Edit:
"hey nick maybe you should be more concise this time"
"say no more"
Karalis, the Amniotic Dragon
Demon of the Third Circle
Fourth Soul of the Sphere of Speech
Pity Elloge, that poor monster: war was not kind to He Who Bleeds the Unknown Word and peace was not kind to her. Her fetich slaughtered. Her hidden heart ripped from her breast and dashed across the unfeeling stones. Her ruined remnants reforming just in time to kneel and kiss the feet of the Unconquered Sun. Just in time to offer up another of her raw, trembling souls, freshly fashioned and still blinking in the light. Perhaps that is why so few of her Third Circles can be found now. Tender fear and gnawing paranoia were their birthright, scalding ichor their mother's milk. Perhaps they no longer trust the intentions of their greater self. Or perhaps Elloge has imprisoned them, clasped them close so they may not flee from her and leave her forgotten and forlorn. To be sure not even Orabilis knows the location of her Fetich and unsavory rumors abound.
Regardless, Karalis is comparatively young for a Third Circle. Coalescing concurrently with the Surrender; he had not yet properly hatched when the Yozis were cast into the depths of their king. His first memory is of falling, the first thing he saw was the black basalt ribs of Malfeas rising about him, receding away. And then a heavy, terrible impact. A dreadful blow that cracked and shattered his caul; leaving him to drift out, weeping and twitching and steaming in the bloody bone-highlands of his mother. Of his greater self. His wings weak and trembling, his hindlegs still tangled in slick shroud of his yolk-sack. With a cry he retreated from the pain into the wreckage of his great shell. Hiding his face from the furious green light. There he lays still, shrouded in pleasant, cool darkness and warmed by currents of ichor.
Alas, like the fast-flowing streams of Elloge he is rarely content to remain static. Rather his nature is cyclic. Season by season he gathers the shattered shards of his shell about him. Amusing himself by fashioning castles and palaces from the vast ruins. Carving his thoughts on the underside. Listening eagerly to the tales his loyal Second Circles bring to him of Malfeas-without and using the scraps to construct a storybook shadow-kingdom within the vastness of his thoughts. He envisions himself a hero, a scoundrel, a lover, a hunter. A follower and friend, a dearest companion to all his elder kin. He fattens himself on archetypes. Fills his yolk-sack with possibilities. Tighter and tighter he draws his shell about him. Few see him in this period, catching only a glimpse of vast, black and red eyes. Ivory claws and slick, scarlet flesh.
Tension builds until, at last, he can bear the denial no longer. Furious passion for the world outside his walls overcomes him and he explodes forth from his membrane. Hatching in a storm of blood and a hail of ivory shell. Here he is as he might have been, as he, perhaps, still could be. A towering leviathan of a dragon. His body armored by shining bone; his strong limbs strung with raw, red musculature. Vast tapestries trail from his shoulders like a cloak, bloody banners fluttering in the wake of his four powerful wings. Madly he bounds throughout the Demon City. Dancing wildly as he flits from layer to layer, his tapestries snapping behind him. Proudly he roars out his thoughts. Venting his story in a whirlwind of red. Reshaping the city as he passes, imposing his will upon the world as an Unquestioned ought. His footsteps pool with blood, shed thoughts rising from their depths. Scabbing over into new structures, oddities, and beloved blasphemies; the fruits of his dreaming. He proceeds with abandon. Caring only for the fervor, the lust for life in his belly. Eyes only for the dawning insight that draws near.
But it cannot last.
Karalis's dance pales in comparison to the least toss of the Black Boar's head and yet it is a calamity all the same. Local lords spring to war over the anomalies he leaves in his wake. Fortifications are leveled by his passage. Entire boroughs shattered. At times it is another Third Circle who takes him to task. Rebuffing him with harsh words and pointed weapons. A painful realization for a creature who desires little more than to be a part of their adventures, a portion of their world. Other times he simply...burns out. The manic fire dying away as he catches a glimpse of his reflection in Szoreny's woods or mistimes his next dance-step. Then he retreats. Withdrawing from the world, pulling in upon himself. Cursing Malfeas and himself as he slinks back to his lands and draws his egg tight about himself once more.
Notes and Abilities: Karalis was summoned now and then during the height of the First Age when indulgence ruled and decadence held sway. On command he would dance his visions into existence, sowing the land with strange energies; generating demesnes where he strode. A mesa of glistening red rock, crowned in spike-like stone formations that hummed with the tremors below. Vast, crystalline fins that slit the wind, raising themselves and respiring as currents shifted. A forest fused into a single scarlet tree, a lake with an inverted castle below, and other such things. Heaven's ire was immense but the Deliberative adored the novelty.
