- Location
- The end of all things
Unless they are Sorcerers. But then they won't get invited to parties, so it's pretty much a wash.
General Exalted Thread
greensun
You shall all burn beneath my light!!!
God fucking damn it @EarthScorpion...
What did hell and Creation do to deserve Nobby Nobs as a demon? I pity the poor Infernal who gets one as their Coadjuter.
What did hell and Creation do to deserve Nobby Nobs as a demon? I pity the poor Infernal who gets one as their Coadjuter.
samdamandias
Apprentice Plane Wizard
Thank you! Yeah, the Cobalt Hammers are almost certainly going to have an arthropod-like aesthetic in their constuctions, probably borrowing heavily from termites, avondale spiders, dung beetles, leaf-cutter ants, and gall wasps. Of course, they lack stingers or a soldier caste, so they're relatively easy pickings. (Of course, if you're using them for combat, something has gone very wrong)
? Which charm does this? From my reading the Devil Tiger try gives you a custom charmset, general charms based off of you, and custom caste features and later goes into forming a world in your soul and soul hierarchy like a primoridial.
notthepenguins
Neither Spherical Nor Frictionless
- Pronouns
- He/She/They
The custom charmset does it.
- Location
- Gladstone, OR
So you know what gets a lot of screen time in fiction and mythology? Objects. Tools, stuff and loot. That's cool, it's evocative.
You know what doesn't get a smuch time, comparatively (accounting for sample bias)? Locations. Specifically magical ones.
With that in mind, I prepare for you now a special event. Welcome to Shyft's Demesne week! (It's pronounced di-mayn. It's french, or something).
Tinder Reach
Demense 1
There is a wild, unworked field of tall yellow grass in the south-eastern hills of the Scavenger Lands. The hills reach up to catch the sun, and the air feels dry all year round, tinderbox hot. The flaxen stalks and tall vegetation seem to rippling during the day and crackle fitfully at night, like a log held in flame until its curled like an alligator's hide.
In the center of this parched place is a particular range of vividly saffron-yellow grass, edged in living reds of flame. This Essence Token is called Flintgrass, known for is willingness to accept sparks, or grant them. Dangerous to the touch, the stalks burn like hot iron, leaving thin rising welts on unprotected skin.
Flintgrass is sought for many reasons. In forges and metalworking, it burns in such a way as to help render iron unto steel. It also can help with the alloying of Jade into other metals. The seeds are even more useful; if stripped from their pods and thrown into the eyes, they can blind or scar people with searing heat. In the north, these seeds are coveted for their medicinal properties- when mixed into porridge or gruel, the living heat instantly stabilizes a character dying from cold exposure, and negates all penalties due to cold for one day.
The Demense is shared by a court of fire elementals, who consider it something of their due. They allow small parcels of the grass be passed on as gifts to those mindful enough to give them a service, further enhancing the rather legendary status of its nature. This fame circulates and earns them more favors, but the court keeps it wild and uncultivated as a rule.
Whenever anyone comes before them with an eye towards taking it, despite the common and warlike nature of fire elementals, they would prefer to relax tensions and parlay. Including an offer of tea or pipe-weed as hospitality suits. Both of which are laced with the grass, by their own tastes, with suitably awful effects on the unprotected or unwarned.
This has kept particularly aggressive tradesmen at bay for centuries, as none would dare refuse the hospitality of a spirit court, but only time will tell how long this gambit will hold out.
You know what doesn't get a smuch time, comparatively (accounting for sample bias)? Locations. Specifically magical ones.
With that in mind, I prepare for you now a special event. Welcome to Shyft's Demesne week! (It's pronounced di-mayn. It's french, or something).
Tinder Reach
Demense 1
There is a wild, unworked field of tall yellow grass in the south-eastern hills of the Scavenger Lands. The hills reach up to catch the sun, and the air feels dry all year round, tinderbox hot. The flaxen stalks and tall vegetation seem to rippling during the day and crackle fitfully at night, like a log held in flame until its curled like an alligator's hide.
