I understand your interest and eagerness in creating a new charmset, but is that really a good idea to do in the middle of a quest? It seems like you're bringing two different goals here. We've already got a functioning charmset and several custom charms built off it already; what's your aim with a new set? Replace what we have? Just for creativity?
If you want help making a new charmset, I'd respectfully ask that you keep it in the General Exalted thread, because people are getting confused about it (myself included) and what, if anything, it would mean for our gameplay here.
I understand your interest and eagerness in creating a new charmset, but is that really a good idea to do in the middle of a quest? It seems like you're bringing two different goals here. We've already got a functioning charmset and several custom charms built off it already; what's your aim with a new set? Replace what we have? Just for creativity?
If you want help making a new charmset, I'd respectfully ask that you keep it in the General Exalted thread, because people are getting confused about it (myself included) and what, if anything, it would mean for our gameplay here.
"Well, I wasn't sortied with the other soldiers. The Lancelot was only cleared to engage after most of the other troops had fallen. The terrorists appeared to be using Britannian Sutherlands, but did not have active transponders running. There was also a one-armed Glasgow that was definitely piloted by a terrorist, but whom was defended by a Sutherland running an active transponder. I couldn't say for sure whether that pilot was one of the terrorists or a Britannian behaving treasonously. The terrorists may have managed to get access to a Britannian Frame by somehow killing it's pilot whilst it was still active and connected to the network."
I see this got canonized, but at least one correction needs to be made - Kallen's Glasgow got trashed earlier in the battle due to Lelouch being in his chrysalis rather than going into battle immediately like in canon. She was piloting a Sutherland instead. It's the only reason she was able to stand against the Lancelot as long as she did. You might want to change this to just noting one of the enemy pilots was exceptionally skilled, but wasn't the one running the active transponder.
First and foremost, happy new years to everybody. I think it is about time for me to finish of my Infernal Exalted spread with the one caste that I haven't used thus far: the Fiend (and given how few spots are left for that, it is probably a good idea to post this now rather than in two weeks). Just like with Ithuriel, I have been discussing this character with @Alexander89 and even had him check the below omake to make sure that it is all in order. So enjoy.
A Crow's Flight Through the Wyld
"If anyone of you can ask me a question which I don't know or cannot answer, then you're worthy enough to go to Heaven; if not, then you'll come with me to Hell."
"Wrong, it's from my asshole."
"Damnit, Mor, stop giving away the punch lines to all of my jokes."
"Maybe I wouldn't know the punchline if you hadn't told that exact joke the day before last, or last week, which itself was a retelling from three months ago, right during that little clusterfuck at Craven's Frost Palace. Your jokes are not only lacking in quality, Gregory, but your repertoire is limited and you lack any sense of comedic timing."
"I'll have you know that my comedic timing is superb. Or have you forgotten, miss eidetic memory, how my joke about the Frenchman, the Brittanian and the eunuch gave us all the opportunity to trap that gang of Wyld-mutated bandits into their own pitfall just two weeks ago."
"You and I remember that event far differently."
"Greg, Mor, tone it down would you? It's not as if we don't have more important things to worry about." Liam, the self-appointed leader of their little band of mercenaries wasn't exactly wrong to snark back. Australia was already known as one of the most dangerous places to live based purely on its fauna and flora, what would the world at large think if it was aware of the wyld? That there are places in the world in which staying for long enough gives you eye-stalks or fully functional, human sized praying mantis heads growing from the side of your neck? That the natural inhabitants of that formless place of madness find human emotions a delicacy and their souls feasts worthy of kings?
Two days ago the group had been hired to track a certain human trafficking group, who did business with one of the most powerful local raksha courts. It seemed that they were rather well-connected on this side of reality as well, hence why they've managed to avoid any official scrutiny for as long as they had.
The band of slavers were appointed to 'deliver' a new load today and so Liam's mercenary group was hot on their trail in the Middlemarches.
"Why are you taking her side, Liam? We all know you've got the hots for her, but that doesn't mean you can just toy with my maiden heart there." Gregory actually had the gall to give Liam the pouty face as he said that, somehow making his eyes look bigger through his glasses.
Liam's face reddened significantly, although nobody was quite sure whether that was out of embarrassment or anger, but before he could the fourth member of their mercenary squad piped up. "Now Gregory, there is no need to put Liam's romantic aspirations so in the spotlight. Otherwise he would feel obligated to have another 'brainstorm session' with Morrigan on ways to further improve the Bangle."
Rebecca was usually more reserved than that, but every one of the mercenaries knew of her fondness of the so called shipping and Liam and Morrigan were two of her favorite 'targets'.
"Aw, that's no fair. Hey Liam, what's Mor got that I don't, aside from a sweet rack? It's the necromancer thing, isn't it? Hey Mor, I want a skull-topped staff and the ominous purple robes of DOOOOMM. Where did you get yours?" For just a second everybody was silent and looked at the Scottish necromancer, waiting to see what her response would be. Usually, when asked about her past the woman would either become temporarily mute or deal out a swift beating to the foolish one. The only visible sign of hers that she had heard Gregory was a deliberately slow glance down at her attire and her hands, which showed a distinct lack of purple, robes or skull staves.
"You get those free of charge at the souvenir shop right next to the Mouth of the Void in Stygia, although you do have to camp out right at the border for half your childhood to be eligible for that. And I'm afraid I used mine to prevent a world-ending threat back in the Highlands. You know, the classic 'unknowing fool with one hand replaced for a gardening tool invokes the powers of the Broken Winged Crane of the Neverborn, unleashes a horde of zombies with assorted necrotech onto the world and then forgets the spell to undo that.' My glorious robe was sacrificed to appease the fickle, yet glorious pantheon of grape juice and my beloved Yorrick was shattered when it finally caved in the dripping skull of the Behemoth 'Mount Mostath'. Its sacrifice will never be forgotten."
