I spy with my little eye... a New Game!

[trowizilla]

Apparently I'm crazy enough to run an Exalted game instead of just yelling at Laundreu about his. Anyway, game information in a handy list:


- Solars and Lunars only (unless you convince me with a breathtakingly awesome character concept, that is).


- You'll be playing start-up characters, either newly Exalted or with a good reason why they haven't gained any XP.


- I'm thinking of starting out in the Scavenger lands, but if you really really really want to play somewhere else, convince me.


- Preferably, I'd like four or five characters.


And some information about me as a ST:


- I tend to ignore canon when it doesn't suit me, so don't fuss when things aren't Exactly Like They Are in the Books.


- I'm a huge sucker for the Rule of Cool (check out TV Tropes, but don't blame me when you have over 9000 tabs open), so I'm inclined to be lenient with the rules if you have a good idea.


- On the flipside, if you violate the Rule of Uncool by needless twinkery, I don't have a problem with sending the First and Forsaken Lion to tear your character into little quivering pieces. Otherwise, I'm sweet as pie.


-I absolutely adore character-driven plots. And player feedback. So yeah, I'm not going to railroad you unless you're all sitting around going "Welp" and complaining about being bored.


Questions? Interest (*fingers crossed*)? Have at! Oh, and please post character concepts/backgrounds before sheets, since this isn't going to be first-come, first-served.


Edit: Also, I'm going to be giving Extra Stuff for backgrounds, art, short fics, etc..)

 

[CrazyIvan]

I'd be very interested in this.


My concept would be a Dawn Caste Solar, of the usual melee-ist archetype. He's a former patrician, who is still very much indoctrinated to the notion that the Scarlet Empire, or at least the *notion* of a Scarlet Empire, is a just and good thing.


So, a twist on the whole "Smash the Empire, install the Solar Deliberative" and more...shore up the Empire where it serves Creation best, reform it where it doesn't, and smash everything else. I'm thinking if this is a Scavenger Lands campaign, possibly making carving out a functional Kingdom powerful enough to manage its own affairs, and not overtly hostile to the Realm so long as it minds its own business (Lookshy 2.0).

 

[Argas]

Joyous Azure Coral, Changing Moon Lunar; Coral to most, Jaz to close friends


Totem: Peacock


Tell: Spots in her hair, like the patterns on peacock feathers


Motivation: To remold the Creation into a better world that deserves to be protected


Concept: Roaming Performing Trickster


Summary: Dreaming Pearl Courtesan MA user that uses her skills to worm her way into the structure of a town/organization/etc to try and shape it to her ends. I would prefer taking Dreaming Pearl Courtesan Style if you would let me, otherwise it'll likely be Silver-Voiced Nightingale.


Likely backgrounds


Artifacts: Silken Armor, Artifact War Fan. Maybe Discreet Essence Armor.


Followers: Only one dot, might not take in order to make character more viable


Heart's Blood: 1 or 2


Influence: 1 or 2, obviously won't be her home but rather the Scavenger Lands


Manse: Either none or 3, Snakeskin Stone is rather nice and DEA provides a slot, but better to have a solid character with flavor before going after the trinkets.


Mentor: 2, either another Lunar or a God to teach her Dreaming Pearl Courtesan.


Reputation: None or 1


Resources: 1 or 2, money made from performances.


Solar Bond: Probably not but it's a 'for fun' choice.


Physical Description: Coral's bronzed skin and light-blue hair makes it obvious she's from the West. Nonetheless, her exotic looks contribute to her performance. She has an athletic body and a pretty face. Her hair is rather long, reaching her hips though she occasionally ties. Her silken armor is a set of silvery-blue light robes. Under the light of the sun or intense light, it shimmers slightly and the blue ranges from very light blue to very dark blue. The robe has long, loose sleeves, a sash, and ribbons thin and thick. It can be worn loosely or tight depending on the occasion.


Background: Coral was born in the Neck, on a small island in the Cowries. She was raised to be a performer, to play instruments while dancing and singing out the songs that told the tales of the tribe's history and legends. She enjoyed her life, feeling passion for the performing arts. Coral looked forward to growing up. But then the slavers came one night. The entire tribe was rounded up and taken away. They were headed for the South, just a week away from their destination when the Fire Fleet found them. In their fervor to hunt pirates, the fleet killed many tribesmen when they sank many ships. Coral was lucky enough to be in one of the damaged but floating ships when the pirates surrendered. She would've probably been quietly tossed overboard had it not been for the kindness of one of the Dragon-blooded officers. A month later, they dropped anchor in Chiaroscuro, where Coral was abandoned after the officer had been ridiculed and almost disowned by his family.


Coral didn't know what to make of Chiaroscuro. There was sand, just like the beaches of her home, but this sand was blazing hot and the air was hard to breathe. The wind was hot as well, and blew sand into her face. She wondered about the water as well, but without anyone to answer her questions she just did what she did best. She performed. Had she been unlucky, she would've been snatched up and sold into slavery. Perhaps Luna was already eying her then because she was adopted by a troupe of performers. They were kind and loving, but not afraid to do what was needed to make money. The exotic child from the West became the center of some of their performances once they had a routine. Her sad tale, some of which was true, some of which was embellished, and some of which was just false, often plucked the heartstrings of the crowd, and the troupe enjoyed softer beds and lavish meals every so often.


Chiaroscuro was their preferred spot, but they even traveled west as far as the Lap and east as far as east as Kirighast. But Chiaroscuro was their home no matter how far they went, yet Coral never felt at home. She liked traveling, she liked the journey; the destination never really mattered to her. Just as with performing, she liked doing it. The final word, the final curve of her arm, the last flick of her fingers, none of that even compared. And so, she finally had the chance to travel when the troupe accidentally angered the Guild. Or was it the Delzahn? Or perhaps the Realm? It depends on the audience, as Coral tells a different tale to a different audience. Rather than try and remain in a city where a powerful faction would be hostile to them, the troupe booked passage to the Scavenger Lands. They were safe from the Delzahn there. Then again, the Guild could still get them. But what if they went to Lookshy? Nothing could touch them there. Coral never repeats the same tale. "Each performance is special," she says.


So they arrived in Nexus and performed there to pay for supplies so they could travel to Lookshy. It took them nearly a year of work and performing as some of the troupe had a nasty habit of gaining debts. But they succeeded and they were on the road again much to Coral's pleasure. They were attacked on the journey. Only Coral survived, skipping and dancing across the rough terrain as she tried to escape. But she was in no hurry and neither were her attackers. After all, the Fair Folk found her curious and wanted to prolong the hunt. Or perhaps they were Wyld Barbarians and they found her odd in a manner like themselves. If it were an Anathema, then it was toying with her. Either way, her attackers eventually attacked her and she found her true calling then. Her attackers died or fled before her dance of death. Fortune once again smiled upon her because she was found by her fellow stewards shortly after. She passed the trials, becoming a Changing Moon. Coral was faced with a choice then. Would she be a Sword of Luna and stand firm against the encroaching Wyld or would she strike at the Realm first and restore the Lawgivers? After much deliberation, Coral made her choice. She felt that the Realm needed to be reshaped first, but as always she wasn't going to be direct and was initiated into the Swords of Luna instead.


