[Interest Check] The Land that Time Forgot

I don't wanna give too much background info, for a very specific reason. It will allow you to shape them with your background stories.
 
Looks like my main question was already asked and answered for me in the time it took me to write it. :P


Could you tell us about the climate of the floating island or maybe even the directional location in which it lies, if that isn't supposed to be a plot devise? Additionally, could you give us an idea as to what the overall area and size of the island is? Perhaps including the Bordermarch-like buffer zone between the island and Pure Chaos?


Thanks in advance. Here's my character concept:


Name: Jubilant Phoenix


Caste: Dawn


Concept: Tomboy daughter of a middling Terrestrial deity turned protector of the people

Born to a (geographic object - originally Forest) Goddess, Jubilant Phoenix grew up in a privileged environment, surrounded by courtiers and servants of her mother who educated her. A natural deviant, her natural curiosity usually won out over her mother's rules, despite the often strict punishment that followed. Phoenix regularly escaped from her mother's court to interact with other humans all throughout her life, an action seen as taboo among those deities. Even more offensive, she found the most enjoyment in rough-housing and playing with human boys, engaging in all sorts of base and mundane behaviors such as climbing trees or riding horses. This would continually stress their relationship throughout the time Phoenix remained in her mother's court.
 
For a Lunar character, my mind keeps coming back again and again to a feline totem for a character. I envision her starting off as casteless.


Which gives rise to the following brief archetypes:


Cat - Something along the lines of a newly arisen 'City Lunar' who has survived the predations of the Terrestrials pre-Exaltation and takes civilisation as her home and views it as her ward while still stumbling and groping her way to the heritage of her Exaltation. No noticeable Solar Bond.


Leopard - The jungle and the hunt call to her and the Wyld sings a hymn of possibility and danger. Arisen in a tribe of barbarians whom also inhabit the bubble of reality and walks as one with the strangeness of the Tainted Lands. (Could also be a Full Moon warrior), if I could I would like to have a Solar Bond with one of the Solars to give her a better hook into playing with the group.
 
I'd be interested in joining this game, as a Terrestrial or Solar if necessary. I'm thinking of playing a shaman of some sort, possibly a volcano girl who's sitting on the ruins of a factory cathedral to give her some fun ties to the horde of Twilights. Maybe a zenith?
 
Looks like I'll be rolling Fiend after a bit of pondering/discussion to be sure it was cool, but all-Twilight would be GLORIOUS. Doubly so if they were all lulzily awesome crafters, what with the teamwork rules on those things.


"Yeah, we just built a Daiklaive of Conquest out of two pieces of string, the shattered dreams of a small boy, and half of this morning's breakfast. PROBLEM, CREATION?"


EDIT: problem solved. Tool-Transcending Constructs, coupled with some of the crazy Infernal crafting charms... HONORARY TWILIGHT. Let's go create a couple directional titans.
 
I've been dreaming of a swan-totem Lunar for ages, ever since I read this verse...


Unwearied still, lover by lover,


They paddle in the cold


Companionable streams or climb the air;


Their hearts have not grown old;


Passion or conquest, wander where they will,


Attend upon them still.


Perhaps a (non-spoony) bard? An idealistic young woman in search of love and adventure in the Big World Outside?


Or a supreme badass warrior who delights in wiping the floor at anyone who laughs at her spirit shape (though in that case, a duck totem would be even better)?


Another possibility would be a classy cat burglar (Night Caste?Casteless Lunar?) who has a compulsion to steal certain items whose significance she doesn't understand --and no memories whatsoever of her past lives or pre-Exaltation existence, which couldn't possibly be suspicious, oh no.


A third concept I've been longing to play would be a plucky young farmgirl (Dawn? Zenith? Twilight?) who finds a piece of sentient technology -- giant mech, super robot, power armor, flying ship, Genesis-crafted life form -- buried since the First Age, bonds empathically with it, and goes on to have amazing Gundam-style adventures with it.


Would any of these work? *hopeful smile, puppy-dog eyes*
 
Well, here's my submission...


Darwinia Macklavie - Solar Pirate and Mechanic Supreme


Motivation: Find her mother, and kill her


Caste: Twilight


Concept: Hardened individualist with a technology fetish


Short version: Darwi's a Fae-blooded who exalted as a Solar and loves building things. Finds more comfort in machines than people, largely thanks to growing up in the Wyld. Got a big revenge thing going on in the back of her head.

In the Wyld, there are Fae. Even in the deepest chaos, there are those that assume, if not shape, coherence to play out dramas, stories, and scenes to amuse themselves in their endless dance. One of these is Queen Maeve of the Grinding Hall. On occasion, she sees fit to bring the enormous glass palace in which she resides, to hunting grounds, so that she may feed on the sensuous pleasures of mortals. Her beauty is irresistible, and with it, she lures mortals to their doom.


Darwinia's father was one such man. He looked upon Maeve, as she descended from her manor atop its enormous treads, and he walked willingly to his fate. In the throes of passion, before he was left a mere shell of a man with no spirit to enjoy, Maeve was left with child. Finding fancy in this conception, Maeve carried the infant to term, but, by the time her next hunt began, she saw new prospects, and discarded the newborn into the lower levels of the Grinding Hall. Discovered by the faceless, unimportant things there, Darwinia was raised by hobgoblins. As she grew, however, her interaction with them caused them to gain stories of their own. By the time she could walk and talk, Darwinia's presence had given them identity. They became her playmates, her teachers, her friends. One, the first to find her and care for her, became Edmund, who cared for her like a father.


In the bowels of the Grinding Hall, Darwi spent her youth being taught by Edmund. He taught her to find food in the dank tunnels, and to appreciate the beauty of the enormous clockwork mechanisms that ran within it. It was Edmund who gave Darwi her first toolkit, and Edmund who made her mushroom-cake on her birthday. It was because of his tutelage that Darwi grew into a confident and intelligent young woman. It was because of him that she was ready on the day the Grinding Hall was attacked by roving bands of hobgoblins.


In the ensuing battle, it was quick thinking on Darwinia's part that saved the day. The creatures that lived in the Grinding Hall's underpassages were shy and gentle things; better made for hiding than fighting. To save them from being overrun, Darwi devised a plan to destroy the enemy horde by redirecting some of the massive gears as weapons. The plan worked, but not perfectly; a jammed set of gears forced Darwi to climb inside a mechanism and try to fix it without breaking it. Thinking furiously, the girl became engulfed in golden fire and rose to the ranks of the Chosen in a flash of brilliance, though not without cost. Reaching between the gears to fix the jam, Darwi succeeded in loosing the enormous gear as a weapon, but her right arm became trapped in the mechanism, and was crushed. Before passing out, Darwi managed to call for Edmund, who treated her wound.


