked out in front of his, a grin tinged with a hint of malice. He could see a sprinkling of freckles, very light. Their eyes met. He felt a sudden frisson, raw lightning that almost reminded him of Exaltation, but hardened himself against impulses.
"There's nothing to fear," he said, continuing to write even as he stared her down unflinchingly. He'd memorized the map image; it was there only for convenience. "One could more justifiably ask the same of you."
"You are a strange one," she mused, raising a finger to her lips. Her face remained where it was, intimately close to his. He could see her pupils slowly dilating. Her eyes changed color with an almost hypnotic cadence, emerald into cerulean like wave striking shore. Scarce had that shift finished before another one started, this time to pale blue, like the sky lightening in winter. "Aren't you concerned that your security didn't stop me?"
"They're instructed not to stop infiltrators of a certain caliber," he remarked, still writing. "The guards are there to save me time, not to get themselves killed."
He paused. "They've clearly misjudged your capacity, however. I shall reprimand them. Next time, you'll be dragged out of my camp before you've taken two steps in."
"Hah!" She straightened up, and turned to lean on his chair. "I'm curious. Everyone I've met, I've been able to copy, thoughts and mind and shape, just by seeing the glint in their eyes. But it seems not to work on you..."
That was good to know. It was a trait he'd developed, a countermeasure against the Dragon's Shadow. He'd never faced the Dragon's Shadow on the battlefield, but against an enemy like that, it paid to be prepared.
Blurring movement. His arm, down and to the side, as he collected his papers and moved them away. Her legs, up and around, as she slid onto his desk. She glanced down at him from her vantage point, the grin still playing across her face, as if threatening at any moment to burst into full-throated laughter.
"Maybe you can help me," she said. "I've got a bit of a problem, you see."
"I do see that," he replied levelly.
"I've always been very good at acting and disguises," she began, "but recently, I've begun to reach the limits of my ability. One day, I decided to return to my true self, but I found that I didn't remember what I looked like! I searched further, and found that I didn't remember who I was."
"So the way you're acting now," Odyssial asked, "that's an affectation?"
She shook her head. "No, this is how I really am, right now."
"A shame," he cut in briefly.
The Lunar pouted. "Whatever I change into, that's how I really am. Any preference, any life or dislike, any dream or seeming or quirk of personality - I can call it into being as truly part of me, or just as easily wipe it away."
And as she said that, all trace of tone and affect fell away from her voice, and her face went slack of emotion: her eyes moonsilver voids, undisturbed and utter.
"I do not think I lost my true self," she enunciated neutrally. "I was very small when I learned to imitate, so whatever 'me' there was, behind the mask, simply never developed. I have no true self. I have no true form. I have no spirit totem. I do not exist."
Odyssial frowned. "This capability of yours, is it unique to your anima? Do you think you could teach me?"
"Teach you?" The Lunar repeated. "It is unique, I believe. Why?"
"It's a tremendous opportunity," Odyssial mused. "Rather than being a slave to impulses generated by circumstance, you can simply choose the personality and preferences that are optimal for growing your own strength and defeating the Primordials. There would be no struggle with self-discipline, no doubt. Every part of you would be aligned in perfect unity towards the pursuit of your goal."
Slowly, the Lunar tilted her head to one side. "Everyone else said I should just try to discover life organically. Your way is obviously better, how strange. But if I simply decide what traits I want to have, how would it be genuine?"
She thought his way was obviously better? Usually only he thought that. And Autochthon, sometimes.
"Every self that you create is genuine. That is not an issue. The problem is you erase all your old traits whenever you adopt a new identity, or return to your resting state as you are now. You can erase your personality, but not your abilities or memories. You acquired this ability after Exaltation as a result of superhuman skill, correct?"
"Talent," she said tonelessly, "but yes. It is a capability I developed."
"Talent." He repeated. Was that how the Lunars operated? "Regardless, if you developed the ability to assign yourself arbitrary traits, you might also be able to develop an ability to mark some of those traits as true, and inviolate, at least against your own powers. If you limited that ability to one finite configuration of traits, that would be as true a self as anyone else possesses."
She considered for a moment, face blank. Among the Exalted, it was a long moment indeed.
"You're right," she finally said, and there was something in her voice that had not been there before. "I just developed that power. I think I like you, Odyssial."
He was not surprised that she knew his name, but that was the least of his troubles at this moment, given what she'd just said. "You can't like me," he interjected, "you don't have likes or dislikes."
"I just gave myself one, on a whim. And then I marked it as true, and inviolate." She giggled, and it sounded more than a little like the person she had been when she'd snuck in. "I just added three more."
"You shouldn't add permanent traits recklessly," he cautioned, but he already knew it was futile. He could see where this was going, and it was not good. Was there time to find a way? Possibly not, at least not without permanently damaging a fellow Exalt. "You haven't yet decided on a goal to optimize towards!"
"Yes I have," she smiled, eyes coming alight. Somehow he felt that she had become far more dangerous than before. "Just because I can't copy you, doesn't mean I can't tell what you like..."
Her slender arm shot forth, seeking the papers in his hand. With unerring speed he intercepted her hand with his free hand, but she simply turned her palm and laced her fingers with his. It felt disturbingly right.
"I'm going to make you fall madly in love with me," she declared, and somehow her voice was the exact pitch to send shivers thrilling through his heart. Somehow the curve of her smile, the look in her eyes, the tilt of her head, all of it was irresistibly exquisite, moreso even than the any ideal he'd ever imagined. She already knew this part of him better than he did himself. "Every part of me is aligned in perfect unity towards that goal."
It was, in a sense, terrifying - but her traits were genuine, and now as permanent as any other human's.
If they had chanced upon each other in the field, he as he was now, and she as she now was, it would have seemed a miracle, or at least a Sidereal intervention. Two people moving in perfect synchronicity, an infinitesimal chance in a sea of possibilities.
Even this, he could resist, if he put forth his utmost effort. But she would never give up, and, if he had to be honest with himself, he would admit that she had been tolerable even before this now.
He supposed, in time, they would be able to look back upon this day and judge whether things had gone terribly, terribly wrong, or terribly, terribly right.
---
So! The somewhat disturbing story of how Odyssial and Lea met, during the War of Glory. In a sense, they are very well suited to each other. In the Age of Sorrows, it may seem nothing more than a distant dream... But what of the Age of Dreams itself? What of its peak, the High First Age, the golden age of Exalted humanity when the sun still blazed unceasing benevolence over Creation? What did the Lord Strategos of the Exalted Host do then?
Golden Age: You may choose two options from the following. Heartless Might may add up to two additional options.
[ ] Subduer of the Wyld - The Lord Strategos did not permit the Exalted Host to languish into complacency, not in those bright days. Countless horrors he had scoured from the face of Creations or its depths, in centuries past, and now that Creation was relatively secure, he sought to strike at the source. Amassing a grand expeditionary force of those Exalts willing to accompany him, including a full million of the Dragon-Blooded, he carved out great swathes of Creation from the infinite Wyld, doing battle with the grandest and most terrible hegemons of that primeval chaos.