The other three just stopped and stared blankly at Mor, not quite sure whether to take her deadpan 'confession' as serious or ludicrous. Eventually it was Gregory that broke the silence, not with a laugh or an apology, but with a bow whose ripples echoed through the wyld and in the distance shattered into a flock of pink peacocks, their intricate, yet sophisticated dance terminated far too early by the jaw of a turtle the size of a mountain and only the jaw.
"I hereby humbly acknowledge your superiority in all manners of comedic timing, Dame Darrow. Your wit and talent outshine that, even of those who may call the gods their grandsires, well done." And with that, Gregory, grandchild of a middling god of smuggling and forgeries acknowledged his better.
Off to the sides Liam and Rebecca just stared on, the latter not sure whether she wanted to light up that cigarette she had been holding in her hand or save that up for later.
"You know, I've always been told that, as a Dragonblooded, the puny mortals would look up to me and instinctively recognize me as a 'Prince of the Earth', obeying and following me regardless of what I would ask of them. I want to reread the contract that stipulated that, because I am going to demand a refund." Rebecca looked at the Outcaste for a second and barely kept the giggle from becoming mad cackling. It took her almost half a minute to get her mouth back under control at which point she finally noticed that she had everybody's attention. With a grin she stashed the cigarette back in its box.
"Understood, oh glorious and supreme Prince of the Earth, I shall start organizing a raid on the offices of Ryzala at once when we get back. Wouldn't want the second coming of the Dragon of the Earth to feel left out." And with that the four returned back to the task at hand and made their way to the waypoint.
Liam knew what they had been doing. There was no way that they weren't all nervous about going up against the Principality of Weeping Endings, one of the most established and feared Raksha Courts that had been around for nearly the entirety of human history, it was even said that they had been established barely two centuries after the Balorian Crusade and had beaten back at least two recorded (or what passes for Raksha records anyways) Hannya Wyld Storms. Going up against a force like that was far from their idea of a perfect afternoon activity, but they had a strict policy of never quitting an assignment after accepting them and every one of them knew that they would have trouble looking at their reflection in the mirror if they refused.
For once he didn't have the slightest clue how they were going to finish this successfully, but they would probably have to wait until the slavers in all but name were safely escorted outside of the Principalities' territory. An ambush and systematic eradication of the scum was the only way he saw any of them getting back home, alive or otherwise.
It left a bitter aftertaste, the realization that the murder that he was planning was futile, that the Principality would just seduce a new gang into their employ before the month's end and start this disgusting practice like nothing had changed. But his team was more important than some paper bills and if the client disagreed...well, that bridge would be burned once they got there.
Distance was always such a fluid concept in the wyld. One moment you're in a rocky desert, where the sand is gently dribbling upwards into the mustard horizon, the next they were in a barren wasteland, remnants of gossamer visibly decaying and splintering in front of the four.
"Did...did we take a wrong turn or something? This can't be the Principalities' waypoint."
"I don't know Greg, but this looks recent and this change in the local narrative is too drastic to be the product of only the local Raksha's vagaries. Stick close and we'll inspect the place. And no matter what, stay alert. We don't know what is still out there." With the professionalism that would have made a boot camp sergeant blink a tear of pride away, the three followed Liam's orders to the letter.
It took barely ten minutes before the four had found their answer, in the form of five Raksha. Nobles from the looks of it, they looked pristine to the untrained eye, yet to the mercenaries they had clearly only barely escaped permanent eradication.
"Talk." Liam's voice cut through the silence with all the warmth of the North Pole. He didn't put too much stock in the supposed 'ideal' Earth Aspected Dragonblooded, but the one thing he most definitely agreed on was that stability was a thing to strive for and raksha, well, if there was one thing they were not known for, it was stability.
"Well, well, what a most fortuitous encounter. To be preyed upon by a band of Creation-born adventurers right as the court is balancing on the precipice of obliteration. So fortuitous in fact that one would be hardpressed to believe this to be mere coincidence." The most regal of the raksha stood tall and proud, as if he were the king of a fallen Atlantis, rather than a mere middling courtier of the Principality.
"I have no idea what you mean by that. What happened here?" If Liam was a snake, venom would be dripping from his mouth. The way Rebecca's hand was inching towards the grip of her iron sword and Gregory had already taken several shrapnel bombs out of his bandolier and was palming them menacingly (and nervously) made their feelings known to all as well. In fact, Morrigan was the only one to not visibly react to the veiled accusation. All she knew was that there was something she was not seeing, something she could be doing instead.
"Of course you don't. The Principality has fallen, to a coordinated strike by no less than five Hannya's. Unprecedented, inconceivable and yet that is what happened. This waypoint was instantly exposed to the vagaries of Pure Chaos, dozens of powerful and notorious emanations tearing our glorious tale to shreds. Even so we stood our ground and had them pay for each centimeter in precious gossamer. Two entire unshaped completely eradicated, the others fleeing, lessened in so many ways from their supposedly helpless prey."
"Of course it would be a last stand against impossible, never before seen odds. You sure you don't want to somehow work in a princess of a neighboring waypoint, a retired veteran warrior who 'is too old for this shit' and a bright-eyed chosen one who will guide your forlorn nation to greater, never before seen heights? I would include some more stereotypes and boring tropes, but I guess I'm just not all that worldly or learned in teenage power fantasies to continue."
Good god, Gregory, if you burn them any more there won't even be any charcoal left, was what Morrigan wanted to say, yet she felt a block of ice settle in her stomach. She had to speak up, do something. Defuse the situation as she was apparently the only one who wasn't pumping themselves up for a confrontation.
"You dare accuse me of embellishing the tragedy that befell my home, of outright lying to a couple of useless gutter rats that think sprinkling themselves with their own piss is a sign of class?" And that was all the justification they needed. In the blink of an eye Liam's glaive had sprung up from Elsewhere, Rebecca's rapier was now in her hand, its tip pointing unwaveringly at the leader of the rakshas and Gregory's bombs were already airborne. With not even a fraction of a second's delay a trio of iron knives flew to the back courtesy of Morrigan. Two were knocked aside, but the last dug itself deeply in the runt of the litter's foot.