In the aftermath, Queen Maeve requested the presence of her daughter. Thanking Darwi for her service to the Hall, Maeve offered to restore Darwi's arm and take her to her side as her daughter. Darwi agreed, albeit a little reluctantly. The date for the restoration was set at the next full moon, when the power of the Wyld was its greatest. Edmund realized, however, what Maeve was plotting; she would shower the girl in delight and, when she was filled with the power of the Wyld, devour her soul. Unwilling to let his adopted daughter face such a fate, he sneaked into the upper levels of the palace, revealed the truth to Darwi, and, together, fled. Unwilling to let her prize escape like that, Maeve pursued.


It is a terrible thing, to risk the wrath of a Faerie Queen. Maeve pursued on lightning clouds, led by dogs with eyes of fire. When she finally caught up with the escapees, there seemed to be no chance of survival. Edmund would not let his daughter be sacrificed, however. Forcing Darwi to flee, he stepped out to face Maeve on the field of battle. When it was over, Maeve had Edmund's petrified marble form placed in her throne room, as a warning to all others. She never did recapture Darwinia, however.


Darwi spent the remaining time of her years growing up on the outskirts of a new, much more stable world. This island of Creation, and the people in it, were very different to what she expected. A newcomer from the Wyld, and a changeling to boot, Darwi was a bit of an outcast. It was only amongst others of her kind that she found acceptance, at least at first. Familiar with the chaos outside the stability, she found work in the meantime with groups of changelings who wandered into the insanity to retrieve components for building and repairing artifacts. With her newfound Exalted talent, it wasn't long until she was building artifacts of her own, and selling them of her own accord. By the time she was 20, Darwi had enough materials and wealth to build herself a prosthetic arm, to replace the one she lost, made from orichalcum. As she has built her wealth and power, Darwi has been nursing a grudge. Ever since her escape from the Grinding Hall, she has dreamt of tracking that place down, returning to it one last time, and doing something that has been a long time coming:


Killing Queen Maeve.





Darwi is a lively creature, easily given to curiosity and excitement. She is prone to flights of fancy and given to the dramatic, though her intellect keeps her from going too deeply for style over substance. Wherever Darwi goes, whatever she does, it is something she does brightly and with clarity of purpose.


Her life in the Wyld has left her a bit detatched from the masses of humanity, with only her fellow changelings understanding her much in that regard. While not utterly antagonistic, there is some antipathy that flows both ways. As such, she frequently comes off as unsympathetic to the plights of others. If she is convinced that somebody is worth her time, however, such as by those who display uncommon creativity or insight, she is usually quite sociable.


Darwi's largest and most constant focus in life is her love for machinery and artifice. Her life in the underbelly of the Grinding Hall gave her great appreciation for the machines and an almost instinctual understanding of how they work. It comforts her to work on mechanisms, and, when she is overburdened by the weight of the world, she can spend days at a time, locked in her home, working on a gizmo to restore her mental reserves.
 
I'm split on character ides now. Either a Dawn class that is a demon hunter, or a Lunar con artist.
 
How about something a bit different? Say, a Dragon King sleeper waking up from the First Age? I'm playing one in a different game, and I'm having a blast with the character.
 
An all-Twilight group certainly would make the problem of fixing the Reality Engines easier but there will be other problems for the Creation bubble besides that. Dealing with the Wyld and its' hazards should be something of a Lunar speciality since they've been living there for hundreds of years.
 
Fiends have diplomatic immunity for themselves and companions amongst the Fair Folk, which I suspect will be useful here, and being able to heal Shaping effects with a touch might be handy until everyone gets that one LOL TOTALLY IMMUNE TO SHAPING charm and I instead get to be the medic. Bad touch! BAD TOUCH! All Twilights would be fun but any exalt type, spirit, or dragon king could have their own unique addition to the group's dynamics.


...That said, an all-Twilight group wandering around Creation would be alarmingly lethal to anything that got in their way once they started getting some crafting charms and a powerbase. Turn every building into a town into a sentient warstrider, and when the Wyld Hunt shows up the battle jumps up a few scales on the OH GOD BEARS meter.


EDUT: ...and a few more if you turn any nearby bears into sharkbears. Then the OH GOD BEARS meter goes up even further... THIS REQUIRES FURTHER RESEARCH.
 
Hilariously unfinished, but I wanted to poast it so I don't forget, and I'll go back and edit as I get other sections done and work Personality into a more coherent and complete description.


Name: Trevor/Julius Serdic


Caste: Fiend


Quote: "Alright, look. If you keep struggling, you're going to draw attention, and I'm going to have to kill some servant girl who could have survived tonight if you hadn't been a selfish bitch. Now hold still, and you'll be the only one who has to die tonight in Her name."


Intimacies:

  • She Who Lives In Her Name [Loyalty, Respect]
  • Ouroboros [bonded Symbiote, Understanding]


Urge: Return She Who Lives In Her Name to power


Motivation: Return She Who Lives In Her Name to her former perfection.


(Nearly identical to his Urge, and strictly speaking he acts on his Motivation rather than his urge - he wishes to bring her back in her former perfection rather than in her current state, whereas She Who Lives doesn't care in the least. The difference is that Trevor feels that she could more fittingly rule if restored to her pristine state and sanity, though he will claim that he's acting on the urge, and in his mind, one and the other are inextricably link - working for one, to him, means the same thing as working on the other.)


Biography:


Personality:


Saying that Trevor is a pretty cool dude (who doesn't afraid of anything) for an Infernal is to completely miss the complex byplay behind the scenes between his component parts, his Infernal nature influencing and altering his humanity and empathy every bit as much as that humanity decides how he acts as an Infernal. There is no hidden demonic side - other than the giant demonic snake currently coexisting in his body, but who's counting - hidden in the recesses of his mind to come to light, no clear distinction between Trevor and Infernal, and most importantly, no clash at all in his mind. He can be kind, and he can be cruel, but it is never a breach of character or a personality inversion - both are equally him, two sides of the same coin.


He is, first and foremost, an Infernal. While not a particularly vindictive one, or indeed unnecessarily unpleasant in the least outside of an occasionally-grating personality, he is an Infernal. While Trevor generally acts in manners calculated to not bring attention to that, and he is a fairly easy-going type, he is a servant of the Yozis, a dread champion of She Who Lives in Her Name, loyal beyond Yozi mind control or Infernal nature.


