The Fourth Soul - Houserules expanding the coadjutor The Infernal Id - Houserules for empowering an Infernal's po, potentially in place of the coadjutor
Demonic Anchors - Rules for sustaining demons in Creation in a way which limits the sheer number of demons a sorcerer can sustain.
Spirit-Shackles - Another Binding Method Sorcerous Ascension - On laughing maniacally as you shed your petty mortality Sorcerous Pacts - Because any sorcery system that lacks the capacity for you to damn yourself for power isn't doing its job
The Unholy Archive of the HamSandLich (Homebrew Hub) Long ago, in recent time, that was also several separate instances, a lich of sand and ham sat in his tome-filled writing manse and committed his most assuredly mad brain ravings to the realm of binary and forums. The products of his twisted imagination lie here, for the convenience of the sane, in this living document of the unliving's work.
Note: works marked deprecated are those which I consider no longer up to my personal standards for my Creation's internal canon. Any homebrews I create afterwards will no longer be consistent with these works, though they very well may salvage some ideas from them. However, to paraphrase the late and great Greg Stafford, Your Creation May Vary
The Fourth Soul - Houserules expanding the coadjutor The Infernal Id - Houserules for empowering an Infernal's po, potentially in place of the coadjutor
Spirit-Shackles - Another Binding Method Sorcerous Ascension - On laughing maniacally as you shed your petty mortality Sorcerous Pacts - Because any sorcery system that lacks the capacity for you to damn yourself for power isn't doing its job
There are pictures of its architecture in Bastions of the North. It looks to be a blend of Tibetan, a few other SE Asian buddhist styles, and "artists are not architects".
Anyway, I haven't seen @Dif, @Aaron Peori, or @Crumplepunch in this thread for a long time. Would seem a shame to lose their threadmarks just because they're not here anymore. Anyone wanna make compilations for them?
I could do it myself, but I'm kinda hoping someone else will save me the trouble.
Anyway, I haven't seen @Dif, @Aaron Peori, or @Crumplepunch in this thread for a long time. Would seem a shame to lose their threadmarks just because they're not here anymore. Anyone wanna make compilations for them?
I could do it myself, but I'm kinda hoping someone else will save me the trouble.
Within hell, dancing lights are seen, floating and bobbing on unseen tides and waves. That is the Agyu. Spheres of Malfean crystal, with flickering green flames within them, glowing with a green light. A single symbol is on them, and the Agyu points these at things they examine, like the pupil of an eye, its flickering inner flame casting strange shadows. They are mostly harmless, flitting about Malfeas's layers in great swarms, avoiding the predators and acids of kimberry, escaping the darkness of the Ebon Dragon. But of course, all in Malfeas earn their keep. And the Agyu earn theirs, by being weapons.
The Agyu were made by an ancient warlord of Hell. Seeing that his demons lacked firepower, he devised the Agyu to act as installable weapons powered by an imitation of Ligier's power. The Agyu can meld themselves into a demons' flesh, their bodies warping into elsewhere so only their runic pupil sticks out from the surface of the demons' body. Only one Agyu can share a host at a time. Any more, and the host begins to suffer from burns, similar to green sun wasting, as the power of the Agyu seeps into them.
Each Agyu contains a great inferno, a pale imitation of the power of the Green Sun. And though relatively weak, it is still a force to be reckoned with. They can release this power in great exhalations, blasting apart fortress walls in a blast of green light, or destroying armies by releasing predatory gouts of green flame, that seek out the closest living thing to set alight and are immune to water. A sorcerer using an Agyu and backed by other spells can singlehandedly take on entire armies. So, too, has the Agyu gained notoriety when used by Yozi cults.
Of course, such power comes at a price. The Agyu can only swivel by a minimal amount when bonded, and so the host must aim for them. And the power of the Agyu is such that it must be expended each day, or else the essence build-up will injure the host.*
*Each day, the host rolls Stamina + Resistance against difficulty 1. Failure leads to a single lethal health level of damage. Each day, the difficulty increases, as does the damage. Until the host either dies, or the Agyu is fired. Then the difficulty and damage is reset.
Fullankar, the textbook wasps.
Demon of the First Circle
Progeny of the Obsessive Scholar
The Obsessive Scholar is a patron of the arts and of knowledge, with a grand wish to spread understanding and enlightenment throughout Malfeas, the Underworld, Creation, and Heaven itself. Each beggar a poet. Each street urchin a weapons grandmaster. Each street sweeper an artist. Sadly, in these fallen times, most do not have the time nor the inclination to study his books, no matter how well-written or how comprehensive. Why read about the vagaries of the stars, when one is wondering where to find his next meal? Why read about the Treatises of Ahnschlus, when one is trying to till the field for the next harvest? And so, the Obsessive Scholar, with some hesitation, made the decision for them. He made the Fullankar.
The Fullankar, in their dormant form, appear as any form of information recording, and acts as a comprehensive guide and work on a single subject, whether it is melee, war, or medicine. Whether in first-age crystal tablet, paperback book, or silken scroll. In this form, they are near-indistinguishable from other, more mundane books. Using the Fullankar in this form allows one to train themselves up as if they were studying under a tutor, and reduce training times to a third. The knowledge and words themselves slotting themselves into a reader's mind, the pictures, inscriptions, and diagrams, seemingly coming alive on the page itself, the reader's body subconsciously twitching as the book describes how one swings a sword or how to carry out a surgical procedure.
In the other form, the book itself unfurls. Transforming into a Fullankar's full form. It is the size of a dog. A stinger, composed out of punctuation. Wings, made from pictures. Feet, made from adjectives. A shell composed out of nouns. Flickering in and out of existence with compound eyes made from verbs, the Fullankar has a stinger composed out of prepositions, dripping with venom. It is the venom that is key to its abilities. When the Fullankar stings, there is no pain. And then, enlightenment.
