- Location
- East of the Sun and West of the Moon
Alveua and Berengiere. The 3E leak also mentioned someone called Lanthild, Shaper of the Mind's Clay, who can put dreams in a jar.
General Exalted Thread
- Location
- Denmark
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Well, since Alveua and Berengiere have been mentioned, you could also namedrop my Peraspera if you felt like it.
Lealope
Not yet invincible
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Would somebody mind threadmarking this? I really like this piece of homebrew.
- Location
- Denmark
- Pronouns
- She/Her
I like it too, it's pretty good.
TenfoldShields
Lounging on a Hoard of Words
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Zagaz, the Marrow-Prince
Demon of the Second Circle
Defining Soul of the Amniotic Dragon
To define something is to bind it. To chain it. To draw lines across the landscape and say "this is such" and "this is not". Words are given meaning as much by their negative space as by their content. If you proclaim that someone is sated do you not also state an absence of want? If you announce that something is clean do you not also articulate an absence of filth? The presence of one world banishes the other. Such is especially true for Karalis, that creature of immense extremes. The Circumscribed Circle is his Defining Soul, his jailer, his shadow, and, more than ever in recent days, his defender.
Zagaz appears as a statuesque figure clad from head to toe in perfectly form-fitting white armor. The slats and sliding plates cleverly textured to appear as curved ribs, bundled femurs, and slim radii. His head is crowned in a helm styled after one of the sleek-headed, flamboyant birds of the South-West. A grand, multi-sectioned collar rises from his shoulders and spills down his back; bleeding through every shade of scarlet. His gauntlets are tipped in glossy crescents to match, spars spanning deep into his hands. With but a touch he may raise sheer sided walls. Every motion of his is stately and well considered, every gesture he makes measured and sublimed; yet, when forced to react suddenly, one can see the translucent lining stretching between the ivory struts as he twists and turns. And the dark material pulsing wetly within.
The Marrow-Prince builds dams. It is what he does. It is what he is for. He shuts up raging streams within valleys, turning them into pleasant lochs and placid pools. He sculpts high embankments of bleached bone and gouges canals through the misty landscape, wicking away the worst of the flood's wrath. When crystalline snow melts from the higher slopes of Elloge's body and her tributaries churn with frustrated, impotent meaning, it is his works that spare whole boroughs and saves entire settlements. And when his greater self returns to his shell, bitter and inconsolable, it is he who gently takes Karalis's hand and raises ruined walls high once more. Naturally Malfeas being Malfeas his structures do not last. The Demon City shivers and a ridge of skyscrapers shatters his latest creation, flooding the lowlands in a wash of ruinous red. Megapredators or maddened demons assail his walls with organic explosives and careless creatures clog his intake vents, blowing sinew laced turbines. He minds not. He has learned how to craft installations to endure as long as they can in such a harsh environment and adores the challenge of rebuilding. If left unchecked he knows that he would do his best to pen up all of Elloge. Such hubris would doubtless see him destroyed and naive Karalis left bereft of his practical guidance and stalwart fortifications, so he consoles himself in dire times.
But his imposing armor and intimidating visage hide a secret: Zagaz lives in constant, paranoid fear. The world without frightens him badly and so he founds his fortress-dams to control the world within and shut out the rest. Darkness alarms him, terrifies him with all the nightmarish intensity of a mortal childhood, and so shadows within his realm are banished. His sanctums perfect domes of shining white without a scrap of gloom. Filth and worse, parasites, repulse him at a fundamental level and so he has all his workers regularly poked and prodded by his surgical corps. Scanned and dosed until he is content that the only thing dwelling within them is wholesome meat and sloshing blood. He is a hypochondriac without peer and is at his happiest when sitting meditatively in the center of his well-lit stronghold. Touching nothing. Doing nothing. While a Stomach Bottle Bug or other doctor-craft roots through his insides to clean out any trace of taint.
Notes and Abilities: The Marrow-Prince is summoned for his knowledge of defensive works and irrigation as well as his skill at organizing mass labor. That in the chaos of Malfeas he can raise so monolithic things (deliberately no less!) is a sign of rare ability. Alas the Circumscribed Circle detests muddy, squirming Creation with every fiber of his being and so insists that sorcerers summon his palanquin guard as well before he begins work, so that his feel will not need touch the earth. His dearest dream is to examine the wondrous works at Nexus but, unfortunately, the mere thought of the city's polluted rivers sends him into dry heaves. Zagaz may escape into Creation whenever river-gods sweep away a village, devouring the populace to spit their stripped, cracked bones on the banks. For such arrogant upstarts he makes an exception: penning some in upon themselves and choking the rest. Still, he is sure to linger no longer than he must.
Elarul, the Self-Effacing Eye
Demon of the Second Circle
Warden Soul of the Amniotic Dragon
Do not judge her too harshly: Elarul was born knowing too much and saw things she should not. From the moment she woke, from the second she opened her eyes, she saw herself and her kin for the broken, pitiful, ugly things they were. Her siblings vapid and shallow. Her greater self puerile and pathetic. Every flaw picked out for her. Dusted with shades of cinnamon and dripping with import. She could list all the ways the Ellogean have failed. Measured by breadth and severity, organized by pain and impact. How could she have anything but disdain for her sibling-souls, her progenitor, her self? Ah but here one must judge her and Karalis's right-thinking, upstanding souls do condemn her: even in hell nobody loves a traitor.