*This is a title
*As the man who forged order from boiling chaos, first by slaughtering the numberless monsters it spawned, and secondly by taming great expanses of it to the Laws of Creation, Odyssial's legend will spread further and last longer, especially in the border-lands of Creation.
*The titanic wealth produced by this expedition greatly increases Odyssial's personal resources, and raises the already-superior standard of living in lands he administrates.
*Odyssial gains a loyal Dragon-Blooded coterie, lead by the fanatical steadfast Fire Aspect, Inexhaustible Ember.
+ / - Inexhaustible Ember's older brother, Relentless Ember, hates you.
+ / - The Fair Folk will remember their enemy, Odyssial, and know that to fight him is futility, that he is the End of Stories, for his Story is surmounted by that inviolable edict: He always finds a way.
[ ] Sorcerer of the Adamant Circle - Inaugurated into the Adamant Circle, Odyssial numbered among the greatest willworkers ever to live. Countless workings he wove into himself, power beyond the furthest reaches of mere superhuman skill, and the denizens of Hell learned to fear one summoner in particular. Sorcerous enlightenment became relatively common in his realm, and it is a stranger and more wondrous place, steeped in arcane traditions and myth.
*This is a title
*Odyssial's personal power is greatly augmented [+100,000 XP towards Greatness]
*Lea gains mastery of the Celestial Circle of Sorcery
*Greatly improves chances of successful reincarnation. Miscellaneous bonuses to effectiveness towards other options.
+ / - If taken along with Blade of the Battle-Maiden and one future Sidereal-related choice, this Prevents the Wracking. Creation is much less imperiled.
+ / - Odyssial's sorcerous workings may be scattered around Creation. At least, those that survived five thousand years of upheaval and deliberate suppression. They may still recognize their old master...
[ ] Apex Flight - Towards the highest and furthest reaches of personal perfection Odyssial ventured, power beyond finite comprehension, power beyond all reason. So great was he that he began to feel the very limits of Solar ability, a sense of constraint as he had not perceived since his mortal days. But he knew better than to surrender then. Even at the uttermost limit, he would find a way.
*Requires Greatness 9+
*Odyssial's persona power is supremely augmented. [+250,000 XP towards Greatness]
*Reduces the negative consequences of Heartlessness overall, as Odyssial both learns supreme self-discipline and becomes too powerful for consequences to stick.
*Odyssial may store one Artifact from the First Age in his anima. Learning the Charm Glorious Solar [Equivalent] yields the artifact to Ulyssian.
*The Incarnae, having perceived the true reaches of his power, know to treat Odyssial with caution and respect. For not even the Sun Unconquered favored his chances against the greatest of the Exalted Host. This caution emanates down to the least celestial functionary.
[ ] The Blade of the Battle-Maiden - Pearl's chief rival, Ascendant Rosary, grows in prestige and power. Though he harbors a magnificent hatred for Pearl herself, he is somewhat indifferent against Odyssial and mostly Lea, working against them half-heartedly. Still, the bizarre shenanigans this conflict breeds helps bring Odyssial and his Sidereal adviser closer together, while also adding a touch of much-needed levity to their work. In a somewhat misguided bid to drive a wedge between Odyssial and Pearl, Rosary delivered to him a peerless Sword-banner of the Maiden of Battles, which was well-integrated into the Unfinished Blade.
*Further improves relations with Pearl.
*The Unfinished Blade is now an Artifact 5, an instrument of peerless skill and formidable ambition.
*One day, Odyssial finds a superlative blackened armor, forged of moonsilver, starmetal, and soulsteel. It offers peerless protection while aiding greatly in his covert endeavors. (Artifact 5 Heavy Armor)
+ / - Ascendant Rosary is a Chosen of Battles, idealistic, brave, full of optimism for the world. He grows to become one of the strongest and most influential pillars of the Gold Faction. 50% chance he survives the Usurpation.
[ ] Petals of the Rose - Accompanying Lea on many of her own missions, Odyssial learns something approximating social graces and more intimately deepens his relationship with the Queen of Masks. Lea's influence over matters at court is expanded considerably, with Odyssial around to serve as the somewhat awkward iron fist to her velvet glove. Their love is strengthened to one capable of surviving menace, tribulation, and the passing of the ages: not even the Age of Sorrows can diminish this one shining answer.
*[Heartlessness - 1] Odyssial becomes a more well-rounded person, though he retains his... singular attributes. If you accept this benefit, you cannot buy off Heartlessness with XP in future epochs. Buying Heartlessness off with XP costs 250,000 XP before multipliers. Remember that "XP towards Greatness" is virtual XP that only affects your Greatness score. You will have to pay with real XP.
*Improves Lea's sanity in the Age of Sorrows.
*Further improves affection (synergy effect from prior choices).
*Lea becomes a better fighter; her combat prowess in the Age of Sorrows is improved.
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A Farewell to Arms
Rihaku
The Internet
A Farewell to Arms
The sun was moving. Odyssial was tracking it. With eyes that could stare at its noonday brilliance unblinking, he met its gaze square-on. He had met the Unconquered Sun, of course, the god by whose grace he had been Exalted on that fateful day. There was a debt between them that could never be discharged, but the sun had wished only for each of his Exalted to grow to the true reaches of their potential. Had gambled, perhaps, that the unthinking cruelty of his Titanic creators would be their own undoing.
Now, at the close of the Titanic war, as he stared once more at the setting sun, the most uncharacteristic of all thoughts dared flit across Odyssial's mind: did I do well?
And somewhere in his heart, there came a sudden warmth, and he knew the answer: better than We had ever imagined.
In ages to come, Odyssial would grow beyond the approval or disapproval of such beings as the Unconquered Sun. But for a brief moment, on that day when the War of Glory ended, he allowed that sentiment of warmth to flicker on.
He was not the same man that had witnessed the first sunset, all those years ago. Grander tragedies and slaughters he had seen, in the intervening span, than the death of his tribe. Greater foes, by far, had he dispatched, than the daeva Larsyifex. The skills he wielded this day were as far beyond the man he had been, as the sun itself was beyond mortal flame. More years he'd lived Exalted, than unexalted, and as the eons passed, the span of his mortal life would shrink to a fraction, and then a sliver, and then a speck of his accumulated self.
Even so, he felt a pang of that man's bittersweet melancholy, for that man had had his vengeance, and it was good, but now it was over. He was not often given over to emotion, but this was an occasion of great moment, and, for at least a few days, the Exalted Host had no foes in all of Creation.
From behind him, working her way up the cliff, the Sidereal Sepulchral Pearlescence was approaching. Exalted of Saturn, Chosen of Endings, and one of the few people that Odyssial had cause to trust. Nonetheless his battle-sense sharpened, the world snapping frostily into focus, time congealing until he could strike ten thousand times in the space between heartbeats.
He turned his head to regard her, and all the ways in which they could endeavor to destroy each other made themselves apparent, an invisible diagram unfurling within his mind, knowledge that was deeper than sensation, stances and feints and counter-stances, six billion billion paths to death with physical exertion alone. These he grasped in their totality, as completely and as effortlessly as a mortal scholar understood that five plus five was ten.