In the center of this parched place is a particular range of vividly saffron-yellow grass, edged in living reds of flame. This Essence Token is called Flintgrass, known for is willingness to accept sparks, or grant them. Dangerous to the touch, the stalks burn like hot iron, leaving thin rising welts on unprotected skin.
Flintgrass is sought for many reasons. In forges and metalworking, it burns in such a way as to help render iron unto steel. It also can help with the alloying of Jade into other metals. The seeds are even more useful; if stripped from their pods and thrown into the eyes, they can blind or scar people with searing heat. In the north, these seeds are coveted for their medicinal properties- when mixed into porridge or gruel, the living heat instantly stabilizes a character dying from cold exposure, and negates all penalties due to cold for one day.
The Demense is shared by a court of fire elementals, who consider it something of their due. They allow small parcels of the grass be passed on as gifts to those mindful enough to give them a service, further enhancing the rather legendary status of its nature. This fame circulates and earns them more favors, but the court keeps it wild and uncultivated as a rule.
Whenever anyone comes before them with an eye towards taking it, despite the common and warlike nature of fire elementals, they would prefer to relax tensions and parlay. Including an offer of tea or pipe-weed as hospitality suits. Both of which are laced with the grass, by their own tastes, with suitably awful effects on the unprotected or unwarned.
This has kept particularly aggressive tradesmen at bay for centuries, as none would dare refuse the hospitality of a spirit court, but only time will tell how long this gambit will hold out.
Provide a citation that actually proves your point that it is more transhuman than the normal stuff. The custom charmset can do anything you want if you are liberal about it and if you follow Revlid's advice your charmset won't be anymore transhuman than a normal Yozi charmset, if not less so because you are approaching it from the perspective of a specific (likely weird) human rather than an very alien being that is too big to think like a human.
notthepenguins
Neither Spherical Nor Frictionless
- Pronouns
- He/She/They
This is not in any way opposed to the post you're criticizing.
Noctum
Dual Paradox
- Location
- Under the Skies Above
I once decided to have a go at calculating the rough numbers of Third and Second Circles in Exalted. Here's my results:
Third Circles:
23 Yozi with an estimated average of 17 Third Circles each (Ebon Dragon has the least at 11, Malfeas has the most[1] at 23, 11 + 23 = 34 /2 = 17)
23 * 17 = 391
Second Circles:
391 * 7 = 2737
So there's about 400[2] Third Circles (and isn't that a terrifying thought, imagine all those running around in the Time of Glories), and 2700 - 2800 Second Circles. And it says a great deal about the sheer size of Malfeas that there are large swaths of it not controlled by them.
[1] I'm not going to try and guess at how many Third Circles Adorjan has, the number goes up and down like a yo-yo.
[2] Depending on Adorjan's current fancies.
Sileda, the Idea That Must Be Sold
Demon of the Third Circle
Tenth Soul of the All-Hunger Blossom
At times a carnival dances down the streets of the demon city. Wherever they go, the basalt and brass of the walls are covered with lurid paintings more beautiful than Hell. Alluring stallholders offer delicacies from garish covered tents. As the festival goes on, the attendees realise that the paintings are windows into a better world and they step through and revel. There is a cost, though, and so they realise that they must sell and trade and entertain, and their services buy them more time in this perfect place.
Eventually the carnival moves on. And in their wake, emaciated and dried corpses are left behind, the remains of those who withered away while adoring the paintings. Their essence passes into the paintings fuelling the dream that is Sileda.
The Idea That Must Be Sold is one of the more abstract demon princes. She has no material form in her own right. Instead, she exists within all who accept her particular flavour of envy - the bitter gnawing envy that drives men to pursue dreams of things which do not exist and which hates the world for not containing that which they envision. Those who feel such sentiments within hell feel the urge to paint upon the walls and revel and make free, for she acts through them. Those who feel such feelings weakly may only be nudged, but should such envy become their life's work they become a vessel for her and her carnival begins afresh.
In this, she feels a twisted love for the Exalted and will often favour them for their treachery hungered for a world none considered possible. Some whisper her malign influence drove some of the excess of the High First Age. Certainly she was bound by some sorcerers to provide her painting-realities, but such blame mistakes cause and effect. She would not love the Exalted if they did not dream beyond sense and reason. The Idea That Must be Sold would love nothing more than the Exalted to reach the limits of the possible and grind against it in frustration - for she will be waiting for them there.