Rumors swirl about her, lurid and luxuriating. She has journeyed to the Forge of Night and spoken with its mistress. She has climbed Mt. Qaf and sat with its guardians. She has trucked with the Shogun of Mold and sailed red-paper messages to the fringes of Sin Hinar. She will return at the head of an army to rain ruin upon the Highlands. She will return leading a cadre of skilled assassins to slay Krähex and Zagaz and claim their mantles. She will return alone and carve out Kalaris's heart personally. She fosters such things. Sowing the seeds with whispers and murmurs, small stones skipped across a pond. Words rippling out from the point of impact. Radiating and intersecting. She thinks it well that her fellows live in fear. Fear keeps one sharp. Fear keeps one alive. Constant cold contempt for others and for oneself is the only way to survive and succeed in a world such as Malfeas. And if her fellows swathe themselves in bloodstained bandages or swathes of sticky gauze she would rip their bindings away. Bend their ear and fill their head with Truth.
You are foolish. You are a failure. You are alone.
You are nothing.
The Carmine Catechism appears as a princess of the South. Her hair long and dark, her skin rich in hue. Clad in clotted rags for she cast off her fine accoutrements long ago. Eyes spread across her skin in alien constellations. Curling over her scalp and spilling down her left side. Each one a keen-edged ruby shard. A wine-dark iris flickering this way and that beneath the glass. Locking onto passersby and glowing, growing as it drinks them in. When it pleases her she may take the form of a proud, imperious eagle with gemstone pinions. Thus she overflies settlements and sheds her feathers, hateful words falling like a razor-edged hail. Striking citizens and rooting deep in bone and sinew. Granting them knowledge of themselves as it spreads, flesh hardening, paralyzing, dissolving under the strain of such self-awareness. If asked she would say she only takes as much pleasure in this as appropriate. It is the truth, why should it be hidden from them? What have they done to merit such tender care? And if the old adage is true why shouldn't misery then enjoy its share of company?
Notes and Abilities: Elarul is summoned by sorcerers as a weapon of war and a tool of terror. Her feathers can reap a bloody harvest from even a well armored army and drive the survivors into solipsistic self-loathing. With her talons she can rip open ship hulls and artifact armor alike. With her eyes she may take the measure of a city and gauge its fear. Yet her would-be masters ought to exercise caution: Elarul sees them as they see their enemies and despises them deeply for it. She has no loyalty save to herself and, in her own warped way, Karalis. Her greater self. She does not wish to break him to be cruel, she whispers as she clings to the edge of a giant's slitted ear, a long-armed nightmare with vermilion teeth. She does it so that he will know himself and know his place. That he will not fly beyond his ability and be destroyed. Foolish dreams are the first casualty of true strength.
The Self-Effacing Eye may escape when a woman wearing rubies is shamed and shunned by a crowd. Her private humiliation drawn out for all to see. Gemmed shards begin to form on the unfortunate victim's skin. Scabbing over into wild, darting eyes. Over the course of four days the mortal is consumed and converted, until all distinction between her and her demonic occupant is lost. However: let it not be said that Elarul has no notion of justice. Indeed those who so abused her host are typically her second victims.
Demon of the Second Circle
Defining Soul of the Amniotic Dragon
To define something is to bind it. To chain it. To draw lines across the landscape and say "this is such" and "this is not". Words are given meaning as much by their negative space as by their content. If you proclaim that someone is sated do you not also state an absence of want? If you announce that something is clean do you not also articulate an absence of filth? The presence of one world banishes the other. Such is especially true for Karalis, that creature of immense extremes. The Circumscribed Circle is his Defining Soul, his jailer, his shadow, and, more than ever in recent days, his defender.
Zagaz appears as a statuesque figure clad from head to toe in perfectly form-fitting white armor. The slats and sliding plates cleverly textured to appear as curved ribs, bundled femurs, and slim radii. His head is crowned in a helm styled after one of the sleek-headed, flamboyant birds of the South-West. A grand, multi-sectioned collar rises from his shoulders and spills down his back; bleeding through every shade of scarlet. His gauntlets are tipped in glossy crescents to match, spars spanning deep into his hands. With but a touch he may raise sheer sided walls. Every motion of his is stately and well considered, every gesture he makes measured and sublimed; yet, when forced to react suddenly, one can see the translucent lining stretching between the ivory struts as he twists and turns. And the dark material pulsing wetly within.
The Marrow-Prince builds dams. It is what he does. It is what he is for. He shuts up raging streams within valleys, turning them into pleasant lochs and placid pools. He sculpts high embankments of bleached bone and gouges canals through the misty landscape, wicking away the worst of the flood's wrath. When crystalline snow melts from the higher slopes of Elloge's body and her tributaries churn with frustrated, impotent meaning, it is his works that spare whole boroughs and saves entire settlements. And when his greater self returns to his shell, bitter and inconsolable, it is he who gently takes Karalis's hand and raises ruined walls high once more. Naturally Malfeas being Malfeas his structures do not last. The Demon City shivers and a ridge of skyscrapers shatters his latest creation, flooding the lowlands in a wash of ruinous red. Megapredators or maddened demons assail his walls with organic explosives and careless creatures clog his intake vents, blowing sinew laced turbines. He minds not. He has learned how to craft installations to endure as long as they can in such a harsh environment and adores the challenge of rebuilding. If left unchecked he knows that he would do his best to pen up all of Elloge. Such hubris would doubtless see him destroyed and naive Karalis left bereft of his practical guidance and stalwart fortifications, so he consoles himself in dire times.