She Who Lives In Her Name saved him. She saw value in what he could become and gave him the strength to become something more, strength of character as much as anything physical or mystical, and it is by far the former upon which Trevor's tremendous loyalty hinges. He is, needless to say, quite satisfied with the rest of his gifts and they alone would constitute a solid basis for a certain level of loyalty, given that he has a tendency to take debts of any sort very seriously.


Trevor sees all those charms and endowments and artifacts as aftereffects at best. To be made so much more than what he was, to be given the courage and dedication to better himself, intertwined with the awakening of what qualities he had already had but suppressed through his own weakness - it is that which comprises the foundation of his loyalty to his dread master and cements it evermore. He is legitimately and naturally grateful and loyal to his patron Yozi, as a man, not as an Infernal. There are no darker undertones; his love is neither romantic nor tainted in jealousy or bitterness, the effect of unnatural mental influence or duress. That is not to say that he is unique as an Infernal just because he happens to be loyal to his patron Yozi, but it frames his outlook on life and personality in terms perhaps somewhat differently from many, Infernal and Celestial exalts alike.


He was not the strongest of mortals. Trevor can admit that to himself, though he isn't proud of it. No one would be, or indeed could be proud of their past selves when they realize how inherently flawed and cowardly they were. For as relatively good as his life as a mortal was, it was all the more shameful to him that he continued to be a coward, willing to let his older brother shoulder the brunt of more difficult situations. In the flawless clarity of hindsight, it makes all the more sense that his own weakness was what held him back and propelled his brother forward in his parents' estimations, rather than some hidden agenda or hatefulness on their part. He doesn't hold a grudge. He doesn't blame them, nor would he even have harsh words for them.


It took a lot longer to come to terms with it, but neither does he hate himself for it. Perhaps it was some hidden wellspring of maturity waiting to be unleashed, or more likely his existence as an Infernal Exalt just gave him the necessary viewpoint to see things from a more fitting perspective, but while he is far from proud of his past self, Trevor recognizes that he was indeed once that way, and could still be that way were it not for the acts of his patron and his own gradual realizations along the way. He now sees that past as a learning experience - a brutal, cold pathway along which he had to tread to become what he was today. Not something to be ashamed of, to mope uselessly about, but valuable experiences to learn from that he might never repeat those mistakes.


He's even mostly convinced himself that vengeance is a fool's errand and not worth even investigating, though a part of him suspects that it is much easier to tell himself that now than it will be if events ever come to pass that he might get a chance to right that wrong.


While there's no particular hidden emotional shadow to draw a superpowered evil side from, Trevor does have a fair bit of experience in being an Infernal Exalt, and this after a lifetime of being inured to the suffering of others as a budding noble! The two combine fantastically well to ensure that if shit hits the fan, he has no qualms whatsoever in ensuring that the blood covering every square inch of himself and his surroundings is not his own. He has excellent self control and tends towards judicious application of subtler approaches wherever possible - not out of cowardice or hatred of violence, but rather out of a preference to minimize collateral damage and not ruin more of his patron's soon-to-be returning domain - but if he deems it necessary to turn towards violence, Trevor is quite happy to turn a perfectly pleasant establishment into a holocaust of gore and body parts.


It also serves a double purpose in getting Ouroboros to shut the hell up for ten goddamn seconds, which is in itself arguably a valid excuse for violence. The Infernal tends to prefer that his unwoven coadjugator take out said demon's general like of ruining people's days on birds and pets rather than people, partially due to the general fact that people get less bent out of shape about a missing cat than a missing mayor, and partially out of a general mistrust and dislike of birds - it really only takes being bird-bombed once to nurture a certain degree of mutual dislike, though it's nowhere near hatred; he just isn't really a fan.


As is pretty much standard for Exalts everywhere, working through past trauma is no guarantee that there won't be plenty more issues waiting around the corner to ruin your day, and Trevor has gotten quite an interesting crash course on just how fun and exciting some of those issues can be. Sharing a mind with an omnicidal snake-monster thing with a tendency to be hungry for the flesh and essence of living beings, specifically humans, wasn't quite what he expected when he signed up - but symbiotic relationships, as he quickly learned, are an incessant tug of war, a give-and-take between two equally-dominant personalities sharing limited faculties while occasionally having drastically different priorities.


They are both useful to each other in differing ways, and their relationship has only strengthened with time; Ouroboros bears certain similarities to the Ebon Dragon in that he can generally be trusted to have his own best interests in mind rather than acting out of actual munificence, but if one remembers that, he is in his own way trustworthy. They bear a certain degree of respect for each other, as well as a shared priority in ensuring that their shared body doesn't meet a grisly end. Trevor is not overly fond of his companion's general bloodlust, but he can empathize to a certain degree. More importantly, he gets good use out of Ouroboros's encyclopediac knowledge of all things Malfeas, as well as occasional vitriolic commentary on events and persons of interest, whether in Malfeas or Creation proper. The demon has a viciously sharp mind, its intelligence often obscured to a degree by his apparent one-dimensional bloodlust; it took the Infernal some time to realize it, but doing so picqued Ouroboros's interest enough to confide somewhat more in his new companion.


In the few years since, they have metally sparred time and time again, each finding someone worth conversing with in a world with entirely too few mortals or exalts deserving that description - while Trevor lacks the vast life experience of the demon and suffers from a different core perspective on things due to his nature, his mind too has always been exceedingly sharp, and that was only amplified by his ascension to infernal glory. With as much information as he has at his fingertips, he has a tendency to occasionally slip into irrelevance, but an inquiring mind always pushes him back onto track. He absorbs information like a sponge, for no more complex or devious reason than to know it.


In order to maintain his tight emotional control, Trevor has been forced to find conduits by which to expunge much of Ouroboros's effect on his mind as well as his own anger; he tends to cope with difficult solutions via dry or sarcastic humor, as well as more subtly ruining someone else's day, feeding his nascent sadistic tendencies and Ouroboros's both by causing emotional distress. He sees it as less destructive than just killing people, and therefore much less of an issue for people to deal with. His sense of humor tends to be less outright destructive so much as needling comments with a tendency to be obnoxiously accurate, gleaned by utilizing his uncanny natural ability to discern motivations through conversation alongside his loaned Fiend abilities, though how frustrated he is that particular day influence just how cutting his remarks are. On most days, Trevor's jokes never go beyond neutrally amusing, sometimes even positive messages or forward nudges couched in invective.
 