For two years she journeyed between the three cities of Lookshy, Nexus, and Great Forks. In Lookshy she saw the system of government similar to the Realm but in a far better form. It was not perfect, but it was good to see it. In Nexus she practiced. She performed well and often accepted a drink from someone in the audience. Sometimes they led her to another job. Other times they were just interested in talking. Occasionally she found herself visiting a few homes here and there, performing privately for those willing to pay. And in turn they exposed themselves to her, letting her subtly work on them. In Great Forks she found her mentor. In Great Forks she found inspiration in Talespinner. She envied him greatly, though she'd never let that be known of course. That's her secret that she'll never tell anyone. Then again, that's exactly what she says in some of her private performances, adding to the end: "Except of course, to you. You're not just anyone." Like Talespinner, she wants to inspire people. If she cannot, then she can simply take the other approach she is fond of. If she cannot inspire Creation to greatness, then she'll shape it to greatness. Perhaps she'll shape it so that Creation cannot help but be inspired to greatness by her.

 

[Elminster]

Name: Steel Dove


Twilight, student at Lookshy Academy, planning to take on Densandor.


Her BG


she is the only son of an affluent freedman in Lookshy (a succesful blacksmith/weaponcrafter): her mother died at her birth. Her father wanted her to reach the citizen status, and the better way to accomplish this is join the army, so he inscript her at the Academy, to become part of a repair crew (not a sorceror engineer, she was only human, but that will be good enough).


her first academy years was horrible: not only she was human, and not a oh-so-godly Dragon Blood, but on top of this she was a freed slave! and the fact she was richer that almost all the other students only make the matter worse... so she tucked her head in the books, trying to ignore the rest of the world.


this situation ended 3 month ago: in the course of a visit under the academy, a student "casually" turned on a shogunate-era steam mechanism: sadly, the relase valve was locked by century of dirt, and the steam pressure begin tu rise. as the rest of the students start to panick, she feel a glacial calm: suddently, she know what to do. ignoring the blistering heat, she go to the red-hot tube and begin to punch it with her bare fingers: steam escape from the Boiler and fill the room, almost killing her in the process, but the mechanism didn't blow, and the school was safe.


an exaltation like that can't be kept a secret: when the infirmery relase her, she find something chanced: student did't bully her anymore, but almost all cowe in fear in her presence: she is acting extra-nice to try to change their aptitude, but that did't seem to change anything... lately, a joung and arrogant dragon-blood, previously one of her whorse tormentor, thank her for saving her life, ask forgiveness for her previous attitude and befriend her. maybe there is a hope, after all...


Personality: she is a friendly, cheerful but shy girl, at least until his limit broke ; her goal is to make the world a better place for everybody, and her idea for doing that is making first-age tecnowizardry avaiable for everyone (exalted and unexalted alike)

 

[Cry1]

This sounds pretty much exactly like what I'd want in a game.


I'd have two concepts.


The sane one would be a wyld barbarian turned zenit caste solar, raised far away from the immaculate faith, believing strongly in the supremacy of the Unconquered Sun. Wants to reestablish the Solar Delibarative without really knowing too much about it, except for what she learned from wyld shamans and possibly angry Lunars or Fair Folk.


Kind of a Jeanne d'Arc type of character, with great skills in training and leading troops and little margin for compromise, driven by her great faith in the Unconquered Sun and thereby her call to bring peace to the whole of creation. By conquest, if necessary.


Would do well with anyone who doesn't like the realm, I guess.


The kinda insane one would be a creation-bound Raksha that was born as an oath-child to a Raksha King and a Eclipse Caste Solar to sanctify an ancient peace treaty. She'd be a wandering ronin type of character, searching creation for tough challenges and wise sifu to study under, probably posing as a minor god to hide her heritage.


She'd technically be quite ancient, but at the start of the campaign had to give up huge chunks of her being (read: Essence, Memories - XP, basically) so that she could survive in a small demesne when the realm's defenses were triggered when the Empress took power. Shortly after she'd be captured by Sidereals who - at the time - didn't want her dead because she still binds her Fair Folk parent to his oath of peace.


At the beginning of the game she'd have to escape the Realm's dungeons, or be broken out, obviously.


So there'd be some background there, the character herself doesn't know about.


There's more to the concept but since it probably doesn't get approved anyway let's leave it at that. Supposed to be a Solar/Lunar game anyway.

 

[Chaka]

I've wanted to play an Eclipse Caste since I got in to Exalted, and I've never had the chance... so if you need a Solar, that'd be my personal preference.

 

[lockepick]

I'm totally interested.


Got ideas for just about any caste. Is there a board made for posting applications yet?

 

[Chaka]

Onyx Lotus is a conniving bastard politician who was exiled from one of the Hundred Kingdoms and wound up in Nexus, eventually Exalting as a Solar of the Eclipse caste during a failed assassination attempt by the king of his homeland (who wanted to make sure he didn't come back). Now he plans on going back and taking over, eventually uniting all of the Hundred Kingdoms under his control.

 

[TKmobile]

Me thinks I have a night caste idea that I'll run with involving a happy, smiling assassin. I've always tried making dawns prior but this idea wouldn't work all that well for it. Forewarning, I'm still somewhat new at character building (mechanics wise) so if you smell twink, it's unintentional and just point it out.

 

[TherealBrickwall]

Looks like you have more candidates than slots. But if I think of a new character in good time, I won't hesitate to submit it. I won't call any spots, though.


I make Changing Moons a lot, so don't be surprised if I end up with one.

 

[Vanman]

I, too, wish to put my name in the pot, with the realization there are a lot of submissions already. My character concept is a Full Moon Lunar Demon Hunter, from the streets of Khirighast. I have a full background developed. If you want to see it, I'll be happy to send it to you. But I don't want to step on anyone's toes. I really want to play, so if you're opening it up for people to submit character backgrounds, then I will gladly submit that. Like I said, I'm very interested. Just let me know.

 

[Laundreu]

Speakin' as a dude who knows Trowizilla - put up your background/concepts, kids. She'll be picking the characters that she thinks would work best together, not the ones that show up first. (Basically, don't bother with dibs. It might be four Dawns and a Sid, who knows?)

 

[Cry1]

So, like, post the whole pages-long background?


Seems a little much in the beginning... But I guess all of us got a couple of pages behind those few lines here, don't we?

 

[Laundreu]

Well I'm not the ST or anything (and indeed am a potential player), so take my words with a grain of salt (the size of Manhattan), but a concept should be kind of detailed, but not a 4k word treatise yet. CrazyIvan's idea is a great example. Maybe summarize the personality, too ('She is a cheerful, happy-go-lucky girl who also happens to lack any real concept of personal property that isn't -her- personal property', for me).

 

[Cry1]

Thanks for the advice... And I guess I'll just wait a little for Trowizilla to tell me whether I need to elaborate on both concepts, since the Raksha one will probably be instantly dismissed. But... I'll better have some additional infos at the ready and up ye olde sleeves.