But his imposing armor and intimidating visage hide a secret: Zagaz lives in constant, paranoid fear. The world without frightens him badly and so he founds his fortress-dams to control the world within and shut out the rest. Darkness alarms him, terrifies him with all the nightmarish intensity of a mortal childhood, and so shadows within his realm are banished. His sanctums perfect domes of shining white without a scrap of gloom. Filth and worse, parasites, repulse him at a fundamental level and so he has all his workers regularly poked and prodded by his surgical corps. Scanned and dosed until he is content that the only thing dwelling within them is wholesome meat and sloshing blood. He is a hypochondriac without peer and is at his happiest when sitting meditatively in the center of his well-lit stronghold. Touching nothing. Doing nothing. While a Stomach Bottle Bug or other doctor-craft roots through his insides to clean out any trace of taint.
Notes and Abilities: The Marrow-Prince is summoned for his knowledge of defensive works and irrigation as well as his skill at organizing mass labor. That in the chaos of Malfeas he can raise so monolithic things (deliberately no less!) is a sign of rare ability. Alas the Circumscribed Circle detests muddy, squirming Creation with every fiber of his being and so insists that sorcerers summon his palanquin guard as well before he begins work, so that his feel will not need touch the earth. His dearest dream is to examine the wondrous works at Nexus but, unfortunately, the mere thought of the city's polluted rivers sends him into dry heaves. Zagaz may escape into Creation whenever river-gods sweep away a village, devouring the populace to spit their stripped, cracked bones on the banks. For such arrogant upstarts he makes an exception: penning some in upon themselves and choking the rest. Still, he is sure to linger no longer than he must.
Elarul, the Self-Effacing Eye
Demon of the Second Circle
Warden Soul of the Amniotic Dragon
Do not judge her too harshly: Elarul was born knowing too much and saw things she should not. From the moment she woke, from the second she opened her eyes, she saw herself and her kin for the broken, pitiful, ugly things they were. Her siblings vapid and shallow. Her greater self puerile and pathetic. Every flaw picked out for her. Dusted with shades of cinnamon and dripping with import. She could list all the ways the Ellogean have failed. Measured by breadth and severity, organized by pain and impact. How could she have anything but disdain for her sibling-souls, her progenitor, her self? Ah but here one must judge her and Karalis's right-thinking, upstanding souls do condemn her: even in hell nobody loves a traitor.
Rumors swirl about her, lurid and luxuriating. She has journeyed to the Forge of Night and spoken with its mistress. She has climbed Mt. Qaf and sat with its guardians. She has trucked with the Shogun of Mold and sailed red-paper messages to the fringes of Sin Hinar. She will return at the head of an army to rain ruin upon the Highlands. She will return leading a cadre of skilled assassins to slay Krähex and Zagaz and claim their mantles. She will return alone and carve out Kalaris's heart personally. She fosters such things. Sowing the seeds with whispers and murmurs, small stones skipped across a pond. Words rippling out from the point of impact. Radiating and intersecting. She thinks it well that her fellows live in fear. Fear keeps one sharp. Fear keeps one alive. Constant cold contempt for others and for oneself is the only way to survive and succeed in a world such as Malfeas. And if her fellows swathe themselves in bloodstained bandages or swathes of sticky gauze she would rip their bindings away. Bend their ear and fill their head with Truth.
You are foolish. You are a failure. You are alone.
You are nothing.
The Carmine Catechism appears as a princess of the South. Her hair long and dark, her skin rich in hue. Clad in clotted rags for she cast off her fine accoutrements long ago. Eyes spread across her skin in alien constellations. Curling over her scalp and spilling down her left side. Each one a keen-edged ruby shard. A wine-dark iris flickering this way and that beneath the glass. Locking onto passersby and glowing, growing as it drinks them in. When it pleases her she may take the form of a proud, imperious eagle with gemstone pinions. Thus she overflies settlements and sheds her feathers, hateful words falling like a razor-edged hail. Striking citizens and rooting deep in bone and sinew. Granting them knowledge of themselves as it spreads, flesh hardening, paralyzing, dissolving under the strain of such self-awareness. If asked she would say she only takes as much pleasure in this as appropriate. It is the truth, why should it be hidden from them? What have they done to merit such tender care? And if the old adage is true why shouldn't misery then enjoy its share of company?
Notes and Abilities: Elarul is summoned by sorcerers as a weapon of war and a tool of terror. Her feathers can reap a bloody harvest from even a well armored army and drive the survivors into solipsistic self-loathing. With her talons she can rip open ship hulls and artifact armor alike. With her eyes she may take the measure of a city and gauge its fear. Yet her would-be masters ought to exercise caution: Elarul sees them as they see their enemies and despises them deeply for it. She has no loyalty save to herself and, in her own warped way, Karalis. Her greater self. She does not wish to break him to be cruel, she whispers as she clings to the edge of a giant's slitted ear, a long-armed nightmare with vermilion teeth. She does it so that he will know himself and know his place. That he will not fly beyond his ability and be destroyed. Foolish dreams are the first casualty of true strength.