The dirt rose up as an endless stream of snakes the size of horses, carrying on them the decayed remains of supernaturally perfect creatures, the raksha who had fallen in defense of their home. The sky screeched, a thousand different colors coalescing into radiant spears which hung motionlessly up above for what seemed like both a second and an eternity, and then they came crashing down. That was when Gregory's bombs went off.
If they had detonated anywhere inside the boundaries of reality the explosions would have been notable, but nothing impressive, not unlike what one could expect from a powerful grenade or landmine. In the waypoint, where reality was a suggestion, it was not the explosion that mattered. What mattered were the iron nails that were packed in there. Those pieces of metal easily pierced through the forms of the risen defenders and the endless rain of light alike.
Somewhat off to the side Rebecca was carving her way through the simulacra, riding a crab-like boulder of her own.
"Mor, javelin!" Unimpressed by the raksha army, Morrigan let the ghostly essence, stored in her Bangle, seep out into her hands, the raw energy easily taking the form of the weapon requested by Gregory. With a flick of the wrist the weapon twisted through the air until it landed right into Gregory's waiting hands, who wasted no time stabbing the general before him through the belly, cleaving upwards until it had torn through all of the illusionary raksha's chest and skull, the two sides dramatically falling down at opposite ends.
Then Gregory threw the spear. Now Gregory wasn't known for his combat skills, least of all the type that could make him physically tired, but a simple imposition of his will saw the javelin fly higher and further than should be humanely possible, its passage carving a column of non-existence out of everything that dared be in its way.
It took all of the raksha's attention and all of their skill with illusions to fend off the three humans. Had they been in better shape and not consisted of the bottom of the barrel of the Principality's independent forces they would have overwhelmed and overpowered the three a while ago. That lack of experience made itself very clear when Liam, who they should have been most wary of, appeared from behind and stabbed the leader through the back with his glaive. While the other four stared at the Dragonblooded in surprise, the fatally injured raksha instead grabbed onto the shaft of the glaive with all his might, the icy cold spreading through his chest betraying the secret that their foes' weapons held.
"The ore of your blades, this is not from Creation proper." The raksha knew his time was short, the cold of the blade seeping into every gossamer fiber of his body. "This iron comes from the graves of the Neverborn, Labyrinthian iron. You would dare scavenge something so foul and anathema to both you and us and wield it as a weapon, thinking that you still have some moral high ground to look down upon us on? You sickening, blasphemous hypocrite, you cannot even imagine the kind of horror that is intrinsically woven into the very structure of your weapons and the joke that you call your souls. You end one another as callously as we pluck a new mother's sigh of relief from a plain and why aren't you morons making use of this opportunity to surprise attack the Dragon?!" As if awakening from a daydream, one of the raksha flew up in the air, his left arm a wing now like a white dove.
Liam pulled once more on his glaive, yet the raksha held fast onto it so with great reluctance he let go of it and leapt out of the way of the volley of gossamer dove feathers.
He had gotten out of their flight path, he know he had. He had seen the dozen or so feather-like knives dig deep into the ground. The why were flabs of his flesh littered all over and his chest and legs punctured by the blasted things? These were real, there were no feathers on the ground. That was the illusion?
The other three could see their friend and unofficial leader wounded and surrounded by three of the raksha, when they decided to change the battlefield and turn the upturned mass grave into a literal field of fire.
Morrigan at that time couldn't care less of her own precarious situation, she ran towards where her friend and his tormentors were. Even as she felt herself falling into the endless blaze that had once been solid ground and could smell her flesh cooking, she ignored the illusion and all but swam forward. She saw Gregory and Rebecca approach as well, but for some reason they were closing in on her rather than Liam.
A crocodile bit her leg off, right above the knee. For a moment Morrigan thought that that was just another illusion, but she was intimately familiar with sudden crippling strikes and rapid exsanguination. She had been forced to live within spitting distance of the Mouth of the Void for seven years, her every moment fighting against its pull, like a carp swimming up a waterfall. No wyld illusion or raksha shaping attack could replicate that feeling to such an extent.
Liam had only killed one of them. So if three were ganging up on him that left one unaccounted for, like a certain somebody who might feel some grief over being stabbed in the foot.
The pain was an old companion to Morrigan, its sudden arrival did not prevent her from shaping another trio of Labyrinthian iron knives in her hands and launching them at her assaulter. And now the crocodile raksha was down an eye.
Her teammates had arrived and, after a quick sign that she would be fine, they pounced on the raksha without a shred of hesitation or mercy.
The one lesson Rebecca had made the younger woman remember by heart was that, to the strong-willed and mystically inclined, the wyld was as reality-bending and body twisting as they allowed it to be, to an extent. That a sea of flames could be crossed as if it were a plain like any other or like a soothing sea.
So she let the flames scorch her flesh. For a moment she was actually freefalling into the hellish abyss that was formed from one of the raksha's shaping attacks. The moment she was no longer in any danger from further bloodloss, she returned back to the overbearingly scalding sea with an even greater force of will. She didn't know how long she had been under, so she could only hope that the other two were having better luck.
It took far more effort than she liked to admit to swim back up with only one leg and second degree burn wounds all over her body.
For a moment, her heart stopped. A shadow floated down, broken, mangled. It could be one of the raksha, her fellow mercenaries were certainly vicious enough to inflict a fate like that upon any raksha they encountered.
"Greg." Saying that one name scorched her tongue something fierce yet she didn't care. She tried to reach out and grab the lifeless body of Gregory, yet right before she could it disappeared into an egg, from which sprang forth a winged key which swam away like a fish out in the open sea.