The venom of the Fullankar is composed out of liquified and materialized knowledge, an exact copy of the knowledge composed in its other form. It is not harsh. Not much worse than a bee sting. As the poison courses through one's veins, the information within can be accessed by the mind of the victim, allowing it to act as if it had been trained in it all his or her life. A peasant farmer can become a melee fighter that surpasses all but the greatest of mortals, specializing in the use of hoes. An untrained beggar can become the greatest mortal surgeon in the entire region. An newbie brat can become a general that wins against all but the greatest of forces arrayed against him***.
This comes with a price, though. It being poison, and the Obsessive Scholar not realizing the complications caused due to himself being a second circle demon, the poison itself hinders the victim, or beneficiary, of the Fullankar. A swordsman will find his tongue numb, his speech slurred. A surgeon would find that, although his fingers are now nimble and precise, his feet have become sluggish, forcing him to use a cane. A great general's skin now produces a horrible smell, forcing all but the bravest of courtesans to flee from him. *
And it being poison, the Fullankar's toxin does damage to the body, costing one lethal health level per week. After several weeks**, the poison runs its course, and is purged by the mortal's native defenses, and disappears. And with it, goes the knowledge and puissance it grants.****
*Never will the penalty of using the poison of a Fullankar ever negate the gifts of its venom.
** A month
*** Increased dots, plus specialty. War 5 with a specialty against being outnumbered is a hell of a thing
**** I think I should put a limit on how many times one can get stung by a Fullankar before they collapse into a puddle of nouns.
Szo, the word hunters
The ruffle in the pages. The ink, glistening. The words, seemingly shifting before your eyes. Names you do not know, occuring in the background and retelling of events. Lies and secrets, hidden meanings, all revealed beneath purpled light. When that happens, skilled sages call for demon-hunters, for a Szo has been let loose upon the pages.
A Szo has barely any physical form, and in its default state, has none at all. Being a descendant of Elloge, they are nothing more than a smattering of words. A narrative, a character, given puissance and thought by demonic power. They start out as common names, that could be found in any direction or in any town, and then enter into books, ledgers, tomes, storybooks, and documents. Entering their narratives, making a nest in between the lines and paragraphs. A history retelling of the battle of blackwater, for example, will be altered to include the off-hand account of a standard bearer of a common name. A report on a guild meeting, will include a mention of a new aide of the merchant prince helping to take notes. Most of these insertions are harmless. A manifestation of Elloge's desire to be part of every story.
That changes when they are summoned by sorcerers. For in being part of the narrative, they now can affect it. A brave commander who charged forward and broke the enemy's lines, can have the historical event changed for him to become a cowardly deserter. Brave champions who held off the enemy while their companions retreated can have their names altered to become someone the sorcerer favours. A book on herbology, with a extra mentions of their discoverer, can have names alterd or switched around, so any physician using them will use poison instead of a cure. Sowing chaos and disruption wherever they go, warping historical records and precious stores of knowledge. Worse in this age of sorrows, where books and tomes that are of any importance are rare and precious.
Szo have enmity with the Maiden of Endings, fearing the end of their narratives and their stories. When shone with purple light, they scream in pain and terror, shifting and altering. There, their power fades, and the original text appears, appearing bright white while the black words of the now-corrupted text squirm in pain. Prolonged exposure and exposure to incense will lead to the Szo leaving the book entirely, and this is where their second usage comes off. A Szo's physical form is a shifting one of dazzling adjectives and nouns, capable of forming any mortal weapon out of its shifting body. Its strength is not much greater than that of a mortal warrior, but the advantage obtained by sorcerers by having the words of a book leap out and attempt to murder their rivals is one that cannot be discounted.
In the modern age, the Szo have adapted, shifting and altering their own narratives and charms to match this new world. Now they are lines of code, in computers. Now, they are background subroutines within websites and web crawlers. Now they travel through cables and the air, leaping through computers and laptops, corrupting data, introducing errors within governmental and law enforcement records, walking through the darknet to introduce themselves as anonymous persons, trading information and favours. Now they leap through computer screens to slay those who seek to obstruct their masters.
Arynek, the chittering shadows
No one really knows who made them. Perhaps they were a curse, made for sport by a bored Deva in the time before. Perhaps a weapon made to destroy the source of Exaltations. Perhaps, a Yozi made them, to punish and torment the demons. It does not matter.
It all starts the same. A demon, wandering within the dark corridoors of Malfeas, hears a chattering sound. It starts. It turns around. It looks about. And then, it lights a torch, hoping to use the light to defend itself from whatever monster lurking within the depths. That is its worst and last mistake. The torchlight reveals flickering shadows... and one of them leaps forward, ten horribly elongated fingers reaching out towards the demon. The demon flees, running through catacombs and deserted corridoors, hiding, running, holding the torch aloft, attempting to flee the horrible abomination. It does not matter. The demon pauses for breathe, panting in exhuastion... and then screams as one of the fingers finally touch him.
The Arnyek are a race of shadow monsters, looking like horribly distorted shadows of human beings. Fingers reaching down to their legs. No head, nor facial features, but a pair of smoldering eyes in the upper section of its chest. The Arnyek does not exist. Not truly. They are absences of light, and so in places where no light exists they can not harm anyone. It is this reason that they seek out places without light, and make their customary chattering sound, hoping to instigate the lighting of fires and lamps. If there is already a lamp, then..... well, the Arnyek can always be counted on to be opportunistic.
The Arnyek's touch is rotting and twisted. The moment it touches anybody, it induces a crippling effect, turning the body into a frozen, immobile, pain-wracked husk. The person is left immobile for five days, until he finally expires. This always creates a hungry ghost, searching for vengeance against something that has probably long since departed.
