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Well its either that or the greatest weapon of all time, Chikage
General Exalted Thread
HamSandLich
MEAT WIZARD
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Zo-Qtal the Decapitator, The Uncrowned One, The Carnifex Divine, Forbidden God of Beheading
Once, there was a great and just god who bore the name Zo-Qtal, the Sudden Blade, Grandson of Saturn, Hero of the Divine Revolution, Grandmaster of the Violet Bier of Sorrows Style, and Headsman of the Gods. His armor was made of ivory petals and his breath was funeral incense, he studied at the feet of the Sun and spoke only in poetry; Exeunt, his sword club of enchanted flint, was ten god-cubits in length and caused no pain as it cut. In distal days he was a god of swift execution, of dignified death, and of stern solace; that being no longer draws breath. Towards the end of the Divine Revolution, as the Neverborn were sent screaming down into the Underworld, grim Zo-Qtal descended into that hypogean world, accompanied by a Harbinger of the Maiden of Endings, to investigate the abyss that the afterlife had become. And it was there, in that pit, that Zo-Qtal perished. His companion emerged harrowed, carrying only his deific armament Exeunt, Zo-Qtal having given his immortal life to defend them from the spectral horrors that now dwelt in the Underworld. The gods mourned as only gods can when a life that should have lasted forever is snuffed out for good, and when the mourning was done, they moved on with their eternities. That should have been the end of it. But it wasn't.
The first year after the war concluded, on the anniversary of Zo-Qtal's passing, something clawed its way out of Death. It pounded on celestial gates and burst through to Heaven with a terrible shriek. Celestial Lions came roaring to send it back to the Underworld, but stopped in shock as they recognized what it was; Zo-Qtal, returned from the afterlife. At first they rejoiced, but then they realized that his once dignified armor was stained with blood and caked with ash, that a terrible gong resounded with each of his ever bloodied footsteps, and that he bore his own severed head in his hands like a lantern light. Lurching and shambling, the underworld thing made its way through the streets of Yu-Shan, towards the grave of the Sudden Blade, which bore his weapon Exeunt as the headstone. Fighting through all who opposed him and ignoring all attempts at reason, Zo-Qtal claimed his weapon and forever stained it with the essence of the underworld.
Triumphant, the thing that was Zo-Qtal made its way towards the Jade Pleasure Dome. His severed head proclaimed to all that the Headsman of the Gods had returned to re-assume his station, and that the Secret of Mortality, once forbidden to immortals, had been revealed to him. He said he wished to share it with all who were willing to hear, that such was a holy charge given unto him. Only when confronted by the Chosen of Endings who accompanied him on his doomed katabasis did he halt. It is not spoken of what occurred between the two of them, for all claim to have fled that dire confrontation, and if any did not they will not say. It is known only that the Harbinger disappeared from Heaven that day, and so too did Zo-Qtal the Decapitator.
The gods would wish to say that Zo-Qtal was forever put to rest by that lone Sidereal's sacrifice, but to do so would be a lie. The Uncrowned One has returned to dismay and trouble the gods throughout history. Sometimes he is a terrible foe of divinity, doing battle with psychopomps and death gods appointed by Heaven to enforce its own views on death. Other times he is a disquieting omen, heralding one grim portent or another. And other times, Zo-Qtal is a strange and alien teacher, mentoring mortal heroes and outcast gods in the art of beheading and instructing them on the nature of death as he sees it. He has fought against, and beside the Exalted throughout history, all according to some strange code known only to him. Though accursed by heaven, the Carnifex Divine is worshiped by mortals as a patron of butchers, executioners, and headhunters; as a tutelary deity of the afterlife; and as a god of life from death.
In life, Zo-Qtal was a tall, heroically built deity who wore armor of ivory petals and a cloak of mayfly wings. In death, his armor is broken and ashen, his now gaunt body painted blue, black, and red. His feet are bare and leave bloody footprints in his wake. In his right hand, he carries with him always his sword-club Exuent, which mortals fear to look upon. In his left hand, archaic braids and tarnished jewelry decorate his severed but still ambulatory head, which has the countenance of a stern ruler. His neck is a bloody stump, and when the Decapitator is enraged, serpents, centipedes, and impossible sermons have been known to issue forth from it.
It is said that Zo-Qtal resides in the depths of the Underworld, in a land named Zoqtlan, a great cavern wreathed in the roots of a tree that has never seen the sun. Zombies tend to fields of translucent maize and spectral youths welcome visitors with libations and flower petals, offering respite and solace in the bleached white adobe hamlets that ring the cavern's edge. Trials and tribulations await those who ignore the welcome and venture further in, alien guardians on the road and tests that scour the mind and soul. At the end of this gauntlet lies the Fane of the Decapitator, a drum shaped tower-manse honeycombed with alcoves in which the severed heads of champions are enshrined. Within waits Zo-Qtal the Decapitator, and the lessons he would bestow upon his supplicants.
Story Hooks
It is whispered that the Deathlord known as the First and Forsaken Lion, that terrible master of conquest and iron, spent time as a student of the Decapitator early in his death, and that the severed heads that now hang from his belt were taken as votives to the God of Beheading. Some among the Dead claim that Zoqtlan now serves as a tributary of his undying empire, sending soldiers to join his endless legions
Wracked by famine from the Realm's increasingly unreasonable tribute demands, a satrapy's populace gradually begins praying to the Decapitator in secret. They offer sacrifice, first of animals, then of kidnapped garrison troops, in hopes that Zo-Qtal will use the accumulated life offered to him to deliver them from starvation, or failing that, that they will be granted respite in the afterlife.
A terrestrial spirit court has been visited with Zo-Qtal, to the shock and horror of all. The Uncrowned One arrived one night as they held council, and before any could stop him, he painted three lines of blood upon the brow of the little pantheon's chief divinity. None among the court's gods know exactly what this means but they all agree that it surely must be a portent of bad things to come.
The Carnifex Divine has wrested a portion of the Exigence from the rapidly cooling hands of one of his foes. It resides invested in a sacrificial knife among the Decapitator's panoply. Perhaps he shall offer it to a mortal who journeys to Zoqtlan and bests his trials. Maybe he shall elevate a peerless executioner who oversees the death of champions and royalty. Or perhaps he shall exalt that executioner's victim, just as the axe begins to fall.
Once, there was a great and just god who bore the name Zo-Qtal, the Sudden Blade, Grandson of Saturn, Hero of the Divine Revolution, Grandmaster of the Violet Bier of Sorrows Style, and Headsman of the Gods. His armor was made of ivory petals and his breath was funeral incense, he studied at the feet of the Sun and spoke only in poetry; Exeunt, his sword club of enchanted flint, was ten god-cubits in length and caused no pain as it cut. In distal days he was a god of swift execution, of dignified death, and of stern solace; that being no longer draws breath. Towards the end of the Divine Revolution, as the Neverborn were sent screaming down into the Underworld, grim Zo-Qtal descended into that hypogean world, accompanied by a Harbinger of the Maiden of Endings, to investigate the abyss that the afterlife had become. And it was there, in that pit, that Zo-Qtal perished. His companion emerged harrowed, carrying only his deific armament Exeunt, Zo-Qtal having given his immortal life to defend them from the spectral horrors that now dwelt in the Underworld. The gods mourned as only gods can when a life that should have lasted forever is snuffed out for good, and when the mourning was done, they moved on with their eternities. That should have been the end of it. But it wasn't.