She knew what she would discover on the surface. The only thing left to discover was to see how many of the fuckers were left.
A tentacle with a pincer as its tip took that decision from her and dragged her up.
There were still three of them. Rebecca's corpse was a bit further, a red piece of meat rammed into her mouth. Liam's heart most likely was all that went through Morrigan's mind. Her hand was still clutched tightly around her rapier, but the hand was now in the grip of the most human-looking of the raksha.
Their laughter was like the crashing of a glass chandelier and with a cruel smirk, the humanoid stabbed her in the thigh of her severed leg.
The pain meant nothing to her. If she was going to die here she would take as many of them with her. The sword was blackened, cracked, the tip gone. That didn't stop her from tearing it from the raksha's grip, Rebecca's hand disappearing into the sea's fiery depths. And then plunged the sword's hilt into the stump of her leg.
The pain was nothing unfamiliar to her, yet still she was grateful that Rebecca had never really used a handguard on any of her swords.
In a single, swift move her legs flew backwards, spinning her body out of the tentacled raksha's grip and driving the Labyrinthian iron sword deep into its flesh.
The other two, shocked at what they were seeing, subconsciously backed off as well, damning themselves by giving the necromancer the space she needed.
Anybody normal in her situation would have long passed out from the pain. Those that could somehow withstand the pain enough to act would still be helpless, for finding yourself without a knee joint and a new leg that was both fragile enough to splinter mid-step and loose enough for the handle inside their upper leg to twist and turn as it pleased was worse than being without that leg. Not even a lifetime spent getting accustomed to such a replacement limb could give a normal person the most basic of functions back.
Morrigan Darrow was not a normal person.
With grace reminiscent of a drunk antelope she leapt at the humanoid raksha, knocking him over and pushing his head into the flames. Morrigan buried the leg-sword inside its stomach. Again and again and again.
From the Bangle she drew forth a hatchet, dragged the twitching face back up to the surface and smashed it into its head, splitting it apart like an overripe melon. The flame sea disappeared along with it. She formed another hatchet and slammed it into the unresponsive body once again.
A boulder crashed against her back, breaking her spine with an audible snap.
The final raksha carefully approached the heavily injured woman.
Pristine bone reveals the inner beauty of all.
He had observed her and knew that she wasn't drawing from her own essence pool when forming those weapons, which meant that even under these circumstances she was still dangerous.
Flesh sanctified in the name of the Neverborn, their hallowed halls of decay and stasis a testament to eternity.
He was close enough. With a flick of his wrist he formed another boulder, this one big enough to crush her head.
Even the most menial of arts of the Underworld are a death sentence to the living and soulless
Flesh-Sloughing Wave
The raksha had no time to flee or scream. It only had just long enough to recognize the pulse of Death for what it was and once its boundary passed by it, the raksha had disappeared in a flash of every possible color at once.
With great pain she twisted her body around, so she could at least look at the wyld sky as she died.
She should have...she should have spoken up back then. Calm them down, avoid fighting useless battles. She had never been the type to seek the peaceful path, yet had she done so her team would still be alive, maybe they could have even made friendly connections with the raksha survivors. That sure beat out dying.
"Would you want to be my friend?" She could see him perfectly. A young boy, couldn't be a day over twelve, looked at her with a big smile, even as his clothes wouldn't have looked out of place on a vagrant and his hair was likely to have its own fungal colony prospering right on his scalp, given how well-cared it looked.
"Friend, friend." He was bouncing around, coming closer with each hop. His face and smile were the very picture of angelic innocence, yet there was something about his eyes that unsettled Morrigan. Those eyes reminded her too much of her father and the other die-hard members of the Neverborn cult she had belonged to. A fanatical madness that no sane human being should ever display.
What insane raksha would want to play that kind of game with her?
"Be the Shadow's friend already." And he stomped his tiny foot on the ground. And then Morrigan finally recognized the being before her for what it was.
"A Bisclavaret, really? All the way into the Middlemarches? Even if the Yozi could save me, I would not exactly make for a good Akuma the way I am now and since when have you demons ever approached us? It's usually the other way around." She might be dying and she was face to face with a demon well-known for its umbravoric nature, but that was no reason to jump into the first remotely attractive deal she was offered. There was no internal bleeding, so even with the broken spine and the many second-degree burn wounds it would take her a couple of hours to really die. Plenty of time to prod the animalistic demon for all it knew before making a decision.
"Akuma are not friends, akuma are stuuuupid. Friend of Orga no akuma, friend of Orga Peer of Malfeas."
Now wasn't that interesting? To be propelled to a level exclusive to the Second Circle Demons, above even the established First Circle Demons, who would need centuries to even get to be a citizen instead of exploitable wildlife? Very tempting.
"And what would I need to do in return for such a generous offer?"
"Lady Erembour said that friend has to help with Reclamation." Thank you Orga, for that non-answer. Actually, that was not quite true. If Erembour is involved, that made the whole thing both legitimate and far more dangerous. "Orga give power resting inside, made by Ebon Shadow to friend for Reclamation." Power crafted by the Shadow of all things on top of a Malfean peerage? There was only one thing that could be worth it and helping the Yozi escape their self-made hell sounded like the kind of thing that becoming an anathema for would be worth it.
Oh, who was she kidding? Not dying here and now and the return of her leg and walking ability was more than enough for her already.
"Sure I want to be your friend, Orga."
The boy smiled. His skin and decaying clothes melted away leaving the lightly muzzled darkness behind in all its non-existent glory.
The demon opened its mouth and, with a giggle that sounded far too similar to that of the raksha, swallowed her whole.
All hail her new Yozi overlords or something like that.
Name: Morrigan Darrow
Concept: Supernatural mercenary with a dark past
Caste: Fiend
Patron Yozi: Ebon Dragon
Anima Banner: A tank-sized crow-like shadow, sucking in all manner of light and energy from its surroundings.