Lazado, the Rebellious Rabble Rousers
The Lazado have many forms. Perhaps he has the form of a man, wearing a trenchcoat, smoke billowing about his face. Perhaps a man, dressed all in green, with a feathered cap.*** Perhaps a thief in the night, smirking and grinning, with a hat he tips to the ladies. No matter. The Lazado is a rebel and destroyer of authority. Created by some 3rd Circle as a slight against the priests of Cecylene, the Lazado are rebels, malcontents, and generally, anarchists against all forms of authority. Whether to kick out all the teachers in a school and let the children run wild, or to overthrow the Kings and distribute the treasury to the rabble outside. Often, he causes trouble for the princes of hell, inciting serfs to rebellion. Were he to be caught by Cecylene, his demise would be slow and painful. Which is why every single Lazado thirsts to enter the blue skies and clean air of Creation, to wrack havoc.
Let us say, a ordinary kingdom within the Threshold. The king is... mostly just. A few things which made his subjects grumble and the monks titter. Heavy taxes, like normal. Cruel and greedy nobles. Squalor and ghettoes. There, the Lazado appears. He gathers a posse of men, all discontented like himself, angry and unhappy. Perhaps they had nothing to do, or the king's policies cost them their job. He calls them some pretentious name, and goes about wrecking havoc. Burning down government buildings. Waylaying tax collectors. Breaking into the houses of the rich princes and barons, stealing their treasures and families, then distributing it to the poor.
The law enforcement tries to catch him, but they fail. They attack once, slaying dozens of soldiers, then retreating into forests and bushes, escaping from them. Nightwatchers chase after them, only to be delayed as sympathetic citizens help hide them or help ward them off. Door to door searches are made, while they hid in the cellars of their supporters.
He makes appearances into market squares and public streets, making grand speeches about tyranny and freedom and all that sort.
At first, people look at him and nod in agreement. It was unfair that taxes had been raised so high. Then, as nods become shouts of agreement, the speeches change. It changes, shifting and altering, until the words bear little resemblance to reality. The king has raised taxes. The king has levied fines. The king has taken your daughter and wife for his harem, although they are standing right next to you. The king has slain your dog, although it died of sickness 2 weeks ago. The king murdered your family for speaking a word against him, though you go home to them. The king does not worship the gods, although he just visited the temple of the unconquered sun a month ago. The king has taken thousands of people for sacrifice to the Yozis, despite no such thing happening. Again and again, until the Lazado can shout about how the King has stolen the sun and darkened the world and thus must be slain for light to reenter the world, and the crowd can shout in thunderous agreement, all while sweating beneath the noonday sun.
Then the crowd storms the battlements and the fortress. Knights and elite commanders are cut down by demonically blessed arrows, shot by warriors enhanced by unholy magic, burying into throats and eyes, leaving the soldiers defenseless. All is burned. Nobles, princesses, barons, elders, all those of temporal power and high office, dragged into the streets to be murdered gruesomely. Priceless objects and artifacts, money stored within the treasury, anything of value, is taken and distributed amongst the people and the poor.* Courtrooms and lawhouses are torn down, for the people will not obey the laws of tyrants, but their own.** Then it gets worse and worse. Next are the leaders of the rebellion, for do they not send men to die for their cause? Then the city elders. For do they not tyrannize others, based on seniority? Until at last, children murder their parents in their sleep for telling them to go to bed, and silence falls.
Whether or not the people see through this spell, the Lazado will nod his head, turn about, and skip off merrily, singing a jaunty tune, towards another kingdom or city-state.
Motivation: To tear down all governing authority, no matter how small
Abilities:
Archery 5 (+3 surprise), Melee 4 (+3 against armour), Social 5 (+3 for attacking authority), Presence 2 (+3 for crowds), Larceny 4 (+2 for breaking and entering)Bureaucracy 1 (+1 for insurgencies), Stealth 4 (+3 amongst others), Craft 3 (+3 for improvised weapons), Dodge 4, Ride 2, Sail 2, Linguistics 2, War 5 (+3 small unit tactics), Occult 1 (+3 demon beckoning), Investigation 2 (+1 for finding malcontents, +2 for finding weaknesses in authority), Resistance 3, Medicine 1 (+2 for poor conditions), Lore 1, Performance 2 (+2 in charming ladies +1 for the common people
Quick charms:
I'm a man of da people! - No matter where and when, the Lazado will appear as a perfectly normal citizen and native. Were he to walk down the street, no one will give him a second glance
One of us! One of us! - Whenever he speaks, the mortal feels as if the Lazado not only has suffered as they have suffered, and knows how they feel, they find their own hearts resonating with him. Any mortal of no significant station or political office, has an external penalty equal to the Lazado's (Essence - 1) to himself whenever trying to resist his rhetoric or lies.
Chanting of the men - Singing a jaunty song together, the Lazado and his victims sing together, and in so bind their essences ever closer, letting him impart some of their power. This lets the Lazado enhance his elite guard, granting them an advantage against ordinary mortal soldiers****
Down with the state! - The Lazado makes a case against authority, either pointing out their flaws, exaggerating their crimes and failures, or outright inventing them. Even if the king were to be a selfless saint who works flawlessly, day in and day out for the people, they will still be turned against him, eventually. This charm can inflame feelings, compell people, or even outright rewrite their memories.
*Yes, this is a reference
**In other words, anarchy
***Another reference
****Not sure how powerful this should be.
Szonyeg, the invisible carpets
Progeny of the Great White Hunter
Demon of the First circle
The demon stands in his room, confused. His friends were here several hours ago, but now no longer. He is alone. Searching about with its four eyes, it sees nothing. Yet, it hears it. A faint rustling. A faint shiver. A faint sound, of cloth and movement. Then, his area of vision blurs and darkens. He looks up, eyes wide open in horror. Too late. The Szonyeg has caught him in his grasp, and with a sick crack, broke his bones, and digested him.
