Fantasy Slaves to Armok, God of Blood, Chapter 4: Godbound

[LecternOfJasper]

"A thousand worlds pillaged from a thousand souls. The Uncreated have been beaten back by 108 burning spears each 108 meters in length. The Waste that Was is reformed, and the Temple of Mouths now rises again amidst the roil of ash and smoke.

A thousand souls pillaged from a thousand worlds. And Armok bids them dance this round together."

- The Dreamer




Who are you, who has wandered so close to greatness, and fallen so low as to meet Armok's gaze? A mighty general, cut down in his prime by trusted advisors? An omnicidal clown, bleeding out of reality through a wound that could not be? The greatest villain of all worlds, shown forgiveness and left to rot in the carcass of their dying realm? Another spark of light in this newfound darkness?

These are the mighty few selected by Armok for another chance. A chance at greatness. A chance to struggle again, to cling to all they hold dear. A chance for blood and strife to be sown once more. And this chronicle will display their efforts, for good or ill.

And so you rise, you bloody few, to build into paradise what you have lost.
​

Note: All credit for the concept of Armok goes to Bay12 Games, the creators of Dwarf Fortress. I am in no way associated with the creatives behind that project, and am simply riffing on their old naming structure, because it's awesome and they're awesome. Check them out, if you dare.

 

[LucasGhost]

Turn 1
The Rat King


​

He was hungry. He always fancied himself an optimist, a good head on his shoulders helping to make the most out of any sour situation. Turns out, that wasn’t all that much help when he ended up in this hellhole. When everything caught flame he managed to scare his boys into sticking it out, but then when the flames failed to die down, well, let’s just say his boys were quick to scatter.

“Kill for a good bit o’ grub I would,” the former thief lord grumbles, slouching further against the cracked brick wall. It’s cooler in this alleyway at least, anybody else around here already knows that too though, and he’d rather not stay long for risk of something coming in from off the flame baked streets. Something much worse than a cutthroat without so much as a cut purse to his name.

He wasn’t even supposed to be in the city when that monster came, he had a job for him and his boys all lined up but somewhere along the lines the wrong meeting point must have gotten passed along. He coulda been in that fancy stuck up- what was it called again? Damn it all, tip of the tongue. South of here, he was pretty sure anyways. Didn’t matter now.

With a soot smeared hand he wipes some of the sweat off of his face. Ash and soot and broken brick hardly make for anything to eat, but there wasn’t much else around here anymore. Maybe he had ought to just cut and run, head for greener pastures. A bit of movement at the mouth of the alleyway catches his eye, knife in his hand before he fully sees the lurching shape.

Fuckin’ hells, something was coming this way.

---

​

Too bright!
Fire! Fire!
Smoke in the air, meat is burning.
Burning. Burning. Burning.
Where am I? Where am I?
Someplace new. Smells different to us.
Looks the same though. Sounds the same.
Cries and screams, quiet now. The beast is gone.
We need to hide. Please! Please!
Hide someplace dark, someplace cool.
No place left like that for us.
We can look, we can search.
Look and search and hide.
Did not turn out so well last time.
Could turn out better this time.
Last time there was a beast.
We can’t hide again.
We must hide again.
Yes.
We must.
WE MUST.
We can’t.
We should.
Where do we go?
Where it is dark and cool.
Where there is food.
WE ARE HUNGRY.
I’m so hungry.
We are so hungry.
We are so hungry.
We are so hungry.
We are so hungry.
We are so hungry.
We are so hungry.
We are so hungry.
We are so hungry.​

---

Action 1: But it was obvious that, quiet as a rat… SECRET SECRET

Action 2: When all you have… SECRET SECRET

Additional rolls:

Unnatural Selection basic Evolution check for the rats
Free action basic Evolution check for the Rat King

​

 

[CaptainSully]

The Clown​

Turn I​

_____________________​

The sound of evening crickets accompanied by the dancing of fireflies gave a warm, welcoming atmosphere next to the slow, babbling brook. The night sky was clear and a full moon lit everything in its magical light, bathing those beneath it in a faint glow. Yet as I continued far enough, trees began to appear, their density thickening with every eager, explorative step. The crickets stopped and the fireflies extinguished as the moonlight's rays grew ever dimmer, the canopy of the thickening trees obstructing the beautiful light.

Yet as darkness took hold a warmth arose within me, soft, gentle music could be heard weaving through the silent forest. Following the joyful tune and darkness made way for a warming light, at first a faint glow in the distance. With each step the light would grow, its warmth greater with every passing moment. It was like my mother's embrace, a tender hug after a terrible nightmare.

Through the thick trees the first sight of a tent appearer, large, glorious tents of red and white, the source of music and light. As the trees thinned out, more tents would come into view, until reaching the clearing. Many tents filled the space, surrounding one giant tent right at the centre. Approaching the largest of the tents, the music grew louder and louder, its welcoming tone fading to make way for something far more sinister. The soft, dulcet tones made way for off-key, shrill notes, stabbing at my senses viciously. The faint, warm glow grew into a blinding sensory overload and the safe feeling from a distance was long gone…something wasn't right.

Stopping to turn around, there it was. For all intents and purposes it looked like a man, but human it was not. A long hooked nose, dead, lifeless eyes and a blackened smile were all terrifying accompaniments to the monochrome face paint. There were stories, horrifying tales of what lay in wait within the forest but they had only ever been stories, tales to keep children from wandering off into the darkness…I should have listened.

“You…you can't be real?!” I gasped, struggling for breath. “This is a dream…I'll wake up…”

I slapped and pinched at my face and body, but it soon became clear, this was no dream. Before me the monochromatic creature stood still, arms to its side, unmoving.

“P…please…D…don't hurt me,” I begged. My body shook violently, my palms drenched in sweat. Terror had dug its claws deep into me and was unwilling to let go.

Before me, my brain finally engaged something that wasn't a fear response. I remembered the story, the tale that kept children from the forest…The Circus and The Clown. He stood before me, staring at me expressionless. I couldn't move, frozen completely in place. We stared at each other for what seemed like a lifetime.

HONK! HONK!

The Clowns arm snapped outwards and it squeezed on a horn. My body jolted in shock at the noise, before a cold wave washed over me as it revealed its putrid smile to me.

“Please…I just want to go home…” I continued to plead as tears caressed my face and liquid warmth began to trail down my leg.