 

[Vanman]

Groovy. I will PM my background to Trowizilla, rather than posting it here. My background is rather lengthy. I will post it if my character is chosen. Otherwise, Trowizilla can read it and decide if it's applicable.


Cheers, Landreau!

 

[Chaka]

i'll pm her my background too. For the rest of you, Onyx Lotus is a Machiavellian Eclipse Caste who'll do anything it takes to unite the Hundred Kingdoms under his rule.

 

[Esbilon]

Curious Sparrow is the daughter of a Nexus antiquarian and amateur scholar who died when she was young. She lived on the street for a few years before she started making money finding treasure in Firewander.


She is generally a positive thinker, who is always curious as to what's behind the closed door and enjoys puzzles (and long walks on the beach ).


I haven't settled on caste and weapon of choice yet, but that's of minor concern.

 

[TKmobile]

This is one of my few early attempts at 2e, and I'm still getting the hang of names and places but the general idea is basically working along a somewhat twisted idea, basically: what if a Dragon Blooded caught a Solar but didn't kill them, instead using them for a dark scheme.


Going to do some serious dodge/martial arts fluff for this, using unarmed, hook swords and needles for weaponry (a bit, I know, but assassins are supposed to be versatile), but use that Solar Saber charm for the swords so she basically will use anything she gets her hands on.


Complicated version of this story to be PM'd


Lin-Rei (working name) is what happens when a truly deplorable person is able to control an exalt. The simple version I'm going with is that she awoke to her powers, was immediately captured along with her twin sister, and underwent a hellish period for much of her youth being trained to kill for her captor while her sister was basically a front. ("Anathema? WHAT Anathema?! My serving wench has no such powers, just look at her!) This all went well (for the captor) until Lin's sister died by hands of someone confounded by the ruse and the remaining sister snapped.


That was then. Now she's an attractive young dancer who moonlights as a rogue killer, but essentially adopting the ideas of the Night caste if only because all she really knows how to do is kill, but would much rather off some deserving creepos than slay someone on the orders of such a creep.

 

[Arynne]

I created this character for a game that never got off the ground. Sure would appreciate a chance to, y'know, actually play her:


Jessamine's life was drab and cold. While the rest of her people were slim, free-moving, firm and brown, she was pale and dull. She was dreadfully clumsy -- by Haltan standards, at least -- and though she dutifully learned the basic woodcraft required to pass her survival test, she showed no enthusiasm for any of it. Other children teased her at school, and she responded by retreating into a literary dreamland. Fact was too dreary, so fiction was the natural escape. She soon developed a taste for fantasy, particularly romantic fantasy. Even if she didn't have any real-life proof that love existed, she had faith.


She was always alone. She didn't feel comfortable in social settings, and nobody invites a sullen recluse into an interesting clique anyway. Every so often, she would fixate on somebody she thought might be The One and try pleasing them as much as she could; when it became obvious that they were not The One, she would quietly sever the ties and move on.


One moonlit night, though, everything changed. She had been hovering on the edges of things, as usual, wistfully watching a silver-haired youth she thought might be The One. When he slipped away from the festival, she followed him. Losing track of him for a few minutes, she was horrified to see him down on the ground...and the twisted shapes of hobgoblins emerging from the shadows between the trees. Heedless of her own safety, she scrambled down the ladder -- falling the last few feet -- and raced towards him, despairingly conscious of the chuckling raksha closing in. When he turned, smiling, to face her, she had just enough time to see he now sported heavy breasts and a pregnant belly, and glowed with silver light, before the Exaltation came upon her.


In one brief moment, Jessamine dreamed a thousand dreams of glory. She remembered soaring across the sky on wings that outpaced the falcon's, and running through the forest faster than the swiftest deer. She saw herself clad in silver armor and slaying monsters, or leading thousands in worship as clouds of sweet blue smoke rose to Heaven. And always, always, she sensed another at her side -- sometimes a man, sometimes a woman -- blazing with cold white fire and surmounted by the image of a golden bird. She woke up still on the forest floor, but amazingly enough, there were no Fair Folk in sight. She could see alarmed faces peering down at her from above. She was shivering and sick to her stomach...but in her mind she was still soaring through the air, jubilant at her own beauty and strength, and when someone started lowering a basket down to her, she laughed.


The Lunar pack who came to retrieve her looked askance at the pale, pudgy girl, and wondered openly whether she'd survive the intitial tattooing, let alone the trials. She surprised them.


Deposited in the Far Eastern rainforest between two tribes of feuding barbarians, Jessamine quickly discovered that the nearby raksha freehold was planning to attack and wipe out both. She also surmised that the Fair Folk were manipulating the second tribe, sending them visions and voices that purported to come from the gods. Befriending the young chief of one tribe (and learning of his secret love for the sister of the other tribe's leader) she finally succeeded in persuading them of the raksha threat. Meanwhile, she used her anima banner, illusionary powers and shapechanging gifts (drinking her first Heart's Blood in the process) to convince the other tribe that she was a goddess...and to coax them at midnight, heavily armed, to the clearing outside the first tribe's stockade, where the tribesmen were already assembled, likewise armed to the teeth. Before either side could cry foul, the Fair Folk swarmed into the clearing...to be met with armed warriors where they had expected sleeping prey. Both tribes took heavy casualties, but the raksha were utterly annihilated.


In the aftermath Jessamine persuaded the two decimated tribes decided to combine into one, ending a hundred-year war. After the ceremony -- which included the marriage of the young leader to the girl he loved -- she returned to the retrieval pack, who declared her a Changing Moon, completed her tattoos, and sent her to Sky-Eyes the Destroyer of Nations for fostering. A fervent supporter of the Sun King Seneschals, Sky-Eyes encouraged Jessamine -- now calling herself Worthy to Be Beloved -- in her romantic dreams of her missing Solar mate.


As a mortal, Worthy had never found the true and nourishing love she longed for, but as a Lunar, it was her birthright. She eagerly listened for stories and rumors of the returning Solars as she awaited the arrival of the one the gods had ordained as her soul mate. Of course, she didn't even know what gender her Solar mate was anymore, but what did that matter? If there was one thing that Worthy had always believed in, it was that love had everything to do with the spirit and not with the body. And with her Changing powers, she vowed, she would be anything her lover wanted or needed. Anything...


Then came the revelation that turned all her dreams into nightmares. While on her way back from the city of Kadeth, she encountered a village under attack by a horde of zombies. Though she fought fiercely in the villagers' defense, the walking dead were too many for her, and in the end she lay gravely wounded on the forest floor beside the corpses of those she had tried to save, as the zombies' commander, a girl dressed in black armor, stood over her with daiklave raised. Worthy waited for the killing blow, but it never fell. The blade trembled in the air. Behind the helmet, a voice that shook said, "Lorengel?"


And Worthy heard her own voice whisper, "Helias..."


(Sorry for the length of this post, everyone!)

 

[Skitterskulk]

I'll PM a background for a concept I have been working on for a bit. Smoky Mirror, a lunar that grew up and exalted in Stygia.

 

[trowizilla]

Wow, lots of awesome ideas! You all are out to make things tough on me, huh? I'll leave this open for another day or so before deciding, but I've already got such an embarassment of riches that I'm trying to justify letting all of you in. (Self-destructive thought there!)