The Szonyeg, is invisible to mortal eyes and weak spirits. But if it were to be seen with one with enough clarity of perception, it would appear as a strange, coloured carpet, albeit one that closely mimics the colour of the surface it is on. Others, are not so lucky. The Szonyeg is an ambush predator. Days and days pass, and it lays there, either curled up or laying flat on the floor. Its body is composed of immensely muscular fibers, and it is flat and spread out, like a sheet. One side of the Szonyeg is composed out of a shape and colour-shifting surface, allowing it to perfectly reproduce any image or background. This is the surface exposed to the world, allowing the demon to hide nearly anywhere in Malfeas. The other side contains a multitude of tiny mouths, grasping and tearing hooks, extendable poisonous spines, and pores that can secrete deadly acid. It lays in wait, for days, until some unlucky prey stumbles upon it.
Then, it leaps, and enfolds the prey, muffling its screams with its charms, muscular body grappling, crushing, and squeezing it. Microscopic hooks tearing apart skin and sinew. Spines, injecting it with neurotoxic and spiritoxic venom. Pores, weeping acid, softening the body for consumption. The Szonyeg then wraps itself around its prey to prevent spillage of ichor and viscera, and using shuffling, peristaltic motions, moves to the corner of the room***. Moments later, its friends burst through the doors, hearing a thud. But could only scratch their heads and shake their heads as they beheld an empty room, and close the door behind them, not realizing that if they had simply extended a foot, they would have touched their friends corpse, and the beast that ate him.
Sorcerers summon these monsters for a variety of reasons. Sometimes, to dispose of corpses. Sometimes, to terrorize a mortal fortress or household. Many are the legends within the threshold, that speak of inhabitants of a house that offended a sorcerer disappearing one by one, with strange, inviting whispers drifting through the walls, of screams and thuds which when investigated reveal nothing. Or of a group of travellers that enter a dusty, abandoned house, only to wake up and find one of their compatriots missing. Or, if the sorcerer is particularly brave, he can put the Szonyeg on top of himself, and use it like a cloak, using the shimmering, colour-shifting skin to mask his approach.
Fast charms:
Invisibility - The surface of the Szonyeg shifts to whatever is behind it, making it appear just like it. Mortal eyes are completely deceived, with no chance of detecting it. Those with essence channeling, receive a penalty equivalent to the Szonyeg's essence.
No smell, no sound - The Szonyeg shifts its stealth to other factors of its body... or its wearer. This muffles any sound or smell that could give its position away. The charm is powerful enough to muffle loud screams, the crunch of bones, and the stench of rotting meat.
Concept: Ok, I'm thinking of having the Szonyeg be used as a form of deadly ambush predator, like a horror movie monster. Not truly... sentient. I mean, you can talk to it, and it can understand you. Its also not very interested in much things beyond eating and catching. They crush bodies and pulp bones beneath their muscular masses. And get this, can drink memories. Not anything specific, mind you. They suck at that. But they definitely know enough to know how their friends look like. Which one likes to be alone. How they are related to the victim. So they imitate their newest prey's voice, and call out to their fathers or mothers, calling for help, dragging more people into its maw.
The city of health
There was once a city in the east, named Malkaros. Unremarkable, save for the contents of its underground. It took lumber from the forest. It fished from the river. it mined ores from the local hills.
One day, a sorcerer came, seeking an artifact of great power. The king, seeking favour, helped the sorcerer find it, and gave him several books on medicine and herbology. So grateful was the sorcerer, that he gave several boons to the city.
The first, was a house with several bound spirits of health and healing. Strange wasp-like creatures that could burrow through flesh and consume putrescence. Beautiful women with surgical scars, whose hands could transform into surgery tools and transplant organs like a man transplants cloth.
The second, was a field where medical herbs from every direction could be found. from Northern Lillies to Southern Fire-rash. No matter the needs of the plant, to needing to be planted on freshly fallen snow to being watered by human blood, they grew well in the soil. As payment for the field's blessings, a festival was conducted each season, one for each element. Failure to carry out festival will cause the plants associated with the Season's element to wither. For example, failure to conduct a festival in the Season of air would cause plants from the North to catch aflame and burn to ash. **
The third, was a shrine of healing amidst a garden filled with winding paths and alcoves. Filled with sweetness and smells, the garden is a place for solitude and healing. Those within, are blessed with added strength and health, their aching wounds knitting back, old scars fading away*. The shrine was built on a confluence of leylines, and when built the sorcerer refused to let other see it.
The fourth, is a tree of limbs, which could be transplanted by the spirits of the first. As payment, the tree requires a blood sacrifice, once a week. ***
As payment for all this, the sorcerer asked 3 requests. First, is to let anyone who requests healing in, and let him be healed. Whether he needs to pay, whether via service or favour, is up to the ruler. Second, is to never allow slavery within the city's walls. Third, is to freely teach medical techniques he had brought in.
The city is now famous amongst its territories, being a site of great pilgrimage for everyone around them. Ranging from merchant prices who have caught the pox, courtesans with facial scars they wish to remove, to old warriors who wish to fight again. The city takes them all in, with various payments, ranging from service, money, or treasures. Some pay in bolts of silk. Other fight for the city. Others, serve the king.
The city boasts an immense university, built within the past ten years. With tutelage from doctors visiting the bound spirits, many medical techniques have been created, used to deal with various issued from facial defects to transplanting skin. Far less efficacious when done by mortal doctors, but still a step up from what was done before.
The ban on slavery still exists. No slaves are allowed within the city, and those who enter are freed, leading it to become a place for escaped slaves, where supernatural doctors remove their tattoos and brands, marking them as free men. And out in the mines, out of the sight of the people, slaves mine the iron and silver ores of the hills.