Before me The Clown raised its hands to its face, its smile making way for an expression of exasperated shock. It didn't speak but it was certainly mocking me, sarcastically trying to say, ’I won't hurt you…’, but its facade soon faded.

At its feet lay a glossy black bag, I was sure it hadn't been there, yet there it now was. The Clown crouched and began to rummage through it, the sound of clinking and clanking metal a twisted soundtrack. Glistening bits of metal began to fly through the air as it threw the contents of the bag away, clearly in search of something specific. Then it stopped. Its head slowly arose revealing a demonic grin that gave my feet enough of a jolt that they began to move. As I backed away, The Clown stood up straight, its hand grasping a wooden handle tightly. From the handle numerous chains dangled and unfurled until the sharp, blood crusted razors at their end came into view.

I turned and ran, ducking and weaving between the tents until I reached the edge of the tree line from where I had come. I didn't dare turn, the sounds of clanging chains was enough to let me know that I was being chased. My legs burned, my breathing heavy but I couldn't stop, I had to get home to safety…I had to.

The rattling of its weapon grew closer, but by time my house had come into sight I was still some distance away. The fear began to fade as I could see lights on, my parents had woken up and not found me. I was hopeful that in any minute my father would come out of the door with his sword and shield and he’d run The Clown through. As the door got closer and he didn't emerge, disappointment grew but it didn't matter, I would be safe soon.

I had never opened and shut the door as quickly as I had at that moment. I slammed it shut behind me and locked it tight, pushing the nearby chest of drawers behind it. The rattling of chains stopped outside the door and silence took over. I should have ran upstairs, called out to my parents, but I had to catch my breath.

HONK! HONK!

The horn returned, viciously mocking me through the door. It continued on and on, somehow growing in volume until once again silence ruled. The beauty of the quiet snapped me back to reality and my feet rushed me up the stairs, each footstep pounding against the wood beneath my fear. At the end of the hall my parents room awaited, the glow of candlelight eking out through the small crack of the ajar door. I ran, and barrelled through the door.

“Mother! Father! The Clown!” I called out. My words were already out before my eyes could process what was before them. My mouth dropped open and my eyes filled with tears.

The once white walls were decorated in a new crimson paint, flesh and bone dangled from the rafters like twisted decorations and the blood soaked bed cradled the innards of what had once been my parents. Atop the wooden posts of the bed, the heads of my parents had been stuck, their eyes gouged out and replaced with small candles. There was a faint reddish glow through their flesh as the flames danced within the hollowed out void in their heads. I could do nothing else but drop to my knees and weep uncontrollably. I must have been there for minutes before the urge to turn around took hold.

I turned slowly to see the bloodied, grime covered finger of The Clown pointing in my face. It laughed a laugh so grand that I couldn't hear a sound of it, a silent, hilarious mocking of me and my parents fate. As it continued to take pleasure in the terror it had crafted, it raised its other arm upwards and the horrifying weapon of chains and blade came back into view. I knew my fate was decided, I knew it was time…

_____________________​

⦿ Actions:

• Action 1:

•...​

• Action 2:

•...​

 

[Kent]

Turn 1
Lin Feng

In the middle of an inconspicuous (not) valley littered with swords, some stabbed into the ground and some flying, is a man sitting in a lotus position, meditating peacefully. However, he abruptly feels a change. Nothing told him what it was but deep within him, he already knew.

"So it starts." The man opens his eyes, his gaze as sharp as the blades that surround him. He ends his meditation and stands up. All the blades in the valley starts to shake as if trying to get his attention. The man, Ling Feng, chuckles, "My friends, all of you seem to be excited for action. However, I will need you all to settle down."

All the blades suddenly stop their shaking as if receiving a command from their sovereign. Lin Feng then scans the valley in deep thought before reaching out with his hand, "Come, Ritor! The Proud Cold Blade of Shax the Giant, once a worthy enemy of mine! You will accompany me."

From the distance, a giant sword vigorously started to shake and thrums. From it erupts an aura of cold that could freeze any lowly mortal men. Then it freed itself from the ground that has long turned into its sheath and flew straight to Lin Feng. Lin Feng receives its handle with grace and smiles as he looks at the sword.

"You will see action once more as we enter the domain of Armok. We will fight worthy foes and eventually, you will join me on the ultimate fight against Armok!" Ritor vibrates with vigor, its sword spirit excited at the prospect.

Lin Fengs laughs as he swings Ritor, cutting space open and turning it into a portal to the outside world. The Sword Saint steps through the slit.
​

---

Action 1: Meditate on the Sword
The Way of The Sword is not just about swinging, but meditating on its very essence through the mind and soul.

Action 2: To the South-West the Sword Saint goes to explore that DEFINITELY NOT ominous tower.
I must explore this place. Perhaps a worthy challenge awaits me?

 

[Eliasdagood]

ANOMALY
Fire... Smoke in the halls, wallpaper twists and screams, doors show teeth and try to force themselves off their unforgiving hinges.

A gnome with bright red hair, and green scales decorating her clawed extremities, shakes her head. Well that was weird! But it's her turn to exist, and she won't waste it with weird visions of doom! She looks around, frowning. Couldn't she at least have come in around people? Ah well. Maybe one of the others will get to socialize once they take over. For now, that red place looks wild! She doesn't know why, but that building gives her a bad feeling. Maybe she can get new friends here!

ACTIONS
Travel to the dead heat
Place a door in the dead heat, and head into the labyrinth to work on improvements.​

 

[Trektek]

The Golden Mound

Turn 1



The Final Battle:

The Empire, the Xavia Empire was ever expanding. It never stopped. It ran over anyone and everyone in order to feed itself. Whether for more Slaves, more Food Stores or more Land.

They had finally arrived at the homeland of The Golden Mound. He was its protector and had kept it safe from bandits, Warlords, and Monsters for generations.

But this was DIFFERENT. The Empire was a powerful and unified force that did not care about how powerful a foe was. They were well trained and numerous. Such combinations did not bode well for his home.


But he would face them in battle, alongside the Defenders of this land. They were not nearly as well trained. And many of their new numbers were volunteers from the local farmlands.

But he would make due with what they had. They were counting on him. And he HAD to PROTECT them.

It was his Duty. It was his STRENGTH.

They dug trenches and build wooden walls to aid in their defense. It was the only supplement that he could provide in preparation.