Sorry been away for a while, I was wondering if you had room for an old Earth Aspect. he has been here assisting in maintaining the area for a long while. He sees the wonders of the First Age as having preserved his forefathers without the leadership of the Solars, though the climes of skill and achievement that the Solars are capable of are all that offers his family, community and people a way out. He seeks a balance, between the services that they require of the Solars Engineers, and the servitude this will most likely turn into. He is torn between the teachings of the past, the creation that has sustained them, and what he has before him.


I was looking at an old First Edition Aspect Book for Earth, and inside there was a charm that allowed the Earth Aspect to stabilize an area of Creation against current Wyld effects, though the erosion of the Wyld would still be possible, and therefore would not be an answer to the problem since there just are not enough Dragonblooded. This charm was probably created shortly after the Usurpation as a Dragonblooded answer to the encroachment of the Wyld, and probably a reason that the Balorian Crusade was launched, since the natural predations of the Wyld were not eroding Creation fast enough. Now the area effect is relatively small, and it requires Willpower to use, so it is highly limited in what it is capable of, but when there were 10,000 Dragons or more then the charm may have been a bit more prevalent.


I understand that the Solars and Lunars will quickly outstrip me as far as power level goes and that doesn't bother me. Though the concept works best if he is an old warhorse as opposed to a wet behind the ears whelp. I haven't touched pencil to paper over this idea yet, so clear it and I will certainly put forth a bit more effort.


I feel that this concept would work better as a player character than an NPC, but feel that the PCs need this kind of interaction in this type of game.
 
This would be the character I'd be playing, pending approval. Apologies for the delay! I took two liberties with the background, though, given that it had been mentioned we would be shaping it a bit through our stories? They are as follows:

  • 1. A town called Noru, from which Marianne comes. It is not a rich town, or truly prosperous for that matter; riches are unevenly divided, and the line between those in power and those who struggle to survive is quite marked. Dragonblooded are in charge of the town.
    2. Since this land is stranded in the midst of the Wyld, I thought it might not be uncommon for some newborn to experience very minor traces of mutation. They would be nothing strong enough to even be classified as a pox or deficiency; just minor, aesthetical deviations from what one may expect of a human born in the middle of Creation. I referenced it in my character's backstory, and gave her one for her appearance.


I'd like to ask the storyteller if one or both are okay, or if they deviate too much from the setting to be included!

Marianne.jpg

"Yes, may I help you, si- oh, by the dragons, I hope that's not food you're wasting. People are going hungry, y' know!"


Marianne's theme song


Solar Exalt-Night Caste


Name: Marianne Fowler


Nickname: -


Gender: Female


Age: 19


Player: Hoshiko


Concept: Idealistic servant.


Motivation: Erradicate poverty around the world.


Intimacies:

  • Family - Marianne’s parents, still living in the slums of Noru.
    Nibbles - Marianne’s familiar, a small grey cat.
    Noru Slums – The slums of her hometown.






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Marianne giggled with childish glee as she bounced lightly on her father’s lap, the old, wooden chair squeaking ominously every time the young girl’s body came back down. Ariana exchanged a worried glance with her husband; they would have to scrounge up money for furniture the coming season again. A single lantern flickered lightly in the night breeze, its flame casting shadows across the small cottage; the barks of dogs were interrupted by sinister, chilling howls from time to time, yet they failed to bring anything more than a small spike of fear to the surface of her thoughts by now. A soft yowl was heard as Nibbles slipped into the house, her unkempt fur slightly damp from the misty air of the night. The small kitten mewled once more before jumping atop the man’s lap; his rough, calloused hands rose to brush the animal away, but hesitated. Aware of the opening, the vicious beast nuzzled the girl’s tiny hand, who delightedly hugged her pet close to herself. Bless the Exalted that kept her and her family safe at night; she had no idea what kind of things were out there, beyond the village’s borders, and had no desire to find out. She’d heard the stories, though…


“Mama, mama!†Almost as if on cue, her daughter’s voice rang out, interrupting her musings. “I wanna hear the story ‘bout the giant birds again!†Her expression settled into a soft, tender smile as she lowered the knife she had been polishing, and warmth seeped into her heart at the child’s innocent expression. She stood up, walking gracefully to the small shelf that held most of their belongings; carefully, she slipped the knife into the small jar at the very top, along with the others she used for her performances in town. The young woman knelt down, her fingers tickling the five-year-old’s sides, who squealed happily in response. “Y’ didn’t say please, sweetie. But it’s alright,†she said, standing up once more; her hands swept across the air in a grandiose gesture, causing the edges of her husband’s lips to quirk upwards into a smile. Her posture swiftly changed, subconsciously, as she prepared herself for the performance. After all, it didn’t matter whether it was before her family or an audience; both deserved her best effort. Marianne sat quietly, her daughter’s face a mask of rapt attention as she began her recital. “Once upon a time, long ago, beautiful wonders filled the world; people flew across cerulean skies atop majestic birds, leaving trails of stardust behind as they sailed on the wind…â€


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Marianne was born into the poverty that suffused her hometown’s slums. The village had somehow managed to survive amidst the sea of chaos that surrounded it; whether through sheer luck, or as a result of the Dragonblooded families’ constant vigilance, the town of Noru had evolved into a hospitable, if not exactly thriving location. Riches were unevenly distributed, with most of the proceeds from meager trade falling directly into Terrestrial hands; those unfortunate enough to not be part of their tightly-knit circles of family and friends were forced to eke out a living through either grueling work or petty crime.


Her family was one of the lucky ones to have a roof to call their own; the small cottage was barely large enough to shelter the three of them, and yet, Marianne still retains fond memories of the place she proudly called her home. Her mother, a performer, took it upon herself to educate her as best she could; often, this involved stories and legends of Ages past, tales of heroic deeds and marvelous crafts. Despite the artist’s best efforts, however, her education lacked the formality and bases people of higher classes receive under a teacher, and had quite a few holes. Her child would never be a scholar, but she passed on every skill she knew, hoping one of them could be the key she needed to forge herself a future. From acrobatics to knife-throwing, from weaving to storytelling, Marianne learned her mother’s teachings; if not with true talent, then with utmost determination and perseverance. Her father, a carpenter, attempted to teach her his craft as well; the young girl, however, could never grasp more of the art beyond the most rudimentary first steps.