The guild looks upon the place with greed. The city gains a hefty income from the services of its doctors and gardens. And gets even more, from the sale of its medical herbs. Herbs which once could only be found in the far north or necessitated immensely dangerous journeys, could be found within the city. And so men pay fortunes to obtain them, ranging from famed mortal doctors to even the odd dragonblooded outcaste. Elements within the guild have begun to move, seeking to seize the fields and the spirits, so they can simply cut out the middlemen. They are opposed by the Chancellor and the King, who seek to play the guild, neighbouring kingdoms and others against each other to keep their independence and prevent them from falling into outsider hands
Within the city, there is strife. Some rich men chafe against the ban against slavery. Their associates complain to them about prized slaves escaping within the city itself. There are arguments and debates on what to do with the sorcerer's edicts. Some say they are the wishes of a man long-dead, and should simply be ignored. Some say that the freeing of slaves within the city is too limited, and that they should post guards and ban slave-traders from travelling through their city. Some say that the fees for medical service should be far higher, for they have a monopoly on the bound building filled with healing spirits. And some say that they should heal for free, allowing anyone to walk in for healing.
Neighbouring cities eye the city, seeing its riches and influence as somewhat unfair. Invading the city is out of the question, as it risks destroying what they want. Instead, assassins, saboteurs, and factions within the government itself are funded and supported, seeking to undermine the present rules and install puppets that would let them dictate who and what gets to enter.
*heal like an exalt. Major project
** Celestial ambition 1/2, with lowered finesse requiring the festivals.
*** Grabbed from a fair folk, and transplanted within Creation.
a/n: I made this, when I was bored. So something for the players to enter, whether for mortals seeking healing or maybe someone looking for medical herbs for artifacts. The sorcerer can be either a mortal, dragonblooded, lunar, or even a solar exalted. Or heck, an exigent of the god of healing, seeking artifacts for his master. Up to you. Or even a place to enter, for a Dawn Caste whose friend was grievously injured.
Wyldstone: A concentrated piece of the wyld's transformative properties, encased within a gemstone and then kept stabilized by immense magic. The wyld's transformative properties are useful to a sorcerer seeking to enact change and alteration. Encased in the stone the magic is weakened, but it is still useful for inflicting mutations. The sorcerer holding this has a bonus to granting mutations or alterations to any single living creature.
Sorcerer's workshop: Arranging furniture and tools and paintings such that the flow of chi and essence brings harmony and construction, the sorcerer's own workings are enhanced. Within the workshop, all rolls to sorcerous workings gains a bonus. This applies only within the workshop itself. Creating a self-writing pen is applicable. Blessing a field, is not.
Aesthetic enforcement: Perhaps a broken piece off Autochthon's clockwork body. Maybe a piece of wood from an exploded first age manse. Artifacts and ingredients, always useful for sorcery. Using their power to catalyse the workings. This comes with a price. An ingredient aspected off Autobot means that your new source of water for the desert village comes in the form of a clockwork contraption, where a man must turn a crank to pump out water. One aspected to Wood, will have an automaton be made of leaves and vines and nothing else.
The library: A great library, not a petty one like those in the house of a noble but a great repositery of knowledge. Of whatever kind. What the library holds, affects what the working will be like.
Vas, the men of iron
Iron is rarely found pure. Men dig it out, light fires, and burn away impurities to get the metal out of ore. The important word, is 'rarely'. A confluence of factors may work. Iron ore, exposed to the surface and placed amidst a forest fire sparked by lightning. A streak of ore, exposed to a lava pocket or a seam of burning coal, or set to heat created by burning underground gas. The ore, placed under heat and pressure, melting and purifying into the pure metal. Sometimes, this results in pure blocks of metal which geomancers prize for their elemental purity. Sometimes, this results in Vas, men of iron and steel.
In the image of men, but taller and bulkier, the men of iron have smooth outer skin, and take the colour of the metal they were born from. They have control over their metallic bodies, being able to reshape, heat, or even use it to absorb other metals and substances, transforming themselves from raw iron plate to stronger and more durable alloys. Blunt and straightforward, they tell few lies and tend to not mince words.
Many Vas find work as mercenaries, their ability to create their own weapons and their immensely durable bodies making them horrendously dangerous fighers. Others, find work working in smithies and great foundries, their innate understanding of metal, resistance to heat and ability to extrude high quality alloys making them prized companions for smithies and artificiers. Lacking taste buds and an inability to taste the pleasures of the flesh, they are often paid in beautiful music, stories, or good metal.
Attributes: Intelligence 3, Perception 3, Wits 3, Appearance 2, Charisma 1, Manipulation 1, Stamina 4, Strength 5, Dexterity 4
Abilities: Craft 3 (+3 to any metalworking), Melee 4 (+2 to own limb weapons), Lore 1 (+3 for ore and metal deposits, +1 for geomancy), Occult 2 (+2 for enchantment of metal weapons, +1 for alchemy involving metals), Social 2
Essence: 3
Soak: 9L/ 9B
Hardness: 5L/ 5B
Merits
*iron fist - can parry attacks barehanded and inflict lethal damage
**iron kettle body - immune to poisons, cold, and anything that would kill a fleshy human but leave iron and steel alone
***Metallic resistance - iron and steel weapons wielded by mortal weapons have to roll their strength and melee against difficulty 3, or the Vas will be left unharmed and simply absorb the weapon
Metallic elemental manipulation: The vas can manipulate metal he is in contact with, rolling craft and dexterity to craft the metal instantaneously Metal production: The Vas can produce any metal he has either perceived, or had been in contact with, no matter the alloy, as long as it has a strong link to iron. 1m can produce 10 pounds of iron, or 5 pounds of steel, or a pound of gold* Metallic absorption: Vas can link their bodies to metal, making them part of themselves. This can be in the form of changing their features by putting on a metal helmet, putting spikes on their shoulders, or adding a suit of superheavy plate to themselves to turn them into terrors on the battlefield** Innate steel understanding: Upon perceiving a metal, the Vas can know about it, ranging from its properties, its method of manufacture, or structural weak points within a steel girder.