The first wave approached. They did not seem that disciplined. In hindsight, it was to test their own strength as Defenders.

The Golden Mound took to the field and single handedly crushed the first wave.

Then the second.

And a third.

It was a fraction of what they had brought. And still, it was just a test.

A rain of arrows shot over the walls, hitting peasants and farmers whole The Golden Mound fought the fourth wave.

Flaming arrows burned the walls while mounted troops pierced through the lines.

The soldiers and poorly trained peasants could not keep up.

Screams could be heard as many were cut down in an instant.

He was only one Golem.

The enemy were too many and he was.......


NOT


STRONG


ENOUGH.

The enemy general, his helmet full of blood red feathers laughed as many ropes were flung around The Golden Mound.

Like a bucking bronco, they thought to capture him to take back home as a prize.

His right arm flung forward, launched the dozen soldiers attached to it high into the air.

But the Red Feathered General continued to laugh. He did not care how many died under his command.

Another dozen relatched the rope and soon, the large Golem as brought down to the ground, each limb tied down.

He was their prize.

The Golden Mound wept.

Not for himself. But for all the people he failed to protect. After many generations, he failed against the force of The Empire.

-------------------

The Gladiator Pits became his home. He was a prize to show off his great strength.

The people clammored for his fights as he defeated opponent after opponent.


But ever chanting was the Champion of the arena.

The Mighty Xilu. He was the best and undefeated in combat.

But if The Golden Mound could defeat him in combat, he would win his freedom.

For all the people that were lost, he must win. All that remains is counting on him to live on, to protect the weak. To keep goodness alive. Even when all seems bleak. He would spread it through the hills to the valleys. Through every avenue of The Empire.


The gate opened into the arena. At the other end stood The Mighty Xilu.

He was posing for the cheering crowd. Snorting as he showed off amazing feats of strength.

The Minotaur was IMPRESSIVE, even by that standards of a Minotaur. There were many reasons why he was THE CHAMPION of the arena and a favorite to the crowd.

The Empire's entertainment lived or died with his words.

The Golden Mound did not take much heed to his words to the crowd. They fed his own ego and in doing so, their own.

The Mighty Xilu was indicative of The Empire. He represented their overwhelming strength.

And it was that, that The Golden Mound needed to overcome.

The Mighty Xilu turned from the crowd to face The Golden Mound.

"Finally a true challenger. Though none can face the Mighty Xilu and live. The tales I've heard tell say you might last a few minutes against me!"

He turned back to the crowd, raising his arms to in the arm as they laughed at The Golden Mound.

It was this moment that The Golden Mound took to strike. He charged straight at The Mighty Xilu, causing him to move backwards, the ground betraying that he was almost dragged.

But the competitor merely chuckled.

"Huh. You actually moved me? This'll be fun!"

The Mighty Xilu charged up a punch straight at the Golden Mounds face.

What followed next was three hours of carnage. A Golden Golem of Heavy Armor against A Minotaur of impossible strength that seemed only secondary to his impossible ego.


A flash of an axe as the Right Arm of The Golden Mound fell to the floor, followed up with a kick that knocked the Golden Mound right next to it.


The Mighty Xilu was Glistening with sweat, but not panting from exertion.

"You gave me a good workout. Thanks. You actually made me sweat. I'll make sure to melt you down into a nice belt."

The axe lay heavy in the air. The Golden Mound could only think about all those that he had failed. His purpose was at an end. And he would be nothing more than a memory.


The last thing he saw was the axe as it plunged into his head....



-----------


A voice could be heard.


I'd like to see you TRY AGAIN. For my own amusement. Champion of GOODNESS. Try, try, again......



Action 1: Build a Hospital to help care for the sick and elderly. To help deal with the illness that is spreading. (Bonues to these types of actions)

Action 2: Confront the mysterious man

 

[LecternOfJasper]

Turn 1​

Lin Feng​

​

Action 1: Meditate on the Sword
The blade Ritor pulses in your hands as you focus on the blade's essence. Your thoughts turn over what you know of the blade: its power, its form, its former master - something is missing. Your ruminations turn to Shax, the many armed giant whom you wrested the blade from. He hardly wielded it as more than a speed bump on his meaty fist. And surely he did not make it. So who is the sword's original bearer? You wrack your mind, but do not know, and the blade remains an enigma for now. Perhaps should you try again, or do more research on the subject, the blade's purpose will become clearer?

Action 2: To the South-West the Sword Saint goes to explore that DEFINITELY NOT ominous tower.
The Temple of Mouths rises as not so much a tower as a dome with several long halls and entrance points within. Further, its surface is littered with maws, lips and teeth of all sizes, some of which protruding form the walls so much they block passage, or make it supremely uncomfortable. The entries are so many that you eventually find a way inside despite this....

To be resolved as a scene...

Lin-Feng has met a large giant bearing many bloody wounds and three flails. He claimed to be an unwilling servant of Armok, and left the swordsman one of his flails in case he was forgotten by the time they meet again...

Gain the Flail of Mesyazc.

Further, the Temple of Mouths was searched, and a bronze blade was found with minor enchantments and an empty socket in the pommel. Its story known to Lin Feng, the eye that once filled the socket seems to have been lost where mountains meet a great desert.

 

[LecternOfJasper]

Turn 1
Anomaly



Action 1: Travel the Dead Heat
Anomaly's travels brought them to many sights unfamiliar. Two men died at the end off one another's gun for a score decades in the making. A small antelope laid down in front of a sand cat, granting it the sustenance needed to continue on. A gang of kids pilfered a small cask of topaz from a tinker's caravan - and ran when they realized there was a witness.

Gain 1 Small Cask of Dead Heat Topaz

Action 2: Improve the Labyrinth
Anomaly's focused their energies on the chaotic mess that was their home. Legions of drifting halls folded back on themselves to please their master, wild galleries of doors appearing and reforming themselves within the grip of the Distortion. And yet, it did not seem to be greater than it was before. Maybe adding new materials would help? Or calling on another to twist the halls beyond their common purpose?​

 

[LecternOfJasper]

Turn 1
The Golden Mound

​

Action 1: Build a Hospital
A call to action was held, and the people of the Moundlands answered. In a rush to aid their compatriots, a hospital was quickly established, bringing the peak of the Moundlands' medical knowledge to the fore to resolve this issue. The doctors saw the patients, and were baffled for a time, as the sickness appeared to have a bunch of different symptoms, occurrences, and outbreaks. Eventually, after talking with a mostly unaffected patient and gathering information from the locals, they discovered the cause. The man was, bluntly and candidly, offering foods, imbibements and delicacies of an illicit nature. Many folk turned him down, of course, as the man described both the positive and negative effects of his supply with brutal honesty, though it seems a few brave souls were more curious than satisfied with their daily humdrum. Some were made quite ill in their dealings and a few people have died, though the doctors are confident those with less serious issues will make a full recovery.