The first year after the war concluded, on the anniversary of Zo-Qtal's passing, something clawed its way out of Death. It pounded on celestial gates and burst through to Heaven with a terrible shriek. Celestial Lions came roaring to send it back to the Underworld, but stopped in shock as they recognized what it was; Zo-Qtal, returned from the afterlife. At first they rejoiced, but then they realized that his once dignified armor was stained with blood and caked with ash, that a terrible gong resounded with each of his ever bloodied footsteps, and that he bore his own severed head in his hands like a lantern light. Lurching and shambling, the underworld thing made its way through the streets of Yu-Shan, towards the grave of the Sudden Blade, which bore his weapon Exeunt as the headstone. Fighting through all who opposed him and ignoring all attempts at reason, Zo-Qtal claimed his weapon and forever stained it with the essence of the underworld.
Triumphant, the thing that was Zo-Qtal made its way towards the Jade Pleasure Dome. His severed head proclaimed to all that the Headsman of the Gods had returned to re-assume his station, and that the Secret of Mortality, once forbidden to immortals, had been revealed to him. He said he wished to share it with all who were willing to hear, that such was a holy charge given unto him. Only when confronted by the Chosen of Endings who accompanied him on his doomed katabasis did he halt. It is not spoken of what occurred between the two of them, for all claim to have fled that dire confrontation, and if any did not they will not say. It is known only that the Harbinger disappeared from Heaven that day, and so too did Zo-Qtal the Decapitator.
The gods would wish to say that Zo-Qtal was forever put to rest by that lone Sidereal's sacrifice, but to do so would be a lie. The Uncrowned One has returned to dismay and trouble the gods throughout history. Sometimes he is a terrible foe of divinity, doing battle with psychopomps and death gods appointed by Heaven to enforce its own views on death. Other times he is a disquieting omen, heralding one grim portent or another. And other times, Zo-Qtal is a strange and alien teacher, mentoring mortal heroes and outcast gods in the art of beheading and instructing them on the nature of death as he sees it. He has fought against, and beside the Exalted throughout history, all according to some strange code known only to him. Though accursed by heaven, the Carnifex Divine is worshiped by mortals as a patron of butchers, executioners, and headhunters; as a tutelary deity of the afterlife; and as a god of life from death.
In life, Zo-Qtal was a tall, heroically built deity who wore armor of ivory petals and a cloak of mayfly wings. In death, his armor is broken and ashen, his now gaunt body painted blue, black, and red. His feet are bare and leave bloody footprints in his wake. In his right hand, he carries with him always his sword-club Exuent, which mortals fear to look upon. In his left hand, archaic braids and tarnished jewelry decorate his severed but still ambulatory head, which has the countenance of a stern ruler. His neck is a bloody stump, and when the Decapitator is enraged, serpents, centipedes, and impossible sermons have been known to issue forth from it.
It is said that Zo-Qtal resides in the depths of the Underworld, in a land named Zoqtlan, a great cavern wreathed in the roots of a tree that has never seen the sun. Zombies tend to fields of translucent maize and spectral youths welcome visitors with libations and flower petals, offering respite and solace in the bleached white adobe hamlets that ring the cavern's edge. Trials and tribulations await those who ignore the welcome and venture further in, alien guardians on the road and tests that scour the mind and soul. At the end of this gauntlet lies the Fane of the Decapitator, a drum shaped tower-manse honeycombed with alcoves in which the severed heads of champions are enshrined. Within waits Zo-Qtal the Decapitator, and the lessons he would bestow upon his supplicants.
Story Hooks
It is whispered that the Deathlord known as the First and Forsaken Lion, that terrible master of conquest and iron, spent time as a student of the Decapitator early in his death, and that the severed heads that now hang from his belt were taken as votives to the God of Beheading. Some among the Dead claim that Zoqtlan now serves as a tributary of his undying empire, sending soldiers to join his endless legions
Wracked by famine from the Realm's increasingly unreasonable tribute demands, a satrapy's populace gradually begins praying to the Decapitator in secret. They offer sacrifice, first of animals, then of kidnapped garrison troops, in hopes that Zo-Qtal will use the accumulated life offered to him to deliver them from starvation, or failing that, that they will be granted respite in the afterlife.
A terrestrial spirit court has been visited with Zo-Qtal, to the shock and horror of all. The Uncrowned One arrived one night as they held council, and before any could stop him, he painted three lines of blood upon the brow of the little pantheon's chief divinity. None among the court's gods know exactly what this means but they all agree that it surely must be a portent of bad things to come.
The Carnifex Divine has wrested a portion of the Exigence from the rapidly cooling hands of one of his foes. It resides invested in a sacrificial knife among the Decapitator's panoply. Perhaps he shall offer it to a mortal who journeys to Zoqtlan and bests his trials. Maybe he shall elevate a peerless executioner who oversees the death of champions and royalty. Or perhaps he shall exalt that executioner's victim, just as the axe begins to fall.
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- my house
Why wait for them? You can write up Chikage as an artifact yourself pretty easily.
In fact...
CHIKAGE
A weapon of the knights of Cainhurst, a group of powerful undead which roam the North in search of blood for their terrible queen.
It design reflects an unusual history. While the hilt is of the traditional make of northern swords, it's blade is long and slightly curved like the reaper blades once favored by the blue monkey shogunate. A remnant of a Dragonblood who fled that land long ago and swore his service to Queen Analise.
The Chikage has no attunement cost. Instead the wielder who wishes to use it as anything other than a mundane - if masterfully crafted - blade must thrust it into their belly. When drawn from that grisly sheathe, the blood of the wilder will coat the blade and transform the Chikage into a reaper Daiklave. This inflicts 1 lethal damage to the wielder. Should they lack exalted level healing the resultant blood loss will surely kill them err the battle ends.
In addition to the obvious benefits that being a Daiklave grants, the Chikage poisons the blood that forms it's blade...
*Insert poison mechanics based on edition. If doing 3rd edition model some evocations off of Maria and the arcane stuff from Elden Ring*
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- my house
I love this, you're really on a roll lately. Really digging the idea of one of my characters studying under him now.
Also, do you have a Google doc or central repository where you store all your stuff?
- Location
- The North
I had an idea the other day for a flashy Solar stealth/larceny Charm that reverses the usual expectations of the Ability in a way that feels very mythical phantom thief. Here it is:
Known In Golden Light, Hidden In The Shade (Vault-Illuminating Declaration)
Cost: 5m; Mins: Larceny 5, Stealth 5, Essence 2
Type: Reflexive
Keywords: None
Duration: One scene
Prerequisite Charms: Master Plan Meditation, Stalking Shadow Spirit
The Solar forgoes the element of surprise to gain instead the element of style. Her target will not see her coming, but they will know her intention writ in a blazing column of light.