Pearl smiled cheerfully up at him, lithe and blithe as ever. The contrast between her raven-black hair and alabaster skin was even more apparent than usual in the long light of sunset. She waved with fulsome energy. With unaffected fondness, he smiled and waved back. Often Pearl would approach as his personal meditations were winding down. Some of her expert timing was the result of her preternatural attunement to fate in the world, her power to know of endings great and small. But, some of it was not. She knew him far better than was safe. Were it any other Sidereal, he would haved seriously considered having them assassinated. One war had ended, but that meant only that the next was about to begin.
Without an enemy to destroy, the Exalted Host would fall upon itself. Already the battle-lines were forming, faction against faction, Full Moon against Fire Aspect, Battles against Dawn.
"Odyssial!" Pearl gave him an enthusiastic hug. He was of average stature, but Pearl was slight, almost waifish. Her family had all starved to death before she was Chosen by Saturn. "How's my favorite person in all the world, today?"
"I wouldn't know," he remarked dryly. "How are you, Pearl?"
"Ody!" She gasped theatrically, letting go of him. "How could you? Here I am showing you genuine concern and appreciation, and you have to go and be yourself at me."
"I could hardly be anyone else. That's Lea's job. Speaking of which, as I recall you are not allowed to call me that name ever again."
"Yes, I'm sure you put an end to it," she said airily, waving a dismissive hand. "Where is Lea, anyway? Are you being forced to endure a romantic sunset on your own?"
"Lea is out there," he motioned to the camps, "formenting dissent and forging alliances. Soon the Host will turn on itself. This is her battlefield now, even if she refuses to name it as such."
Pearl made a soft noise of assent. They watched the sun descend, for a time.
Then, she spoke again: "Do you think Lea will ever tell me her full name?"
"Never," Odyssial answered honestly.
"I don't suppose you'll tell me?"
"No," he said, eyes still fixed on the sun.
"Hmph, well, if you won't tell me, may I at least stand on top of you?"
He turned, measuredly, to look at her. "...What? Did you just ask me Lea's name so I would assent to your ridiculous request?"
"Well, may I?" She looked up at him with hopeful and disingenuous eyes.
"You may," he said, "but why? And take off your shoes."
"I just want to stand tall for once," she said, kicking off her boots. She began to clamber up his back. "Even we can tell, it's an auspicious day for new beginnings. But the day is almost over."
Pearl stood tall, setting stockinged feet on his armored shoulders. Arms akimbo, she faced the sun defiantly, and began laughing like a maniac. Odyssial did not look up. Everyone came to terms with endings in their own way. And even he knew that boon companions supported each other at such times, most of all when times were strangest.
For long minutes she laughed, a silver tinkling with an undercurrent that whispered of death. An undercurrent of vengeance, of things brought to irrevocable ruin. And at the end of it she hiccuped once, and wiped away her tears.
"The Titans are defeated," Odyssial said at last.
"Yeah," Pearl said, "they are. Will you answer my first question now, Ody? How are you feeling today?"
"We can't blame them anymore," Odyssial said after a time, "they are gone now, locked away or slain. The wars that will follow, the suffering and cruelty, that will be our responsibility. And the joy and wonder, that will be ours as well. We are not ready, but from this day forward, the world will be what we make of it."
"What do you see?" She asked, and in her voice was the tiniest waver of uncertainty. "What will we make?"
"I see..." Odyssial mused, feeling oddly hopeful, "A long, long path ahead, winding and uncertain. We will make many mistakes. We will stumble. We will fail. Many of us will fall, to the blades of our enemies or our own incapacity. I see ruin, and devastation, new horrors such as have never touched the world before. But we will learn from our mistakes. When we stumble, we'll correct our footing. From what does not kill us, we will emerge stronger. We will grow. And one day, a far day from today, the world will be a better place than it was the day before. And the next day, better again. And the next, and the next, and the next, and then one day, we'll turn around and we'll see that this world, it's not so bad as it used to be, it's not so cruel to be born here. One day at a time, into the golden forever."
"Oh, Ody," The maiden had sat down on his shoulder, feet kicking in the wind. Her voice broke, ever so slightly. "That's beautiful. I, I truly hope we can be what you dream, but, but - "
"There's always an ending," said the maiden.
"Not always," said Odyssial.
---
And so the Exalted warred, and loved, and killed, and built. An Age of Dreams passed, one day at a time. Great civilizations rose from the dust, shining towers raised from giant's bones and ancient ruins. Mankind flourished, and reigned over all five directions of Creation, and for a time the world was not so cruel a place to be.
But the Exalted grew proud, freed by their power from consequence. The Age of Dreams fell into decadence, and what greatness there was, grew more terrible, or declined. It was not an inevitable process, not remotely, not for such as them. Nonetheless it went on, until the world sagged under the weight of their tyranny, until the Sun turned his face from the Solars, until things grew too horrible to bear.
What did Odyssial do, in those dire years leading up to the Usurpation?
Greatness 10: You have achieved Greatness 10, and thus Odyssial is accorded the title of [Most High]. Among all beings ever to exist in Creation, he unarguably is the very strongest. But do not take too much pride in your power, for it is not wisdom. Some would argue it is the furthest thing from that.
*Choose one:
[ ] Pick an additional option from any epoch after the one you achieved Greatness 10, for free.
[ ] Double the reward of fanwork XP for the entire game
[ ] You may suggest a comparable effect, which will likely be vetoed. But you can try!
---
[ ] The Peerless City - In his rightly justified paranoia, Odyssial raising a shining citadel against his foes. Here, mortals were uplifted to the limits of physical and spiritual perfection, and his loyal Dragon-Blooded retainers meditated day and night on the arts of war. He knew that a storm was coming, and resolved to meet its fury with a bulwark indestructible. He planned a great construct of orichalcum and white jade, a spire that would pierce the very dome of the heavens, eclipsing even Mount Meru in height, an indestructible pylon to amplify and channel his own powers, allowing one Solar to face a hundred - or even ten thousand - peers as if he were fighting them one-by-one. Sadly, the citadel was not fully completed in time, but such was the durability of its construction and cunningness of its craft that much of it endures still into the Second Age.
*The millions-strong population of his Iliac Fortress were treated exceptionally well, if with few amenities. This disciplined rigor of proper action propogated throughout Odyssial's territories, preventing excessive abuses at every level.
*The remains of the Peerless city would certainly be a formidable redoubt, even pocked and scarred as they are, in the Second Age. The traps are innumerable, the guardians fierce, but Odyssial made sure he was immune to such inconveniences. Higher reincarnation fidelity = better results.
+ / - Unfortunately, most (but not all) of the armaments and supplies were either taken by Dragon-Blood loyalists as they prepared to move out into a guerilla war, or expended in the defense of the incomplete fortress. Not much was lost to looters.
+ / - Cements Odyssial's reputation, among scholars of the esoteric, as a great ruler. Some would call it a mad ambition, a tower whose hubris exceeds even the gods, but none would be able to forget its existence.