The Self-Effacing Eye may escape when a woman wearing rubies is shamed and shunned by a crowd. Her private humiliation drawn out for all to see. Gemmed shards begin to form on the unfortunate victim's skin. Scabbing over into wild, darting eyes. Over the course of four days the mortal is consumed and converted, until all distinction between her and her demonic occupant is lost. However: let it not be said that Elarul has no notion of justice. Indeed those who so abused her host are typically her second victims.
Last edited:
- Location
- Denmark
- Pronouns
- She/Her
- Location
- Pittsburgh, PA
ARGH
Fuck it
I'm not changing Ghalu-Than's Indulgent Soul again
The lazy fuck is just gonna have to get compared to Zagaz
And DEAL WITH IT
STUPID LAZY ECHOCUBE
TenfoldShields
Lounging on a Hoard of Words
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Last edited:
- Location
- Pittsburgh, PA
HERE WE GO HERE WE GO HERE WE GO
I'M MAINTAINING AN ALMOST-ACCEPTABLE UPDATE SPEED AND IT FEELS SO GOOD
==================================================================================================
Yyrizesh, The Unrestful Savant
Demon of the Second Circle
Wisdom Soul of the Great Terror Worm
For all its simple-mindedness, the fear Ghalu-Than experiences is of a scale and depth that sits far beyond the comprehension of demon, mortal, and god alike. With its deep rough throat, the Great Terror Worm screams forever, with such force that pottery shatters and the ears of nearby listeners bleed – and still that is not enough to convey even a quarter of its horror.
This deficiency is why Yyrizesh & his brother-soul Leshtekuph exist – each was but a supplementary set of mouths and eyes and limbs through which their greater self instinctively sought to express its misery. As such, the two live each moment in terrible distress – and yet they are little alike. Where Leshtekuph blindly embraces his role as the Great Terror Worm's mouthpiece, Yyrizesh rails against it with every fiber of his being.
The Unrestful Savant is an emaciated, ungainly figure. His spiny back is bowed as if a great weight rested upon it (though even still he stands a head-and-a-half taller than a man of the North), and the sloppy jumble of vaguely humanoid facial components upon his spherical head gibber and murmur and sniffle and weep, as the Great Terror Worm endlessly pours its suffering into the weary skull of its lesser self. In place of legs or a tail, Yyrizesh walks upon a thicket of twig-thin, unnaturally flexible arms which sprout from his shoulders and sides.
With every movement, his pale flesh rebels and struggles to collapse in a piteous heap, but in all the history of Creation, none have known him to let this innate weakness overcome him. For the Wisdom Soul of Ghalu-Than, fear is a thing of the body, and so his mind must ever struggle to subjugate it to enable his own desires. To be free, he must find the means to express his greater self's fear perfectly and in totality, to understand it, and thus discover how it may at long last be conquered.
And so, for as long as any mortal record can recount, Yyrizesh has existed in a constant state of precise, furious artistic endeavor. He places his many limbs with such sublime perfection that their nervous spasms carve frescoes and bas-reliefs in the ground. When his teeth grind and chatter with fear, he places small pieces of wood or stone between them and expertly shifts them to and fro until they are cut into delicate sculpture, and with the six threadlike digits which adorn each of his spindly limbs, he catches the tears and spit and other liquids which spill from his unlovely visage, then flicks them away with such precision and force that the droplets' spatter forms paintings.
These works' aesthetics run from angular abstraction to primal expressionism, and may focus on nearly any form of emotion (as Yyrizesh has long moved into exploring fear's relationships to other states of mind) but all are in some way a meditation on the Unrestful Savant's great philosophical quest. Loath to try and make new art over old, the Unrestful Savant conducts an eternal pilgrimage, moving freely between the Demon City itself & Ylagra's cavernous world-body and leaving great galleries of art in the wake of his passing.
Summoning: Yyrizesh, for all his status and intellect, is an invalid by the standards of demons – still stronger than a mortal man, but slow and soft and, aside from his own carefully-honed artistry, graceless. By flicking droplets of his caustic tears and hallucinogenic vomit, he can devastate unarmored foes, and may even be able to enfold and crush a single stalwart opponent if pressed, but against a Wyld Hunt, or even a sufficiently numerous mortal host, he would fall.
This he has accepted, and so he has become greatly skilled at the creation of lesser demons, which act on his behalf. In the halls of Ylagra, the Unrestful Savant walks amid a great legion, and if summoned into a dangerous clime, he will seek to recreate this hellish entourage as quickly as his palsied flesh can manage. There are sorcerers who find great value in commanding the lord of a demonic army.