As loving as her family was, they could not continue to support a third person indefinitely, particularly when the girl, and her appetite, began to grow. Shortly after her tenth birthday, her mother found her a job as a servant in Lord Aridion‘s manor as a scullery maid. The Dragonblooded household was large enough to require a vast array of employees; from tending the fires, to changing the sheets or finding the Lady’s lost earring again, there was never a shortage of work. Amidst tears and tantrums, she moved into the mansion and began the job that would define the coming nine years of her life.


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“They’re dirty. I don’t care if the Raksha themselves walked into the kitchen, girl. See that? That’s grease.†The old cook pointed at a spot on a dish, her raspy voice grating on Marianne’s ears, who struggled to hold back tears. “You want to be a maid here? Fine. You get to work. Work from daybreak until the moment the last fire is put out. You’ve been here a year, and I’m tired of tolerating your incompetence.†The girl’s shoulders shook as she looked away, not wanting the old woman to see her eyes watering. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, girl. Stop crying, I’m too old to fall for your tricks. Now get back to work, or you’ll be on chamber pot duty again. I swear, brats these days are never taught anything. Must be the parents’ fault.†The woman set down the dish against the bucket once more, an expression of disgust on her face as she wiped her hands on her apron before limping away. Marianne directed one last, hateful stare at her retreating back before picking up the dish; for a moment, she considered smashing it, but it would only be taken out of her salary. Meager as it was, she couldn’t afford to let that happen.


Why did she have to leave home? She missed her mama and papa; the master’s children were older than her, and they still lived with their parents. Why couldn’t she do the same? Tears streamed down her cheeks as she got back to work, washing the dish again, the occasional sob escaping her. She needed revenge. She had to do something, anything; her chest felt as though it were on fire. Suddenly, her eyes lit up, and she turned to stare to her left; the area that was forbidden to her, where the food the masters ate was prepared every day by the crone. She just had to wait until it was left alone.


Her chance came shortly afterwards; the old woman left the kitchen, wincing as she began to climb the stairs to ask the Lady about the next day’s menu. She moved swiftly; carefully, she pulled out a small, wrapped handkerchief from her apron. She moved over to the pot closest to her; the one that contained the soup that would be served to the masters for their evening meal. Glancing around nervously to make sure nobody was watching her, she opened the small, bundled package; the small, dead body of a beetle occupied it. Not wanting to touch the animal, she shook the cloth until it fell into the pot, a satisfied smirk filling her face as she saw it sink and disappear beneath the thick broth. Just what she deserved!


Evening came quickly, and with it, dinner. Much more relaxed, Marianne performed exemplarily in her duties that night; even the cook was surprised, and grumpily commented that there “might be some hope for the girl, after all.†She almost felt guilty after hearing the older woman’s compliment, but she steeled her resolve; she deserved it, after what she had done earlier. Dinner was served, and she held her breath anxiously; not wanting to miss the scene, she slipped out of the manor, hiding amongst the shrubbery next to the dining room. She barely managed to restrain her giggles as the master screamed out, cursing loudly as he summoned the cook to the dining room. Her expression turned to horror, however, as she saw the master backhand the elderly woman before firing her; she begged hysterically, but he was adamant in his refusal to let her continue to work. Shaken, Marianne scurried away on her knees as quickly as she could, slipping into the tiny room allotted to her. Without bothering to change out of her uniform, she curled into her bed, hugging her pillow tightly as grief and guilt overcame her. What had she done? Nibbles poked her head from her spot beneath the bed, but even her gentle nuzzling proved unable to distract the girl away from her misery.


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Marianne spent her teenage years working in the manor; from sunrise to sunset, and deep into the night, she was expected to keep the kitchen clean and assist the cook with the preparations for the next day. From scrubbing the plates and pots, to chopping the vegetables the cook would use, and running any errands that needed done in town, she was asked to work harder than she had ever before. She still received free time to visit her parents from time to time, but the majority of her days were spent serving the master alongside the other staff members. The first year at the manor was a terrible experience for her; torn away from her home, and forced to earn a living by herself, she was overcome by grief and jealousy, and gained a reputation for being clumsy and slow. Her superior, a grumpy, elderly woman who had worked at the manor for nearly a decade, often tried to push her to apply herself to no avail. A year later, the cook was fired as a consequence of the girl’s actions; horrified by what she had wrought, Marianne applied herself more to her duties, trying to atone for her misdeed by making herself more useful around the kitchen. The new chef, a strict woman with a foul temper, worked her harder than her predecessor; as a reward for her efforts, however, she taught the girl to cook, hoping that perhaps the teenager would find a better job someday as a chef as well. Marianne learned the craft eagerly; soon she assisted with the cooking herself, or took over whenever the elder servant was not feeling well.


Though she meant well, her behavior was not without flaws; she sneaked away pieces of silverware and small trinkets whenever she could, selling them away in the slums to complement the pittance of a salary she was paid. As she rationalized it, she wasn’t doing anything really wrong; just redistributing the riches the master had accumulated thanks to their hard work. It was on one of those trips to her neighborhood that she realized what she really wanted to do; she wanted to eliminate this. The poverty, the suffering, the anger and jealousy at the higher classes; would they all exist if the people who lived here, where she had been born, all had enough money to eat, and a roof to sleep under? But, it was meaningless; even if she wished it, it was impossible for someone of her standing to make such a change in the world.


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Marianne walked down the market under the bright midday sun, a simple cloth bag filled halfway with vegetables held in the joint of her left elbow as she looked for the spice merchant. Funny, his stall was usually around here; her eyes wandered to her left, hoping to find the trademark turban the man wore on his head. She had to go back to the manor soon; Miss Bonnet wasn’t feeling well today, and it would fall on her to prepare the masters’ dinner. Again. Of course, they wouldn’t pay her any more for it, but she could consider taking a bit of extra payment for herself next week. Maybe that pretty vase in the guest room on the second floor; nobody ever used it, and they wouldn’t notice anything vanishing from it anyways. Besides, it wasn’t as if they needed it for something.


A small, sharp stab pain lanced from her left shoulder as she bumped into something; caught unaware, she wobbled in place before falling backwards, landing sitting on the dirt road. The pain was not really a concern; she was used to far worse, both from the harsh work at the manor and the harsh punishments than ensued when it wasn’t completed swiftly enough. The bag fell open at her side, and she hurried to pick up the carrot that had slipped out of it before slinging it over her unhurt shoulder. Pickpockets weren’t rare in the city, and the last thing she wanted was to pay for the master’s food from her own salary.