The Solar temporarily diffuses her anima, spreading it from her person to an area she has patrolled with Stalking Shadow Spirit. As she spends peripheral essence her anima will raise as normal, but rather than shrouding her in light, her anima will instead emerge from a nonspecific location within that area. This will intensify as her anima rises and at the iconic level her display manifests over the whole area, a pillar of golden light rising into the sky to mark her presence, but never her precise location.
As she is freed from her anima its light no longer penalizes her stealth. Rather it does the opposite - the Lawgiver finds that the shadows cast by the light of her soul will gladly hide her. She reverses the usual penalties inflicted by her anima on stealth rolls. This means that at the glowing level she gains three additional dice. At the iconic level, where stealth is otherwise impossible, these dice are non-charm.
The use of this Charm is antithetical to concealing the Lawgiver's power - she cannot benefit from the Mute keyword as long as it is active.
These effects end if the Lawgiver leaves the area she's cased with Stalking Shadow Spirit, breaks her commitment to that Charm, or if the successes generated by that Charm are spent entirely.
Known In Golden Light, Hidden In The Shade (Vault-Illuminating Declaration)
Cost: 5m; Mins: Larceny 5, Stealth 5, Essence 2
Type: Reflexive
Keywords: None
Duration: One scene
Prerequisite Charms: Master Plan Meditation, Stalking Shadow Spirit
The Solar forgoes the element of surprise to gain instead the element of style. Her target will not see her coming, but they will know her intention writ in a blazing column of light.
The Solar temporarily diffuses her anima, spreading it from her person to an area she has patrolled with Stalking Shadow Spirit. As she spends peripheral essence her anima will raise as normal, but rather than shrouding her in light, her anima will instead emerge from a nonspecific location within that area. This will intensify as her anima rises and at the iconic level her display manifests over the whole area, a pillar of golden light rising into the sky to mark her presence, but never her precise location.
As she is freed from her anima its light no longer penalizes her stealth. Rather it does the opposite - the Lawgiver finds that the shadows cast by the light of her soul will gladly hide her. She reverses the usual penalties inflicted by her anima on stealth rolls. This means that at the glowing level she gains three additional dice. At the iconic level, where stealth is otherwise impossible, these dice are non-charm.
The use of this Charm is antithetical to concealing the Lawgiver's power - she cannot benefit from the Mute keyword as long as it is active.
These effects end if the Lawgiver leaves the area she's cased with Stalking Shadow Spirit, breaks her commitment to that Charm, or if the successes generated by that Charm are spent entirely.
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Too tired and loopy from a dentist appointment today to offer mechanical advice but this reminds me of a very delightful bit in the game Six Ages where the Hyalorings (a people devoted to the sun god, Elmal) reject the idea of raiding people at night, instead preferring to do it during the day and utilizing the sun (and their own sun magic, naturally) to their advantage.
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- Location
- Ottawa
Cool idea.
Not sure it really needs so many prerequisites, though; hiding in the least subtle way possible doesn't seem so powerful as to require patrolling the area first or drawing from multiple abilities.
Maybe it could be a straight Stealth Charm, building off of Sun Swallowing Practice?
Not sure it really needs so many prerequisites, though; hiding in the least subtle way possible doesn't seem so powerful as to require patrolling the area first or drawing from multiple abilities.
Maybe it could be a straight Stealth Charm, building off of Sun Swallowing Practice?
Blaque
Resident Catblob
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- Pronouns
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The Poise system in Elden Ring while not quite the same, has bits too. And hoenstly weirdly helped me explain it to folks.
The initiative system in 3e is lifted more or less wholesale from the Bravery system in the Dissidia Final Fantasy games, which the corebook freely admits.
Of course, those games aren't as popular as the soulsbornes, so I'm not sure how useful they would be as an example, but they're practically 1 to 1.
Of course, those games aren't as popular as the soulsbornes, so I'm not sure how useful they would be as an example, but they're practically 1 to 1.
- Location
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- Pronouns
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Reading about Exalted combat for the first time was made vastly easier by the fact that I played the shit out of Dissidia 012, it's true.
- Pronouns
- They/Them
*heavy breathing*
HamSandLich
MEAT WIZARD
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Oramus and the Well: A Lunar Genesis
A Legend of Before…
A Legend of Before…
In the Old Days, before the War In Heaven, the Tribe of Dreamers were forging the world while led by their youngest sibling, Gaia. For a time, there was much dance and merriment, but eventually Gaia grew tired of the world she was making, and desired to move on from it.
The other Dreamers grew dismayed at this, for Gaia had yet to reveal the final shape of Creation, and they had many things they wished to add to this half-made world. Thus, they went to the Before-Firstborn among them: Oramus, The Dragon Beyond The World.
"Eldest Sister-Brother," they asked him, "Gaia wishes to depart from our half-made-world for something beyond it. You are beyond the world, surely you can find us something to draw her attention back."
Oramus, who had been meditating up until this moment, sat up and took a long drag on his pipe, "This is a difficult task, even for me. I may take some time to deliver to you what Gaia wishes, you must distract her while I do my work."
So it was that the Dreamers engaged in a great contest of strength and secret powers, so as to entertain the Emerald Mother while Oramus did his work. Theion, the Holy Tyrant, decreed that a grand festival commence, and Autochthon went about erecting bright pavilions and creating slaves to perform in the cosmic court.
Oramus went to the cosmic court's hearth, where he stoked the fires of the Divine Ignition(who was in truth not truly one of the Dreamers but a mask and an action), and brought a brand of flame back to his manse in the Beyond. There, he lit a fire beneath his cauldron and set new leaves within his fine pipe, and began to imagine.
As he did so, an hapless half-made idea, a mere passing fancy in truth, fell into his cauldron and made a strange sound as it began to boil. Oramus fished it out and saw what it had become, which was hard to look at but composed mostly of sharp silver teeth. Unnerved by the Thing With Silver Teeth, Oramus threw it into his manse's well and resumed creating.
Eventually, Oramus happened upon an idea that satisfied him, a whole little world to float above the half-made one. Gaia could look upon it and see Creation reflected and distorted, which the Dragon Beyond the World reasoned would amuse her for a time. He went back to the cosmic court and presented this thing he had made to his youngest sister-brother, who was as expected, delighted with it.
Thus it was that the Dreamers continued making the world atop Gaia's design. Yet after a short forever, the Emerald Mother grew tired with Oramus' bauble, and it gathered dust in the sky above as she began looking to the Faraway. The Dreamers found themselves in a familiar predicament, and the effort of Creation ground once again to a halt. Thus they returned to the Dragon Beyond the World and asked him to make another present for Gaia while they distracted her.
Oramus, as before, gathered the embers of the Divine Ignition and set about his creative passion. This time, he brought the little world he had made and threw it into his well with the Thing With Silver Teeth, reasoning that it would do Gaia no more good. After a short while, he emerged with yet another new idea, this time a companion with a clever wit to keep Gaia company.
As expected, this new gift amused Gaia for a while. But eventually, she tired of it as time passed, and began to once again long to depart. As before, the Dreamers sought Oramus' help, and the Dragon Beyond the World went once again to the cosmic court's hearth and returned home with both divine fire and his failed gift for Gaia, throwing the first into his cauldron and the second into his manse's well. And eventually he emerged with a new present to give to his youngest sister-brother, who was delighted at first but soon longed for other things, prompting yet another effort by the Dreamers to draw her back.