*I don't think that this is very appopriate, but I'm still thinking of metallic production?
**Elementals are deadly, but I'm not sure if this is way too overpowered.
The Kersetz, women-of-vines
The forests, grasslands, and various gardens of creation need tending. Not just from gods, who monitor and report back to heaven, but also people to do the grunt work. Who cuts away weeds, who grew were there should not be? Who grows a forest, because a battle between two solars have burned the previous one down? Who makes a desolate land fertile, where a Infernal of Cecylene has turn it into a Desolate Desert?
Being composed out of plant matter, who walk on two feet like normal men. Limbs and bodies of twisting vines and branches. Eyes made of flowers. Ears, made of leaves. Nails and teeth, made of wood. Beautiful, smooth skin, like that of smooth leaves and fruit, for faces. The Kersetz themselves are cloaked in green coloured robes like that of the lush forests. Their purpose, is to manipulate plant life to be more in line with heaven. Silent, dutiful, and hardworking, they work all day with no complaint, carring out what is asked of them. Gentle and compassionate, they are perfectly willing to help a farmer whose crop has been ruined by plague, or help grow medicinal plants for the needy. But threaten the gardens and forests they have been charged to protect, and the shears they use to prune errant branches and trailing vines will be used to cut short their lives, defending their charges like a mother defends her children.
Kersetz are often summoned or beckoned by thaumaturges, sorcerers, and others to tend to their gardens, forests, or crops. Their powers enabling rare and difficult herbs to be grown easily, and their innate understanding of herbology and plants makes them a veritable goldmine for any thaumaturge seeking ingredients for alchemy or a doctor searching for new medicines to make. Sometimes, they can be seen in the aftermath of great battles between the supernatural, bringing life to grasslands blighted by yozi venom or regrowing forests slain by abyssal essence.
A/n: Frack it, you guys stat it up. I'm too tired for this.
A thing I thought up. Frankly, I'm not sure whether its thaumaturgy, artifice, sorcerous workings, or just plain as magic. But, its a thing.
Fortune favors the bold. Treasures are found in the most dangerous of places. Such story tropes exist in many cultures, and with reason
Within the borders of Creation, Wyld-tides stay, trapped in a place of stability, a part of the outer chaos lingering within Creation. Within, are monsters, beasts, Rakshasa, and of course, treasures and exotic ingredients, that many a thauaturge, artificier, or sorcerer will pay in silver and gold for. Within old, green-glowing ruins of the shogunate, old treasures may be found, waiting to be sold to Dragonblooded Dynasts. In darkened, shadowlands, covered by mad ghosts, there may be ancient texts or artifacts from long-dead kingdoms.
Of course, what happens is that most people searching for this die. They lose their way, they get torn apart by monsters, or the deadly environment does them in. In reaction, people build their own tools to survive. They bring more. They bring guards. And they build environment suits.
Exemplary-Suit-of-Survival
The suit is a full-body suit with a bubble in the front, composed out of either glass or crystal. Made by scavenger-lords and work crews of treasure hunters, the suit is reinforced and armoured with thick leather and blessed wood, making it protective for the person wearing it (4 Bashing and Lethal soak). Over the top, it is customary to coat it with gold to gain protection against the creatures of darkness. Sadly, gold is expensive and other, lesser alloys are used, with a corresponding lessening in protection. By tradition they are always painted in a shade of yellow or gold, to better symbolize the protection of the sun.
The suit itself covers the person from head to toe, and a mild enchantment and advanced artifice makes it airtight, letting the wearer enter poisonous locations or underwater. An alchemical mixture placed in a bag of cloth within the helmet, with a beckoned air elemental, helps continuously refresh the air for 4 hours. The alchemical is bribed with the consumption of the alchemical mixture, it finding the mixture to be delicious. Upon finishing eating the mixture, it leaves, leaving the explorer to either open up his air supply to the outside, or asphyxiate.
Equipment:
Sticks of light (Resources 3)
A crystal vial of extract from the glow-sacs of a deep sea creature, as well as flecks of orichalcum. When shaken vigorously, the mixture glows, bathing the explorer and his surroundings in a yellowish light. The light works as a torch, and lasts for 5 hours before snuffing out. Ghosts and demons exposed to the light have a 2 die debuff on all their presence in their actions.
Ward of Safe travel (Resources 2)
A ward composed of comfrey tree and an insignia of the maiden of journeys. The ward grants a 2-die bonus on any and all attempts to navigate a dangerous place, like abandoned ruins or a long dead city. It works only for finding safe passage and navigation, and gives no protection to the dangers such as falling rocks or hungry ghosts.
Salt wand (Resources 2)
A stick or staff with rock salt embedded onto it. The staff itself is heavy, capable of giving heavy injuries, while the salt within helps drive away ghosts who are trying to chase away the explorer from the ruins he is exploring and treasures he is seeking. In water-explorers, who dive into long-drowned cities and tombs in search for treasure, the salt is contained inside the staff itself, to avoid being dissolved by the water.
Anyway, I haven't seen @Dif, @Aaron Peori, or @Crumplepunch in this thread for a long time. Would seem a shame to lose their threadmarks just because they're not here anymore. Anyone wanna make compilations for them?
I could do it myself, but I'm kinda hoping someone else will save me the trouble.
The worst part of the Exalted, is not their sheer power. Its their adaptability. Raise up a wall?
The Exalted will jump over. Run up it. Walk through it. Learn sorcery and teleport. Fly over it. Smash it to pieces. Tell it to stand aside. Tunnel beneath it.
Raise up a giant wall the height of skyscrapers, staff it with unsleeping A.I.s, give them sentry guns and motion sensors, lay down mines, and electric fence?