“Are you okay down there, miss?â€


Her ears perked up in surprise at the voice; yet, what was truly astounding was the hand outstretched to help her. She looked up at the man; he was dressed in fine clothing, as good as any she’d seen on the master’s son. He didn’t look too much older either; maybe in his early twenties? She shook her head, feeling her ears heat up a little; it wasn’t polite to stare at someone of higher rank. Still, he was offering help, and it would be rude to reject it. “Yes, thank you, sir,†she said softly; as she had been taught to do. She placed her hand atop his, using his strength as support to bring herself up. Brushing the excess dirt off her dress, she bowed deeply, eyes staring at the tip of his shoes. Polished, too; he must be a wealthy noble, indeed.


“That’s good. I thought I had broken something; you stared at that carrot for a while, and were muttering under your breath.†She sputtered an incoherent string of denials; her eyes widened, and she clapped both hands over her mouth; what if he was a guest, and told the master about her behavior? She’d be in for a punishment for sure. The man stared at her, a curious expression on his face as he tilted his head to the side. “Where are you from, anyways, miss?†His voice had a soft tone to it, and yet somehow seemed to command more power than any she had ever felt from the master. Maybe he was a lord, too? She lowered her hands timidly, holding them together before her as she performed another, shorter bow. “I’m from Lord Aridion’s manor, sir,†she said, giving him a small, fake smile. Short, and to the point; as she had been taught. Never say more than what you are asked for; that was one of the rules at the manor. The man clapped his hands together, a delighted expression crossing his face before she averted her eyes.


“My, how lucky! To think that I would meet a member of one the town’s noble families so quickly! Why, milady, it is a pleasure to meet you!†Her eyes widened as the man executed a flawless flourish and bowed deeply; she swallowed nervously, even as she felt her cheeks heat up. He had to be teasing her, right? She looked around; some of the people had stopped walking to stare at the strange man, which inevitably led to questioning stares towards her. Whatever was this person doing? Honestly, the amount of trouble she’d get into if word of this got back to the manor…She shuddered, and walked closer to the finely-dressed gentleman. “Please, sir, get up, people are staring at us!†The man’s head came up for a moment to stare at her, a cheeky grin plastered on his face as he spoke. “Ah, I have mistaken your rank.†She breathed out a sigh of relief as she placed a hand on her chest; now, all she had to do was make sure that gossip about this didn’t reach the mistress’ ears. “Forgive me, your highness, it won’t happen again.†To her horror, the man sunk to his knees, head bowed deeply; wasn’t this how people saluted royalty, or something like that? She stared in panic around her, flustered; some people were laughing nervously, while others gave her disapproving stares. Wait, it wasn’t her fault; why were they staring at –her- like that? They should be staring at him! She looked down at the man, panicked. “Get up! I, uh, I mean, please, sir…ah, heavens, just get up, darn it!†She fell silent, her expression a strange cross somewhere between a pleased smile and a mortified stare.


“Finally. I was starting to think they had found a way to turn pretty girls into dolls here, princess!†The man dusted his clothes off as he rose, yet it seemed to be only for show; not a single mote had adhered to the fine suit. She stared at him for a second longer, dumbfounded, as she tried to find her voice once more. “It’s, well, ah…†Her thoughts dwelled for a moment on the compliment, and she felt her heartbeat accelerate furiously; shaking her head again, she tried to place her thoughts in order, but the maelstrom of emotion inside of her refused to quiet down. “Well, how in the dragons’ name am I supposed to answer to that?†It was only a few seconds later that she realized she had blurted out the question; sighing in defeat, she resigned herself to her fate. The light accent of Low Realm speech, ever present in her words, grew stronger as she relaxed slightly. “They come pretty close. Would you consider not telling anyone ‘bout this, if you’re going to the manor?†The man winked cheekily once more as he spoke; somehow, he managed to sound gentle and sarcastic, all at the same time. “Sure thing, princess. Boy scout’s honor.â€


She tilted her head to the side, puzzled. What in the Wyld was a boy scout supposed to be? “My name is Trevor, by the way. Trevor Serdic.†He looked at her expectantly, and she realized he was waiting for her to answer. Would wonders never cease today? A nobleman who cared about her name! Maybe Nibbles would talk to her tonight; heavens knew the kitty was smart enough. “Mine’s Marianne…Marianne Fowler.†He stared at her for a moment longer, as if waiting for her to say something else. Wait, why did she feel like she had answered a question wrong? That was her name! The man’s hand rose to his chin, his eyes narrowing, appraising, a thoughtful expression filling his face for an instant before being released. “Nah. Princess suits you better.â€


Her eyes widened with indignation as she placed her hands on her hips, drawing herself up slightly. Oh, yes? Well, two could play this game! “So, what brings you to Noru, prince charming? Sightseeing?†She smiled smugly up at him, her own grin reflected back at her in the man’s expression. Shrugging in a mockery of defeat, he raised both hands to his sides as he shook his head. “Tut tut, wrong guess, princess. Tell you what. It’s past noon, and I’m starving. Show me to a good restaurant, and I’ll tell you over lunch. My treat,†he added, winking as he spoke the last two words. Marianne hesitated for a moment. Should she accept the offer? She really had to get back to the manor soon, or she wouldn’t have enough time to prepare dinner. Her eyes met Trevor’s, and she made her choice. How often did she meet a nobleman who invited her out to lunch? Never, that was how often. She smiled at him happily, nodding her head slightly. “Aight, follow me, then, I’m pretty hungry too. There’s no really fancy places ‘round here like the ones you might be used to, but the food is good!†Her voice had a slightly more cheerful tone to it near the end; she knew just the place. It was pretty close to the slums, but the cook there was excellent, even by Miss Bonnet’s standards.


She walked forwards, Trevor close on her trail as she turned right towards the closest alleyway. It was a lot more deserted than the main street, but also a lot faster than walking all the way around the market. They should arrive in no time; she could already taste the beef stew they cooked every other day, and felt her mouth start to water. She hadn’t eaten meat this week yet; it’d be a nice treat. Suddenly, she stopped; a flash of movement made her freeze in place as she turned her head towards the source. Four thugs, armed with clubs, stepped out of a door to the right, their movements slow and unsteady. Behind them, the opening showed a tavern filled with people talking; could the four of them be drunk at this time of the day? She stepped back fearfully, turning her head to warn Trevor away; her companion, however, was nowhere to be seen. How long had she been alone? Her hand slipped into her apron, fingering the knife that she always carried there; she had practiced what her mother had taught her of knife-throwing as often as she could at the manor. Maybe she could take out one of them, and run away in the confusion.