Motivation: Be considered the apex predator to both shaped and unshaped raksha by all the denizens of the Wyld
Urge: Have the (Dragonblooded) Brittanian nobility replace their veneration for the Elemental Dragons for that of the Primordial ones without consciously being aware of it (Ebon Dragon first and foremost, but Oramus and dragon-shaped Third circle Demons are other possible candidates). (Ophidian)
Torment: When an Infernal with an Ophidian Urge accumulates 10 points of Limit, he suffers the Torment of the Ebon Dragon. For one full day, the character loses all moral restraint and becomes consumed by the need to engage in his favorite vices. The effects of this curse are identical to the full effects of the Overindulgence Virtue Flaw (see Exalted, p. 105).
Worse, the effects of this compulsive debauchery are contagious—anyone who interacts with the Infernal whose Dodge MDV is less than the Infernal's (Essence + primary Virtue) also suffers from the effects of this Torment, as do any individuals who represent Intimacies of the Infernal and of whom the Yozi disapprove regardless of where such an Intimacy might be when the Infernal is punished. Regardless of when a character is affected by this Torment, the effects last for one full day.
The product of the collaboration between a genius mortal necromancer and a talented Dragonblooded artificer-adventurer. Made out of Labyrinthian iron, this matte bracer can shape essence into functional weaponry, not unlike the solar charm 'Spirit Weapons' and is thus unable to shape anything aside from throwing weapons. Weaponry created through this artefact's function last only long enough to be used for a single action, whether that is as an attack, a parry or something else. Any mundane weapon with the Thrown Tag can be created through this effect for a single mote of Essence per weapon, although weapons larger than a hatchet like a war boomerang or a javelin cost two motes to create instead and can appear in either hand. Weaponry of fine quality or higher cannot be created with this artefact.
This effect can be used up to once per tick and the maximum number of weapons that can be formed per activation is equal to the Rate of the formed weapon with the lowest Rate (so if the user wishes to create a hatchet and a needle, she can only create two weapons instead of three). These weapons are treated as if made out of Labyrinthian iron.
Instead of draining the wielder's Essence to create the ghost weapons, it is instead possible to use the crystal formed at the end of the necromancy spell 'Faces of the Dead' like a battery, draining motes from the ghosts inside the crystal. E ach of the trapped ghosts is treated to have (Essencex10) motes and once an Essence pool is exhausted, said spirit is instantly banished into Oblivion. The wielder is constantly aware of how much essence remains inside a crystal. When the crystal has been exhausted (or whenever the wielder wishes to replace the crystal) she holds the new crystal against the Bangle's surface at which point it dissolves into crystal dust and is absorbed into the Bangle, while the crystal dust of the discarded crystal harmlessly floats away. Should the Bangle be targeted by the appropriate countermagic (or if the wielder wishes it) the remaining ghosts inside are instantly freed and fly or run away from the Bangle.
Labyrinthian Iron bonus: Carved off of the walls of the Neverborn's graves, Labyrinthian iron has an additional effect over Creation-mined iron due to the Neverborn's nightmares and impotent rage that it has been exposed to since the end of the Age of Legends. Unlike iron mined in Creation, weapons crafted from Labyrinthian iron drain away the warmth from its victims resulting in the target suffering from a -1 internal penalty for all actions for the next (4-victim's Essence, minimum of 1) actions. For shaped raksha this penalty increases to -2 and is -3 for unshaped raksha, while Abyssal Exalted, Ghostblooded and other denizens of the underworld never suffer this penalty. Exposing the target to weapons made of Labyrinthian iron multiple times does not let the penalties stack, but does reset the timer.
Artefact rank: 3 Attunement cost: 7 motes
Trait from the Unwoven Coadjutor: Starting from sunrise, Morrigan's shadow steadily shrinks throughout the day (=gets devoured by Orga the Bisclavaret Unwoven Coadjutor), until it is gone by sunset. The reverse process happens when it is night (which does mean that if Morrigan is crossing time zones to remain in the night part of the day-night cycle for long enough, she would get a monstrously huge shadow, regardless of illumination).
Intimacies:
Neverborn cult of the highlands (hatred, excitement of eventually clashing with its dozens of necromancers)
Raksha (loathing, overly powerful shapeshifting vermin)
Glasses, cigarettes & crafting (fond remembrances of Gregory, Rebecca and Liam respectively, ways to keep their memory alive)
The Council of Thirteen, the Rulers of Stygia & the Dual Monarchy (Far more worthy of ruling the underworld than the Deathlords)
The Ebon Dragon (reluctant gratitude for its patronage to her)
Cost: 10 pts. Availability: Mortal with awakened Essence, Essence 3+ and Occult 5+
With this Merit, your character has been initiated into necromancy and can learn and cast spells of the First Circle. She can then learn any spells associated with that circle at a cost of 15 experience points (12 if Occult is a Favored Ability) or eight bonus points (six if Occult is Favored) just as if she had learned the appropriate initiation Charm. Any spells cast by the character follow the normal rules for casting actions, and the character must spend a Willpower point in order to cast any spell.
Cost: 7 pts Availability: Mortals only
Through some means—be it years of meditation or exposure to Wyld energies or a dark pact with the Yozis—your character has acquired the power to perceive and manipulate Essence. Your character gains an Essence pool equal to (Essence x 10), all of which is considered Personal Essence. He can spend one-third of his Essence pool freely. To use the rest, he must spend one Willpower point in each scene in which he wishes to access the remainder of his Essence. A character with Awakened Essence can increase his permanent Essence with bonus points or experience. The character regains Essence at the same rate as an Exalt. He can attune to artifacts normally, but he never gains a magical material bonus from artifact weapons or armor. He can also attune to a manse or demesne just like an Exalt.
The four-point version of this Merit duplicates the benefits of the Enlightened Essence blight (see The Compass of Celestial Directions, Vol. II—The Wyld, p. 148).