Most call forth the Unrestful Savant for his skill in the arts, which are beautiful and evocative in their own manner. Such folk would do well to offer him tools and materials to work with, for he greatly appreciates the novelty of using paints other than his effluvia and instruments beyond his fingers. In the High First Age, it was not infrequent for sorcerers of the Deliberative to bring him forth as an adjunct to other creative-minded Princes of Hell – he has designed statuary to adorn Amalion's architecture, donated bowls of tears and sputum in which to quench Alveua's forge-works, and been brought forth with Peraspera to bridge her reticence to discuss military matters with his own insight into fear and despair.
A handful bring him forth to seek his insight in surmounting their own failings and phobias. Such men are often disappointed, for the Unrestful Savant's knowledge is canted harshly toward breaking minds, rather than mending them (a fact which galls him endlessly). Those few who ignore his warnings and demand help anyway go mad, and do so in manners which will live forever in the cautionary tales of priests.
When a great craftsman suffers some great malady of the spirit, such as a broken heart or a traumatic near-death experience, and struggles to overcome it through exercise of their chosen talent, there is a chance Yyrizesh will sense their frustration and, in sympathy, donate a shred of his own insight and creative fervor to inflame their own.
Those so blessed become as men possessed, and will continue their efforts until they either succeed in exorcising their personal demons or perish from lack of rest. Either way, their souls now belong to the Unrestful Savant, and those who survive will preach to others on his behalf; such men are often the originators of strange philosopher-cults.
==================================================================================================
Feed me all your commentary.
I'M MAINTAINING AN ALMOST-ACCEPTABLE UPDATE SPEED AND IT FEELS SO GOOD
==================================================================================================
Yyrizesh, The Unrestful Savant
Demon of the Second Circle
Wisdom Soul of the Great Terror Worm
For all its simple-mindedness, the fear Ghalu-Than experiences is of a scale and depth that sits far beyond the comprehension of demon, mortal, and god alike. With its deep rough throat, the Great Terror Worm screams forever, with such force that pottery shatters and the ears of nearby listeners bleed – and still that is not enough to convey even a quarter of its horror.
This deficiency is why Yyrizesh & his brother-soul Leshtekuph exist – each was but a supplementary set of mouths and eyes and limbs through which their greater self instinctively sought to express its misery. As such, the two live each moment in terrible distress – and yet they are little alike. Where Leshtekuph blindly embraces his role as the Great Terror Worm's mouthpiece, Yyrizesh rails against it with every fiber of his being.
The Unrestful Savant is an emaciated, ungainly figure. His spiny back is bowed as if a great weight rested upon it (though even still he stands a head-and-a-half taller than a man of the North), and the sloppy jumble of vaguely humanoid facial components upon his spherical head gibber and murmur and sniffle and weep, as the Great Terror Worm endlessly pours its suffering into the weary skull of its lesser self. In place of legs or a tail, Yyrizesh walks upon a thicket of twig-thin, unnaturally flexible arms which sprout from his shoulders and sides.
With every movement, his pale flesh rebels and struggles to collapse in a piteous heap, but in all the history of Creation, none have known him to let this innate weakness overcome him. For the Wisdom Soul of Ghalu-Than, fear is a thing of the body, and so his mind must ever struggle to subjugate it to enable his own desires. To be free, he must find the means to express his greater self's fear perfectly and in totality, to understand it, and thus discover how it may at long last be conquered.
And so, for as long as any mortal record can recount, Yyrizesh has existed in a constant state of precise, furious artistic endeavor. He places his many limbs with such sublime perfection that their nervous spasms carve frescoes and bas-reliefs in the ground. When his teeth grind and chatter with fear, he places small pieces of wood or stone between them and expertly shifts them to and fro until they are cut into delicate sculpture, and with the six threadlike digits which adorn each of his spindly limbs, he catches the tears and spit and other liquids which spill from his unlovely visage, then flicks them away with such precision and force that the droplets' spatter forms paintings.
These works' aesthetics run from angular abstraction to primal expressionism, and may focus on nearly any form of emotion (as Yyrizesh has long moved into exploring fear's relationships to other states of mind) but all are in some way a meditation on the Unrestful Savant's great philosophical quest. Loath to try and make new art over old, the Unrestful Savant conducts an eternal pilgrimage, moving freely between the Demon City itself & Ylagra's cavernous world-body and leaving great galleries of art in the wake of his passing.
Summoning: Yyrizesh, for all his status and intellect, is an invalid by the standards of demons – still stronger than a mortal man, but slow and soft and, aside from his own carefully-honed artistry, graceless. By flicking droplets of his caustic tears and hallucinogenic vomit, he can devastate unarmored foes, and may even be able to enfold and crush a single stalwart opponent if pressed, but against a Wyld Hunt, or even a sufficiently numerous mortal host, he would fall.
This he has accepted, and so he has become greatly skilled at the creation of lesser demons, which act on his behalf. In the halls of Ylagra, the Unrestful Savant walks amid a great legion, and if summoned into a dangerous clime, he will seek to recreate this hellish entourage as quickly as his palsied flesh can manage. There are sorcerers who find great value in commanding the lord of a demonic army.
Most call forth the Unrestful Savant for his skill in the arts, which are beautiful and evocative in their own manner. Such folk would do well to offer him tools and materials to work with, for he greatly appreciates the novelty of using paints other than his effluvia and instruments beyond his fingers. In the High First Age, it was not infrequent for sorcerers of the Deliberative to bring him forth as an adjunct to other creative-minded Princes of Hell – he has designed statuary to adorn Amalion's architecture, donated bowls of tears and sputum in which to quench Alveua's forge-works, and been brought forth with Peraspera to bridge her reticence to discuss military matters with his own insight into fear and despair.