Action 2: Confront the Mysterious Man
The mysterious figure when approached seems flattered that someone sought him out, and will gladly meet the Golden Mound wherever he chooses.

To be continued as a scene....

A figure calling themselves DEALS IN HONEY admits to selling illicit substances to citizens for research into the psychology of humanity. It seemed inhuman itself, and genuinely seemed to not understand the problem with this. They have been invited to stay as a guest and continue their experiments provided they work in close proximity to the new hospital to mitigate the loss of life. ​

 

[Twist]

Turn 1
The Hand of Haimas

Word Abilities:

Crime
You are a master of all things that any reasonable despot would like to see not happen. Smuggling, robbery, arson, and more come to you cleanly. You may roll Crime to commit crimes, up to and including assault and murder. Note, that in some lawless places, assault and murder are not covered by this Word. Also, turn Actions and Scene actions taken to perform any sort of crime gain an additional +1 bonus, and actions taken to identify you as the culprit are one step harder.

Unspeakable
Your crimes so profound they are known throughout the multiverse; even the dullest farmer knows of your misdeeds. You may roll Unspeakable to recall knowledge of your past misdeeds (which could really be anything at this point, provided it makes sense to be a crime committed), intimidate, or attempt to break the wills of your foes. This ability is greatly effective against people that live in especially just or law-abiding societies, and is less effective in places where being a horrible person isn't that remarkable.

Absolution
You know within you divine soul what it is to be forgiven; the deities of your past saw hope in your salvation. You may roll Absolution to help others forgive, restore hope to the failing, and purify the wicked. You do not get the normal +1 Word bonus to attacks with this Word, but those reduced to 0 Will HP with this Word do not regard you as an enemy (if they still live), and will begin to turn away from wicked deeds. This plays absolute *hell* with most demons and devils, should you wish to watch them squirm.


Gifts

Crime
Passing Sight Unseen: Twice per scene, so long as no one is looking at you, as an action, you may immediately vanish and reappear anywhere within 100 feet, provided no one is observing the targeted location. This ability fails if the desired destination is being observed, but failure does not expend the use.

Eyes of the Family: You can identify criminals just by looking at them or the crimes they've committed. The Unworthy do not get a save against this; Worthy foes and Godbound may attempt to save using their Awareness to foil this ability. This could be very useful in setting up criminal organizations, bringing others to justice, or many other tasks.​

​

Unspeakable
Aura of Infamy: Your very visage strikes fear into the hearts of mortals, as even when they don't recognize your face, your actions have a lingering effect on their psyche. You may activate this aura as a free action on your turn. While it is active, all creatures that see you are automatically attacked by your Unspeakable skill vs Will as the recoil in fear. This attack occurs on your turn when you activate it. At the beginning of an opponent's turn, if they can still see you, they take a lesser version of this attack (Unspeakable/2 vs. Will) every round until you are incapacitated or out of sight.

Whispered Rumors: You may spread rumours - true or false - about yourself or your misdeeds with ease, as well as render such rumours mute. When you meet someone for the first time, you may decide how much they know about you and your misdeeds. If you do this on a large scale as an action, you may bring great unrest to another's domain. Additionally, you may force others to remain silent about your actions, rendering them literally unspeakable. Unworthy do not get a save; Worthy foes and Godbound may save against this affect once per turn.​

​

Absolution
Sacred Sanctuary: You may spend a Grit point to sanctify an area or building to serve as holy ground. Both the righteous and the wicked flock to such places, though the wicked may not know why. You may make all sorts of contacts here, who will regard you with at least indifference. Physical or magical attacks cannot be made in such a place, other than those powered by divine Words. The sanctity of such a location is broken by such an attack made by someone other than you.
Additionally, in such sacred ground, your Absolution attacks are more effective and gain a +1 bonus, and there is a 50% chance a given target does not realize that divine power is at work.


Domain
Shadow of the Hand

Crime: The presence of the Shadow near other domains casts a wrench into their operations, whether that be an unfortunately sticky criminal presence approaching paragons of good or embattled paladins who keep getting lost in the trenches and depths of evil. Nearby domains have their unrest increase, which has a chance of inhibiting actions. You may choose one of these to be affected less, and one of these to be affected more (there will be a good 3-6 surrounding domains).

Unspeakable: The atrocities committed here have long since caused all mild souls to abandon this place, and this approach continues well into the new world. Traffic between the Shadow of the Hand and surrounding domains is greatly reduced. This reduces the affect of neighbours societal issues (e.g., plagues, social movements, and elsewise), though significant (honest) trade is also pretty unlikely without some major work.

Absolution: This with nowhere else to turn can only turn to you (or, well, the other people on the map with similar Words). While in your domain, a unit of Condemned are available at any time. If any conflicts break out in your domain, you gain an extra unit of Condemned on top of your usual military allotment.

Weakness: Desolation
Originally the land of Halvos, now only a desiccated husk of it's former glory. Once a nation rich in beauty and natural wealth, the Shadow land bears little resemblance to its past, and what does remain is only a twisted imitation wrought by Haima's Hand. It would be incredibly difficult to squeeze useful resources out of your domain, as even the obvious ones (e.g., lumber from the Hangman's Forest) have been twisted beyond use by your earlier workings.

In the quiet of the cabin by the lake, the Hand of Haimas worked with steady hands, shaping the twisted remnants of his past into something new. Once, these hands brought terror to Halvos, earning him a name that advocated his role as Evil's right hand. But now, they sought to create, to build something that might bring him a measure of peace—though he knew, deep down, that it was likely beyond his reach.

His journey to this place had been long and heavy with regret. He had wandered through the ruins of Halvos, the land he once ruled, now twisted and darkened by the weight of his sins. The shadow of the hand's work. Regret and shame had clung to him like a shroud, a constant reminder of the horrors he had unleashed. It was during this grim trek, these horrors became even more apparent.