[ ] The Lathe of Heaven - Perhaps this world is too cruel to exist after all.
So be it.
When the world and an ideal exist in disharmony, it is not the ideal that is wrong.
It is not the ideal that has to change.
It is the world.
*Odyssial initiates, and makes progress on, the Infinite Singularity Husk.
*If taken alongside The Fairest, this option inflicts the terror of Odyssial upon the Exalted Host themselves. Any Exalted who knew Odyssial in life may be subject to this effect, which is of a level comparable to the Great Curse and cannot be easily resisted. At the very least, they will be exceptionally wary of him, much more likely to run away than risk killing him and failing, earning the enmity of Odyssial's reincarnation for life.
*It is not completed.
*Other effects unknown.
+ / - Effects will be world-shaking. Monumental.
[ ] The Fairest - A great tournament was held, its victor promised the hand of the fairest among all Serenity's Chosen. Sensing a chance to test his skill, Odyssial entered readily. When at last he prevailed over all comers, he found to his surprise that the fairest of all Serenity's Chosen got along exceedingly well with him. The details and nature of their unique relationship are lost to time; neither her face nor name are known. When the Usurpers struck, that nameless Chosen disappeared, her location known only to Odyssial himself. Thus she survived the Sidereal's betrayal of their own, and it is said that to this day, she works to defend Creation.
*Proven in battle against the greatest exemplars of weapon-kind, the Unfinished Blade is at last complete. (Artifact N/A)
*The Fairest Chosen was wise beyond her years, but still relatively young at the time of the Usurpation. However, she has lived the full span of the Age of Sorrows, and would no doubt be a formidable ally, equal in power to the greatest luminaries of the Sidereal leadership - if she could be found.
*Creation's situation is not so terribly dire as it was, as, unfound, she was untouched by the Wracking.
*Whether they were lovers, close friends, or surrogate brother and sister, none can say. But what was known is that the counsel of the Fairest, alone, could reduce the terror of Odyssial's growing power without reducing his might. Greatly reduces the negative effects of Odyssial's permanent Limit Break for a brief period at the end of the Age of Dreams.
+ / - With brief forewarning of the Usurpation, Odyssial has extra time to prepare. Casualties significantly increased. Reincarnation chances increased.
+ / - The Fairest Chosen is a somewhat "secret" character and is extremely difficult to find. I don't expect you guys to find her unless Odyssial reincarnates perfectly and manages to retrieve that specific memory.
[ ] Reincarnation Planning - Odyssial puts serious effort into planning his reincarnation, sparing time from his own personal cultivation to doing so. Though his efforts are not as mighty as they would have been, were he a peerless sorcerer, nonetheless they are highly relevant.
*Scattered caches of isolated Dragon-Blood loyalists, prepared to keep the tradition alive and await Odyssial's reincarnation. Fidelity of traditions across five thousand years of decay, not guaranteed.
*Much greater chance of reincarnating perfectly. A perfect reincarnation correctly believes himself to be Odyssial, but does not possess more than a fraction of Odyssial's power or post-Exaltation memories. That is, at least, the case immediately following Exaltation.
*Odyssial makes preparations for his reincarnated self to have acceptable access to equipment, aid, and succor; they need only seek out Lea to be granted such. If they can't even seek out Lea, well, the reincarnation must have been imperfect.
+ / - Much greater chance of reincarnating perfectly. However, you guys will get to choose from a spectrum of options regarding Odyssial's reincarnation; even if he gets the best outcome, still it may not be perfect.
The sun was moving. Odyssial was tracking it. With eyes that could stare at its noonday brilliance unblinking, he met its gaze square-on. He had met the Unconquered Sun, of course, the god by whose grace he had been Exalted on that fateful day. There was a debt between them that could never be discharged, but the sun had wished only for each of his Exalted to grow to the true reaches of their potential. Had gambled, perhaps, that the unthinking cruelty of his Titanic creators would be their own undoing.
Now, at the close of the Titanic war, as he stared once more at the setting sun, the most uncharacteristic of all thoughts dared flit across Odyssial's mind: did I do well?
And somewhere in his heart, there came a sudden warmth, and he knew the answer: better than We had ever imagined.
In ages to come, Odyssial would grow beyond the approval or disapproval of such beings as the Unconquered Sun. But for a brief moment, on that day when the War of Glory ended, he allowed that sentiment of warmth to flicker on.
He was not the same man that had witnessed the first sunset, all those years ago. Grander tragedies and slaughters he had seen, in the intervening span, than the death of his tribe. Greater foes, by far, had he dispatched, than the daeva Larsyifex. The skills he wielded this day were as far beyond the man he had been, as the sun itself was beyond mortal flame. More years he'd lived Exalted, than unexalted, and as the eons passed, the span of his mortal life would shrink to a fraction, and then a sliver, and then a speck of his accumulated self.
Even so, he felt a pang of that man's bittersweet melancholy, for that man had had his vengeance, and it was good, but now it was over. He was not often given over to emotion, but this was an occasion of great moment, and, for at least a few days, the Exalted Host had no foes in all of Creation.
From behind him, working her way up the cliff, the Sidereal Sepulchral Pearlescence was approaching. Exalted of Saturn, Chosen of Endings, and one of the few people that Odyssial had cause to trust. Nonetheless his battle-sense sharpened, the world snapping frostily into focus, time congealing until he could strike ten thousand times in the space between heartbeats.
He turned his head to regard her, and all the ways in which they could endeavor to destroy each other made themselves apparent, an invisible diagram unfurling within his mind, knowledge that was deeper than sensation, stances and feints and counter-stances, six billion billion paths to death with physical exertion alone. These he grasped in their totality, as completely and as effortlessly as a mortal scholar understood that five plus five was ten.
Pearl smiled cheerfully up at him, lithe and blithe as ever. The contrast between her raven-black hair and alabaster skin was even more apparent than usual in the long light of sunset. She waved with fulsome energy. With unaffected fondness, he smiled and waved back. Often Pearl would approach as his personal meditations were winding down. Some of her expert timing was the result of her preternatural attunement to fate in the world, her power to know of endings great and small. But, some of it was not. She knew him far better than was safe. Were it any other Sidereal, he would haved seriously considered having them assassinated. One war had ended, but that meant only that the next was about to begin.
Without an enemy to destroy, the Exalted Host would fall upon itself. Already the battle-lines were forming, faction against faction, Full Moon against Fire Aspect, Battles against Dawn.
"Odyssial!" Pearl gave him an enthusiastic hug. He was of average stature, but Pearl was slight, almost waifish. Her family had all starved to death before she was Chosen by Saturn. "How's my favorite person in all the world, today?"
"I wouldn't know," he remarked dryly. "How are you, Pearl?"
"Ody!" She gasped theatrically, letting go of him. "How could you? Here I am showing you genuine concern and appreciation, and you have to go and be yourself at me."
"I could hardly be anyone else. That's Lea's job. Speaking of which, as I recall you are not allowed to call me that name ever again."