One of the brutes raised his hand, palm facing upwards, before speaking in a deep, rumbling voice that made her shake with fear. “Why, hello there, pretty girl.†What had been a compliment from Trevor felt greasy and slimy from the scum in front of her, and she glared at him, pulling out the knife as she let her groceries fall to the ground with a dull thud. The four drunkards laughed boisterously, and the same one, apparently their leader, spoke out again. “Look, boys, the girlie’s got some fight in her!†The three thugs behind him guffawed again, and she swallowed nervously, refusing to back down. She knew they’d attack the moment she showed them weakness; she had to wait for the right chance to run away. Without warning, a loud, cracking noise echoed across the narrow pathway; the third man’s face distorted gruesomely for a moment before he fell backwards, his limbs twisted at awkward angles. The remaining three looked at the corpse, dumbfounded; the two on the back attempted to run away, panicking as the leader shouted at their backs. Before they could reach the safety of the main street, however, their legs suddenly gave out, having been cut cleanly through by…something.


Marianne watched in morbid fascination, frozen in place, escape completely forgotten. Maybe it was the good luck charm she had bought last week; the housekeeper said it was a hokey one, but what did she know? The man turned towards her, nostrils flaring. “Witch! What did you do?†Roaring with anger, he rushed at her. Yet, instead of the terror she expected, she felt only anger at the beast in front of her. How many people had he killed? How many others had this band assaulted, just as they had her? How many people had suffered because of these monsters’ greed? No, she had to stop it. She –would- stop it. She focused, just as her mother had taught her; she needn’t be afraid of the knife, it was but a tool. Her eyes narrowed as she whipped her hand back, preparing for the throw, and she felt a golden, warm power suffuse her being. There was no uncertainty in her mind; this weapon would hit its target, and this man would never harm another innocent again. In a single, fluid motion, her knife flew out, its aim unerring. The man prepared to dodge; he would jump at her and pound the girl’s head in before she could do any more of her black magic. She felt the golden glow pulse, awaiting release; she opened herself to it, and countless knives filled the air, all identical to the one she had tossed. The man’s eyes widened in one final moment of terrible realization, his eyes focusing on the golden ring blazing proudly on her forehead before one of them embedded itself into his trachea, killing him instantly. The warmth seeped away from her body, and she fell to her knees, suddenly feeling weak and drained. Marianne brought her hand up to her mouth as she fought the urge to throw up what little she had taken for breakfast that morning. Was all that really blood? She shuddered as her eyes followed the viscous, scarlet liquid’s movement. A hand appeared in her field of vision, holding a handkerchief; she stared up into Trevor’s eyes, which reflected an eerie, golden light back at her.


“Why, princess! You never told me you were a magician, too!â€


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The Exaltation came as a great surprise to her, yet not unwelcome. It was a chance to escape the life she had been bound to, and perhaps make a difference in the world. Tales of the Anathema, however, had reached even her ears; she feared discovery, and the trouble that would inevitably trail behind it. Following Trevor’s advice, she returned to the manor once more that same day. Carefully, she avoided the kitchen maid as she hastened to her room; a tiny cubicle with barely enough space for a bed. Nibbles poked her head out from beneath the covers, meowling curiously. She shushed the small kitty and rubbed her head softly before kneeling on the floor. With some effort, she pulled out from beneath the bed what was, perhaps, the only belonging she could truly call her own; a small leather pouch containing her savings, painstakingly earned and jealously guarded. Nine siu and a handful of yen were inside; she counted them to make sure none of it had vanished before pulling the drawstrings shut and tying it securely to her left hand.


Motioning for Nibbles to follow her, she moved outside slowly, hurrying past the kitchen before pausing. It was empty; the kitchen maid had vanished. Taking advantage of the chance, she snuck some of Miss Bonnet’s best knives into her apron. Wherever she was going, she reasoned it was bound to be dangerous. Taking care not to hurt herself, she walked outside as briskly as she dared to while carrying the utensils, and it was not until she was at Trevor’s side once more that she finally sighed in relief, relaxing. They left Noru together that night, Marianne’s mind troubled and drained, yet truly hopeful for the first time in years.





Marianne is an idealistic young woman born in the midst of poverty; she holds bright dreams, but also believes most of them to be unreachable after enduring the harshness of a low-class life in a town where people like her are considered unworthy of notice. As a result, she has grown jealous of people with better opportunities; noblemen, scholars and bureaucrats that waste their time idly, when they could be helping people with their resources, annoy her to no end. She dreams of a world not torn apart by inequity, where every mortal can have an equal chance to follow their heart; until her Exaltation, however, it was little more than a whisper spoken softly into her pillow every night before falling asleep. She has come to expect the worst out of every noble; she mentally writes off every person with rich clothing she meets as arrogant and lavish. It has proven pretty accurate, amongst the people she has met; only Trevor has failed to properly fit into the mold.


The former servant is stubborn and willful. Once an idea entrenches itself inside her mind, it is difficult to persuade her to abandon it. Her character caused her no end of trouble in her profession; after nine years of working as the manor’s scullion, however, she has learned to hide such thoughts away securely during work hours, presenting only the bland, subservient personality of the maid she’s expected to be. Rather than open rebellion, she has chosen the path of least resistance; objects mysteriously disappeared from the household on occasion, and seemingly unexplainable accidents seemed to happen to the lady’s dresses from time to time. Purloined goods supplemented the meager salary she was paid. After the incident she experienced during her first year of work, however, she made sure no other servants were ever blamed for her actions. To her mind, the masters had enough to live, and no need for the excess trinkets she pocketed from time to time. She empathizes with her former co-workers’ situation, however; piling still more trouble on their already burdened lives is contrary to her nature.


Marianne is curious and inquisitive. While not educated, she is eager to learn more of the world, particularly on topics related to the First Age; her mother’s stories, though vague, still imparted a sense of wonder to the girl, and a love for legends and myths. Though it embarrasses her, she is illiterate; her mother was far more concerned with teaching her skills that would allow her to survive in the city than fancy words and lessons on geography. Thus, she is quick to avoid situations that might reveal her lack of knowledge, and might lie or act to keep her secret from being exposed. She often struggles to balance this with her desire to learn; most of the time, however, it is the former which holds precedence, and she is more likely to pass on an opportunity than to admit to her perceived flaw. She only knows Low Realm; while High Realm was sometimes spoken around the manor, she was never exposed to it enough to learn it, and the slum accent is still noticeable in her voice should anyone care to look for it.