As he past a forest of tortured trees, one moved ominously towards him, a woman hanging from it's branches by a rope, with even more trailing behind it. Taking a few paces away from it, the Hand moved off with increasing speed leaving the shambling tree and the forest behind. Trails of smoke billowed into the blood red sky in the distance from fields and fields of burning farmland. As he neared it, men of fire and ash watched from the roads and fields with their burning gaze, the residents of the once verdant fields of Krum and Cardonia, of Shrump and Blacktan. The Hand had wronged many and he was quickly recalling it all. His trek continued bringing him to the river Wazh where now lay a bloated bridge of his creation. The piles of bodies were picked at by ravens, the carrion eaters flicking their heads towards him as he approached, cawing and crowing. When he was almost upon them, the birds took flight and form, merging together into a being of shadow and death which as quickly as it arrived, disappeared.

When hope seemed lost and his world truly dead, the Hand stumbled upon the lake and the cabin sitting atop it—a gift, he realized, from the gods who had not yet fully abandoned him. In their all knowing eyes he had been forgiven, absolved of his sins, as he plummeted from the Spire of Shadow in a moment of self sacrifice that freed his nation from his and evil's tyranny. A sacrifice that would have granted him passage to the stars, and perhaps a place on the Turtel pantheon. Though damnation was perhaps more fitting.

By the lake, the Hand found a strange peace, a stark contrast to the twisted landscapes he had left behind. But the cabin was empty, a mere shell waiting to be filled. He understood then that his path to redemption would not be easy; it would require more than just his presence—it would require effort, his hands turning destruction into creation.

As he left his cabin on the water, and crossed it's wooden walkway, he found something waiting by the lake side. Another gift. A mule of good size and build, the creature had a head of shimmering silver, a ring of light around it's neck. It's body however was riddled with dark veins and cantankerous sores though as he approached the beast it did not seem stressed or fazed by it's injuries. Watching him with eyes that harboured a sad but hopeful glimmer, this mount, a blend of light and shadow, would be his companion in the journey ahead it seemed.

He rode back through the twisted land, seeking the tools and resources he would need to transform the cabin into a home. His first stop was the Bridge of Bodies, where the drowned dead of his reign lay in eternal unrest. Among the lifeless forms, he found an axe—its blade tarnished and worn, yet still sharp enough to serve his purpose. He took it, knowing it had once belonged to a soldier who had fought and died because of him. Bowing his head, he asked for forgiveness as he carefully stripped the bodies of some of their clothes.

Next, he ventured to the Fields of Everburn, where the flames of his past sins continued to rage, consuming all they touched. In the charred remains of a village long destroyed, he found a saw, its handle blackened by fire but still strong. This tool, too, had a history, its teeth once used to build homes that he had later burned to the ground. He took it, feeling the weight of his actions with every step as he moved on. Finding a stack of blackened straw, he pulled from it clumps and slung them on to his mule.

Finally, he returned to the Hangman’s Forest, where the trees were withered and hung heavy with the bodies of those he had condemned. Embedded in the bark of a particularly gnarled tree, he found a hammer and nails. The wood of the hammer’s handle was rough and splintered, but it would serve. The nails, once used to seal the fate of many, would now be used to create instead of destroy. With his axe, he worked the tree, the circle of red where once was his hammer and nails a sobering target.

Armed with these tools, the Hand returned to the cabin by the lake. The work was slow, but there was solace in it. Each piece of furniture he completed—a bed, a table, chairs—was more than just an object; it was a symbol of his penance, a tangible act of creation in a world where he had once only known how to destroy. Yet, as he worked, a dark realization settled over him. The materials he gathered—the twisted wood, the charred straw, the tattered fabric—were not enough. They were tainted by the very same darkness that had once defined him. As much as he tried to transform them into something new, something pure, he knew that they would never be enough to reforge his shattered nation. The land of Halvos, scarred and broken, required more than what he could offer with these remnants of his past.

To make Halvos liveable again, to truly redeem himself and his nation, he would need to gather stronger, purer resources. But such resources were scarce in the Shadow of the Hand, twisted as it was by his reign. He knew then that he would have to resort to his old ways, to once again use the ruthlessness that had defined him, to take what was needed by force if necessary. The thought filled him with dread, but also with a grim determination.

He had tried to build something new, something better, using the remnants of his past. But now, he understood that to truly rebuild this broken land, to cleanse the darkness he had wrought, he might have to walk the line between light and dark once more. Redemption, it seemed, was not a straight path, and the Hand of Haimas knew he was far from finished with his journey.

Actions
Explore the Shadow of the Hand (Word Ability Crime used)
Explore the Dead Heat (Eyes of the Family/ Whispered Rumours) (Word Ability Crime used if applicable)

 

[LecternOfJasper]

The Hand of Haimas
Turn 1​

​

Action 1: Explore the Shadow of the Hand

The Shadow of the Hand is just as it always was, it seemed, the land of Halvos twisted into a mockery of its past glory by his very own hands. He walked the lands anyways, so see if anything was changed within to match the changes without. His walk refamiliarized himself with the lands to the outskirts of his castle and grounds, with ruined fields, twisted trees, and the very spirits of the damned calling for the heads of their betrayers.

Eventually, he did find something new. Great slabs of earth were heaved up and balanced against each other, forming a small grotto in the center of a field.

Inside, the Hand spotted an angel, rent through by its own spear, a single ruby tear falling from its avian eye as it met the gaze of this land's reincarnated tyrant. It gasped weakly, and burst into a hot white flame, burning wildly until all that was left was ash, a pile of silvered feathers still lit by that white flame, and a tear-drop shaped ruby nestled in the pit.

The grotto is barren of any other marking. This gift will have to speak for itself.

(Gain Flickering Angel feathers and a Ruby Tear)


Action 2: Explore the Dead Heat (Establish Smuggling Ring)

The Dead Heat, however, was another story. Scum and people much the same abound in this area, and there are far more people here that have committed crimes than haven't. And so the web began to form, as the Hand met a guy who knows a guy, a general contractor, a fixer, a corrupt storehouse manager... it was almost too easy to coordinate a group that both knew who he was and how to organize any number of criminal acts.

Therefore, it shouldn't come as a surprise when the Hand of Haimas found himself surrounded one night by the type of opportunists that wouldn't be caught dead without at least three knives.