"Yes, I'm sure you put an end to it," she said airily, waving a dismissive hand. "Where is Lea, anyway? Are you being forced to endure a romantic sunset on your own?"
"Lea is out there," he motioned to the camps, "formenting dissent and forging alliances. Soon the Host will turn on itself. This is her battlefield now, even if she refuses to name it as such."
Pearl made a soft noise of assent. They watched the sun descend, for a time.
Then, she spoke again: "Do you think Lea will ever tell me her full name?"
"Never," Odyssial answered honestly.
"I don't suppose you'll tell me?"
"No," he said, eyes still fixed on the sun.
"Hmph, well, if you won't tell me, may I at least stand on top of you?"
He turned, measuredly, to look at her. "...What? Did you just ask me Lea's name so I would assent to your ridiculous request?"
"Well, may I?" She looked up at him with hopeful and disingenuous eyes.
"You may," he said, "but why? And take off your shoes."
"I just want to stand tall for once," she said, kicking off her boots. She began to clamber up his back. "Even we can tell, it's an auspicious day for new beginnings. But the day is almost over."
Pearl stood tall, setting stockinged feet on his armored shoulders. Arms akimbo, she faced the sun defiantly, and began laughing like a maniac. Odyssial did not look up. Everyone came to terms with endings in their own way. And even he knew that boon companions supported each other at such times, most of all when times were strangest.
For long minutes she laughed, a silver tinkling with an undercurrent that whispered of death. An undercurrent of vengeance, of things brought to irrevocable ruin. And at the end of it she hiccuped once, and wiped away her tears.
"The Titans are defeated," Odyssial said at last.
"Yeah," Pearl said, "they are. Will you answer my first question now, Ody? How are you feeling today?"
"We can't blame them anymore," Odyssial said after a time, "they are gone now, locked away or slain. The wars that will follow, the suffering and cruelty, that will be our responsibility. And the joy and wonder, that will be ours as well. We are not ready, but from this day forward, the world will be what we make of it."
"What do you see?" She asked, and in her voice was the tiniest waver of uncertainty. "What will we make?"
"I see..." Odyssial mused, feeling oddly hopeful, "A long, long path ahead, winding and uncertain. We will make many mistakes. We will stumble. We will fail. Many of us will fall, to the blades of our enemies or our own incapacity. I see ruin, and devastation, new horrors such as have never touched the world before. But we will learn from our mistakes. When we stumble, we'll correct our footing. From what does not kill us, we will emerge stronger. We will grow. And one day, a far day from today, the world will be a better place than it was the day before. And the next day, better again. And the next, and the next, and the next, and then one day, we'll turn around and we'll see that this world, it's not so bad as it used to be, it's not so cruel to be born here. One day at a time, into the golden forever."
"Oh, Ody," The maiden had sat down on his shoulder, feet kicking in the wind. Her voice broke, ever so slightly. "That's beautiful. I, I truly hope we can be what you dream, but, but - "
"There's always an ending," said the maiden.
"Not always," said Odyssial.
---
And so the Exalted warred, and loved, and killed, and built. An Age of Dreams passed, one day at a time. Great civilizations rose from the dust, shining towers raised from giant's bones and ancient ruins. Mankind flourished, and reigned over all five directions of Creation, and for a time the world was not so cruel a place to be.
But the Exalted grew proud, freed by their power from consequence. The Age of Dreams fell into decadence, and what greatness there was, grew more terrible, or declined. It was not an inevitable process, not remotely, not for such as them. Nonetheless it went on, until the world sagged under the weight of their tyranny, until the Sun turned his face from the Solars, until things grew too horrible to bear.
What did Odyssial do, in those dire years leading up to the Usurpation?
Greatness 10: You have achieved Greatness 10, and thus Odyssial is accorded the title of [Most High]. Among all beings ever to exist in Creation, he unarguably is the very strongest. But do not take too much pride in your power, for it is not wisdom. Some would argue it is the furthest thing from that.
*Choose one:
[ ] Pick an additional option from any epoch after the one you achieved Greatness 10, for free.
[ ] Double the reward of fanwork XP for the entire game
[ ] You may suggest a comparable effect, which will likely be vetoed. But you can try!
---
[ ] The Peerless City - In his rightly justified paranoia, Odyssial raising a shining citadel against his foes. Here, mortals were uplifted to the limits of physical and spiritual perfection, and his loyal Dragon-Blooded retainers meditated day and night on the arts of war. He knew that a storm was coming, and resolved to meet its fury with a bulwark indestructible. He planned a great construct of orichalcum and white jade, a spire that would pierce the very dome of the heavens, eclipsing even Mount Meru in height, an indestructible pylon to amplify and channel his own powers, allowing one Solar to face a hundred - or even ten thousand - peers as if he were fighting them one-by-one. Sadly, the citadel was not fully completed in time, but such was the durability of its construction and cunningness of its craft that much of it endures still into the Second Age.
*The millions-strong population of his Iliac Fortress were treated exceptionally well, if with few amenities. This disciplined rigor of proper action propogated throughout Odyssial's territories, preventing excessive abuses at every level.
*The remains of the Peerless city would certainly be a formidable redoubt, even pocked and scarred as they are, in the Second Age. The traps are innumerable, the guardians fierce, but Odyssial made sure he was immune to such inconveniences. Higher reincarnation fidelity = better results.
+ / - Unfortunately, most (but not all) of the armaments and supplies were either taken by Dragon-Blood loyalists as they prepared to move out into a guerilla war, or expended in the defense of the incomplete fortress. Not much was lost to looters.
+ / - Cements Odyssial's reputation, among scholars of the esoteric, as a great ruler. Some would call it a mad ambition, a tower whose hubris exceeds even the gods, but none would be able to forget its existence.
[ ] The Lathe of Heaven - Perhaps this world is too cruel to exist after all.
So be it.
When the world and an ideal exist in disharmony, it is not the ideal that is wrong.
It is not the ideal that has to change.
It is the world.
*Odyssial initiates, and makes progress on, the Infinite Singularity Husk.
*If taken alongside The Fairest, this option inflicts the terror of Odyssial upon the Exalted Host themselves. Any Exalted who knew Odyssial in life may be subject to this effect, which is of a level comparable to the Great Curse and cannot be easily resisted. At the very least, they will be exceptionally wary of him, much more likely to run away than risk killing him and failing, earning the enmity of Odyssial's reincarnation for life.
*It is not completed.
*Other effects unknown.
+ / - Effects will be world-shaking. Monumental.
[ ] The Fairest - A great tournament was held, its victor promised the hand of the fairest among all Serenity's Chosen. Sensing a chance to test his skill, Odyssial entered readily. When at last he prevailed over all comers, he found to his surprise that the fairest of all Serenity's Chosen got along exceedingly well with him. The details and nature of their unique relationship are lost to time; neither her face nor name are known. When the Usurpers struck, that nameless Chosen disappeared, her location known only to Odyssial himself. Thus she survived the Sidereal's betrayal of their own, and it is said that to this day, she works to defend Creation.