Sileda must constantly spread herself among the swarming masses of demonkind. She constantly eats away at those who experience, and in truth she might perish if there were none left alive who felt her in their hearts. To that end, she makes her hosts revel and dance and entertain. She weaves her fantasy world from their thoughts and puppets them to paint it upon the walls and writes songs about it - for she is a consummate artist. Her paintings are a portal into the dreaming that is her true self, and there all is wonder and splendour that can never exist within Malfeas. It is an easy lure for demonkind. The carnival exists to tempt others into dreaming of her, and it is like a drug - the first taste is free.
Once she has her hooks into a host, then they must spread her lest she devour them. Those who succeed in giving her new hosts receive endowments, blessings and access to her fantasy world. Those who do not are reduced to dried husks, eaten to sustain her existence.
When the Idea That Must Be Sold takes form within her paintings, she appears as a young girl, with the wings and abdomen of a mosquito. The air plays piping music around her and her carnival, a high-pitched escatic noise that hints at hidden things. When she is well fed she is beautiful and innocent to such an extent that it hurts to look at her, but when she has but a few hosts she is emaciated, hungry and shabby. She dresses in the fashions of the High First Age - an affection of hers for a lost age that she loved for its shining golden princes. Her flesh is covered with her own designs of artwork, and she sheds her skin frequently when she wishes a new canvas or the dreams of a new host catch her fancy.
When a great man looks at his accomplishments and weeps for all he has not done, sometimes Sileda takes up residence within him, infecting others with his vision. Her hold is tenuous, though, and she can be banished by his rejection of his impossible dream. Otherwise, she can sneak out from Hell should one of the Exalted unknowingly bring one fully infected by her out with them, for that grants her bail - which can be rejected should the Exalt realise what they have done and order her by name to return to Hell. In the First Age she made many sincere attempts to escape, but in modern Creation she finds the place dull and dreary, limited by so little knowledge of what is truly impossible. For this reason, she looks at the return of the Solar Exalted with hope and the newborn Green Sun Princes with undisguised glee.
Notes and Abilities: Sileda has no flesh. To summon her safely, one must choose a mortal host for her who must be an artist or musician of prodigious skill. This host must be bound with manacles made from melted down coinage, and fastened around their neck must be a symbolic representation of their greatest work. Should these bonds be loosened or the sorcerer not take adequate care when calling on one of the demon princes, Sileda will escape. Though she will remain bound to obey the sorcerer, she will infect all who hear of her and hold her in their hearts for that is in her nature and even her oaths cannot stop it.
Trapped in such a form, a sorcerer can use her to make artwork which can compel behaviour from all who see it and twist minds, or even one of her true masterpieces which have a fantasy world within it (allowing Exalts to buy the Sanctum background, treating the painting as an artefact through which they may enter their sanctum). Should she approve of the sorcerer who would bind her, she may not even contest the binding with all her strength. After all, such behaviour means she is more likely to be called again and she wishes to aid such a protege.
This demon prince may well be a twisted ally for the Exalted. She desires above all for the Exalted to dash themselves against the limits of their power, and so may well aid them in reaching that point. Visitors to Hell who come across her carnival and resist its blandishments may be granted an audience within her fantasy world. Sileda loves visionaries, dreamers and all whose reach exceeds their grasp and so she will spur on masters or petitioners who seem insufficiently ambitious. The tales she tells of the Time of Dreams and the Time of Glory will be twisted and exaggerated - not entirely intentionally, because she too is nostalgic for such times - but will contain grains of truth that point to hidden secrets.
Demon of the Third Circle
Tenth Soul of the All-Hunger Blossom
At times a carnival dances down the streets of the demon city. Wherever they go, the basalt and brass of the walls are covered with lurid paintings more beautiful than Hell. Alluring stallholders offer delicacies from garish covered tents. As the festival goes on, the attendees realise that the paintings are windows into a better world and they step through and revel. There is a cost, though, and so they realise that they must sell and trade and entertain, and their services buy them more time in this perfect place.