In the meantime, will everyone who pm'd me your character concepts go ahead and post them in the thread? And if you want to talk among yourselves about how your characters might be connected, that would be helpful too (as well as further weighing my decision in your direction. I hate that whole "the party meets in a bar" business.)

 

[Vanman]

Okay, here's my background. I will warn you, it's rather lengthy. If anyone wants to discuss character tie ins, I'm open to that. Details are easy to change and I'm more than willing to make such changes if it will help our illustrious ST. Enjoy!


Midnight’s Fury


My beginnings were inauspicious. Or maybe my beginnings were auspicious. I don’t know. My parents died when I was young. That’s what I tell myself, anyway. Fact is, I don’t know what happened to my parents. What I do know is their disappearance – for whatever reason – left me as an orphan, living life at a young age in the orphanages of Kirighast.


I was born in – or my first memories were of – Kirighast, capital of Harborhead. Not having parents meant that I didn’t know my date of birth. I grew up on the streets. Ran with a gang of other orphaned kids from our orphanage. Life in the orphanage was tough. We were expected to work for our keep. And work we did. A couple of benefits, though. First, since this was Harborhead, we were taught to fight. First with fists, then with weapons. The second benefit was letters. We were taught how to read. This wasn’t a normal practice in most orphanages. In ours, it was. Our teaching wasn’t great or prolonged, but it did give us skills other than our fists.


I was big for my age. From the get go. That was good. In some ways. I was rarely picked on. And bad. In others. If there was a problem, especially with the guards, they usually looked at me. I didn’t like to fight. But it didn’t mean I wouldn’t do it. Violence is just a part of life on the streets. Comes with the territory. There was generally little violence between the kids from our orphanage. The problems came from kids from other orphanages. There were always shifting alliances between the various orphanages. One week, you’d be allied with Orphanage A, fighting Orphanage B. The next week, things would change. Now you were allied with Orphanage B, fighting Orphanage C, who was now allied with Orphanage A.


Our fights sometimes broke over into the streets. The guards would accept some disturbances, but only some. They thought it built character. Prepared us for life in the army. But they had to keep the peace. So if our conflicts affected other people, or businesses, then they came down. Hard. We learned quickly to keep our fights out of the public eye. We weren’t always successful. But mostly we were. My size was an asset in these conflicts. But it also made me a target. I learned to handle myself quickly.


Now, the dreams. The dreams started early for me. And they would serve as a catalyst for the direction of my life. My first memories of the dreams are indistinct. I can’t really remember exactly what I dreamed. What I do remember is the gut knowing fear I woke up with. There’s a vague sense of being hunted. But whether that’s from the memories of later dreams or the figment of my imagination is for someone else to determine. All I know is I started to fear the night. Because that’s when the dreams would come. I used to sit up at night, trying to ward off sleep. It was then that I started talking to the moon. Ironic, I know. Or maybe prophetic. Maybe that’s why I was Chosen. That’s not for me to say. If I ever meet Luna, I’ll ask her. But I did talk to the moon. The moon would listen. Wouldn’t call me crazy. And it helped me stay awake.


As I got older, the dreams came more frequently. And I started to remember them. Or at least remember generalities. In the dreams, I was hunted. By something big. And spiteful. And evil. The hunters took different forms, every night. One night, it would be horned apes, covered in blood. The next night, rotting bodies. Ambling after me. Relentless in their pursuit. The night after, a woman with ebony skin, great soft eyes, and long red hair, bells knotted into it. There is a keening, mournful howl that accompanies her march. And it is inexorable. There is the mad ghost. Screaming at his minions. Spurring them to the chase. There are the jade lions. Burning all things sacred in their path. Night after night. Ceaseless. Unending. No matter how far I run, I can’t escape. No matter how silently I hide, they still find me.


For the longest time, I tried to ignore them. The dreams. They’d go away if I put them out of my mind. It didn’t work. I got scared. That fear lead to anger. And aggression. I started to look forward to our dust ups. It was there where I could show I had no fear. In battle, I put my fear out of my mind. It was never gone. It was always there. Looking over my shoulder. In battle, though, I could show it I wasn’t afraid. That didn’t work, either. It always laughed. A cruel, malicious, sadistic, mocking laugh. A laugh I heard in my dreams. Haunting me, in the corridors of my mind.


My fellow orphans loved this part of me. At first. I dedicated myself to my training. I had to get stronger. And tougher. And faster. When it came time to fight, I worked myself up. To silence the laughter. Or to try, anyway. When I worked myself up, I was a terror. Or so I was told. Many times, the mere sight of me sent the enemies running. Not at first. At first, they thought it was bravado. The kind most kids use. They learned quickly. Oh, what I did was bravado. But not for them. Oh no. It was for the laughter that haunted me. What everyone else saw was implacable. Once I started, I didn’t stop. Until I was down or they were down. Whoever they were.


As I said, those from my orphanage loved this part of me. Until. Until I killed someone. Most of the time, our fights were not lethal. Most of the weapons we used were not designed to kill. Incapacitate, sure. But not to kill. The thought was, if we killed, it wouldn’t stop. And the guards’ eyes would turn our way. There were deaths. There’s no way to avoid that when violence occurs. But most deaths happened after the fight was finished. From injuries received in the fight. If someone died in a fight, it was usually from a savage beating. Sad, yes, but it was the price we paid. There were practically no one shot kills.


The incident in question, however, was different. We were fighting a lesser orphanage, really. The orphanage was smaller than ours. The fight was over an insult. Sort of an honor fight. Or a fight to save face. To me, though, it was a fight. Plain and simple. And we were there to win. The dream the night before was particularly horrifying. Bloodied creatures razing the landscape. Overrunning all in their path. The laughter was loud and close. I had to work extra hard to put it out of my mind. So I was in a state. A rage, even. There was an enemy before me. The enemy was going down. It was as if the laughter was coming out of that enemy. So down he went. With his skull caved in. One shot. That’s all it took. There was silence from everyone. Or so I was told. I don’t really remember. What I do remember is going after the next enemy. That was necessary. Because that enemy was there. And that enemy was going to destroy me. I went after the next target. Because that’s what you did in a fight. I hit another foe and then everyone ran. Enemy and friend. It took me a minute before I realized there was no one left to fight. Then I saw the dead body. I had some idea of why everyone ran. Figured I needed to run myself. So I did.


Things changed after that. They seemed the same. But they weren’t. My orphanmates were scared of me now. They used to admire me. Thought it was great. When one of the Rules were broken, though….. Then it’s different. They still wanted me in the fight. Because the story of what I’d done spread through all the other orphanages. Remember when I said that the mere sight of me sent enemies running? When I worked myself up? It hadn’t happened before. It happened an awful lot now. And there were imitators. Both in our gang and in others. They didn’t have what I had, though. They didn’t have the dreams. Or the laughter.