*Proven in battle against the greatest exemplars of weapon-kind, the Unfinished Blade is at last complete. (Artifact N/A)
*The Fairest Chosen was wise beyond her years, but still relatively young at the time of the Usurpation. However, she has lived the full span of the Age of Sorrows, and would no doubt be a formidable ally, equal in power to the greatest luminaries of the Sidereal leadership - if she could be found.
*Creation's situation is not so terribly dire as it was, as, unfound, she was untouched by the Wracking.
*Whether they were lovers, close friends, or surrogate brother and sister, none can say. But what was known is that the counsel of the Fairest, alone, could reduce the terror of Odyssial's growing power without reducing his might. Greatly reduces the negative effects of Odyssial's permanent Limit Break for a brief period at the end of the Age of Dreams.
+ / - With brief forewarning of the Usurpation, Odyssial has extra time to prepare. Casualties significantly increased. Reincarnation chances increased.
+ / - The Fairest Chosen is a somewhat "secret" character and is extremely difficult to find. I don't expect you guys to find her unless Odyssial reincarnates perfectly and manages to retrieve that specific memory.
[ ] Reincarnation Planning - Odyssial puts serious effort into planning his reincarnation, sparing time from his own personal cultivation to doing so. Though his efforts are not as mighty as they would have been, were he a peerless sorcerer, nonetheless they are highly relevant.
*Scattered caches of isolated Dragon-Blood loyalists, prepared to keep the tradition alive and await Odyssial's reincarnation. Fidelity of traditions across five thousand years of decay, not guaranteed.
*Much greater chance of reincarnating perfectly. A perfect reincarnation correctly believes himself to be Odyssial, but does not possess more than a fraction of Odyssial's power or post-Exaltation memories. That is, at least, the case immediately following Exaltation.
*Odyssial makes preparations for his reincarnated self to have acceptable access to equipment, aid, and succor; they need only seek out Lea to be granted such. If they can't even seek out Lea, well, the reincarnation must have been imperfect.
+ / - Much greater chance of reincarnating perfectly. However, you guys will get to choose from a spectrum of options regarding Odyssial's reincarnation; even if he gets the best outcome, still it may not be perfect.
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In An Age of Sorrows
Rihaku
The Internet
In An Age of Sorrows
- Five Thousand Years Later -
The Realm was crumbling.
Its institutions had deteriorated. Its reach had withered. Across all Creation, its influence waned. Still it was the greatest power on in the world. Still its armies were mighty, its wealth colossal. Critically, its navies ruled the Inland Sea, the continents-spanning moat that encircled its heartland. By maintaining adamant standards of safety, the Imperial Navy provided security to countless merchant fleets. It enabled the spoils of empire to be fed back towards the center. And it kept out the innumerable ravening armies that thirsted after the blood and treasure of its people.
Its navies ruled the sea, but at a cost, a cost in men and materials that was mounting precipitously. The Dragon-Blooded, humans blessed with elemental power and preternatural skill, had shepherded Creation through cataclysms beyond number. For centuries beyond recall, they had kept decent men and women safe from the depredations of the Lunar Anathema, the bewildering Chaos of the Wyld, and the horrific schemes of the Deathlords.
But the strength of the Dragons was failing. So many of themselves they'd sacrificed, just to keep Creation alive, but it was not remotely enough. And so the greatest and wisest of the Dragons went to call upon a man that they should not, perhaps, have called upon. A man, it was said, who was the eldest of all Dragons; who had been ancient since time immemorial, and who was, if a bit eccentric, steadfastly devoted to the continued survival of the world. A man who might have the power to save them.
A man who was, if not content in his well-deserved retirement, neither was he particularly unhappy, and that was a rare enough thing for him.
That man was named Lung Feng Zao. Last of the Shoguns, though few knew that. To him they went, and they said, very politely, that though they understood completely if a man of his age decided never to take up arms again, would he please consider returning to his old post as a teacher, the Headmaster of the Imperial Naval Academy?
And Lung Feng Zao said he wouldn't mind, but he had only one condition, and it was not negotiable: that he would have absolute power over the Academy, its curriculum, its grounds and its staff. That in such matters he would not be gainsaid, even by the Empress herself (if ever she returned).
And the assembled Dragons, who had become very nervous at the mention of "only one condition," relaxed, and said yes, of course, and thought privately: was that all? For the Naval Academy was their primary source of captains and admirals, and the ranks of those Dragon-Blooded had been culled thin indeed. Absolute power in such a limited sphere was, they thought, not so great a blasphemy to pay, not in this dire age.
Come admissions season, Headmaster Zao declared that all familial connections and matters of pedigree were moot, and that admission into the Academy would be predicated upon merit alone, with the largest signifier being performance on his carefully re-written, and extremely rigorous, entrance exams.
Many Dragon-Blooded failed, more than ever had before. But they were blood of the dragon, and more than a few passed. More than a few Dragon-Blooded, and one mortal man.
That mortal's name was Sesus Ulyssian. He faced much resentment and prejudice in his days at the Academy, but somehow, despite his taciturn nature, he managed to make a few steadfast friends. With their help, and with a level of over-preparedness that some would characterize as hopelessly paranoid, he managed to survive, and even briefly thrive, in the cut-throat environment of the Naval Academy.
Time wore on, however, and as the year progressed, Ulyssian fell increasingly far behind. Though he pushed himself to the same standard of excruciating, all-consuming practice that had enabled his entry into the Academy, he had reached the limit of human potential, while his classmates and competitors had only begun to scratch the surface of Dragon-Blooded power.
Ulyssian resolved to master two fields of endeavor for every one that his classmates pursued. He resolved to train more efficiently, to try even harder, to seek advantage wherever it could be found, no matter the cost to his body or spirit. Of course, it was not enough.
So it was that Ulyssian ended up in the stands of the school Coliseum, watching his friends and classmates compete in the semi-annual Ranking Tournament, where all the rising stars of the Academy had the opportunity to demonstrate their courage and skill to the honored assemblage that had gathered to witness it. No mere mortal patricians were these, but rather branch heads and prominent scions of all the Great Houses, the great luminaries of this fading age.
Ulyssian watched the redoubtable Mountain Hero, whose loyalty was mightier even than his thews, as he floored all comers with unadorned strength.
He watched Tepet Nilul, the master manipulator who had never failed to stand by him, as she fell gracefully to the opposition, content to fail.
He watched Empty Moon, his closest and dearest friend, who had sparred with him as an equal, who had watched over him when he was sick, and bandaged his wounds when he was injured. Who had stood up for him in the face of overwhelming social and religious pressure, and who had never once betrayed him, in word or in deed. He watched as she was struck down by an agent of that social edifice, a prodigy of war whose improbable power was greater even than her own inimitable prowess.
The prodigy, Resolute Flame, did not stop at defeating her.
He did not stop at subduing her.
With a fist full of fire, burning molten-white, Resolute Flame darted forth to murder her.
To execute her for daring to befriend a mortal who had grasped so vainly, and so high.
And Sesus Ulyssian thought, "I must find a way."
---
For those who like to archive binge, here is Ulyssian's backstory in full, up to post ~39.