A handful bring him forth to seek his insight in surmounting their own failings and phobias. Such men are often disappointed, for the Unrestful Savant's knowledge is canted harshly toward breaking minds, rather than mending them (a fact which galls him endlessly). Those few who ignore his warnings and demand help anyway go mad, and do so in manners which will live forever in the cautionary tales of priests.
When a great craftsman suffers some great malady of the spirit, such as a broken heart or a traumatic near-death experience, and struggles to overcome it through exercise of their chosen talent, there is a chance Yyrizesh will sense their frustration and, in sympathy, donate a shred of his own insight and creative fervor to inflame their own.
Those so blessed become as men possessed, and will continue their efforts until they either succeed in exorcising their personal demons or perish from lack of rest. Either way, their souls now belong to the Unrestful Savant, and those who survive will preach to others on his behalf; such men are often the originators of strange philosopher-cults.
==================================================================================================
Feed me all your commentary.
- Location
- Denmark
- Pronouns
- She/Her
nah
Just avoiding work
unlimited neglect works
Thank you both! Feel free to let me know if anything seems inordinately hinky with it, as well.
Graypairofsocks
What is Grammar?
- Location
- earth
Is there a God of the Immaculate Order?
I am aware how Ironic that would be.
I am aware how Ironic that would be.
- Location
- Denmark
- Pronouns
- She/Her
It wouldn't really be ironic though.
There are gods of every phenomenon, and the Immaculate Order recognizes this fact.
It just wants them to shut up, do their job and accept the Dragon-Blooded as rulers. I mean, the Order has sanctioned and scheduled days to pray to specific gods for fucks sake.
It recognizes the Unconquered Sun, Luna and the Maidens but maintains that the Anathema are evil demons who stole their power, and to distract the Incarnae would be sinful as their duties are manifold and important.
- Location
- Denmark
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Sorry for the double post, but I must.
SEELE Third Circle when?
"All according to the Scenario."
Aaron Peori
Rest in Peace
What would be ironic is if the God of the Immaculate Order was the only uncorrupt God in heaven. Just a upright guy, who does his job without complaint and is content with his lot in life. He knows that the religion he is monitoring is complete bullshit, but he doesn't much care. His job isn't to pass judgement, its to monitor the spread of the Immaculate Faith and check for errors and otherwise make certain all the reports from the least gods get filed appropriately.
The Sidereals keep trying to bribe and or assassinate him because they want a more ambitious god who will abuse their power on their behalf in the position but, ironically, the pittance tithe he gets as the god of a religion makes him one of the most badass gods in heaven. Plus, the Celestial Lions appreciate him and put a guard on his office.
Graypairofsocks
What is Grammar?
- Location
- earth
Wasn't there a Postal Service in the first age called the Immaculate Order?
- Location
- Denmark
- Pronouns
- She/Her
No. If there was, it would be stupid given that the Order is actually named 'The Order of The Immaculate Dragons', shortened to 'The Immaculate Order' by everyone who doesn't want their time on writing a twelve-syllable sentence to refer to their religion.
Graypairofsocks
What is Grammar?
- Location
- earth
What do we know about Chungira Rametheus?
- Location
- Singapore
Aaron Peori
Rest in Peace
Prayer for a god directly translate to personal power. More prayer = more power.
If you get a cut of every prayer that is directed to other gods (as, say, the Unconquered Sun does) you can get a lot of power. If the god of a religion like the Immaculate Order gets even a tiny cut of every prayer directed to any god the Immaculates worship he will get a huge amount of prayer.
- Location
- Spain
I am pretty sure it doesn't work that way.
UCS just gets, as King of Heaven, the right to quintaessence (Undirected, subconsciencious prayer). He then distributes most of his quintaessence to unemployed gods as a Social assistance net.
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Sucal
The Devil’s Cut
- Location
- Bottom of the barrel
It does work that way, at least in 2e.
A higher cult rating directly leads to higher essence and more charms for Gods
The Phoenixian
The Glacier Witch
- Location
- My own little world
Posted here instead of in Kerisgame since it's only tangentially related to there and it got a little too long for a side to the thread.
I'll note that my system knowledge is best described as "patchy" --- there are systems and sources from Exalted I've been able to access directly, especially homebrew, but certainly not all of it --- so while I've tried to keep this general and well researched enough to work, and explained the gaps in my knowledge I know about, if it looks like I've cited a bad source or don't know something obvious, that may well be the case.
So if you spot something badly wrong, by all means I outright invite you to correct me.
For the purpose of this post, I'm taking the Book of Ten Thousand Scorpions and the mechanics of the Unwoven Coadjustor rewrite and Kerisgame Hacks as canon. It likely won't come up all that much, but it's there in the background and may inform some unspoken assumptions.