There’s a problem with working yourself up and then having no one to fight. That problem is there’s no one to fight. The build up was fine when there was someone to take it out on. But when those people ran? I had this….monster…..inside me, and no where for it to go. It was about 8 months after the killing. I estimated my age at this time to be around 15. Could be younger. Could be older. No way of knowing. We had met up with one of the bigger orphanages. Getting ready to mix it up. I was psyching myself up. Gettin’ nasty, as some of my friends said. I was in rare form. Such rare form that they all ran. Such rare form that I couldn’t let it go. One of my mates came over to tell me the enemy had fled. Bad move. My rage and anger was unleashed on him. Didn’t take long for me to put him down. The others had enough sense to flee. All I was left with was my rage. So I took it to the streets.


This was, of course, against the rules. Both our rules. And, more importantly, the guards’ rules. Violence on the streets of Harborhead wasn’t viewed with any kindness. Violence in the service of Harborhead, sure. But not on its streets. After putting down two bystanders, I was taken down by a guard patrol. Sent three of them to the healers. Four more couldn’t stand duty for a week. I wasn’t in too great a shape, either. My fellow orphans were done with me. Not that they could have done anything had they wanted to. But I was a liability now. So I was left to my own devices. Luckily, I didn’t kill anyone. If I had, it would have been the slave pits. But, Harborhead being Harborhead, I served six months in a work camp. Then I joined the military. Whether I wanted to or not.


Turns out I wasn’t opposed to the idea. I was getting too old to be living at the orphanage. I would have been turned out in a month or three. So the army was my next stop. I did fairly well in the army. My size served me well. As did the benefits of that size – mainly, strength and stamina. And my gettin’ nasty. I couldn’t get as nasty as I did on the streets of Kirighast. But a bit of battle fury was never frowned upon. Problem was, I couldn’t turn on my fellow soldiers. So I had to tone it down. A bit. Particularly in drills. In actual combat, it was useful. I just had to know when to ramp it up. Too soon and I’d be a danger to my comrades. I got good at gauging when to ramp it up. And when to hold off.


Again, Harborhead being Harborhead, I spent time fighting various jungle tribes. And a sortie or ten against the Varang City States. I had little trouble picking up martial skills. My preference was the axe. Most of the soldiers preferred a sword, but not me. The axe was simple and did its job efficiently. It also served well as a utility tool. So while others used a sword, the axe became my weapon of choice. I cared little for avoiding blows. If I could block them, fine. Otherwise, I let my armor do what it’s supposed to do. I picked up a little skill in warfare. Hard to avoid it. Unfortunately, the army didn’t make the dreams go away. Or the laughter. They were still there. Sometimes, they receded. A little. Other times, though, they came on stronger. With increasing degrees of the macabre. Nations in ruin. Battlefields with thousands of dead. Those thousands of dead, rising up. To carry on the carnage. When on campaign, it was less of a problem. I could work myself up and make the dreams recede. When at home, I wasn’t so lucky. And I was still scared.


My future may have been the army. Except. Except for voices from the past. I’d served close to four years. My time for re-enlistment was on me. I’d already talked to my sergeant. Tentatively agreed to re-up. When one of the orphans from my old home came to me. His name was Spiral. He was 5 years my junior. Had fought with our gang a number of times. I knew him only cursorily. But there he was. Waiting outside my barracks. It took me a moment to recognize him. He was older now. Ran the gang. A tough kid. And he was scared. I could see that right off. We spoke. He said kids were disappearing from the orphanage. From a number of orphanages. He’d spoken with other kids. They had the same problem. Thing is, he didn’t know where to go. Guards paid little attention to orphans. Or their problems. Those who ran the homes weren’t any better. Spiral may have been scared of me. But he had the stones to come to me when he needed help.


I was reluctant at first. I had my own duties. Such as they were. But I agreed to look into it. Don’t know why, really. Maybe it was because I knew no one else would. So I started hanging around the orphanage during my off hours. At night. If nothing else, it kept the dreams at bay. Ironically, the dreams were even stronger when they came. Spent a week and a half doing this. Started to feel foolish. Finally decided to call it quits. Go back to soldiering. Then it happened.


It was a dust up. Like any other I’d seen the past week and a half. Like any other I’d been in myself. I didn’t join in. Wouldn’t have been right. I just watched. Rumor had it kids disappeared during – or after – a fight. I was watching. Then I saw it. Movement on the roof. Two heads, peeking over the gables. Couldn’t make them out too well. Their heads were covered. But they had a keen interest on what was going on. Surveyed the battle. Saw two kids, almost alone. At the end of the alley. Duking it out. With no regard to where anyone else was. One of the covered heads pointed at the two. And it was there. Out of nowhere. One moment, nothing. The next, a horned ape. In blood red fur. Just like in my dreams. The ape-thing grabbed the kids and leapt onto the roof. The two figures backed away from the edge.


My mind was swirling. I always thought my dreams were just that. Dreams. Figments of my overactive imagination. Could it be there was something to them? There was no mistaking it. The ape-thing was definitely a creature from my dreams. Maybe not covered in blood, like they were when my eyes closed. But everything else about them. Most definitely. What’s more, it seemed to be working for those two on the roof. Time to get some answers.


I broke into a run. Around the other side. If I could catch one of them, I could make him talk. Adrenalin pumped through me. And the laughter. Back with a vengeance. Because the fear was right there. Riding in my chest. In my head. In my limbs. I couldn’t let it stop me, though. And I didn’t. Didn’t take me long to get nasty. Not with what was before me. Saw the two masked figures hit the ground. The ape-thing was right behind them. Guess I got the drop on it. The rage overflowed, coursing through me. Adrenalin too. The sounds of the fight covered my steps. Until it was too late. My first blow cleaved through its shoulder. It dropped the kids. The second blow cut halfway through its neck. Have to give it credit – it was still standing. Not after the third blow, though. That one removed the head from its shoulders.


The two masked figures turned just as the head flew off the creature’s shoulders. I saw their eyes widen. Didn’t take me long to reach them. I spun. Brought my axe down in a looping swing. Cut through the first man’s knee. Cut off the first man’s knee. The rest of his leg, too. Reversed the axe in my hand. Reversed the swing. Caught the other man under the arm. Axe ended up buried up to his sternum. Yanked it free in a contrail of blood and gore. Split the first man’s skull. Just like that, it was over. Just one problem. No answers. Yes, I saw a creature from my dreams. But I had no idea who – or what – it was. I just had three dead corpses. And two cowering kids. Told them to get back home. Spread the word to stay off the street until I figured out what was going on. They were awed – and scared. They beat it.


Started cursing myself. My lack of control cost me. I could have knocked one unconscious. Questioned him. Dead men tell no tales. Platitudes won’t help me. Neither will dead men. Searched the bodies. Didn’t expect to find much. Didn’t find much. Didn’t find anything. What did I know? There was someone – or something – after the kids from the orphanages. Maybe they were after more than just the orphans. Maybe they were after all manner of kids. Maybe I was just aware of the orphans. Can’t worry about that. One thing at a time. Problem was, I just killed my only lead. Could wait around again. But it may take time before they come back. Especially with the three dead before me. If only I knew who they were. If only…….