This cycle continued for some time. Oramus made many things that Gaia enjoyed: a pyramid at the end of the universe, a peerless huntswoman, a foreboding man with a scythe, beautiful works of art, beasts of countless shapes and sizes, warriors, tricksters, and witches(oh my!). And eventually Gaia would grow distant and all of these things would then be brought back to Oramus' manse to be cast into his well.
After the umpteenth time, Oramus grew weary of his task. His imagination was infinite but his stamina was not. The leaves in his pipe had grown stale and his cauldron was beginning to warp from the heat of overuse, so when the Dreamers once again knocked on his door he was about to tell them it was time to give up and cut their losses. He had his reply all thought up as he got to his feet, "sister-brothers, its been a good run, but i'm out of energy. My tools are getting worn and my well is surely about to overflow with old failures. Best to let Gaia go and see what we can make with what she's left us"
Yet when he opened his door, he saw not Theion ready to give him another task, but Gaia herself, accompanied by a strange person who looked just like her, but garbed in white and argent.
"Oh thank you eldest sister-brother," Gaia said tearfully, unexpectedly hugging the Dragon Beyond the World, "They're perfect! I had begun to miss all the old things you had made for me when they disappeared, but now they're all here with my new best friend."
"New best friend?" Oramus asked, bewildered(and more than a little disoriented from the fumes of his overused cauldron and pipe. He looked at the strange fellow next to Gaia, who bowed and made gestures of filial loyalty.
"Father, I promise to do right by her," they said, winking and signing to Oramus when Gaia wasn't looking, "Just play along."
"Why...yes! I'm glad you like it sister-brother. I trust your own work with the world is going well." Oramus tried not to stammer.
"I hope….Luna….here is treating you well," offered Oramus, coming up with a name on the spot.
"Oh yes everything is going swimmingly," replied Gaia, "its almost done, we just need a few more touches and i'd love it if you'd help with the final stages."
"And as for Luna, they're treating me very well." She said that last bit while clearly trying to stop from giggling and sharing a wry look with Luna.
So it was that Oramus departed his manse beyond the world and went into Creation to help finish it. And Gaia did not tire of her work as before, for Luna was always there to amuse and delight her. Gaia had found love, and of that she could never tire. Oramus played along, assuming he had simply forgotten making Luna (after all he had smoked perhaps too much of his pipe for a while).
When the main work of Creation was done, for then at least, Oramus returned to his manse beyond the world and set about tidying up. He swept the floors, cleaned out his hearth, opened all the windows to air the place out, and made a note to ask Autochthon to buff out the warping in his cauldron. As he made his way to his well, to see what could be salvaged of his failed projects, he was surprised to find it completely empty. He hadn't remembered cleaning it since the first time that the other Dreamers asked him to make a gift for Gaia. Puzzled, he went to his meditation room and began to recall.
It was then he remembered that his latest creation, Luna, had very sharp silver teeth….
The other Dreamers grew dismayed at this, for Gaia had yet to reveal the final shape of Creation, and they had many things they wished to add to this half-made world. Thus, they went to the Before-Firstborn among them: Oramus, The Dragon Beyond The World.
"Eldest Sister-Brother," they asked him, "Gaia wishes to depart from our half-made-world for something beyond it. You are beyond the world, surely you can find us something to draw her attention back."
Oramus, who had been meditating up until this moment, sat up and took a long drag on his pipe, "This is a difficult task, even for me. I may take some time to deliver to you what Gaia wishes, you must distract her while I do my work."
So it was that the Dreamers engaged in a great contest of strength and secret powers, so as to entertain the Emerald Mother while Oramus did his work. Theion, the Holy Tyrant, decreed that a grand festival commence, and Autochthon went about erecting bright pavilions and creating slaves to perform in the cosmic court.
Oramus went to the cosmic court's hearth, where he stoked the fires of the Divine Ignition(who was in truth not truly one of the Dreamers but a mask and an action), and brought a brand of flame back to his manse in the Beyond. There, he lit a fire beneath his cauldron and set new leaves within his fine pipe, and began to imagine.
As he did so, an hapless half-made idea, a mere passing fancy in truth, fell into his cauldron and made a strange sound as it began to boil. Oramus fished it out and saw what it had become, which was hard to look at but composed mostly of sharp silver teeth. Unnerved by the Thing With Silver Teeth, Oramus threw it into his manse's well and resumed creating.
Eventually, Oramus happened upon an idea that satisfied him, a whole little world to float above the half-made one. Gaia could look upon it and see Creation reflected and distorted, which the Dragon Beyond the World reasoned would amuse her for a time. He went back to the cosmic court and presented this thing he had made to his youngest sister-brother, who was as expected, delighted with it.
Thus it was that the Dreamers continued making the world atop Gaia's design. Yet after a short forever, the Emerald Mother grew tired with Oramus' bauble, and it gathered dust in the sky above as she began looking to the Faraway. The Dreamers found themselves in a familiar predicament, and the effort of Creation ground once again to a halt. Thus they returned to the Dragon Beyond the World and asked him to make another present for Gaia while they distracted her.
Oramus, as before, gathered the embers of the Divine Ignition and set about his creative passion. This time, he brought the little world he had made and threw it into his well with the Thing With Silver Teeth, reasoning that it would do Gaia no more good. After a short while, he emerged with yet another new idea, this time a companion with a clever wit to keep Gaia company.
As expected, this new gift amused Gaia for a while. But eventually, she tired of it as time passed, and began to once again long to depart. As before, the Dreamers sought Oramus' help, and the Dragon Beyond the World went once again to the cosmic court's hearth and returned home with both divine fire and his failed gift for Gaia, throwing the first into his cauldron and the second into his manse's well. And eventually he emerged with a new present to give to his youngest sister-brother, who was delighted at first but soon longed for other things, prompting yet another effort by the Dreamers to draw her back.
This cycle continued for some time. Oramus made many things that Gaia enjoyed: a pyramid at the end of the universe, a peerless huntswoman, a foreboding man with a scythe, beautiful works of art, beasts of countless shapes and sizes, warriors, tricksters, and witches(oh my!). And eventually Gaia would grow distant and all of these things would then be brought back to Oramus' manse to be cast into his well.
After the umpteenth time, Oramus grew weary of his task. His imagination was infinite but his stamina was not. The leaves in his pipe had grown stale and his cauldron was beginning to warp from the heat of overuse, so when the Dreamers once again knocked on his door he was about to tell them it was time to give up and cut their losses. He had his reply all thought up as he got to his feet, "sister-brothers, its been a good run, but i'm out of energy. My tools are getting worn and my well is surely about to overflow with old failures. Best to let Gaia go and see what we can make with what she's left us"
Yet when he opened his door, he saw not Theion ready to give him another task, but Gaia herself, accompanied by a strange person who looked just like her, but garbed in white and argent.
"Oh thank you eldest sister-brother," Gaia said tearfully, unexpectedly hugging the Dragon Beyond the World, "They're perfect! I had begun to miss all the old things you had made for me when they disappeared, but now they're all here with my new best friend."