You know, this talk of entering the Infernal's soul world brings up a thought: If you wanted a basis for simple and relatively free interaction between the soul world and people other than the infernal and creatures from her mythos, without exposing the Po or Coadjuster or otherwise breaking things via invulnerable, perfectly provided for Cult, why not use the framework created by dream invasion and Seven Nights Shintai as an inspiration? (Though I'd like to know whether there are also other issues that need to be dealt with beyond the listed ones I've seen discussed)
It gets by the "I keep my Companions and Cult in my soul" issue in that the participants are only sleeping, and thus still exist in the physical world and can be killed or robbed while sleeping and need to eat, drink, otherwise interact with reality, etc.
Likewise what I've seen of Dream Invasion (ES's Seven Nights Shintai, I don't actually recall if it's solitary or uses a framework provided by other charms) the charm provides a protection for at least one side of the thing (waking up with willpower loss instead of dying) on the side of the invaded. Invoking the rules of Fantasy Shaping to a degree gives a good a rationale to fluff that out into two way protection. The implementation that seems most workable to me is a meeting between two real beings where their mutual presence itself is the unreal thing. I imagine the protections would be something like:
"The thaumaturgy created by the charm allows a meeting of minds and souls within dreams where both sides can interact but neither is truly real to the other. While there can be permanent influence, for men weigh heavy in the minds of men, even those who have become worlds, neither the visitor nor any part of the Infernal may be permanently harmed within the dream. Being crippled or 'Dying' instead results in losing 1 wp as the mind recoils against the fantasy meeting, upon which either the visitor wakes or the deva* is restored to full health after five hours. Likewise either party can disengage from the shared dream at will, just as even the worst conversation can simply be shunned, even if there may be consequences later. In the case of the Infernal or her souls this results in effectively banning access, which may apply to anything from a broad group to a single individual"
*deva here being anything with a soul that's part of the Infernal's Mythos, There's probably a better broad term and the categories can certainly have room for refinement if desired. Harming beastial akuma but not anything more "important" as one consideration.
Or something along those lines. There's a pretty wide range of fluff and alternatives to that specific structure but this seems the best of the ones I can see.
As implied above mentioned It makes sense that the charm creates a thaumaturgy, as that allows a theoretically quite wide range of people in and, for reasons I'll get to later, the ritual requiring a payment to the Infernal of some sort also adds it's own benefits. Tangible, obvious, and otherwise.
In any event, this method of meeting in dreams allows you to go on and invoke a long tradition of visiting other worlds in your sleep when it comes to the perspective of the visitor. Make a deal with the devil in you sleep only to wake up beside your suddenly very physical ill-gotten gains? It's been done. (Though this one does have the potential for Cult problems and the same sort of problems as VEE's canon problems. I really don't have the basis to know what would need to be done to make such a thing work.) Meeting someone within a dream and pulling them from the dream with you when you wake? Sounds a bit like Beckoning, which (if my source is correct) is a six hour ritual, the difference being you're just 1) doing it in your sleep and 2) pulling someone with you instead of calling someone to you. Mortally offend someone? A traveler arcane realms, maddened with fear, seals and specially wards his room to prevent things from getting in to kill him via the cracks in reality. (One cannot help but imagine the Keruby as the Hounds of Tindalos. Well Keruby or a furious Olajiyae if you want to be more serious and literal with "They get in through the cracks in the plaster on the walls".)
As to actual benefits for the Infernal: It's a secret meeting place for allies and the inherent protections on it mean that it's a place where for rivals and enemies who know of those protections can parley, (For that matter you could probably expand the "meeting of dreams" potential fluff into a charm for creating and allowing soul-embassies among other Infernals for the benefit of multi-player groups who are inclined to Kerisgame-style souls shenanegains.) And as for mortals? Well it's a Service the Infernal can Provide them. Even without the possibilities in the paragraph above this one, giving a payment (be it of prayer or goods) as part of a ritual for entering a world beyond their own and beyond the physical? Well, one could argue that that's something we're doing right now if we want judge its potential value and applications.
(And therein lies the joke: The Infernal, Green Sun Prince is can now be likened to Cyberspace, not in culture or trappings, but in structure, and you must pay a literal hell being to access it.)
I'll note that my system knowledge is best described as "patchy" --- there are systems and sources from Exalted I've been able to access directly, especially homebrew, but certainly not all of it --- so while I've tried to keep this general and well researched enough to work, and explained the gaps in my knowledge I know about, if it looks like I've cited a bad source or don't know something obvious, that may well be the case.
So if you spot something badly wrong, by all means I outright invite you to correct me.
For the purpose of this post, I'm taking the Book of Ten Thousand Scorpions and the mechanics of the Unwoven Coadjustor rewrite and Kerisgame Hacks as canon. It likely won't come up all that much, but it's there in the background and may inform some unspoken assumptions.
No. This could potentially change specifically for Kerisgame, as @EarthScorpion mentions here, but I'm not too interested in doing so. Keris may, if she survives to elderhood and hangs around to the point where old age starts to threaten, finish off her life with some fucking huge Adamant ritual that externalises it, turns her hun soul into a Third Circle and basically sets up Krisity as an Elsewhere realm with links to Creation. Which will probably involve negotiating with Heaven beforehand to get permission and aid in setting it up, and so it would wind up as an allied realm with mutual defence pacts, evacuation agreements in case of another Great Contagion or similar and deva-summoning (fluffed as "calling on old pacts" a'la elves and men in LotR, so they're not just the summoner's slaves and may in fact require payment and respectful treatment). She would then, as a "first among equals" E10 Third Circle, proceed to be teriblu.