She is somewhat naive, and it is easy to gain her trust. While she is naturally careful around strangers, she’s easygoing and friendly towards those she perceives as non-threatening. Unfortunately, she is mistrustful of people she sees as members of the high-class; displays of jewelry and fine clothing are sure methods to arouse her suspicions and prejudices, and she’s quick to act out her role and be out of their way as soon as she can. In her eyes, they are nothing but trouble, and she has learned that limiting her interaction with them is a good way to stay out of it.


Cooking is an activity she enjoys greatly; she still has fond memories of her last years at home, when she helped her mother and father prepare dinner. She had always felt a special warmth and happiness from hearing them say her food was tasty, even if it had only consisted on boiled potatoes at the time. Preparing it for the masters was much less enjoyable. Whenever she had to cook for them, it meant Miss Bonnet, the head cook, had taken the day off, and she found it hard to avoid feeling resentment when she had to prepare luncheon in addition to her other chores. Nine years of working in the kitchens, however, honed her cooking skills to a high level, and she’s often happy to brag about them to others if given the chance.


Her Exaltation came as a very unexpected surprise; she still has some reservations about it actually having chosen the proper person, and considers it possible that the silly thing just was confused when it selected her. Still, she isn’t planning to complain any time soon; her admiration for the manor master’s abilities knew little bounds, as he was fond of displaying his control over fire before children to awe and entertain them. She only hopes that her own abilities might be strong enough eventually to rival those of a Dragonblooded like him, so that she can achieve her dream.





Marianne is but a few months past her nineteenth year; her features still retain a somewhat child-like appearance, if only slightly. While the chaos of the Wyld is kept at bay most of the time, it is inevitable for the taint to touch some of the children at birth, and she was not an exception. Her bright fuchsia hair and eyes differ from her parents’ own dull brown, and, though relatively insignificant, her ears’ appearance resembles the small horns of an owl. She displays them happily in public; while not exactly rampant, minor mutations are not so rare in the town of Noru that she has faced discrimination from any but the most bigoted of individuals. Her build is slim and lithe, though a little thinner than is probably healthy; her diet is not often consistent, and she has gone hungry from time to time when money was scarce, particularly as a child with her parents.


Her clothes are restricted to that which is appropriate for a servant; thus, other than a slightly dressier uniform given to employees by the manor for formal occasions, she usually wears simple, washed-out work clothes in dull tones. While she tries to take care of her appearance, her resources and time are limited, and it is far more common to see her running around town with her hair tied beneath a ragged scarf as she hurries to complete her errands. She envies the jewelry and finery worn by those of higher classes, but resolves to save up her meager income for meals instead, considering them to be far too expensive.
 
Ok, There's definitely some great ideas here, but please, hold on publishing them. I hope within the next few days to finalize all the basic info you need to really turn your concepts into things that will work within this game.
 
In ages past, the land of Merkal was part of Creation, a vast world, once ruled by the Solar Anathema, who were cast down by the Dragon-Blooded, who saw their evil ways, and sought to bring peace to the world.


For centuries the Dragon-Bloods' benevolent rule went well, and Creation became a better place for their actions, and the heroic sacrifice of many of their best and brigthest to vanquish the Anathema. But treachery lurked at the edges of Creation, where the Moon Mad fled to, and where they finally managed ot convince the Fair Folk to invade in vast numbers, leaving Creation in turmoil, and unraveling at the seams...


Merkal was one such place that was torn away from the rest of Creation, a land set adrift in the wyld, rpotected as it was by ancient artifacts, whom the Dragon-Bloods have managed to bring back to operation, just in time to stem the Wyld energies that threatened to tear it apart.


As rhe Dragon-Bloods reckon the years, it's been close to 800 years since that time of unraveling. The land is prosperous, yet things are changing. Some among the populace are now showing markings of the Sun and Moon Anathema. Whispers abound, and even the ruling council of the Dragon-Bloods have not decided what to do about them. Merkal stands poised at a crossroads.


Chargen:


Solars: As errata, except for the following:


No Manses or Artifacts at the beginning. Those will come during the game, depending on your actions. No backing either.


Mentor no higher than 2 dots, unless you've got a god or a Dragon-Blood to mentor you.


Resources no higher than 2 dots. None of the mortals have much money, and this represents that. We all know you'll soon have high Resources regardless, one way or another.


Lunars: As errata, and as Solars, except for the following:


You are Casteless at the begining. A Lunar retrieval pack will likely come sometime during the game, to either tattoo you, or kill you and let the Exaltation move on. On the plus side, they might decide to give you Artifact Tattoos, if they're feeling nice.


No Heart's Blood higher than 2 dots. You didn't have that much time o hunt things, and it's been more of an 'accidental thing'.


Infernals: As errata, except for the following:


You can't start with Artifacts or Manses higher than 2 dots. You're sent as a scouting party, and they do not wish to spend that many resources on what seems to be a paltry part of Creation.


No Past Lives higher than 3 dots.


You are encouraged to flip the Yozi the proverbial finger eventually, and go the Heretic route. Not necessarily as a Devil-Tiger, but that's up to you.


Dragon-Bloods: As errata, except for the following:


As masters of this land, you've had a chance to live life, they wouldn't send a newly Exalted Dragon-blood to interact with these Anathema and find out about their intentions, and whether they should be killed, or worked with, and how to accomplish that. You gain 100 xp to start.


By all means, if you've got a question, or wants to rail against something, feel free. I might be willing to bend the restrictions somewhat in some cases, but will need awesome reasons to do so, but no chance for something like the Sword of Conquest, or Mantle of Brigid.
 
...That's handy. I wasn't actually going for any artifacts above two dots anyways. It's more fun to find/make them, and LAWDY KNOWS I do intend to go a craft-ey route on him sooner or later.


Devil-Tiger... hmm. I should read up on that stuff. It sounds pretty cool. Now that chargen rules are up I can get back to work on Trevor properly; I have a major college project due friday but I think I can probably finish him up in my spare time before then. Weekend at worst. >_>
 
No beastman is part of ths land, but they could well have tumbled in from the Wyld, with a cool enough story. Yes, some God-blooded do exist, as the Dragon-Bloods are few, and every supernatural aid is welcome, which is partly why they don't go "arg, kill the Anathema!!!" right away.
 
Given the varied responses this recruitment thread has garnered what party size and composition are you hoping for? Are you looking for concepts or fully fleshed out character sheets at this stage?
 
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