“They’re called the Salmalin.â€


I leapt to my feet. Spun around, axe at the ready. Man standing there was about 5’10â€. 185 pounds. Brown hair. A bit unkempt. Hazel eyes. Piercing. Unassuming manner. A bow on his back. A sword on his hip. Looked like he knew how to use them. Doubt he’s an enemy. If he were, he’d have shot me by now. And he wouldn’t be talking. That’s the thing I clung to right now. He gave a name. The Salmalin. That’s more than I had a minute ago. Slow down. He may be in league. He may be trying to play me. Take it slow.


“What’re Salmalin?†Tried to keep my voice even. Didn’t want to overplay my hand here.


“Cult of Yozi worshippers. They work to bring their masters back into Creation. A bad sort.â€


“What do they want with the kids?â€


“Probably using them as sacrifices. That’s the thing about worshipping demons. They require a lot of sacrifices. And, unless it’s a really important ritual, they don’t usually take those sacrifices from in house. Thus, the children.â€


Made sense. Then another question popped into my head. “Why not just get slaves?â€


The man’s eyebrow arched slightly. Maybe surprise? “Good question. And one I don’t know the answer to. There’s a few theories. One is the sacrifice has to be someone with free will. Slaves don’t really have free will. Another is that there has to be some risk in securing the sacrifice. Again, there is no risk in securing slaves. You just have to have the scratch. But only the Salmalin know the true reasons they take the kids.â€


“How do you know so much about them?â€


“It’s what I do. I’m a demon hunter. Part of being a demon hunter is knowing who works for them.â€


“What’s a demon hunter doing in Harborhead?â€


This time the man smiled. “Haven’t you heard? There’s a demon worshipping cult working in Harborhead.†There was a pause. Like he was expecting a reaction. Then a shrug. “I worked a case similar to the ones here in Kirighast in Tiraktou. Apparently, the guards talk to one another. When kids started disappearing here, one thing led to another and here I am.â€


“And you are?â€


“You can call me Nariq.â€


This was all interesting. But there was one question that burned in my mind. One question I had to ask. I nodded at the ape-thing. “Know what that is?â€


The man glanced in the creature’s direction. “Yes. Erymanthoi. Otherwise known as Blood Apes. Bloodthirsty buggers, with a strong taste for violence. Not very smart, though. Good for muscle, but not good for much of anything else. The Salmalin like to use them because they’re plentiful and they’re enthusiastic muscle. Not much has to go into making them do your bidding. So Yozi cults use them a lot.â€


Don’t know if knowing made it better or worse. For the first time, I had a name for one of the creatures in my dreams. But that creature was a Yozi. One of the demons from Malfeas. Still don’t know if that knowledge made the dreams easier or harder to take. One thing was certain, though. All thoughts of re-upping were gone. I looked up at Nariq.


“You need a partner?â€


***********


Turns out he did want a partner. Or, as he put it, someone willing to face down a rampaging demon. That was me. He saw me take down the Erymanthoi and the two cultists. That impressed him. Said he’d never seen that happen before. Not sure how much was skill and how much was luck. But he took me on.


If I thought it was going to be action right away – and I did – I was sadly mistaken. Nariq told me again and again. The first weapon we have in our fight is knowledge. Without that, we’re as good as dead. Demons – and the Undead, because Nariq hunted them, too – have weaknesses – and strengths. Exploit the weakness, you have a chance of winning. Play to their strengths, you end up dead. So the first six months of my apprenticeship was spent researching. Learning to read Old Realm. Learning about the differences between demons and the undead. The theories behind thaumaturgy. Also read Nariq’s notes on the Salmalin. They weren’t many. But I read what he had. Classifications of demons. Of undead. The link between the undead and Deathlords. (Don’t know if this would be known with my level of Occult. If I wouldn’t know it, fine. It’s not a problem.) In short, knowledge that would help me in the field.


It wasn’t all book work. Nariq was a fair swordsman. Even better with that bow. We sparred. I learned some tricks from him. He learned a few from me. Turns out Nariq was a thaumaturge. When he thought I was ready, he summoned an actual demon. To give me practice fighting. Nothing quite like experience, is what he said. So experience I got. The fights with the demons. They were controlled. Nariq emphasized this. Constantly. Said fights like this didn’t happen in the real world. Had to be ready for the unexpected. That’s when he’d attack me. Needless to say, my skills got better.


The dreams. I was in a weird place with the dreams. Because they were getting worse. More horrific. More apocalyptic. Worse depredations. So many more deaths. In so many horrible ways. But I didn’t say anything to Nariq. What if this was some sort of way to control my mind? What if I was being influenced? I had to find a way to fight them. To keep the dreams – and the creatures – out of my head. If Nariq thought I was being influenced, would he throw me out? I needed to learn. So I kept my mouth shut. But they kept coming. And getting worse. Like I said. As the dreams got worse, so did the laughter. The training helped. But it was still bad. Real bad.


Still. I had a job to do. I focused my mind on what I had to do. Having a name for what was in my dreams helped me to concentrate. Let me focus my fear. My rage. Both now had a target. Nariq said it was time for the next step. It wasn’t what I thought. Leaving Kirighast, we went out into the wild. Into the jungles east of Harborhead. I thought the tribes in the jungle were infested with cultists. Or worshipped the Yozis themselves. Nothing of the sort. We didn’t go there to fight. We went there to learn to live off the land. Or, rather, I learned to live off the land. Nariq’s reasoning? You never knew where the hunt would take you. So you needed to learn to subsist on what was around you. There were a few fights, to be sure. But they were usually wild animals. The first few times, it was kind of exhilarating. These weren’t controlled fights or anything that was summoned and bound. These were actual creatures. But the fights did little for the laughter in my head. Exercised my body, yes. But not my mind.


I also worked on keeping a calm mind. To strengthen my mind. Nariq said demons – and, to a lesser extent, the undead – could affect your mind. It was important to keep your mind strong against influence. This, of course, made me even more nervous. Could the dreams really be a tool used by the enemy? If so, why have I had them all my life? Were they pointing me in a particular direction? I tried to do the exercises Nariq taught me. I had some success. But not as much as I would have liked. It was that laughter. Always in the back of my mind. Mocking me. Daring me to tell Nariq. Daring me to risk madness. I didn’t. Luckily. But it was always there.


Finally, Nariq declared me ready. After a year and a half of training. Ready to enter the fray. Full time. A demon hunter at last. So it was that I started my career as professional demon hunter. The next three years were spent traveling with Nariq. We went from town to town, seeking information. About demons. About the undead. And any other unnatural creatures who would threaten our world. When we found what we were looking for, we planned. And then we struck. Hard. Those were the times I lived for. In battle. Against the very creatures from my dreams.


I needed that. Because the dreams kept getting worse. As I got older, the dreams kept getting darker. More forbidding. More apocalyptic. Now, it was all of Creation. Burning all around me. An army of demons, undead, and horrors unnamable. The only thing that stood between this horde of death and destruction? Me. This made me train harder. Fight longer. Throw myself into the work. If I was the only one to stand before these foul monsters, I needed to be ready. As soon as one mission was over, I was ready to get onto the next one. Nariq often made us take breaks. Said he needed to take time away from the hunt to remind him why the hunt was so important. Just seemed like wasted time to me. But then Nariq didn’t have the dreams. Or the laughter. Ever present. Always mocking.