Eventually the carnival moves on. And in their wake, emaciated and dried corpses are left behind, the remains of those who withered away while adoring the paintings. Their essence passes into the paintings fuelling the dream that is Sileda.
The Idea That Must Be Sold is one of the more abstract demon princes. She has no material form in her own right. Instead, she exists within all who accept her particular flavour of envy - the bitter gnawing envy that drives men to pursue dreams of things which do not exist and which hates the world for not containing that which they envision. Those who feel such sentiments within hell feel the urge to paint upon the walls and revel and make free, for she acts through them. Those who feel such feelings weakly may only be nudged, but should such envy become their life's work they become a vessel for her and her carnival begins afresh.
In this, she feels a twisted love for the Exalted and will often favour them for their treachery hungered for a world none considered possible. Some whisper her malign influence drove some of the excess of the High First Age. Certainly she was bound by some sorcerers to provide her painting-realities, but such blame mistakes cause and effect. She would not love the Exalted if they did not dream beyond sense and reason. The Idea That Must be Sold would love nothing more than the Exalted to reach the limits of the possible and grind against it in frustration - for she will be waiting for them there.
Sileda must constantly spread herself among the swarming masses of demonkind. She constantly eats away at those who experience, and in truth she might perish if there were none left alive who felt her in their hearts. To that end, she makes her hosts revel and dance and entertain. She weaves her fantasy world from their thoughts and puppets them to paint it upon the walls and writes songs about it - for she is a consummate artist. Her paintings are a portal into the dreaming that is her true self, and there all is wonder and splendour that can never exist within Malfeas. It is an easy lure for demonkind. The carnival exists to tempt others into dreaming of her, and it is like a drug - the first taste is free.
Once she has her hooks into a host, then they must spread her lest she devour them. Those who succeed in giving her new hosts receive endowments, blessings and access to her fantasy world. Those who do not are reduced to dried husks, eaten to sustain her existence.
When the Idea That Must Be Sold takes form within her paintings, she appears as a young girl, with the wings and abdomen of a mosquito. The air plays piping music around her and her carnival, a high-pitched escatic noise that hints at hidden things. When she is well fed she is beautiful and innocent to such an extent that it hurts to look at her, but when she has but a few hosts she is emaciated, hungry and shabby. She dresses in the fashions of the High First Age - an affection of hers for a lost age that she loved for its shining golden princes. Her flesh is covered with her own designs of artwork, and she sheds her skin frequently when she wishes a new canvas or the dreams of a new host catch her fancy.
When a great man looks at his accomplishments and weeps for all he has not done, sometimes Sileda takes up residence within him, infecting others with his vision. Her hold is tenuous, though, and she can be banished by his rejection of his impossible dream. Otherwise, she can sneak out from Hell should one of the Exalted unknowingly bring one fully infected by her out with them, for that grants her bail - which can be rejected should the Exalt realise what they have done and order her by name to return to Hell. In the First Age she made many sincere attempts to escape, but in modern Creation she finds the place dull and dreary, limited by so little knowledge of what is truly impossible. For this reason, she looks at the return of the Solar Exalted with hope and the newborn Green Sun Princes with undisguised glee.
Notes and Abilities: Sileda has no flesh. To summon her safely, one must choose a mortal host for her who must be an artist or musician of prodigious skill. This host must be bound with manacles made from melted down coinage, and fastened around their neck must be a symbolic representation of their greatest work. Should these bonds be loosened or the sorcerer not take adequate care when calling on one of the demon princes, Sileda will escape. Though she will remain bound to obey the sorcerer, she will infect all who hear of her and hold her in their hearts for that is in her nature and even her oaths cannot stop it.
Trapped in such a form, a sorcerer can use her to make artwork which can compel behaviour from all who see it and twist minds, or even one of her true masterpieces which have a fantasy world within it (allowing Exalts to buy the Sanctum background, treating the painting as an artefact through which they may enter their sanctum). Should she approve of the sorcerer who would bind her, she may not even contest the binding with all her strength. After all, such behaviour means she is more likely to be called again and she wishes to aid such a protege.