To be continued as a scene....

 

[Cosmo]

Xavia
[Mighty Xilu]
Turn 1
​

---

Empress Lucetta Arvina

The large ornate chamber was filled with the sounds of shuffling papers and the constant scratching of quills, it was an endless blur of sound broken only be the occasional cough or slurping as water was hastily poured into small cups for them to drink. The writing was frenzied, men and women huddled over their desk, their heads barely kept up by sheer willpower as they worked without rest. Far too often, papers had to be redone as the bleeding palms of the scribes dripped down onto the paper, each time brought out frustrated, exhausted curses. A steady stream of servants came and went, taking papers, bringing more, taking spent inkpots and bringing new quills. At the center, upon a raised floor, was a massive desk where a beautiful woman with dark hair and sharp features nestled. Her quill moved at a breakneck pace, her beautiful eyes moving from page to page as she wrote long sweeping decrees or merely to sign her name. Much like the rest, she had been in this place for far too long, but unlike the rest, she showed no sign of exhaustion, no curse slipped past her ruby lips, her movements were precise and her eyes sharp as if exhaustion was simply forbidden from entering her mind.

"Empress, the oracles still aren't sure what happened and-" a scribe read aloud from a new paper, and without looking up, she answered, "Send them two thousand sestertius and a thousand more to the pontifex maximus at his estate, they have until the morrow to make something believable to tell the criers," her voice was firm, each word said with strength and finality, as if the world itself would bend if she command it to.

"Yes, my Empress," the scribe said, his quill furiously cutting a path along the paper as he took down her decree before he could hand it over to be signed.

"My Empress, the inventory of grain has been tallie-" a small voice said as a mousy woman picked up her scroll filled with numbers and calculations and quickly leaned over to double check from another scroll, her mouth opened to say, but she closed it as she faltered.

"Speak," Empress Arvina said, her hands still dancing across her own paper, her dark eyes upon a different one entirely.

"Three months, if rationing holds," the scribe said almost so softly her voice was nearly lost to the rustling of papers.

"Which means we have four months if corruption is not accounted for," the dark eyed empress said without bothering to look up, "Have new, proper, measurement cups created that are made to the correct scale, write up a decree that they are to ensure the granary holds out until harvest, if they fail, their children will be forfeit, those without children will be flayed."

"Y-Yes, your Empress," the scribe said as she dived back into her work, eager to quickly be forgotten in the tide of other aides..

There was a loud slam as the heavy ornate wood doors were thrown open, several of the scribes jumped and some let out dismayed cries as they had knocked ink over the parchment they had worked on and quickly worked to salvage what they could. Still the Empress did not look up from her growing mountain of work.

"Empress! I demand to be heard!" a loud voice said, belonging to a thin, but tall, man dressed in a fine robe of silk and silver threads. Behind him marched two bodyguards and, around them, a group of praetorians that had tried, and failed, to ward him off.

"Name," she said, her eyes still on her work

"Prorex Gneus Ectorius of Dalmire," the man said, although his voice held the tiniest hesitation to it

"Children?" Empress Arvina questioned, her voice almost bored as if she was asking about the location of her dinner

"I fail to see how t-"

"Two, my Empress," a scribe chimed from the corner, an unrolled scroll on their lap as they traced the mans family lineage upon it.

"The youngest is to have their right leg removed at the knee," Arvina said, her hand still working its way across the paper, her dark eyes still yet to rise, "The Ectorius family must be taught how to kneel when approaching their Empress, let their youngest serve as a reminder to the rest."

"You can't do this!" the man roared, whatever hesitation that had evaporated by outrage fury.. and fear. He took a single step forward before the sound of ringing steel stopped him as the Praetorians unsheathed their blades as one.

"Can't I?" Arvina siad as she worked, her eyes dancing from paper to paper, "Prorex of a territory that has vanished, there is little I can't do. Say another word, and I shall have your eldest flayed and force your wife to wear it to the funeral. Now leave me, if you desire an audience, send in a request through the proper channels."

His mouth opened and fell, his eyes glanced around at the Praetorians that surrounded him, his hands tightened into fist.. and for the first time, the Empress dark eyes lifted from her work to capture his, "Leave."

A jolt ran through his body and before he realized it, he was outside the doors as they slammed in his face.
​

---

Actions
1. In this desert, with so little and so far removed from their great empire, Empress Arvina has proclaimed that the Great Aqueducts shall be repaired so that the landowners around the city can once again grow fields of grains to feed the populace. [Investing my only EP into this!]

2. Their land must be secured, Empress Arvina has decreed that Xavia, or at least, what chunk of it has been moved to this new realm, shall be explored and catalogued. To find potential resources, dangers or men and women of means and merit that can aid it [Exploring my own lands!]


​

 

[LecternOfJasper]

Xavia

Turn 1


​

ACTION 1: REBUILD THE AQUEDUCT - A RATTY MENACE
Luckily, it appears much of the aqueduct is still intact. With the influx of government funding to reconstruct the parts of it that have fallen into disrepair over the years, the structure has returned to functionality. What farmers there still are out here help themselves to the water, and the empire pretends not to notice, as is custom, and soon food production is on the rise again.

What wasn't accounted for by the farmers, the workers, or the functionaries, was the sheer amount of rats that could crop up in the area. The farmers despaired at first, but began to realize the rats were good eating too. The people of the capital, however, had a different opinion of their new guests, and any gains with the public that may have been had from this rather grand move have been offset by the ratty menace.

Partial Success. Food, if unorthodox, has been achieved, and water flows to the city once more. Public opinion neither raises nor lowers, and Unrest stays neutral. Gain 2 units of Dire Rat Meat and 2 units of Dire Rat bone (surplus to normal food stores). While the Ratty Menace continues, the rat catchers will continue to profit and pass you more rat, and the people will begin to grow restless.

ACTION 2: EXPLORE OUTER XAVIA - A FIND, OF SORTS.
Many patrols have been sent out to see what strange changes might have been brought to their lands. They appear mostly intact, save for the rather obvious lack of them extending along quite sharp borders....

There is one thing that is amiss. Multiple scouting parties went missing near the north east of what's left of the empire before a slightly smarter scouting party was sent. There appears to be a cave set into the side of a midsized hill, and signs of a battle just before the entrance, though a mysterious lack of whole bodies in the scuffed sand and rotting meat that is all that's left of those who came before.