"New best friend?" Oramus asked, bewildered(and more than a little disoriented from the fumes of his overused cauldron and pipe. He looked at the strange fellow next to Gaia, who bowed and made gestures of filial loyalty.
"Father, I promise to do right by her," they said, winking and signing to Oramus when Gaia wasn't looking, "Just play along."
"Why...yes! I'm glad you like it sister-brother. I trust your own work with the world is going well." Oramus tried not to stammer.
"I hope….Luna….here is treating you well," offered Oramus, coming up with a name on the spot.
"Oh yes everything is going swimmingly," replied Gaia, "its almost done, we just need a few more touches and i'd love it if you'd help with the final stages."
"And as for Luna, they're treating me very well." She said that last bit while clearly trying to stop from giggling and sharing a wry look with Luna.
So it was that Oramus departed his manse beyond the world and went into Creation to help finish it. And Gaia did not tire of her work as before, for Luna was always there to amuse and delight her. Gaia had found love, and of that she could never tire. Oramus played along, assuming he had simply forgotten making Luna (after all he had smoked perhaps too much of his pipe for a while).
When the main work of Creation was done, for then at least, Oramus returned to his manse beyond the world and set about tidying up. He swept the floors, cleaned out his hearth, opened all the windows to air the place out, and made a note to ask Autochthon to buff out the warping in his cauldron. As he made his way to his well, to see what could be salvaged of his failed projects, he was surprised to find it completely empty. He hadn't remembered cleaning it since the first time that the other Dreamers asked him to make a gift for Gaia. Puzzled, he went to his meditation room and began to recall.
It was then he remembered that his latest creation, Luna, had very sharp silver teeth….
- Pronouns
- she/her
Hopefully we've drawn enough of a line under the previous topic that I can talk about this.
There's limits to what you can do in an NPC write-up but you can still give advice. For example while I consider the Akuma Who Loved Me scenario in RotSE pretty cringe in places (inevitable due to what book it's in) there's an aspect of it that still holds up fairly well.
You could absolutely put something like than in an NPC write-up.Return of the Scarlet Empress page 149 said:
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HamSandLich
MEAT WIZARD
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Central repository is in the profile link. For now at least.
HamSandLich
MEAT WIZARD
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Anaxarte Three-Tails, The Skittering Mother, Great Goddess of Life in the Wastes
In the Far South, it is customary for expectant mothers, midwives, and healers to wear talismans wrought in the image of scorpions, in some cases made from carefully dried specimens themselves. Each one of these amulets is a votive to Anaxarte Three-Tails, The Skittering Mother, Giver and Taker of Life, Great Goddess of Life in the Wastes. a terrestrial god of fertility, healing, and protective motherhood. Worshiped from diamond-flushed Gem to dragon-fearing Zephyr, by everyone from the Dune Folk to the Eskari Clans, Anaxarte is revered as the mother of life in wastelands.
Just as scorpions care for their young, so too does Anaxarte care for her children, bestowing life and health upon her supplicants as much as she can in the barren dunes of the Far South. But no gentle mother is Anaxarte, but a great and terrible matriarch of brute compassion. She is the mother in the wastes, who secures survival for herself and her children at all costs. She is the mother who mercilessly hunts down prey to feed her teeming young, who would slay even her own mate to ensure that life flourishes. Each one of her three stingers contains a different divine poison or elixir, and many foes of hers who still live with her venom in their veins wish that they had died instead. Anaxarte loves all her children, born or adopted, and such is her love that she will not stand to coddle or spoil them. Hers is the love that forges children into adults, that turns softness into strength, and makes the helpless into survivors.
Her cult is of a similar dualistic persuasion. Her priesthood grants medicines to cure ailments from chronic pain to unwanted pregnancies, her temples freely offer asylum and aid to expectant parents, traveling midwives, and those lost in the desert. Their skill with medicine is renowned throughout the South and they have saved the lives of prophets, princes, and heroes alike. At the same time, devotees of Anaxarte drug themselves with elixirs made of scorpion venom to dull their emotions and stalk those who would harm her children and wards with predatory ruthlessness. Children of mothers who die in childbirth are adopted by the cult and trained in the arts of death to protect life, and when grown to adulthood they guard her temples with axe, trident, and lash. Indeed, almost as many people worship Anaxarte as a goddess of war as they do a goddess of love and medicine.
To particularly favored worshipers, the Great Goddess grants draughts of divine painkillers, hallucinogenic venoms, and scorpion familiars. High priestesses of her cult often wield considerable political power in their communities, sometimes being the true power behind the throne. In the desert land of Djendar, they tell the tale of King Rajeem, who died screaming of nine different poisons after slaying a high priestess of Anaxarte. It is whispered that some temples keep pits of scorpions into which sacrificial victims are thrown. In spite of these grim tales, only the foolish, the mad, or the immensely powerful would dare to move openly against the Cult of the Skittering Mother, the services they provide are simply too important. Even Immaculate proscription against unregulated worship of Anaxarte is only haphazardly enforced outside of the Realm's strongholds along the Inland Sea.
Anaxarte appears as a beautiful slate skinned woman from the waist up, clad in silver jewelry and diaphanous robes, a knowing smile on her face. From the waist down, her body is that of a gigantic black scorpion, often heavy with pregnancy or carrying translucent spawn on her back. Her pincers are relatively tiny but her three tails are immense and each stinger drips with a different luminescent venom. She carries a labrys axe of gilded bone and a flask of healing salve. When taking lovers, she can appear as a fully human, and sometimes assumes this form for extended periods to play mother or milk-nurse to the infants of peasants or royalty alike. When enraged, her countenance is terrifying, and her scorpion children fight alongside her, seemingly of one mind with their dread mother.
Born into the turbulence of the Second Age, Anaxarte is indifferent to the politics of distant Yu-Shan, and while she makes her sanctum in the splendor of a First Age palace buried beneath the sands, she has no respect for the Old Realm outside of how useful its ruins are. She is part of no Spirit Court, yet has allies and lovers in several of them. Many gods take pains to stay on her good side, craving her attention and fearing her wrath. The Skittering Mother's affairs with godlings and mortal heroes alike are legendary, yet lovers who earn her disfavor suffer terrible diseases or worse, are fed to her endless swarms of offspring. She has many plans and schemes, orchestrated through her cult and god-blooded princelings, but they all serve the same purpose of ensuring her children prosper and that life blooms in barren lands. By default Anaxarte is neither hostile nor amicable to the Exalted, her interactions with them depend on how friendly they are with her cult or how useful they are to her current plans. To those who earn her favor, she can offer artifacts dredged from beneath the desert, asylum in hidden sanctuaries, or her considerable knowledge of medicines and poisons. But perhaps the greatest asset she can offer is the backing of her cult, and the legitimacy of being seen as a consort of the Great Goddess.
Story Hooks
A young princeling, third in line for succession in a petty kingdom, is smitten with a mysterious lover who he will neither name nor describe. She is in truth Anaxarte, and she intends that her beloved consort ascend to the throne by any means necessary. She might use favor trading or intrigue, or she might simply slowly poison his rivals to death.