At the seven-point level, the character can freely access his entire Essence pool without spending Willpower.
Necromancy spells
Cost: 18m
Target: One reflective surface
Reflections look alive but are not alive, and this property gives the surfaces that create them an affinity with the Underworld. Caressing a reflective surface as he casts this spell, the necromancer opens a quicksilver doorway between Creation and the analogous point in the Underworld—or vice versa. Travel between the two is instantaneous, and the passage remains open for the caster's next three actions. Things can come through the other way, too. Once the connection fades, the road closes viciously. Mirrors crack, water boils, and silver tarnishes.
Cost: 16m Target: Caster
Pulling his fingers as if drawing thread, the necromancer spins a shimmering silver line of Essence. It thickens into wire, then rotates into the third dimension to become a silver mace with a perfect, 12-faced head. The weapon is treated as an exceptional mace. Against ghosts and other spirits of the dead, the weapon adds a value equal to the necromancer's Essence to its base damage. Also, when a single blow with the mace inflicts levels of damage equal to or greater than a target's permanent Essence, the mace captures the ghost in one of its faces with a steely blue flash. The ghost then looks out from the face that captured it.
Either after one hour or when the necromancer commands it (whichever comes first), the mace's shaft dissolves into dust and disappears. The silver mace head transmutes into rock crystal, holding all the ghosts absorbed by the mace. It has 12L/12B soak and requires 20 levels of damage to break. Countermagic shatters the crystal. Otherwise, only the caster can release the ghosts without violent means. Ghosts freed from the crystal have empty Essence pools. Faces of the Dead was once a tool of the Celestial Exalted in the First Age, as they first sought to explore and exploit the Underworld. Abyssal Exalted and nephwracks use it today to collect ghosts for various purposes, including raw material for soulsteel.
Cost: 12m Target: One ghost
Strong passions and Fetters enable the dead to resist the sweet call of Lethe, but the Underworld is a dull place. Its winds and parties are tepid, food tastes like dust, and habits are carved into stone. By anointing a willing ghost with five drops of blood, the caster lets a ghost experience the world as he did while alive.
Blood is bright instead of faded pink, and the sobs of the enslaved dead sound joyfully abominable. Foods of the Underworld actually taste of something, and sacrificed foods from the living world are as sweet or savory as if they were fresh from the oven.
Ghostly targets of this spell gain a number of Willpower points equal to the caster's Essence from the experience of the world to which they cling. This boon can take a ghost above his maximum Willpower. Both the enhanced senses and any Willpower above the maximum fade after one day.
Ghosts of moderate means might beggar themselves to purchase an invocation of this spell, and necromancers who know it have a powerful bargaining chip. Using this spell on ghosts makes them thankful… and pliable.
Targets of this spell cut their MDVs in half with regard to the caster for a full week unless they spend two points of Willpower to resist the inclination the first time the caster makes a social attack. For ghosts who have experienced this spell in the past, holding Five Gifts over their heads during negotiation results in the same sway, unless they pay the same two Willpower points to clear their heads.
Cost: 16m Target: Area
Although Flesh-Sloughing Wave was designed as a utility spell for cleaning the rotted meat from bones for constructing temples or war machines for the Deathlords, the spell can be lethal in the world of the living. The caster shapes an ivory ball of Essence in her hands, then hurls it to the ground. It shatters there and releases a translucent ivory wave out to a range of (Essence x 5) yards. As the dome expands, it washes flesh away from the bones it passes. Flesh from any corpse is torn away, as is any dead flesh on a living creature. The living suffer a brief moment of pain as the wave tries to peel away their skin, muscle and fat from the bones beneath.
Living creatures caught in the radius of the spell, excepting the caster, suffer ([Essence + Occult] x 2) dice of lethal damage. This effect can be dodged, but not parried. Fair Folk caught within this blast suffer double damage before soak, and those killed by the spell die in a rainbow flash as their thin veneer of order is torn away.
Cost: 10m or 20m Target: Caster, or nearby Shadowlands Circle necromancy spell
The necromancer's quick gesture trails blackness behind it like a shredded banner and wraps her in its darkness. The chill upon her flesh lasts until her next action. Until then, Shadowlands Circle spells targeted against her freeze and crack, falling in bleeding pieces at her feet—but the cold penetrates to her core, imposing a -2 internal penalty upon all physical actions until the countermagic fades on her next action. Alternatively, the necromancer may project the darkness outward, using the spell to disrupt any Shadowlands Circle spell that is currently in progress within a number of feet equal to (her Essence x 50).
This spell has special timing rules. The character can cast it as a reflexive Shape Shadowlands Circle Necromancy action that takes 0 ticks. It follows all of the other rules for necromancy actions, and the character must take a Cast Necromancy action as her next normal action. Countermagic cannot banish ghosts, though it can destroy other current necromantic effects. Some spells can be countered after casting, if so noted in a spell's description.
Charms:
General
First (Yozi) Excellency: The Ebon Dragon, Hegra
Second (Yozi) Excellency: The Ebon Dragon (Shadow Spite Curse), Hegra
(Yozi) Mythos Exultant: The Ebon Dragon, Hegra
(Yozi) Inevitability Technique: The Ebon Dragon, Hegra
Wow, I love it. It's flavourful, interesting, Morrigan herself is cool, her Urge is hilarious, and you've shown you have great knowledge of exalted. Only thing I want to critique is that the Broken-Winged Crane is Yozi-written, not Neverborn. TED, in fact.
Yeah I know, but how else would you describe Army of Darkness' Necronomicon? Also, it was kind of a given that she was messing around with the others with such lines like 'the fickle, yet glorious pantheon of grape juice'. Essentially, everything up to the confrontation with the raksha is just good-natured ribbing between friends/allies that have known each other for years. Exagerations and (funny) lies should be a given.