Gain one reticent monster. You may either fight it now, leave it for later, or do a secret, third option of your design. To be continued as a scene....

The beast has been slain, to the roar of applause from the still-living members of the Mighty Xilu's crowd. A variety of interesting components were found in its layer and its body, including some sophisticated research into Necromancy.

​

 

[Wew the Polymath]

NEW TOWN POST, READ ALL ABOUT IT. JOURNAL OF DAKOTA DUKE FOUND AFTER RAMPAGE

I got up from the warm sand of the Dead Heat, my head ringing and my eyes feeling like someone stabbed needles into them. I sat up and coughed from the dust irritating my throat. No matter how long you've lived here, you never quite get used to the sand. Wracking my brain, I tried to remember how I got here. There was a fight. Damien was there. Some little goblin creature ranting about how I was going to be part of his game. Ah. The goblin. That's what got me here probably.

That thing was despicable. Felt like hate. I tried reasoning with him, and he rewarded me by turning all the blood in my arms to needles. Hurt like a snakebite, but I'm tougher than that. Tried burning the fucker from the inside out and he just laughed. Walked away, telling me to "consider his offer." Said he was "real interested in me 'specially too." Can't help but think he was making fun of the way I talk.

After that monster visited things got bad real fast. Bar brawls between guys who used to share drinks for years. People sticking buck knives into stomachs over fool's gold. Real bad shit. I ain't an idiot. I know who was to blame. I tried to get things under control. I really did. I preached, I ministered, I begged.

But then one day I heard a shriek coming from Beau's house. Sounded like his wife. At this point I was real tired, I was getting sick just walking up to the house. Beau loved his wife, even when things got crazy in the past couple weeks, he loved her so deeply. Stayed on his porch with a shotgun for anyone trying to break in.

And Beau? He was my first friend when I made it to the Dead Heat. Showed me how to go toad gigging. We got drunk so many times with him and the old crew, and he showed up to every one of my sermons. He was an honest, salt-of-the-earth man. He'd give you the shirt off his back if you asked. He was too honest for this hellhole. Best of all, he always encouraged me to minister to the lost souls of the desert. It was a breath of fresh air when my brother, Damien, just told me the evil needed a bullet between the ears.

So anyways. I burst the door down and saw their kid lying there, head splattered open and brains sliding out like wet oats. She was holding his body and just sobbing and screaming. I've seen my share of shit. But seeing that broke me. I held her baby boy in my arms and tried to heal him. I knew it wouldn't work but I tried. God I tried.

Then Beau stumbled out of their dining room, blood dripping from his eyes. He was yellin' gibberish and wavin' his empty shotgun around. His wife pressed herself against the wall, dragging the body of her only child with her. Begging him to stop.

Something inside me snapped. I looked at him and that white flame built in his belly and ate him alive. Didn't make a peep till he was about to go. It was like a switch flipped in him, and he looked at his family and yelled this primal yell I'd never heard before. That thing that laid before me, charred. That wasn't Beau right? I don't know.

The next few hours were a haze. I felt empty, walking through the town. Burning anyone that looked funny. These were my friends. My found family. They were fucking sick. They weren't them anymore. But I just wandered through the town like a vengeful spirit all the same. And it was always the same reaction. They'd drop to the ground, and a switch would flip. They'd come back right before death.

Eventually the burnings felt good. They felt right. Makes me sick to say. That little voice in my head, always telling me to do the right thing. It stopped. My gut wanted me to go to other towns and cleanse them. And cleansed I did. I don't know how many people I killed, I lost count. Near the end I stopped worrying about screening my victims. I just killed anything that moved.

Then came Damien. He must've heard about what I did. He just walked into town with this sad look in his eye. Normally when Damien goes after "sinners" he gets this determined look in his face. Like he knows he's doin' the right thing. But this time he had an air about him. Said it was my time.

I ain't a fighter. I always was a talker. Always always a talker. Damien? Came out of the womb with a 20 gauge. Didn't take much effort. He blew holes in me and I feel. And now I guess I'm here. Least I got my wits about me now. Pray they stay this time. At least long enough to make that goblin pay.

ACTIONS
1. Confront mystery force that is coming to my town! I'm not talking about twist btw.
2. Invest 1 EP to equip army with better equipment.

FORTUNE ROLL
6

 

[LecternOfJasper]

Dakota Duke

Turn 1

​

ACTION 1: THE HILTHEAD HIGHWAYMAN
Usually, when a man with a grudge comes to town, there's a scuffle, a duel, and that's that. But some men like as not think they're bigger than others, and strike out in rage against concepts. To the Hilthead Highwayman, the town of Ramston killed his wife. And for that, the town of Ramston must burn.

Best to remind him that one thug and his lackeys can't tip the scales too hard, eh?

To be continued as a scene....

ACTION 2: ARMS AND ARMOR
The mighty forces of Dakota Duke are looking a bit ragtag these days. Might be best to spruce them up a notch. What you could scrounge may make a difference between life and death out here in the Heat.

Choose one:
Fixed Charge: Once per fight, when an enemy moves within 3 spaces of your mining crews, they can activate a fixed charge they placed there earlier in the day, dealing damage based on their Explosives skill.

Fireball: Once per fight, as an action your Fiery Motes may blast the area your foes are standing, hitting two adjacent units and targeting Speed instead of Might.

Whiteflame Abjuration: Once per fight, your Inspired Firebrands may trap the wicked in purifying flame, damaging Speed instead of Might as a Bind.

Fortune: The lands on this side off the Heat are prosperous, and the generosity of your people has been shown. From the miners come precious metals and gems, and the rangers have found a new stand of Springwood, an exceptionally light and sturdy wood excellent for construction and some weaponry.

Gain 1 EP in precious metals and 1 unit of Springwood

 

[ThatWhichShouldBe]

Dust, darkness, death.

Corpses shambling in eternal shadow.

Knights rising only to fall amidst the ruins of kingdoms past.

A night that never ends. A despair that is ceaseless. The grave is no rest.

Then. A light.

A guiding meteor, streaking across the sky.

In this fallen land, that lies eternally bereft- There is something new. Something wonderful.

A guiding star peers down with a smile. It reaches out a hand.

"It's a sad thing to be alone. Shall we go on together?"