This demon prince may well be a twisted ally for the Exalted. She desires above all for the Exalted to dash themselves against the limits of their power, and so may well aid them in reaching that point. Visitors to Hell who come across her carnival and resist its blandishments may be granted an audience within her fantasy world. Sileda loves visionaries, dreamers and all whose reach exceeds their grasp and so she will spur on masters or petitioners who seem insufficiently ambitious. The tales she tells of the Time of Dreams and the Time of Glory will be twisted and exaggerated - not entirely intentionally, because she too is nostalgic for such times - but will contain grains of truth that point to hidden secrets.
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Rather sounds like a 2CD, not a 3CD, especially in it's dependence on lessers to keep it alive.
Sucal
The Devil’s Cut
- Location
- Bottom of the barrel
No no less dependent then the sapient emotion, not to mention easier to spread
- Location
- The sixth circle of Hell (second on weekends)
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Belbeda, the Gore-Cherry Alchemist ("Parasites lurking in fruit")
Demon of the Second Circle
Indulgent Soul of the Scatterer of Seeds
It can be difficult to recognise Belbeda. Many of the demonology texts that mention her say that she wears a different face in every encounter; bodies that share only a statuesque build and a slowness of limb as their common features. There is some truth to this, but the myriad faces she wears are not her own, for Belbada is no shapeshifter. The forms she takes when summoned are living palanquins; spliced or grafted demons whose chests she has burrowed into to replace their hearts. Her true form stands a little less than two feet high; a squat humanoid upper body on the lower abdomen of a wasp. Her ears and tongue are cunning amorphous grafts, donated by a Lunar some six hundred years past, but her eyes remain the faceted insectoid ones with which she was born from her progenitor's gratification of its whims.
Belbeda is well aware of her lack of stature, and remains within her puppet-bodies whenever possible outside her workshops, where the clumsiness of their appendages restricts her art. Her inhabitation is not kind to the weak flesh of First Circles, and her usual hosts invariably degrade within a matter of months. While she enjoys the opportunity this gives her to experiment with new designs, she would give much for a host fashioned from another citizen - or perhaps even, in her secret dreams, the body of an Unquestionable or Celestial Exalt. She is well-hidden within her living palanquins until they start to rot, and many is the sorcerer who has not realised her true nature even after summoning her.
The art and passion of the Gore-Cherry Alchemist is her bioengineering. She is a genius in the field of living helltech, pioneering the transplantation of artificial limbs and organs alongside thaumaturgic implants and tattoos. Her armies are made up of conscripts snatched from the street and turned into deadly berserkers, high on a mixture of combat drugs and symbioses. Rarely are her experimental subjects willing, and rarer still are those who survive long under the punishing strain she puts on their bodies, but it matters little to her - there are always more serfs. Her method for gathering new "volunteers" is simple; she will deposit a pile of food or alcohol in a teeming hive of serfs and wait. When the starving, desperate or reckless partake of her gifts, they will fall into a deep sleep, and wake to find themselves on her slabs - if they ever wake at all.
While none are safe at the scalpel's edge of her ministrations, serfs flock to her hospitals for tried-and-tested treatment. Belbeda is a greedy opportunist; always ready to leap after a prize that catches her interest, and she is aware that capital is necessary for such pursuits. Her hospitals offer - for the right price - those procedures she has designed and perfected which no longer interest her, and though patients sometimes go missing for more radical surgery, she turns a steady profit from those grievously injured demons who have nowhere else to turn. Life for a cripple in the Demon Realm is short, after all, and even a monstrous arm is better than none. Some pay with money, some with service, some with gifts. Those who cannot pay with anything else pay with flesh, either as donors... or as hosts.
Lesser parasites live in either fear or desperate love for Belbeda, though none can determine which passion a given creature will fall to ahead of time. Regardless, they will squirm from their hosts; tapeworms emerging from nostrils or eye sockets and lice pouring from scalps in a wave to flee from her or crawl towards her. Should she fly into a rage, she can command them to return like a carpet of wriggling flesh and devour those who have offended her from within. Trees and plants she passes will produce fruits infested with maggots and larvae for years to come, and should she lay her touch upon them they will grow her gore-cherries, which taste of blood and bloom into unique infernal parasites within the stomachs of those who eat them.