The event that changed my life started with the Salmalin. Again. We’d been tracking their movements for quite some time. Their movements had been primarily in the southeast. On the savannahs. Hitting villages located in or around the savannah. Even moving into the Varang City States. Everywhere they went, the same thing. Death. Destruction. Misery. Demons are demons. Don’t know if they can choose their nature. Willing to bet they can’t. But the Salmalin. They’re human. Why would they choose to worship the Yozis? Just don’t understand that. But we had the location of one of their bases. A small base, but it was a base.


The plan was to watch the base. Scout their movements. Study their guard rotations. See what we could see. This was purely a fact finding mission. It was just the two of us against a cadre of cultists. Nariq said it was too dangerous to do anything else. Hated this kind of mission. Skulking around. Not doing much of anything. I spent time training my awareness, but it wasn’t what I did best. Or it wasn’t what I liked doing. Guess I’m a man of action. It was night. My watch. Nariq was sleeping. Couldn’t see anything happening at the base. My mind started wandering. Thought about the dreams. Heard the laughter. Decided it was time to tell Nariq about them. The severity of the dreams was getting untenable. Could be I would have to be put down. If the demons were affecting my mind, better dead than enslaved to them. Simply put – I wasn’t paying attention.


Next thing I knew, there were screams from the darkness. A horde of figures descended upon me. On us. The Salmalin. And their grotesque servants. I was up and fighting. For my life. Managed to shake Nariq awake, before they were on us. Luckily, it was a full moon. Again, the Blessed Mother proves her sense of irony. Wasn’t difficult to see. Nariq was on his feet, swinging his sword. It was a valiant fight. But sheer numbers were against us. There were too many of them. Simple as that. Nariq was the first to fall. He’s just parried two sword thrusts, dodged a third, when an Erymanthoi caught him from behind. Doubled him over. And just like that, he was done. Pierced through by three other swords.


A rage was building inside me. I welcomed it. To have come so far. To have brought the fight to the Creatures of Darkness, only to have it end here. The rage spread throughout me. And with it, something else. A power. Like the fury was feeding the power. Something was growing inside me. No. That wasn’t it. I was growing. Changing. Transforming. In that moment, time stopped. I could see each individual Salmalin. And every feature of their abominations at their sides. Then she was there. The Bloody Huntress. Resplendent in her beauty. Resplendent in her deadliness. She opened her mouth, and her voice surrounded me. Caressed me. Struck me.


“You are Chosen, my child. I know the burden you carry. I know the strength you have. You have used your strength to carry that burden, and to fight against what that burden has shown you. I admire that. And now you shall not be alone. I shall be with you. Always. You will mix your strength with mine. Your arm shall be my arm. And as my arm, you will have my strength so you can carry on your battle. I give my first gift to you now. Make me proud.â€


And she was gone. But the Salmalin weren’t. They were still surrounding me. Only now I was different. Instead of a man, they now faced a claw strider. One pissed off claw strider. I was faster. Stronger. Tougher. And had much bigger teeth. And I had the Silver Goddess’s magic. The Salmalin didn’t stand much of a chance. Nor did they deserve one. I administered the Bloody Huntress’ vengeance. With a fury. When I finished, I entered the base. And killed everyone there. For the Fickle Lady. For Nariq. For the laughter. The night glowed not just from the light of Luna. It glowed with the light from my head. And the image shooting into the sky. A huge, rampaging, crimson and silver claw strider. When I was done, I searched the base. Hoping for texts. Information. Found nothing. Retrieved Nariq. I knew he had no family. No one to bury him. So I placed him in the base. And burned it to the ground. A fitting pyre for one dedicated to destroying those who would destroy Creation.


I watched the flames burn for two days. On the morning of the third day, there was a woman standing there. With tattoos all over her body. Said her name was Featherclaw. She knew what I was. Because she was a Chosen of Luna as well. There was much I had to learn. That was obvious. If this woman could help me understand what I was, then I’d follow her. So off we went. Heading south. And east. To a Wyld Zone. The journey took a couple of weeks. She asked me who I was. What I did. I told her. She seemed somewhat excited about that. Started explaining a bit about Lunar society. The different factions within. Mostly she talked about the Swords of Luna. According to Featherclaw, they were the bastions of Creation, keeping the Fae at bay. Heard a treatise on the Fae. Heard very little about demons and the undead.


Finally reached the Wyld Zone. And my second phase of training began. Sat with the Loremasters. Learned about Lunar society. About the Castes. Was questioned about my own past. Got my own tattoos. To solidify my Caste. I pretty much knew what Caste I was. By the phase of the moon on my visitation. My own martial inclinations. And the appearance of the Bloody Huntress. But there were still rituals. So we went through them. I also completed my first ritual hunt. Tasted my first Heart’s Blood. An eagle. It was a thrill. Especially when I brought it down. The transformation was exhilarating. Tasted my second Heart’s Blood as well. A great cat. The hunt was different. But no less exhilarating. There were the trials, as well. Some of them achievable. Some of them not. Some of them…..pointless. I still persisted. No matter how impossible the task seemed. That was the point. To see how I handled adversity. I also spoke with a number of different Lunars, asking about magics that could help me against Creatures of Darkness. And I found some. And learned them.


Finally, it came time to choose my deed name. I thought long and hard on this one. Who I was before was irrelevant. I came from that person, but who I was now was who I really was. This new name would define me. Not only to other Lunars. To myself. I thought back to the night of my first change. The fury that I felt. The full moon. The black of night. The black of midnight. That’s when it hit me. Midnight’s Fury. Described all that I felt. All that I was. And so that’s who I became. My Stewardship was fairly simple. Creation. Against the Creatures of Darkness. I was the one to stand against them. Maybe get some other Lunars to join me in my quest. With more of us, we could really take the fight to them. So it was I truly became the Full Moon Lunar Midnight’s Fury.


I was sent to my fosterage. With Featherclaw. A fellow Full Moon. There was the combat training. How to fight in my war form. The survival training. And the constant hammering of the deeds and goals of the Swords of Luna. I tried to explain to her I had my own plans. Still she persisted. Finally, for the first time, I told someone of my dreams. Which were summarily dismissed. Explained away as “only childish nightmares.†At that moment, I knew for certain I would have no part of the Swords of Luna. Nor any of the other factions. Maybe I could start my own faction. To take the fight to the Creatures of Darkness. From that moment on, I simply did my time. After a couple of months, it was time for me to leave. Whether Featherclaw thought I was ready or not. So I did.


I wasn’t exactly sure where I was going, but after a day or two of walking, I realized I was walking in a particular direction. And felt a particular…pull. So I followed it. I walked deep into the south. Until I reached a particular mesa. There was an opening in the rock, very cleverly hidden. Don’t really know how I noticed it. I sort of knew where to look. As I traveled deeper into cave, I realized it was a tomb. Knew there were traps. Knew how to avoid them. Not sure how I knew. It just sort of came to me. When I got to the bottom, though, my shock and my elation were about equal. Laying on a slab, a skeleton. On the skeleton, a breastplate. And an axe. Made of moonsilver. Artifacts. My artifacts. From a previous life. The axe – no. That was wrong. The grimcleaver. That’s it. The grimcleaver already had a name. Whether from this former life or not, I can’t really say. But its name is Fury’s Fang.