The Exalted will do mostly the same. Or take over the A.I.s to open the gate, or just walk through the hail of machine gun fire like it wasn't there.
Put them into a modern setting? They'll start developing charms for guns, computers, planes, the internet, cameras, and genetic engineering. Put them into a sci-fi setting? Their blaster bolts will turn gold, their starships pull off impossible maneuvers, and their scientists blow yours out of the water.
If in-setting there's a thing humans can do... then its a thing they can do as well. Even if it isn't, then its no guarantee, because sorcerous workings exist, mutations exist, and their own native charms can quite possibly break through and mimic it. And then surpass native users, because excellencies alone are bullshit hax. And even if they can't, they can't be ignored, because their own native powers make them powerful enough to make a dent, unless you're in a setting like Sailor Moon or Xeelee or Doctor Who.
Which is why when I'm going to write my Xianxia, I'm going to have my Exalted walk around, doing the same crazy shit as most protags do. Only that he's saner, the things he does are different, and he can do things which are bullshit even by Xianxia protag standards.
I'll probably have to reread, and then start designing charms so that the power level doesn't go and run away from me. And because its fun.
How do people handle disease in their games? I am playing around with the idea of Miasma theory being right to help make the world feel more alien and remind my player that they can't rely on OOC physics knowledge
Plus it means people walk around with perfumed scarfs to stop the bad smells which is a cool setting touch
The Eotolean Isles
In the Northwest, far from any well travelled sea routes, a set of five islands rise from the sea, towering over the crashing waves. Their cliff-studded shores offer little safe harbor for ships, and what anchorages can be found are well hidden and jealously guarded by the locals. Were outsiders to find the isles, they would surely be set upon by the piratical inhabitants, the Eotolean albatross-folk.
The winged albatross-folk(or Eotoleans) have little to fear from the jagged rocks and rough waves below. While the isles are difficult to reach for ships, the albatross-folk can simply fly to and from the isles. Indeed, they can remain in the air for days, ranging far afield in search of plunder. The isles provide enough food for a modest living and the albatross-folk are skilled fishermen and whalers, but the Eotoleans crave wealth and dominance, so they fly far from the isles armed with weapons of bone and stone, looting remote fishing villages and ships for exotic goods and wealth. This practice goes back three centuries, when their legendary hero-god, Eotol Six-Wings, first created their race and taught them that the flightless humans were beasts for them to prey upon. To this day, the albatross-folk love to prove their superiority to the ground-apes, extracting tribute in form of cowries and slaves from far flung coastal tribes and attacking larger oceanic vessels far from any safe shores. Revered among the albatross-folk are the reaver-heroes, raider nobility who hold court in caves adorned with the spoils of piracy.
Keoss, their capital city (if one can call it that) is a ramshackle edifice formed from shipwrecks and yawning sea-caves. The cliffs are dotted with small nest-huts where the Eotoleans roost in safety and tend to their flightless young. High sea-caves, unreachable for those without wings, hold slave quarters, the captives within held for ransom or for their skills in various crafts. Great oceangoing vessels lie moored in the relatively calm waters, stolen over the years and tended to by skilled carpenters and navigators. Though the Eotoleans can fly, they sometimes wish to haul back more than they can carry aloft, and so they have modified stolen carracks into transports for precious metals and slaves. Using thaumaturgies and spirit pacts, the Eotoleans have learned how to sail the rough waters of the isles, though compared to other inhabitants of the west, they are poor sailors(preferring to use the ships as mobile roosts for flocks of raiders rather than naval combat). They are exemplary carpenters however, creating works of art that rival the galleries of dynasts using little but crude tools and flotsam. The reaver-heroes of the albatross folk wear spirit-blessed driftwood talismans and weapons that are exceedingly strong and lightweight.
Jutting outcroppings and small islets hold stone altars where the Hook-Beaks, the shaman-priests of the albatross-folk, present offerings and sacrifice slaves to the vicious spirits of the isles. The Eotoleans worship many oceanic and weather spirits, as well as Eotol Six-Wings and his mother-father, the unknowable Shining Eye of Night, deity of the moon. The Hook-Beaks tally the number of successful raids and fishing hauls of individual Eotoleans, the counts representing spiritual closeness to Six-Wings and Shining Eye of Night, and the greater likelihood of being reborn to raid the skies of the heavens as their boon companions. The Hook-Beaks are also the cartographers and navigators of the albatross-folk, carrying leather maps and charts that they use to plan their raids.
The interiors of the isles hold forests of small, hardy trees, populated by the Qorri finch-folk who are also descended from Eotol Six-Wings. Ordinarily, the Eotoleans would prey upon such a passive and peaceful people, but Six-Wings long ago ordained that the two peoples would be as siblings. Indeed the albatross-folk almost fear the Qorri, for the finch-folk are said to possess powers of bewitchment and illusion. albatross-folk venture into the forests to trade with the Qorri for medicines and crude bronze tools. The selective tolerance of the albatross-folk is part of their religion, placing avian races at the pinnacle of physical perfection(though with differing ranks based on type, the Eotoleans are naturally the most perfect), with aquatic races below them, followed by ground-dwelling beastfolk(whom they have occasionally encountered on their long flights), and with humans near the very bottom of this Order of Being, scarcely better than animals.
Intrigues and Mysteries
The Eotoleans are not universally predatory and piratical, a growing movement, The Blue Painted Feathers, among younger generations is encouraging increased trade with flightless beastfolk and trusted human lessers. They haven't gone so far as to suggest ignoring the Order of Being or even a complete abandoning of piracy, but many advocate a less hostile footing regarding the lesser races. They are opposed by several successful reaver-heroes, but have found support from Aoltea Charcoal-Wing, a prince in the Eotolean royal lineage and skilled raider.