A dynast in the satrapies prays to Anaxarte to rid her of an unwanted pregnancy, and to her surprise the Skittering Mother grants her wish. The local satrap however, is greatly displeased with her daughter's attempts to sabotage a political marriage she spent years arranging. She entreats the Immaculate Order to drive out the goddess and suppress her cult. Skirmishes between the garrison and insurgents sworn to Anaxarte erupt on a nightly basis.
A tomb of the First Age has been overrun by glassy scorpions the size of hounds, a brood of Anaxarte's children. The Great Goddess herself appears to be elsewhere, but whatever lies within must be valuable to her, or she might fear what lies entombed in its depths. Braving the tomb might earn her ire or win her affections depending on the reason her swarms are present and the manner in which they are dealt with.
Anaxarte is gravid, and this time her child will be a great prodigy. It might be a behemoth, sired by some powerful divinity or wyld monstrosity. Maybe she shall give birth not to a single child, but a host of children, all different in form but possessed of a single mind. Perhaps the fires of Exigence burn within her, and her god-blooded child shall be Chosen at birth. Whatever the truth, sequestered in her sanctum, Anaxarte hungers. Her cult, at once both filled with anticipatory zeal and terrified speculation, searches for exotic viands to sate their mistress' appetites.
In the Far South, it is customary for expectant mothers, midwives, and healers to wear talismans wrought in the image of scorpions, in some cases made from carefully dried specimens themselves. Each one of these amulets is a votive to Anaxarte Three-Tails, The Skittering Mother, Giver and Taker of Life, Great Goddess of Life in the Wastes. a terrestrial god of fertility, healing, and protective motherhood. Worshiped from diamond-flushed Gem to dragon-fearing Zephyr, by everyone from the Dune Folk to the Eskari Clans, Anaxarte is revered as the mother of life in wastelands.
Just as scorpions care for their young, so too does Anaxarte care for her children, bestowing life and health upon her supplicants as much as she can in the barren dunes of the Far South. But no gentle mother is Anaxarte, but a great and terrible matriarch of brute compassion. She is the mother in the wastes, who secures survival for herself and her children at all costs. She is the mother who mercilessly hunts down prey to feed her teeming young, who would slay even her own mate to ensure that life flourishes. Each one of her three stingers contains a different divine poison or elixir, and many foes of hers who still live with her venom in their veins wish that they had died instead. Anaxarte loves all her children, born or adopted, and such is her love that she will not stand to coddle or spoil them. Hers is the love that forges children into adults, that turns softness into strength, and makes the helpless into survivors.
Her cult is of a similar dualistic persuasion. Her priesthood grants medicines to cure ailments from chronic pain to unwanted pregnancies, her temples freely offer asylum and aid to expectant parents, traveling midwives, and those lost in the desert. Their skill with medicine is renowned throughout the South and they have saved the lives of prophets, princes, and heroes alike. At the same time, devotees of Anaxarte drug themselves with elixirs made of scorpion venom to dull their emotions and stalk those who would harm her children and wards with predatory ruthlessness. Children of mothers who die in childbirth are adopted by the cult and trained in the arts of death to protect life, and when grown to adulthood they guard her temples with axe, trident, and lash. Indeed, almost as many people worship Anaxarte as a goddess of war as they do a goddess of love and medicine.
To particularly favored worshipers, the Great Goddess grants draughts of divine painkillers, hallucinogenic venoms, and scorpion familiars. High priestesses of her cult often wield considerable political power in their communities, sometimes being the true power behind the throne. In the desert land of Djendar, they tell the tale of King Rajeem, who died screaming of nine different poisons after slaying a high priestess of Anaxarte. It is whispered that some temples keep pits of scorpions into which sacrificial victims are thrown. In spite of these grim tales, only the foolish, the mad, or the immensely powerful would dare to move openly against the Cult of the Skittering Mother, the services they provide are simply too important. Even Immaculate proscription against unregulated worship of Anaxarte is only haphazardly enforced outside of the Realm's strongholds along the Inland Sea.
Anaxarte appears as a beautiful slate skinned woman from the waist up, clad in silver jewelry and diaphanous robes, a knowing smile on her face. From the waist down, her body is that of a gigantic black scorpion, often heavy with pregnancy or carrying translucent spawn on her back. Her pincers are relatively tiny but her three tails are immense and each stinger drips with a different luminescent venom. She carries a labrys axe of gilded bone and a flask of healing salve. When taking lovers, she can appear as a fully human, and sometimes assumes this form for extended periods to play mother or milk-nurse to the infants of peasants or royalty alike. When enraged, her countenance is terrifying, and her scorpion children fight alongside her, seemingly of one mind with their dread mother.
Born into the turbulence of the Second Age, Anaxarte is indifferent to the politics of distant Yu-Shan, and while she makes her sanctum in the splendor of a First Age palace buried beneath the sands, she has no respect for the Old Realm outside of how useful its ruins are. She is part of no Spirit Court, yet has allies and lovers in several of them. Many gods take pains to stay on her good side, craving her attention and fearing her wrath. The Skittering Mother's affairs with godlings and mortal heroes alike are legendary, yet lovers who earn her disfavor suffer terrible diseases or worse, are fed to her endless swarms of offspring. She has many plans and schemes, orchestrated through her cult and god-blooded princelings, but they all serve the same purpose of ensuring her children prosper and that life blooms in barren lands. By default Anaxarte is neither hostile nor amicable to the Exalted, her interactions with them depend on how friendly they are with her cult or how useful they are to her current plans. To those who earn her favor, she can offer artifacts dredged from beneath the desert, asylum in hidden sanctuaries, or her considerable knowledge of medicines and poisons. But perhaps the greatest asset she can offer is the backing of her cult, and the legitimacy of being seen as a consort of the Great Goddess.
Story Hooks
A young princeling, third in line for succession in a petty kingdom, is smitten with a mysterious lover who he will neither name nor describe. She is in truth Anaxarte, and she intends that her beloved consort ascend to the throne by any means necessary. She might use favor trading or intrigue, or she might simply slowly poison his rivals to death.
A dynast in the satrapies prays to Anaxarte to rid her of an unwanted pregnancy, and to her surprise the Skittering Mother grants her wish. The local satrap however, is greatly displeased with her daughter's attempts to sabotage a political marriage she spent years arranging. She entreats the Immaculate Order to drive out the goddess and suppress her cult. Skirmishes between the garrison and insurgents sworn to Anaxarte erupt on a nightly basis.
A tomb of the First Age has been overrun by glassy scorpions the size of hounds, a brood of Anaxarte's children. The Great Goddess herself appears to be elsewhere, but whatever lies within must be valuable to her, or she might fear what lies entombed in its depths. Braving the tomb might earn her ire or win her affections depending on the reason her swarms are present and the manner in which they are dealt with.
Anaxarte is gravid, and this time her child will be a great prodigy. It might be a behemoth, sired by some powerful divinity or wyld monstrosity. Maybe she shall give birth not to a single child, but a host of children, all different in form but possessed of a single mind. Perhaps the fires of Exigence burn within her, and her god-blooded child shall be Chosen at birth. Whatever the truth, sequestered in her sanctum, Anaxarte hungers. Her cult, at once both filled with anticipatory zeal and terrified speculation, searches for exotic viands to sate their mistress' appetites.