I exited that tomb ready to face the world. Ready to face the monsters from my dreams. And ready to face the laughter. I just have to find my path, and walk it.

 

[Skitterskulk]

Smoky Mirror -- Changing moon caste lunar


I wanted Smoky Mirrors totem to be something truly strange, either a plasmic, or a ghost proper. Obviously I would have to have a custom knack to be able to do this, but I am willing to spend the bonus point needed to get this. She is a member of the silver pact, and might possibly be known in Nexus as a necromancer, or at the very least one who knows much about the shadowlands and the underworld, so any Lunars in Nexus who are also member of the silver pact would know her as such.


This character is absolutely not “RULES AT WRITTEN†but I had this concept a while ago, and thought it would be fun. If you don’t want to bend the rules this much to allow this character though, I won’t have my feelings hurt.


Smoky Mirror was born in a small unnamed Shadowland in the more northern section of the southeast. Her birth family were poor scavengers, as many often are in a shadowland, searching for whatever carrion they could find to subsist off, as well as the meager living one can eek from the desolate landscape. Smoky mirror was born a gaunt child, pale and sickly, with grey hair and eyes that are relatively common amongst the uncommon births in the shadowlands. And, as is often the case amongst those who live in th shadow lands, one night, hungry ghosts tore though the sall caravan, killing all who lived, except one small girl-child, who somehow, did not cry out.


The child wandered the shadowland then next day, and found her way into the mausoleum at the very edge of the shadowland. Erected to placate the soul of the greatest leader of a long forgotten village, the mausoleum was not very grand, but it’s pillars of granite and marble did house a long forgotten soul, who refused to perish, even though his descendant’s memory of him had. His heart was no longer in his body, but it melted all the same, and he decided to raise the child. On the child’s 8th birthday he named her smoky mirror, after her bright grey eyes, quick and inquisitive, and decided to take her to Stygia, to see what the council would make of this strange little girl.


However almost the moment they got to Stygia, the venerated city of the dead, the trip went sour. As a relatively poor ghost with no family of worth in stygia, nor descendants to venerate him, Smoky Mirror’s guardian was in much more danger in stygia than he ever could have guessed. No sooner were they in the city of the dead than slavers attacked the pair, and the benevolent guardian was soon in slave shackles. Smoky Mirror fled as quickly as her little feet could take her. The city, full of horrors too unmentionable to name, was now her home, locked away from the living world.


Life as a urchin in a city is terrible enough, but in the vast city of the dead, it takes a herculean effort to survive, but survive she did, with a bit of stolen grave food here, to a nap there, her quick nature, couple with the fact that no one expected a live feral child to live within the mausoleum city, gave Smokey Mirror an edge on the venerable denizens of the ghostly city. Only a few, such as the mistress with white hands, ever guessed that a living human skulked though the shadows of stygia. Once, while in the district of bone lanterns, a starving 10 year old Smoky Mirror managed to cut her finger on a sharp spur as she stumbled though the darkness. The wound oozed, but her hunger was too great to stop to try and bandage herself with shreds of the funary garments she clothed herself with. Instead she climbed though a window to snatch a plate of food, fresh from a funeral in the eastern lands, accidently wiping some of her own blood on the sill her hunger making her sloppy and careless. The next day, as marked by the calendar of Setesh creaking overhead, she saw a banner over the door of the house of dolls, which she had burgled the night before reading “JOYOUS GIVER IN THE NIGHT, PLEASE ACCEPT THIS GIFT FOR YOUR KIND OFFERINGâ€. Under the banner was heaped food and drink, as well as a very small plate under which read. “if you are willing to give again, please do so on this plateâ€. This transaction began the real way for Smoky Mirror to really trive in the city of the dead. Every few days or so, if she could not find food and drink elsewhere, she would make her way to the district of the bone lanterns, and leave a few drops of blood for the mistress with white hands, whose house she had inadvertently snuck into.


Life in the city for a child is difficult, but on the first day of calibration, Smoky Mirror’s life became even more difficult, as the minions of the deathlords began seeking from where the mistress with white hands was getting such a steady supply of blood, an exceedingly valuable resource in Stygia. Fortunately for Smoky Mirror, the priority for this mission was no high enough to send a deathknight, but the ghostly servants were more than clever enough to track the young girl, and corner her on the fifth day of the calibration celebration. Amongst the revelry in the streets 3 ghosts cornered the girl in a dark alleyway, but just before the great calender of Setesh creaked to end calibration, a burst of silver and grey exploded in the dark streets, and from the maelstrom of essence the form of a huge ferryman, terrifying even to the most hardy ghost, coalesced out of the eruption of essence, hiding the huddling form of the young girl. She ran as fast as she could back to the area she knew best, the district with the bone lanterns, Her new-found anima shining bright with ghostfire and moonlight. As she approached the House of dolls, The calender of Setesh finally began it’s droning paean of the end of calibration, and Smoky mirror turned the corner, to see the whole of the house of dolls assembled in front of the House, The Misstress with the White Hands, presiding over her charges. The mistress with the White hands smiles as she saw the young lunar, bristling with power, and opened her arms to the young girl. Smoky Mirror had finally come home.


The mistress with the white hands trained Smoky Mirror in the myriad ways of the house of dolls, and taught her how to moilate her shape as the ghosts did, though her own illusions and shape-changing abilities we vastly different from the ghosts powers. She learned how to read the body, as well as speak to the unconscious mind with her own, but the mistress with the white hands knew that she must be presented to her own kind to gain the strange and wondrous tattoos that the grace the chosen of the moon. So Smoky mirror was shipped off with all the pomp and circumstance the Mistress of the White hands could muster to Chiascuro, With scores of slaves and grave goods as bribes and gifts for the ghosts of the south, to get her an audience with The lunar eldar Tmmuz, as well as to gain enterance to one of the lunar tombs of that area. Her training with the whores of the house of dolls made her an exceptional choice for the changing moon caste, and her caste was fixed as such, but her totem was indeed the strangest the eldar had ever seen…


Now Smoky Mirror spends most of her time in creation, either in the funary city of Sijian, or in Nexus, but her true calling is to advance the myriad schemes of her adopted mother, the mistress with the White hands, and to increase the ancestor cult.

 

[TKmobile]

Wow, lots of awesome ideas! You all are out to make things tough on me, huh? I'll leave this open for another day or so before deciding, but I've already got such an embarassment of riches that I'm trying to justify letting all of you in. (Self-destructive thought there!)
In the meantime, will everyone who pm'd me your character concepts go ahead and post them in the thread? And if you want to talk among yourselves about how your characters might be connected, that would be helpful too (as well as further weighing my decision in your direction. I hate that whole "the party meets in a bar" business.)

Wait... Do we need to have our backstory AND character sheets done by the end of tomorrow?


The backstory I can probably finish by tonight but the sheet's gonna take longer what with the workload I have on my desk currently.