Summoning: Sorcerers call upon the Gore-Cherry Alchemist for the flesh-grafting and bioartifice that are her passions, as well as for alchemical drugs - stimulants, soporifics and more besides. Those with lands or holdings may command her simply to walk among their herds or citizens, ridding them of parasites and improving their health and hygiene. Belbeda bears an old hatred for Berengiere, born of a love turned foul and rotten, and sorcerers are advised not to bring the two into contact. She may emerge within the chest cavity of a brilliant alchemist or doctor whose passion for their craft has led to the neglect of hygiene and allowed parasites to flourish on their skin and in their flesh.
Demon of the Second Circle
Indulgent Soul of the Scatterer of Seeds
It can be difficult to recognise Belbeda. Many of the demonology texts that mention her say that she wears a different face in every encounter; bodies that share only a statuesque build and a slowness of limb as their common features. There is some truth to this, but the myriad faces she wears are not her own, for Belbada is no shapeshifter. The forms she takes when summoned are living palanquins; spliced or grafted demons whose chests she has burrowed into to replace their hearts. Her true form stands a little less than two feet high; a squat humanoid upper body on the lower abdomen of a wasp. Her ears and tongue are cunning amorphous grafts, donated by a Lunar some six hundred years past, but her eyes remain the faceted insectoid ones with which she was born from her progenitor's gratification of its whims.
Belbeda is well aware of her lack of stature, and remains within her puppet-bodies whenever possible outside her workshops, where the clumsiness of their appendages restricts her art. Her inhabitation is not kind to the weak flesh of First Circles, and her usual hosts invariably degrade within a matter of months. While she enjoys the opportunity this gives her to experiment with new designs, she would give much for a host fashioned from another citizen - or perhaps even, in her secret dreams, the body of an Unquestionable or Celestial Exalt. She is well-hidden within her living palanquins until they start to rot, and many is the sorcerer who has not realised her true nature even after summoning her.
The art and passion of the Gore-Cherry Alchemist is her bioengineering. She is a genius in the field of living helltech, pioneering the transplantation of artificial limbs and organs alongside thaumaturgic implants and tattoos. Her armies are made up of conscripts snatched from the street and turned into deadly berserkers, high on a mixture of combat drugs and symbioses. Rarely are her experimental subjects willing, and rarer still are those who survive long under the punishing strain she puts on their bodies, but it matters little to her - there are always more serfs. Her method for gathering new "volunteers" is simple; she will deposit a pile of food or alcohol in a teeming hive of serfs and wait. When the starving, desperate or reckless partake of her gifts, they will fall into a deep sleep, and wake to find themselves on her slabs - if they ever wake at all.
While none are safe at the scalpel's edge of her ministrations, serfs flock to her hospitals for tried-and-tested treatment. Belbeda is a greedy opportunist; always ready to leap after a prize that catches her interest, and she is aware that capital is necessary for such pursuits. Her hospitals offer - for the right price - those procedures she has designed and perfected which no longer interest her, and though patients sometimes go missing for more radical surgery, she turns a steady profit from those grievously injured demons who have nowhere else to turn. Life for a cripple in the Demon Realm is short, after all, and even a monstrous arm is better than none. Some pay with money, some with service, some with gifts. Those who cannot pay with anything else pay with flesh, either as donors... or as hosts.
Lesser parasites live in either fear or desperate love for Belbeda, though none can determine which passion a given creature will fall to ahead of time. Regardless, they will squirm from their hosts; tapeworms emerging from nostrils or eye sockets and lice pouring from scalps in a wave to flee from her or crawl towards her. Should she fly into a rage, she can command them to return like a carpet of wriggling flesh and devour those who have offended her from within. Trees and plants she passes will produce fruits infested with maggots and larvae for years to come, and should she lay her touch upon them they will grow her gore-cherries, which taste of blood and bloom into unique infernal parasites within the stomachs of those who eat them.