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- Location
- my house
Anyone know where in creation I could find an elective monarchy or republic of some sort? I have an idea for a DB game where the players need to investigate claims that one of the candidates is a solar anathema (and if so, prove it and execute them) but I can't think of a place that would work well.
On a similar but unrelated note, is there anywhere in creation characterized by having a bunch of competing martial arts sects?
On a similar but unrelated note, is there anywhere in creation characterized by having a bunch of competing martial arts sects?
HamSandLich
MEAT WIZARD
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Wu-Jian, in the West
Blaque
Resident Catblob
- Location
- SLC UT
- Pronouns
- He/Him/His
Halta was this inprevious editions but has issues being well, Halta.
Uluiru kind of has this going on to an extent. The various nobles and Exalts in taht country are kind of bickeirng in part due to the clean line of succession being busted. But that's less useful for your purposes admitedly. Similar with Prasad, which does have an election for the heir to the rani-satrap.
It's kind of the thing you can put wherever you want, but I can't think of any notable polities in canon right now that that's their structure a priori.
Thinking about transportation technologies in the First Age, I wonder if mass-driver manses would be a thing used for freight transport. They have a teleportation network in those days, but iirc that requires high manse ratings and are expensive to operate.
I suppose in those days, some exalts might have experimented some kind of mass-drivers to fling cargo over long distance to another mass-driver that would catch and decelerate the cargo. This kind of set-up would probably be simpler and cheaper to implement than an actual teleportation/portal network.
Of course, if any of these survive the Usurpation, these things would probably still be useful these as cargo transport with other mass-driver manses, but in the Age of Sorrows, people would probably just use them to chuck large rocks at enemies.
I suppose in those days, some exalts might have experimented some kind of mass-drivers to fling cargo over long distance to another mass-driver that would catch and decelerate the cargo. This kind of set-up would probably be simpler and cheaper to implement than an actual teleportation/portal network.
Of course, if any of these survive the Usurpation, these things would probably still be useful these as cargo transport with other mass-driver manses, but in the Age of Sorrows, people would probably just use them to chuck large rocks at enemies.
- Pronouns
- she/her
Calin's whole thing is that it has a Shogun elected by members of its fourteen noble houses. Unfortunately we don't know much about these noble houses which might require a little more world building than the other canonical locations.
- Location
- Ottawa
Seems like a good excuse to link one of my favourite threads.
In keeping with the paradigm of magitech there, how about a freight transportation network that's just a bunch of legless mechanical giants with very strong throwing arms?
Attempts to weaponize them in the Second Age have run into problems because the giants are pacifistic by nature. But given time, ruthlessness, and maybe a few Charms, they can generally be deceived, threatened, or persuaded into doing the bidding of those who rule the land around them. It helps that they can't actually see any better than humans do, so they have no direct way of knowing what they're throwing at. They have to take someone else's word for it.
- Pronouns
- He/Him
I'm looking for a backup or archive of the Freedom Stone fiction; the Wayback Machine only seems to have an incomplete archive of the forum. I don't suppose anyone managed to fully copy it before it died like, a decade ago?
- Location
- Nova Scotia
- Pronouns
- She/Her
The webcomic is no longer extant on the Internet as far as I'm aware.
The author is adapting it into prose form, though, and you can grab the first part of that here, although from what I gather the subsequent parts have been slow to come in part because they have been busy working on like, Exalted books they've been hired to write on.
- Location
- my house
It's a shame only the first page was saved. That looks cool
HamSandLich
MEAT WIZARD
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Million Mulberry, Regent of Celestial Couture, The Luxuriant Weaver, Goddess of Silk and Sericulture
Silk: paupers and princes alike covet it, hundreds of talents change hands each year to purchase it, bloody wars are fought over access to it. Silk is one of the premier luxury items of Creation's elite, from crude wild silk in the Threshold's remote areas to the high quality output of the Scarlet Realm's silk farms. Dynasts wear it from childhood and well into old age. Guild merchants move it by the ton and sell the finest bolts of the textile at vastly inflated prices. One of the prime beneficiaries of this web of commodity and commerce is Million Mulberry, Celestial Goddess of Silk and divine overseer of its production, trade, and usage.
Phenomenally wealthy even for godly standards, Million Mulberry is employed by the Division of Serenity, but also she draws huge sums of ambrosia from her sprawling cult and her status of one of Yu-Shan's greatest fashion personalities. Dynasts, Merchant-Princes, Threshold grandees, Sidereal Exalted, and even Celestial Gods pray or beg for her favor, knowing just how much difference an elegantly woven silk garment can make. Million Mulberry both practices and teaches sericulture and silk-weaving, though securing an audience with her for either lessons or a commission is a feat of considerable difficulty, forcing one to navigate a byzantine web of socialite gossip and bureaucratic go-betweens. The goddess owns boutiques in both Creation and Yu-Shan, mostly staffed and operated by her children, subordinates, or cultists, though she has been known to appear at several of them at random to take requests either openly or in disguise. Those lucky enough to receive a silk vestment personally designed or even woven by Million Mulberry almost universally have their social fortunes rise as a result. The goddess wields considerable influence in both Creation and Yu-Shan, and though she is more celebrity than schemer, she knows just how much damage she can inflict on those who displease her with but a few whispered words.
With regards to her official position in the Celestial Bureaucracy, the Luxuriant Weaver vacillates between obsessive dedication and distracted delegation. She sees her job as an artistic calling more than a source of employment, and her involvement with her work rises and falls with her creative energies. She often deals with creative block in one pursuit by refocusing on her other long running interests and her approach to her deific responsibilities reflects that. At times she helps weave destinies as swiftly as she can weave textiles, at other times her office in the Cerulean Lute is staffed only by her secretaries while she whiles away time at fashion shows, galas, and terrestrial temples. She may help or hinder Sidereals and other Division members depending on her moods, though she seldom engages in egregious abuse of her power.
The Luxuriant Weaver's cult is one of the more geographically widespread in Creation, though elites compose a disproportionately high number of the membership. While humble silk farmer workers and middle class tailors pray to her all the same, her cult truly thrives due to the patronage of aristocrats and merchants. The Blessed Isle, producer of much of the world's silk, is the center of her worship, and though she must work within the strictures of the Immaculate Order, her social and economic importance (as well as several "gifts" to powerful ministers and immaculate monks) has guaranteed that the prayer calendars are very favorable towards her. In areas like the city of Sion in Incas Prefecture, where the textile industry composes a huge sector of the economy, she is given approved worship on a near weekly basis. Dynasts in particular view her as a goddess of beauty and relationships, and on her days of worship many young women and men pray to the Luxuriant Weaver that they look their best when wooing a lover. In the Threshold, she is more seen as a goddess of mercantile wealth. Her temples do brisk business with Guild Merchants, selling silk from their holy farms and taking commissions for the garments of princes. Several hierophants are Guild members themselves.