An earlier plan was to have Liam (the Dragonblooded) survive and hitchike along with Mor to Japan, but then the fight took a life of its own and everybody was dead and Mor stuck a sword in her legstump and managed to run with it and cleave raksha-who-was-using-Rebecca's-decapitated-hand-as-a-handhold-for-her-sword in so many pieces (Dex 5 and Athletics 5 kind of became mandatory at that point). There is a (small) part of me that wants them to stick around and give Lelouch headaches with their antics, but sadly they're not. Unless they managed to resist Lethe and form in the Underworld, I am not sure how likely it is to form ghosts in the Wyld.
Actually @Alexander89 , given the Wyld's theme of mutability and narrative physics, wouldn't it be more likely for them to form ghosts? Because I would be very interested in switching up her resources background for an allies one if it meant having the crew around in one form or another.
Well, looks like all the Fiend slots are taken. Damn. I was just writing one up - she would be a Fiend favored by Malfeas who specialized in dancing. (because Malfeas likes Dancing) She would have used her Fiend abilities to learn all the Dance/Performance Charms of other Exalted types. Oh well, unless @meianmaru decides he doesn't want his slot, I'll just make her a Malefactor. It's still in line enough with her goals, she just won't be able to specialize as much until she would go Devil Tiger and change her anima abilities.
EDIT - Actually, she could use Gifts of Greater Glory on herself when at Essence 4, though it'll gain her Limit. If she's got a strong enough bond with her Coadjutor she can burn off the extra Limit, which works based on what demon I picked.
I wait with interest to see yet another omake from you. I've liked all of your GSPs thus far, though some more than others. I'm especially waiting seeing Karin and Lelouch interacting with each other.
Actually @Alexander89 , given the Wyld's theme of mutability and narrative physics, wouldn't it be more likely for them to form ghosts? Because I would be very interested in switching up her resources background for an allies one if it meant having the crew around in one form or another.
It's not so much the ghosts in and of themselves that I'm interested in, but rather me wondering if they could be used with 'Brood of Nightmares' to create pseudo-souls. By this I mean do the normal genesis craft roll for her nightmare beasts, only at the end have the mercenaries take permanent possession over her creations. And once she has Fourth-Soul Devil Domain, she can even talk to them again (although this would require a lot of gossamer, but that is really a minor issue).
It's not so much the ghosts in and of themselves that I'm interested in, but rather me wondering if they could be used with 'Brood of Nightmares' to create pseudo-souls. By this I mean do the normal genesis craft roll for her nightmare beasts, only at the end have the mercenaries take permanent possession over her creations. And once she has Fourth-Soul Devil Domain, she can even talk to them again (although this would require a lot of gossamer, but that is really a minor issue).
Turns out there was a single Fiend slot left! Yay!
========
Maiko looked down at the fans she held, the only things that remained of her mother. How many years ago was it when her mother's shrine was destroyed? Britannia had invaded Japan when she was only a child, and the brief war had ravaged the nation. Her mother had chosen to flee along with Maiko, calling in every favor she could in order to get them safely to Yu-Shan.
Life there had been as life was anywhere - there was good and there was bad. Another Japanese god who had not fallen quite so far had been kind enough to give them shelter, but they had been expected to work. Many of the gods of Japan had fallen on hard times as the allies of Britannia sought to replace them with those they favored, so Maiko and her mother were oft treated as outcasts. Even so, Maiko could not complain. She had food, shelter, and her mother's loving affection. It was enough.
For years her mother trained her in the Black River, Silver Lotus style of fan dancing, of which she was the patron goddess. It had not been a well known style outside of the small town from which they hailed, but Maiko loved it dearly and wished to master it. She had felt that she was born for that purpose, even though her mother said Maiko was free to do as she pleased with her life. Maiko treasured the years of her mother teaching her.
Even so, those years were marred with a deep sorrow. Her mother had hidden it well, but Mako noticed. Her mother was gradually becoming weaker. She was being forgotten. The Black River, Silver Lotus style itself was being forgotten. Where the people of her old village dying, or had they simply moved on to other things? She didn't know, and it didn't matter. Either way, her mother was slowly fading away. Without a purpose, she would cease to be.
Maiko had known that she would have to find work somewhere, see if she could ingratiate herself to a god who had enough pull to get her mother a new position. Their current host was losing influence as well, and they could not stay much longer. So she had tried what she could. She used all her skills at dancing to try to impress various gods, goddesses, elementals, and even Dragonblooded, anyone who might be able to help. But none had. She knew her skills were great, but nobody wanted to hire a dancer who specialized in Japanese fan dancing, much less a style as obscure as hers, when Japan itself had apparently lost its name. She was an outcast, and nobody had wanted her.
Then one day she had come home to find nothing more than a note from her and a pair of fans. Maiko's beloved parent had decided become the small god of these two fans, living inside them with no real power to act upon the world instead of fading away entirely. Her mother had wished her well, and bequeathed the fans to her so that she may watch over Maiko as she danced.
Jobless, and unable to do anything to help her host, Maiko quietly left Yu-Shan for Creation. She did not know where she was. She had simply wandered way from the exit and continued on until she was tired and decided she needed rest.
"What do I do now?" She pondered aloud. Maiko did not even know where she was. Even here in Creation she was uncertain anyone would hire her. Not for her skill at dancing, anyways. She could sell herself... no. She would rather starve. She had offers while in Yu-Shan, but she would sadden her mother by doing such a thing. It would be better to starve than to sell her body.
Her thoughts turned to Britannia and the gods of Yu-Shan. Their callousness was responsible for her mother's fate, as well as her current state. Did she hate them? She carefully thought about it, and she did not. She held no love for them either, or at least those who had not been kind, which was most. The thought of causing anyone harm had always been vile to her, though she knew she didn't care what happened to them. She only wanted her mother back.