A popular theory among the Hook-Beaks is that of the lost Third People of Eotol, supposedly associated with Eotol's third pair of wings(apocryphally said to be those of a frigate bird), can be found somewhere throughout the west. Were such a people to be discovered, the Hook-Beaks would likely descend into theological arguments regarding their place in the Order of Being, while the reaver-heroes would likely try to ensnare them in either trade agreements or extortion(for Eotol said nothing regarding how the albatross-folk and finch-folk should treat his other offspring).
On Little Shell, the northernmost of the Eotolean Isles, sits a strange towering lighthouse of ivory and basalt, its base surrounded by a modest walled hamlet. The Eotoleans leave the tower, called the Shining Spike, alone, for it helps them guide their hauler-ships. The inhabitants of the hamlet, though human and therefore considered inferior, have displayed enough arcane might that the albatross-folk know better than to attack them. They are led by the Sorcerer Tunaaq, who claims to be a former apprentice of the legendary Aqadar. Tunaaq occasionally sends one of his apprentices, masked in whalebone and sealskin robes, to treat with the pirate nobility of the albatross-folk and deliver weird auguries. Though the albatross-folk think the Spike inhabited only by humans, there are many strange beings who dwell within and beneath Tunaaq's tower, such as the esteemed neomah duelist Djess Sliverslash, and the sleeping Mosok Dragon King Oxtlali.
The T'chrin-T'chin, a semi-nomadic culture of sealfolk, has established a small enclave on the westernmost isle of Toleto. They claim to be part of a great confederation of oceanic peoples, trading goods from the ocean deeps to the finch-folk and albatross-folk. Firebrands among the reaver-heroes agitate for raids against the sealfolk, unaware of the powers wielded by their sorcerers and the might of their oceanic allies.
Aito, a shaman-chieftain of the Qorri, has bought a manual on geomancy from one of the reaver-heroes. His subsequent discoveries regarding the demesnes of his isle's interior have prompted him to send finch-folk to treat with the inhabitants of the Shining Spike and parse the markets of the albatross-folk for more occult lore. He has even spoken with the Blue Painted Feathers, asking them to ask human tributaries far from the isles about their own geomancy.
Six and twenty years ago, the great oceanic explorer Captain Armant Coteaz lost his ship, his crew, and his life, to the flight of Oetol Axe-Foot, a renowned raider-hero of the Eotoleans. Now, elderly Oetol sleeps unsoundly in his palace-roost, his dreams haunted by the memory of that fateful raid, the once treasured recollection now twisted and nightmarish. Captain Coteaz lingers on as a vengeful shade, his human form long abandoned to become an ethereal horror of oceanic wreckage. He has ambushed an Eotolean raider-flight with the ghost ship Fanciful Tale, his once great vessel now risen from the ocean floor. Young albatross-folk were torn apart by flying spectres and their reaver-heroes and hook-beaks personally slain by the dread-captain himself, using a glyph-covered soulsteel harpoon he dredged up from the lightless depths.
Unbeknownst to his descendants, Eotol Six-Wings was a powerful Lunar explorer. He created the albatross-folk from familiars, sailors caught in doldrums, and castaways three centuries ago, with the intent of using them to prey upon Realm and Guild shipping. He occasionally appeared to the albatross-folk to coordinate great raids, but the records of the hook-beaks say that half a century ago, he saw a strange flash in the western sunset, and afterwards spoke of the voice beyond the western horizon calling to him. He flew into the distant west one evening, never to be seen again by the Eotoleans. Reaver-heroes sometimes fly in search of him as they near old age, some returning with treasures from far off lands, others never returning at all.
Tsuohno Clan
In the East, in a shrouded forest, sits the manse complex of the Tsuohno Clan. Officially, they are wealthy logging barons and fur trappers, sending lumber downstream to Guild outposts and harvesting materials from strange forest demesnes. In truth, they are superhuman contract killers with the blood of hell in their veins.
Long ago, a Luminata wandered from the Demon City into Creation, encountering the huntress Tsuo. Though he led her on a merry chase through the woods, she fell for none of his tricks and he found himself almost caught by her several times. For years their dance continued, each flirting with death, and each other. And then, one day, Tsou caught her quarry, and he caught her. The product of their love was a girl who grew to have beautiful long white hair, a huntress as skilled as both her mother and father, her living hair garroting her prey. She was the first in a line of barely-human assassins, her descendants engaging in controlled breeding and summoning luminata over the years to keep the talents of their bloodline strong. They are the Tsuohno Clan, the Pale Haired Manslayers.
The fortress manse of the Tsuohno contains countless hidden doors and tunnels where the descendants of Tsuo learn to stalk and kill their prey. Their great central dojo is decorated with hunting tapestries and screen doors adorned with images of Tsuo's many hunts with her beloved. The clan practices Pale Wire Style, a martial art of their own creation that turns their characteristic silver-white hair into a deadly weapon (though it can be practiced with ordinary garrotes and whips, and a few prodigies have managed to awaken their own hair in imitation of the clan's supernatural traits). Members of the Tsuohno Clan have posed as courtesans to strangle princes in their own beds, dripped poison into the mouths of sleeping warlords, and cut raging barbarians to pieces with razor sharp threads. They are hired often by the Guild, contracted when they arrive to trade at Guild outposts, wandering afar in pursuit of their quarries while wearing dyes or hats to disguise their hair.
The luminata progenitor of the clan has become a Citizen of Malfeas, having left Creation when his dear Tsuo died of old age. Known only as Tsuo's Beloved or Clan-Father to the Tsuohno, he has become the patron deity of his family, summoned during Calibration through esoteric arts to hunt with his many descendants. Empowered by their prayer, he has grown to the size of a great elk, while his countless tendrils have become near invisible to the naked eye. He has become a legendary killer even among the luminata, his services sought by Demon Princes throughout hell.