What is the nature of Odyssial's reincarnation?
[ ] Totality - Something went wrong, in the five thousand years intervening. Odyssial had calibrated his mechanisms of reincarnation carefully, a herculean task to arrange even for one soul. He had wanted to ease his incarnation in, to make the transition as smooth as possible so that he would not lose the lessons of either mortal life in the undertow of Exalted longevity. He had wanted to ensure that there was no possibility of an adversarial relationship between himself, and the person he would be. They were, after all, the same soul given the same Exaltation; there was no reason to fight.
Perhaps because he had no time to experiment and iterate, given the cost in time and effort of just one barely functioning prototype, or perhaps of a fault that was not his own at all, his plan went awry.
All - or most all, there are many fragmentary periods - of Odyssial's memories have returned. With their overwhelming surfeit threatening to kill their host, the Exaltation locked them away. Ulyssian is as he was, but in times of great and terrible stress, when his will threatens to flag and even his Exalted might is not enough - then emerges Odyssial, Lord Strategos of the Exalted Host, Sovereign of Iliac, Tharica, Dynessos, and Saurengerie, The Wandering King, Saint of All Blades, Peerless Beyond Sorcery, Architect of the Horse-Strategem, From Whom The Titans Fled, The Arrow and the Hunter, Subduer of the Wyld, The End of Stories, The Lathe of Heaven, The Most High, Who Always Finds a Way.
And there is more than a shadow of his power left to him, for the Exaltation is imperishable might, so why should its output be throttled just because the body is young?
The mind, after all, is more than whole enough.
*Ulyssian is Ulyssian, most of the time. If pushed to the absolute brink, and his will is exhausted, Odyssial will emerge.
*They are not different people; it is one consciousness with traits that can change, almost like Lealope. Thus, if Odyssial is not active, he just isn't there. He won't plot against Ulyssian within his own mind, except when emerged.
*Odyssial wishes to emerge permanently. That this must occur is unfortunate, but he refuses to be reduced to a mere parasite or panic button. The Age of Sorrows needs him.
*Every time Odyssial emerges, it becomes easier for him to emerge in general. As he's still stuck in Ulyssian's body, and is missing about 25% of his memories, including almost all the most complex ones, he is not remotely as strong as he used to be. He has memories of many mightier techniques, but may lack the pre-requisites that bridge the gap to understanding and use.
*Of course, he's still capable of utterly overwhelming virtually any existence within Creation or out of it.
*Ulyssian may voluntarily call upon Odyssial; when he does so, Odyssial gains greatly and permanently improves his ability to emerge. However, a determined playerbase can easily ensure that Odyssial never regains control. If he does, and you are not sufficiently powerful, the quest will end.
*Odyssial's period of control is determined by how coherently he acts in sync with Ulyssian's current emotions and motivations. If he acts totally against them, he disappears almost instantly. If he acts almost totally in Ulyssian's best interests, in a manner genuinely befitting the emotions he's experiencing, he can persist for as long as a scene.
XP Cost: You gain 150,000 XP.
[ ] Identity Crisis - More or less the correct amount of Odyssial made it into the reincarnation, but integration failed. Now, the resultant entity sometimes believes he is Ulyssian, and sometimes Odyssial. Though memories are shared, they are confusing without the extensive inferential context that builds up in a person's consciousness. It is also much harder to retrieve additional memories from Odyssial.
*They are still one consciousness with traits that can change.
*The two parties may be trying to merge (the voters will be able to decide on the disposition of one party), but lack any mechanism to actually do so, at least until they understand reincarnation mechanics as well as the Odyssial of old.
*The parties do not have separate mote and Willpower tracks. They are treated as one character for almost all mechanical purposes.
*Ulyssian is typically in control. However, Odyssial-specific interactions often require him to be in control, and switching control is difficult, requiring a significant expenditure of will.
XP Cost: None
[ ] Essentially As Planned - The fusion is as perfect as Odyssial hoped. They are now one being, who may be a bit confused, with the merged traits of both Ulyssian and Odyssial. No traits are removed; when they come into conflict, he is conflicted within himself. Neither side is overwhelming. He will answer to both Odyssial and Ulyssian. As most of their attributes, such as their problem-solving abilities, overlap or are identical, internal conflict is mostly a matter of priorities.
*Ulyssian will be significantly stronger than a standard Solar who has just Exalted, maybe the equivalent of one year's worth of training for a normal Solar.
*Odyssial will retain all relevant memories to fully capitalize on such preparations as he made, if he decides to.
*They are the same person, so you can refer to them interchangeably. NPCs will typically go by whichever name is more familiar to them.
XP Cost: 350,000
- Five Thousand Years Later -
The Realm was crumbling.
Its institutions had deteriorated. Its reach had withered. Across all Creation, its influence waned. Still it was the greatest power on in the world. Still its armies were mighty, its wealth colossal. Critically, its navies ruled the Inland Sea, the continents-spanning moat that encircled its heartland. By maintaining adamant standards of safety, the Imperial Navy provided security to countless merchant fleets. It enabled the spoils of empire to be fed back towards the center. And it kept out the innumerable ravening armies that thirsted after the blood and treasure of its people.
Its navies ruled the sea, but at a cost, a cost in men and materials that was mounting precipitously. The Dragon-Blooded, humans blessed with elemental power and preternatural skill, had shepherded Creation through cataclysms beyond number. For centuries beyond recall, they had kept decent men and women safe from the depredations of the Lunar Anathema, the bewildering Chaos of the Wyld, and the horrific schemes of the Deathlords.
But the strength of the Dragons was failing. So many of themselves they'd sacrificed, just to keep Creation alive, but it was not remotely enough. And so the greatest and wisest of the Dragons went to call upon a man that they should not, perhaps, have called upon. A man, it was said, who was the eldest of all Dragons; who had been ancient since time immemorial, and who was, if a bit eccentric, steadfastly devoted to the continued survival of the world. A man who might have the power to save them.
A man who was, if not content in his well-deserved retirement, neither was he particularly unhappy, and that was a rare enough thing for him.
That man was named Lung Feng Zao. Last of the Shoguns, though few knew that. To him they went, and they said, very politely, that though they understood completely if a man of his age decided never to take up arms again, would he please consider returning to his old post as a teacher, the Headmaster of the Imperial Naval Academy?
And Lung Feng Zao said he wouldn't mind, but he had only one condition, and it was not negotiable: that he would have absolute power over the Academy, its curriculum, its grounds and its staff. That in such matters he would not be gainsaid, even by the Empress herself (if ever she returned).
And the assembled Dragons, who had become very nervous at the mention of "only one condition," relaxed, and said yes, of course, and thought privately: was that all? For the Naval Academy was their primary source of captains and admirals, and the ranks of those Dragon-Blooded had been culled thin indeed. Absolute power in such a limited sphere was, they thought, not so great a blasphemy to pay, not in this dire age.
Come admissions season, Headmaster Zao declared that all familial connections and matters of pedigree were moot, and that admission into the Academy would be predicated upon merit alone, with the largest signifier being performance on his carefully re-written, and extremely rigorous, entrance exams.