"Hello!" a cheery voice came out of nowhere. Maiko looked around, but found nothing. Was she hearing things? "Oh, right, you can't see this one. Sorry about that. It can't really be helped. There aren't any reflective surfaces here in the middle of the woods."
The dialect of Old Realm was unfamiliar, but this was likely some kind of spirit. Perhaps this spirit would give her work? Or at least a place to stay for the night. "Greetings, noble spirit. I am Maiko Kurokawa, heir of the Black River, Silver Lotus style of dance. To whom do I have the honor of speaking with?"
"Oh! Uyin is the one who is honored. Uyin am a noresore, or just a passion moray if you prefer! This one is no noble spirit, just a demon."
A demon? Her mother had warned her of demons. Tricky things that might try to do her harm. She would need to be careful, especially considering she couldn't see this one. "I see. What is it you wish from me, Uyin?"
"Uyin is here to make you an offer! The Yozis want out of their prison, and you could help! Oh yes, you could! If you agree, Uyin can give you an Exaltation! Truly the best kind, too!"
Maiko's face had been neutral until now, but her eyebrows raised exactly one quarter of a centimeter in surprise at hearing this. An Exaltation was no small thing. And if this was the best kind, it would be one of the legendary Celestial Exaltations. It would make her Anathema, but she would have power beyond that of the Dragonblooded. Power that could exceed even the Incarnae, in time. With that kind of power, she could do nearly anything.
Maiko looked down at the fans she held, and reached a decision. "I agree to your terms."
========
Maiko was surrounded by a darkness beyond any she had ever conceived. It was the shadow of everything. It was her shadow. In it she felt beings of shadow and darkness moving and dancing to a doleful song played by a distant horn.
Then she suddenly found herself standing in a city that was so unlike Yu-Shan. A city of brass and basalt. The windows in the buildings lit up with green fire, and she knew that they were eyes and that they were watching her. There was an unspoken command there. Maiko obeyed and began to dance, doing her absolute best to please the city she understood to be her patron.
As he watched and became entranced by the flowing, graceful movements the Demon City forgot his troubles and hatreds for a brief but palpable moment and was content.
Name: Maiko Kurokawa
Gender: Female
Age: 16
Caste: Fiend
Patron Yozi: Malfeas
Motivation: To make the Black River, Silver Lotus dance style famous and restore her mother's position as its patron goddess.
Urge: Destroy Britannia's stranglehold on popular culture. (Malfean)
Anima Banner: Silver lotuses floating on a black river.
*Coadjutor Act of Villainy: Bask in the passionate adoration of her fans and worshipers while dancing.
**Golden Dance Fans: These fans contain the goddess Maihime, who was once the goddess of the Black River, Silver Lotus style of fan dancing. These artifacts provide two additional dice on dance actions and add one to the character's parry DVs when using the fans as weapons. These fans may not be wielded by anyone but Maiko so long as she lives, as the small god enforces Maiko's metaphysical ownership of the fans far beyond the norm. Speed: 5, Accuracy: +2, Damge: +1L, Defense: +2, Rate: 3, Mins: Str 1, Dex 2, Martial Arts 1, Attune: 3, Tags: M
Charms
Malfeas
First Malfeas Excellency, Second Malfeas Excellency, Malfeas Inevitability Technique, Malfeas World-Shaping Cosmogony
Malfeas Mythos Exultant
Beauty Without Malice
Steel And Asphalt Dance
By Pain Reforged
Nightmare Fugue Vigilance
Hell-Soothing Reprieve
Ebon Dragon
First Ebon Dragon Excellency, Ebon Dragon Inevitability Technique, Ebon Dragon World-Shaping Cosmogony
Ebon Dragon Mythos Exultant
Loom-Snarling Deception
Witness to Darkness
My Dark Lady
Moral Chains Cast Off
Radiance Devouring Elegance
I like the new Fiend Enjou, but I do have a question about her virtues. Why a 5 for her Temperance? Isn't that the point where the person has a mental disorder?
I like the new Fiend Enjou, but I do have a question about her virtues. Why a 5 for her Temperance? Isn't that the point where the person has a mental disorder?
I like the new Fiend Enjou, but I do have a question about her virtues. Why a 5 for her Temperance? Isn't that the point where the person has a mental disorder?
It isn't necessarily a mental disorder, though it can be. Having a dot one or a dot five Virtue just means that you have extreme behaviors. Having a lot of those might be indicative of a mental disorder, but again that isn't necessarily the case.
In Maiko's case she's got both a one dot and a five dot Virtue.
For Temperance 5 she's pretty much fitting of the Emotionless Girl trope. She has emotions, mind you, but she's very introverted and doesn't really express herself at all. Surprising her resulted in a mere quarter centimeter raise of her eyebrows, something most people wouldn't even notice. She's pretty much unflappable. She doesn't have much personal ambition or strong desires, though if she does care deeply about someone she'll work hard for them, which is why she was willing to work hard for her mother's sake and why she was willing to become Anathema to resurrect her family style. Dancing is pretty much the one thing she's got any passion about, and for the time being her mother is the only person she cares about all that much.
On the other hand she's got Conviction 1. She's not willing to do whatever it takes in all cases - she could have endured becoming a concubine for any of the asshole gods or Dragonblooded who made that offer, but she wasn't willing to go that far. She won't debase herself in that fashion even if it would achieve her goals. In general she doesn't like making hard decisions, so she'd much rather follow than lead. She also lacks any bloodlust, finding violence distasteful, though she would defend herself or others she cared about if they were attacked. Another thing is that she pretty much lacks anger and hate. If her normal emotions are weak and restrained, those are the ones she has the least of.
She's quite likable though - she's graceful, well mannered, and it doesn't hurt that she's pretty. Charisma 4 is there for a reason. People who get to know here just adore her, even if she's quiet. Had it not been for the decline of the Japanese gods and culture in Yu-Shan, she probably would have landed a job as a court dancer easily.
+3 Xp for you.