You know, this talk of entering the Infernal's soul world brings up a thought: If you wanted a basis for simple and relatively free interaction between the soul world and people other than the infernal and creatures from her mythos, without exposing the Po or Coadjuster or otherwise breaking things via invulnerable, perfectly provided for Cult, why not use the framework created by dream invasion and Seven Nights Shintai as an inspiration? (Though I'd like to know whether there are also other issues that need to be dealt with beyond the listed ones I've seen discussed)
It gets by the "I keep my Companions and Cult in my soul" issue in that the participants are only sleeping, and thus still exist in the physical world and can be killed or robbed while sleeping and need to eat, drink, otherwise interact with reality, etc.
Likewise what I've seen of Dream Invasion (ES's Seven Nights Shintai, I don't actually recall if it's solitary or uses a framework provided by other charms) the charm provides a protection for at least one side of the thing (waking up with willpower loss instead of dying) on the side of the invaded. Invoking the rules of Fantasy Shaping to a degree gives a good a rationale to fluff that out into two way protection. The implementation that seems most workable to me is a meeting between two real beings where their mutual presence itself is the unreal thing. I imagine the protections would be something like:
"The thaumaturgy created by the charm allows a meeting of minds and souls within dreams where both sides can interact but neither is truly real to the other. While there can be permanent influence, for men weigh heavy in the minds of men, even those who have become worlds, neither the visitor nor any part of the Infernal may be permanently harmed within the dream. Being crippled or 'Dying' instead results in losing 1 wp as the mind recoils against the fantasy meeting, upon which either the visitor wakes or the deva* is restored to full health after five hours. Likewise either party can disengage from the shared dream at will, just as even the worst conversation can simply be shunned, even if there may be consequences later. In the case of the Infernal or her souls this results in effectively banning access, which may apply to anything from a broad group to a single individual"
*deva here being anything with a soul that's part of the Infernal's Mythos, There's probably a better broad term and the categories can certainly have room for refinement if desired. Harming beastial akuma but not anything more "important" as one consideration.
Or something along those lines. There's a pretty wide range of fluff and alternatives to that specific structure but this seems the best of the ones I can see.
As implied above mentioned It makes sense that the charm creates a thaumaturgy, as that allows a theoretically quite wide range of people in and, for reasons I'll get to later, the ritual requiring a payment to the Infernal of some sort also adds it's own benefits. Tangible, obvious, and otherwise.
In any event, this method of meeting in dreams allows you to go on and invoke a long tradition of visiting other worlds in your sleep when it comes to the perspective of the visitor. Make a deal with the devil in you sleep only to wake up beside your suddenly very physical ill-gotten gains? It's been done. (Though this one does have the potential for Cult problems and the same sort of problems as VEE's canon problems. I really don't have the basis to know what would need to be done to make such a thing work.) Meeting someone within a dream and pulling them from the dream with you when you wake? Sounds a bit like Beckoning, which (if my source is correct) is a six hour ritual, the difference being you're just 1) doing it in your sleep and 2) pulling someone with you instead of calling someone to you. Mortally offend someone? A traveler arcane realms, maddened with fear, seals and specially wards his room to prevent things from getting in to kill him via the cracks in reality. (One cannot help but imagine the Keruby as the Hounds of Tindalos. Well Keruby or a furious Olajiyae if you want to be more serious and literal with "They get in through the cracks in the plaster on the walls".)
As to actual benefits for the Infernal: It's a secret meeting place for allies and the inherent protections on it mean that it's a place where for rivals and enemies who know of those protections can parley, (For that matter you could probably expand the "meeting of dreams" potential fluff into a charm for creating and allowing soul-embassies among other Infernals for the benefit of multi-player groups who are inclined to Kerisgame-style souls shenanegains.) And as for mortals? Well it's a Service the Infernal can Provide them. Even without the possibilities in the paragraph above this one, giving a payment (be it of prayer or goods) as part of a ritual for entering a world beyond their own and beyond the physical? Well, one could argue that that's something we're doing right now if we want judge its potential value and applications.
(And therein lies the joke: The Infernal, Green Sun Prince is can now be likened to Cyberspace, not in culture or trappings, but in structure, and you must pay a literal hell being to access it.)
- Location
- NOVA
@Dif I really like the virtue changes you have. Most of them feel very evocative to me and I can see why someone would want to play a character who's affected by them.
Does the character only have a subtype at the point where they would need to roll to avoid acting on the virtue or does it define some of their behavior at lower ranks as well?
This is the main one I felt iffy about. Is it about having to make an actionable plan for any problem the character knows about and refusing to act until all variables and actions are figured out?
Does the character only have a subtype at the point where they would need to roll to avoid acting on the virtue or does it define some of their behavior at lower ranks as well?
This is the main one I felt iffy about. Is it about having to make an actionable plan for any problem the character knows about and refusing to act until all variables and actions are figured out?
- Location
- Singapore
Sorry if I asked this before, but have you seen the post where the devs were asked what happened if the Exalted met with a sci fi setting?