It is a closely held secret but at times the Amniotic Dragon slips free from his shell-home. Adopting the form of a well bred, broad-shouldered Dynast with a soft belly and embroidered red scarves hanging from his shoulders. Thusly he explores the lands of his souls and of his neighbors besides. Soaking in the voyeuristic thrill. In this time he will steal treasures, buildings, and loyal servants if he can. Fusing them with the meta of his tapestries so that he may recall and examine them later. Using the gathered inspiration to fuel his tentative imaginings.
Karalis may escape into Creation when a starving author eats his work. Rending pages with his teeth and soaking the paper with his blood and dark bile. Contrary to all expectation he has actually broken free of Malfeas twice before. Both the result of genuine accident.
Karalis and the Althing: With many of Elloge's souls either inaccessible or too damaged to be helpful, Karalis has taken it upon himself to serve as the de facto "president" of the Ellogean faction of the Reclamation. His proclamations have been duly disregarded or ignored but the fact remains that he is among the more active and reliable representatives of the Yozi. Willing to offer loyal Infernals sanctuary and support and his own geomantic expertise. He regularly fantasizes about attaining the rank of true peer within the endeavor's unofficial hierarchy. Gathering Infernals to his service is a crucial component of this plan.
Krähex, Seneschal in Sable and Scarlet
Demon of the Second Circle
Expressive Soul of the Amniotic Dragon
It is in the nature of the Ellogean to slink away. Secreting themselves in hidden places. Covering up their ugliness, their wet, hollow hearts, with shadow and style and obfuscation. Krähex disdains such feeble displays. Indeed they much preferring to press their palm to the wound until it sings. Until the agony brings a crystalline clarity of thought. Of purpose. Other demons may shun the crowd or hide behind scabrous masks and clotted facades but not they! They will bask beneath the spotlight and they will relish it. Gorging on attention. Becoming drunk on adoration. For what is art without a little suffering? It is a thousand times better to be judged than forgotten.
The domain of the Seneschal in Sable and Scarlet may be seen from leagues away and heard as well. Colored lights shine and raucous music throbs, stirring the heart to passion, kindling bravery in the brain. Sweet and savory scents carry on the wind, luring the hungry (and there is always hungry in the Demon City). Draw closer and see it. The wooden stands and the massive pavilions, the magnificent stages and the cushioned dens. The Carnival Cordis is Krähex's traveling fair. Their precious circus. Loud and brash and bold, garish displays and works of genuine art jostling for space in the eye and mind. The air thick with misty-pink stories. It is orderly chaos and overwhelming sensation. It is classy debauchery and an obscene parody of elegance. It is everything except subtle. Krähex is the ringmaster of the whole affair. Manifesting at times as a finely dressed crow-creature, feathers glossy wet and face hidden behind a bone mask. Adopting on others the appearance of a crow-headed mantis the size of Yeddim, with a statuesque human fused into the core; neck and joints merging with the monstrous portions. On still others they appear as an androgynous denizen of the North-East, clad in sleek, glamorous garb that, upon closer inspection is fashioned entirely from blood and feathers.
Admittance to the Carnival is not free, a fine story, a heartfelt performance, a term of service or a splendid trinket is the usual fee (even demons have operating costs); but neither is it coerced. Not for magnanimous reasons understand, rather Krähex's ego cannot abide the idea of a captive audience. Their cries and love and jeers must be offered of their own volition. Anything that seeks merely to soothe wounds offers a grave insult and Krähex has staked the remains of such well-meaning critics by the main gates. The Seneschal would treasure a single cruel word over a hundred simpering compliments any day of any season. While they maintain no armies the size of the Carnival expands and contracts like the thudding of an overlarge heart and, at any given point, dozens of thousands of demons may be within the fairs bounds. Intoxicated, liberated, and incredibly determined to enjoy themselves. To say nothing of the well paid mercenary complements.
Notes and Abilities: Krähex gathers strange artifacts and strong laborers from across two worlds. A showman par excellence, they are always searching for something new to shock and delight their audiences and can be dealt with diplomatically or (more profitably) economically. Unscrupulous Guildsmen have made a fine fortune through the sale of slaves and oddities to the demon. They are, if nothing else, a possible source of Malfean luxuries within creation. Sorcerers summon Krähex for the same reason that their kin in the Demon City offers patronage: entertainment. An opiate for the crushing, grinding despair that haunts daily life within the bowels of Malfeas. Such magicians should be wary and mind the audience. Krähex will attempt to carry orphaned children and newly married couples below if given a chance.
The Seneschal in Sable and Scarlet may escape into Creation when a traveling fair is destroyed, dispersed, or otherwise violently waylaid on the road. They will arrive the night the original performers were due to give a performance of their own. Even the most thrifty governors are advised to pay when the final curtains fall. For not doing so frees Krähex to extract their tribute from the land itself.