Million Mulberry appears as an elegant, ageless looking woman with moth antennae, black sclera, and porcelain white skin. Typically clad in luxurious garments of her own design, it is said that she never wears the same clothes twice, though in truth she secretly keeps her favorite ensembles stashed to wear and admire in the privacy of her own residences. Her number of arms varies, and often she has one or several pairs working on some task related to clothing design while her main limbs are otherwise occupied. She carries a celestial peachwood pole of the type used in silk preparation. Silkworms of living metal act as her jewelry and the adult forms of the insects hold up the train of her dress. She is often accompanied by an entourage of proteges, supplicants, and assorted hangers-on. Her manses and sanctums are regularly renovated to fit with her ever changing aesthetics.
Story Hooks
The goddess plans a fashion exposition in collaboration with several other wealthy gods, and seeks models to wear her work. She might request specific gods, types of elemental, demons, and even Exalts serve as her models, matching each to a specific theme she has in mind. While she will pay very, very well, arguably the renown of being seen wearing her concepts will be its own reward.
Though the Luxuriant Weaver has friendly rivalries with several clothing and textile gods, particularly the god of lotus silk and the goddess of sea silk, her most prominent competition is with Asna Firstborn, The Mother of Pattern Spiders. It has been their custom for years uncounted to regularly send each other woven tapestries or clothing, whether these are genuine gifts or barbed insults is a topic of much gossip in the halls of heaven.
Centuries spent studying the Loom of Fate have mixed with Million Mulberry's innate skill at weaving, granting her a small measure of precognitive power. She has foreseen a future not recorded as possible by the Loom, and consults with superiors in the Bureau of Destiny to decipher the meaning and cause of this aberrant prognostication.
The impending Realm Civil War greatly distresses Million Mulberry. Such a conflict would kill hundreds if not thousands of her faithful worshippers and cripple the silk industry. Though she hides her panic well, she desperately tries to avert or delay it, calling in favors and imploring Immaculate archimandrites to do more to secure peace for the future. Should the war erupt in full she would surely pray for the Exigency, so that her Chosen champion might attempt to hasten its conclusion,
Silk: paupers and princes alike covet it, hundreds of talents change hands each year to purchase it, bloody wars are fought over access to it. Silk is one of the premier luxury items of Creation's elite, from crude wild silk in the Threshold's remote areas to the high quality output of the Scarlet Realm's silk farms. Dynasts wear it from childhood and well into old age. Guild merchants move it by the ton and sell the finest bolts of the textile at vastly inflated prices. One of the prime beneficiaries of this web of commodity and commerce is Million Mulberry, Celestial Goddess of Silk and divine overseer of its production, trade, and usage.
Phenomenally wealthy even for godly standards, Million Mulberry is employed by the Division of Serenity, but also she draws huge sums of ambrosia from her sprawling cult and her status of one of Yu-Shan's greatest fashion personalities. Dynasts, Merchant-Princes, Threshold grandees, Sidereal Exalted, and even Celestial Gods pray or beg for her favor, knowing just how much difference an elegantly woven silk garment can make. Million Mulberry both practices and teaches sericulture and silk-weaving, though securing an audience with her for either lessons or a commission is a feat of considerable difficulty, forcing one to navigate a byzantine web of socialite gossip and bureaucratic go-betweens. The goddess owns boutiques in both Creation and Yu-Shan, mostly staffed and operated by her children, subordinates, or cultists, though she has been known to appear at several of them at random to take requests either openly or in disguise. Those lucky enough to receive a silk vestment personally designed or even woven by Million Mulberry almost universally have their social fortunes rise as a result. The goddess wields considerable influence in both Creation and Yu-Shan, and though she is more celebrity than schemer, she knows just how much damage she can inflict on those who displease her with but a few whispered words.
With regards to her official position in the Celestial Bureaucracy, the Luxuriant Weaver vacillates between obsessive dedication and distracted delegation. She sees her job as an artistic calling more than a source of employment, and her involvement with her work rises and falls with her creative energies. She often deals with creative block in one pursuit by refocusing on her other long running interests and her approach to her deific responsibilities reflects that. At times she helps weave destinies as swiftly as she can weave textiles, at other times her office in the Cerulean Lute is staffed only by her secretaries while she whiles away time at fashion shows, galas, and terrestrial temples. She may help or hinder Sidereals and other Division members depending on her moods, though she seldom engages in egregious abuse of her power.
The Luxuriant Weaver's cult is one of the more geographically widespread in Creation, though elites compose a disproportionately high number of the membership. While humble silk farmer workers and middle class tailors pray to her all the same, her cult truly thrives due to the patronage of aristocrats and merchants. The Blessed Isle, producer of much of the world's silk, is the center of her worship, and though she must work within the strictures of the Immaculate Order, her social and economic importance (as well as several "gifts" to powerful ministers and immaculate monks) has guaranteed that the prayer calendars are very favorable towards her. In areas like the city of Sion in Incas Prefecture, where the textile industry composes a huge sector of the economy, she is given approved worship on a near weekly basis. Dynasts in particular view her as a goddess of beauty and relationships, and on her days of worship many young women and men pray to the Luxuriant Weaver that they look their best when wooing a lover. In the Threshold, she is more seen as a goddess of mercantile wealth. Her temples do brisk business with Guild Merchants, selling silk from their holy farms and taking commissions for the garments of princes. Several hierophants are Guild members themselves.
Million Mulberry appears as an elegant, ageless looking woman with moth antennae, black sclera, and porcelain white skin. Typically clad in luxurious garments of her own design, it is said that she never wears the same clothes twice, though in truth she secretly keeps her favorite ensembles stashed to wear and admire in the privacy of her own residences. Her number of arms varies, and often she has one or several pairs working on some task related to clothing design while her main limbs are otherwise occupied. She carries a celestial peachwood pole of the type used in silk preparation. Silkworms of living metal act as her jewelry and the adult forms of the insects hold up the train of her dress. She is often accompanied by an entourage of proteges, supplicants, and assorted hangers-on. Her manses and sanctums are regularly renovated to fit with her ever changing aesthetics.
Story Hooks
The goddess plans a fashion exposition in collaboration with several other wealthy gods, and seeks models to wear her work. She might request specific gods, types of elemental, demons, and even Exalts serve as her models, matching each to a specific theme she has in mind. While she will pay very, very well, arguably the renown of being seen wearing her concepts will be its own reward.
Though the Luxuriant Weaver has friendly rivalries with several clothing and textile gods, particularly the god of lotus silk and the goddess of sea silk, her most prominent competition is with Asna Firstborn, The Mother of Pattern Spiders. It has been their custom for years uncounted to regularly send each other woven tapestries or clothing, whether these are genuine gifts or barbed insults is a topic of much gossip in the halls of heaven.
Centuries spent studying the Loom of Fate have mixed with Million Mulberry's innate skill at weaving, granting her a small measure of precognitive power. She has foreseen a future not recorded as possible by the Loom, and consults with superiors in the Bureau of Destiny to decipher the meaning and cause of this aberrant prognostication.
The impending Realm Civil War greatly distresses Million Mulberry. Such a conflict would kill hundreds if not thousands of her faithful worshippers and cripple the silk industry. Though she hides her panic well, she desperately tries to avert or delay it, calling in favors and imploring Immaculate archimandrites to do more to secure peace for the future. Should the war erupt in full she would surely pray for the Exigency, so that her Chosen champion might attempt to hasten its conclusion,
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