Summoning: Sorcerers call upon the Gore-Cherry Alchemist for the flesh-grafting and bioartifice that are her passions, as well as for alchemical drugs - stimulants, soporifics and more besides. Those with lands or holdings may command her simply to walk among their herds or citizens, ridding them of parasites and improving their health and hygiene. Belbeda bears an old hatred for Berengiere, born of a love turned foul and rotten, and sorcerers are advised not to bring the two into contact. She may emerge within the chest cavity of a brilliant alchemist or doctor whose passion for their craft has led to the neglect of hygiene and allowed parasites to flourish on their skin and in their flesh.
I'm not interested in cluttering up the thread with yet another pointless argument. Let's just agree to disagree and go back to enjoying all the homebrew being posted.
- Location
- Virginia
Gaia has a world-body that is floating off in the Wyld somewhere, right? Is there anything written on what that is like, or on any of her 3CDs or 2CDs?
I think I basically agree with this line of critique in general - Malfeas can be a terrible place, full of terrible people, and you'd still get mutually beneficial trade in at least some instances because mutually beneficial trade gets the terrible selfish jerk exactly what he wants. No guarantees, but it ought to at least be a model, with demons who benefit from it invested in defending it.
Maybe they're all just too mad? Like, trying for the in-universe justification: maybe it's a toad-and-scorpion thing, and demon populations are just unable to not stab each other in the back for extended periods, even when they're hurting themselves just as much. If that's a systemic flaw in their psyches - and it certainly makes sense that it could be, given who their patrons are - it might explain the lack of any widespread economic alternatives: for demons, greed just isn't powerful enough to balance out crazy.
vicky_molokh
Posthuman spidery thingy.
- Location
- Kyïv, Ukraine
2½e rule question that I can't find an answer to:
Excellencies can increase 'unrolled uses' of Abilities (the primary example of which is DV boosting). So far so good. Is this meant to interact directly with cases where another Charm uses an Ability's value for something? E.g. Snake Form adding one's MA level to Bashing (and eventually Lethal) soak, or the various 'Add MA to Join Battle' Charms.
The rules don't seem to explicitly forbid it (while they do explicitly forbid using a Linguistics boost to increase the number of known languages . . . because not forbidding it would be silly). But it seems like the ability to effectively double one's 'use Ability as power of effect' rating can be very very scary in some contexts.
I'm interesting in both the RAW (as of 2½e) and in the 'safe to play, through houserules if necessary' answers, but I would like to know which one is which.
Thanks in advance.
Excellencies can increase 'unrolled uses' of Abilities (the primary example of which is DV boosting). So far so good. Is this meant to interact directly with cases where another Charm uses an Ability's value for something? E.g. Snake Form adding one's MA level to Bashing (and eventually Lethal) soak, or the various 'Add MA to Join Battle' Charms.
The rules don't seem to explicitly forbid it (while they do explicitly forbid using a Linguistics boost to increase the number of known languages . . . because not forbidding it would be silly). But it seems like the ability to effectively double one's 'use Ability as power of effect' rating can be very very scary in some contexts.
I'm interesting in both the RAW (as of 2½e) and in the 'safe to play, through houserules if necessary' answers, but I would like to know which one is which.
Thanks in advance.
Imrix
Periodically Malevolent QM
Absolutely not. The dice added by these are considered dice added by Charms, which means they operate under the same cap as Excellencies. They are narrower, usually more efficient Excellencies.
Playing it the other way means you get craziness like the batshit insane way of playing Claws of the Silver Moon before Errata Team Prime really got rolling, where you could double-dip Dexterity to get like +10 Accuracy and Defense.
vicky_molokh
Posthuman spidery thingy.
- Location
- Kyïv, Ukraine
Yeah, this is what I am worried about.
This, on the other hand, seems to be not quite what I'm asking about. I'm not talking about added dice. I'm mostly talking about things that doesn't count as Added Dice. Notably, things that do Added Successes, or have a non-diced benefit, based on the level of an Ability.
notanautomaton
I've got 99 quests, I've finished one
Each added success is considered to be two added dice.