Many Dragon-Blooded failed, more than ever had before. But they were blood of the dragon, and more than a few passed. More than a few Dragon-Blooded, and one mortal man.
That mortal's name was Sesus Ulyssian. He faced much resentment and prejudice in his days at the Academy, but somehow, despite his taciturn nature, he managed to make a few steadfast friends. With their help, and with a level of over-preparedness that some would characterize as hopelessly paranoid, he managed to survive, and even briefly thrive, in the cut-throat environment of the Naval Academy.
Time wore on, however, and as the year progressed, Ulyssian fell increasingly far behind. Though he pushed himself to the same standard of excruciating, all-consuming practice that had enabled his entry into the Academy, he had reached the limit of human potential, while his classmates and competitors had only begun to scratch the surface of Dragon-Blooded power.
Ulyssian resolved to master two fields of endeavor for every one that his classmates pursued. He resolved to train more efficiently, to try even harder, to seek advantage wherever it could be found, no matter the cost to his body or spirit. Of course, it was not enough.
So it was that Ulyssian ended up in the stands of the school Coliseum, watching his friends and classmates compete in the semi-annual Ranking Tournament, where all the rising stars of the Academy had the opportunity to demonstrate their courage and skill to the honored assemblage that had gathered to witness it. No mere mortal patricians were these, but rather branch heads and prominent scions of all the Great Houses, the great luminaries of this fading age.
Ulyssian watched the redoubtable Mountain Hero, whose loyalty was mightier even than his thews, as he floored all comers with unadorned strength.
He watched Tepet Nilul, the master manipulator who had never failed to stand by him, as she fell gracefully to the opposition, content to fail.
He watched Empty Moon, his closest and dearest friend, who had sparred with him as an equal, who had watched over him when he was sick, and bandaged his wounds when he was injured. Who had stood up for him in the face of overwhelming social and religious pressure, and who had never once betrayed him, in word or in deed. He watched as she was struck down by an agent of that social edifice, a prodigy of war whose improbable power was greater even than her own inimitable prowess.
The prodigy, Resolute Flame, did not stop at defeating her.
He did not stop at subduing her.
With a fist full of fire, burning molten-white, Resolute Flame darted forth to murder her.
To execute her for daring to befriend a mortal who had grasped so vainly, and so high.
And Sesus Ulyssian thought, "I must find a way."
---
For those who like to archive binge, here is Ulyssian's backstory in full, up to post ~39.
What is the nature of Odyssial's reincarnation?
[ ] Totality - Something went wrong, in the five thousand years intervening. Odyssial had calibrated his mechanisms of reincarnation carefully, a herculean task to arrange even for one soul. He had wanted to ease his incarnation in, to make the transition as smooth as possible so that he would not lose the lessons of either mortal life in the undertow of Exalted longevity. He had wanted to ensure that there was no possibility of an adversarial relationship between himself, and the person he would be. They were, after all, the same soul given the same Exaltation; there was no reason to fight.
Perhaps because he had no time to experiment and iterate, given the cost in time and effort of just one barely functioning prototype, or perhaps of a fault that was not his own at all, his plan went awry.
All - or most all, there are many fragmentary periods - of Odyssial's memories have returned. With their overwhelming surfeit threatening to kill their host, the Exaltation locked them away. Ulyssian is as he was, but in times of great and terrible stress, when his will threatens to flag and even his Exalted might is not enough - then emerges Odyssial, Lord Strategos of the Exalted Host, Sovereign of Iliac, Tharica, Dynessos, and Saurengerie, The Wandering King, Saint of All Blades, Peerless Beyond Sorcery, Architect of the Horse-Strategem, From Whom The Titans Fled, The Arrow and the Hunter, Subduer of the Wyld, The End of Stories, The Lathe of Heaven, The Most High, Who Always Finds a Way.
And there is more than a shadow of his power left to him, for the Exaltation is imperishable might, so why should its output be throttled just because the body is young?
The mind, after all, is more than whole enough.
*Ulyssian is Ulyssian, most of the time. If pushed to the absolute brink, and his will is exhausted, Odyssial will emerge.
*They are not different people; it is one consciousness with traits that can change, almost like Lealope. Thus, if Odyssial is not active, he just isn't there. He won't plot against Ulyssian within his own mind, except when emerged.
*Odyssial wishes to emerge permanently. That this must occur is unfortunate, but he refuses to be reduced to a mere parasite or panic button. The Age of Sorrows needs him.
*Every time Odyssial emerges, it becomes easier for him to emerge in general. As he's still stuck in Ulyssian's body, and is missing about 25% of his memories, including almost all the most complex ones, he is not remotely as strong as he used to be. He has memories of many mightier techniques, but may lack the pre-requisites that bridge the gap to understanding and use.
*Of course, he's still capable of utterly overwhelming virtually any existence within Creation or out of it.
*Ulyssian may voluntarily call upon Odyssial; when he does so, Odyssial gains greatly and permanently improves his ability to emerge. However, a determined playerbase can easily ensure that Odyssial never regains control. If he does, and you are not sufficiently powerful, the quest will end.
*Odyssial's period of control is determined by how coherently he acts in sync with Ulyssian's current emotions and motivations. If he acts totally against them, he disappears almost instantly. If he acts almost totally in Ulyssian's best interests, in a manner genuinely befitting the emotions he's experiencing, he can persist for as long as a scene.
XP Cost: You gain 150,000 XP.
[ ] Identity Crisis - More or less the correct amount of Odyssial made it into the reincarnation, but integration failed. Now, the resultant entity sometimes believes he is Ulyssian, and sometimes Odyssial. Though memories are shared, they are confusing without the extensive inferential context that builds up in a person's consciousness. It is also much harder to retrieve additional memories from Odyssial.
*They are still one consciousness with traits that can change.
*The two parties may be trying to merge (the voters will be able to decide on the disposition of one party), but lack any mechanism to actually do so, at least until they understand reincarnation mechanics as well as the Odyssial of old.
*The parties do not have separate mote and Willpower tracks. They are treated as one character for almost all mechanical purposes.
*Ulyssian is typically in control. However, Odyssial-specific interactions often require him to be in control, and switching control is difficult, requiring a significant expenditure of will.
XP Cost: None
[ ] Essentially As Planned - The fusion is as perfect as Odyssial hoped. They are now one being, who may be a bit confused, with the merged traits of both Ulyssian and Odyssial. No traits are removed; when they come into conflict, he is conflicted within himself. Neither side is overwhelming. He will answer to both Odyssial and Ulyssian. As most of their attributes, such as their problem-solving abilities, overlap or are identical, internal conflict is mostly a matter of priorities.
*Ulyssian will be significantly stronger than a standard Solar who has just Exalted, maybe the equivalent of one year's worth of training for a normal Solar.
*Odyssial will retain all relevant memories to fully capitalize on such preparations as he made, if he decides to.
*They are the same person, so you can refer to them interchangeably. NPCs will typically go by whichever name is more familiar to them.
XP Cost: 350,000
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