---

Some beings cannot accept even so- this thing called 'Hope'. It is a fragile thing, some say. It is a thing with bright feathers and gentle countenance, and so it must be a trick. It is a thing they would not embrace, some say, for they are beasts of the dark. They revel in the darkness where there is no grace. A hunched over creature is scrabbling in the guts of a helpless innocent, and they look up at the star with scorn. This, they hold out a bloodied eye cupped in a taloned hand, is what comes of soft things like you. They grace their head with entrails and laugh.

This, they say with their intestine-wreath, is the only crown worth wearing. A red crown. What can you do in the face of my fury?

The ghoul looks up with mockery in his eyes. And the star descends. Their eyes meet one another, and the mockery dies. The ghoul raises their voice in a soundless cry, a pitiful howl of challenge. Raging even as the warm starlight scorches their thoughts to the four winds, their memory to the bedrock, their soul to ash. The star replies with quiet words, even though there is nothing left of the ghoul to hear.

"Little crawling thing...
Hope is soft,
and gentle,
and kind.

All these things are true.

But it is not weak."

But there is one who hears. A helpless, innocent woman stirs- her guts spilled out onto the ground, her eye ripped from their head. She looks up at the star, feeling her wounds knitting together, her strength returning. Her sole remaining pupil widens, and a smile begins to stretch across her face.

---

Action 1: Learning.
Explore the lands of Lost Carcosa for magics, seeking the services of mages and learning new spells to augment the Star's libraries- the land must be prepared for the coming days.

Action 2: A Beacon.
Send scouts and possibly diplomats to establish contact with the Mothblown Heath- investigating whether it is as peaceful as it seems, and if so, perhaps beneficial arrangements can be made. There is chaos in these lands, and there will be much battle upon them soon. One less front would be helpful... and if the Heath is in need of hope... Then the Star known as Simon Whateley can provide.

 

[deer]

The Whispering Vale

Ghost

03

Tranquility

03

Light

02

Violence

01

Necromancy

02

Intelligence

02

Charisma

04

Awareness

03

Actions

1. Explore The Whispering Vale to learn about the spirits and undead who dwell there. Perhaps hidden histories of the land (Ghost)​

2. Search for lost souls to assist them, bringing respite and peace, while seeking information about the world beyond the Vale.​

Free Action: Call to Service - Seek & find a companion to assist her in The Whispering Vale. She will use this roll to successfully enlist their service for three turns (1 Will).​

"Cleeemmmm!” A high-pitched cry pierced the quiet of the vale.

Snot dripped steadily from her nose, and tears cascaded down her face without pause. She struggled to breathe, each gasp interrupted by persistent hiccups.

Claudia was utterly lost. Captivated by the erratic flutter of a butterfly’s wings, she followed it until she stumbled. Her legs buckled, and her knee struck a sharp rock. It burned and ached, and the sight of blood oozing from the scrape only intensified her cries.

“Clemmmm, where are you?” she wailed, her voice cracking with fear. “Clem?”

The rustling of leaves diverted her attention from the pain. A faint whimper escaped her lips as she curled into herself, trying to make herself as small as possible. She hoped to shield herself, praying it wasn’t a big-toothed animal that could devour her whole. Shaking, Claudia whimpered again before she felt something touch her. A hand.

“Claudie!” an exasperated voice called out. “It’s me.”

At the sound of her brother’s voice, Claudia opened her eyes. “Clem!” Before Clement could react, Claudia threw herself into his arms, sobbing uncontrollably. “You found me! I waited under the tree like you said, but you didn’t come back.”

“Ew, Claudie, your snot’s all over my shirt,” Clement said, grimacing. His expression softened as he continued, “I told you to wait. The mountains isn't a playground. What did I tell you?”

Claudia sniffled as she slowly got up and assisted her brother. “You said you’d come back and to stay put.”

With a sigh, Clement shook his head and said, “Let’s find a way out of here. It’s getting dark.” As he turned to leave, he extended his hand towards Claudia, prompting her to take it. “Hold on tight.”

Claudia grasped his hand firmly, her small fingers clutching it as though it were her only lifeline. She nodded, her fear easing slightly in his comforting presence.

─── {⌘} ───​

A dramatic sigh echoed through the once-grand halls. Mordric rolled his eyes. “Hello?" he drawled in a sing-songy tone, "Earth to Anastasia!”

“Hm?” A light, absent-minded response slipped out without reservation.

Home was a distant memory compared to her temporary respite in The Whispering Vale. Any thought, rhyme, or reason for her being plucked into this new world was beyond her understanding. However, she never complained but endured gracefully, resolving herself to embark on the journey. Whenever voices of pain and cries were heard, she floated near, unwavering and unwary. Curiosity bested her, and regret feared her.

Her stay in the ruined castle felt frozen in time, a shadow of its former glory. Moss clung to its ancient stone walls, creeping into every nook and cranny. Overgrown grass and tangled vines wove through the crumbling floor. Some stones were preserved while others were cracked, creating an uneven structure.

Anastasia often wandered, feeling the thickness of the air and the dampness around her. Beauty could be found almost anywhere, as specks of light filtered through the rose-colored glass panels of the broken windows in the morning. They cast faint patterns of undiscernible images on the ground. Though the castle barely illuminated the remnants of what it once was, Anastasia could still picture it clearly in her memory.

However, at the sound of a loud cry, Anastasia turned to Mordric, her eyes narrowing. “Mordric…”

He knew that tone all too well and gulped. “Don’t look at me like that, miss. I made sure there weren’t any stragglers nearby… at least, not within a few miles…”

“Mordric, the Vale is vast!" She clicked her tongue and shook her head, folding her arms. "If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re deliberately avoiding the search.”

"No way, ma'am. Not this old dingy bat!" Mordric flapped his wings, stretching them wide to show his strength.

With a small amused head shake, Anastasia made her way to the sound of the cries. As they neared, she noted a boy and a girl and a scene that appeared that they were finally reunited. Her heart untangled and fingers unclenched, relieved to see no harm had found them yet.

Nodding to Mordric, Anastasia said, "Looks like duty calls, Mordric. Do try to be kind."

─── {⌘} ───​

Anastasia stifled a laugh at the scene unfolding before her.

Branch in hand and Claudia huddled behind him, Clement stood in a protective stance, brandishing the branch at the white bat flapping in front of them. “Stay back! Go away! I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Our blood doesn’t taste good, Mr. Bat!” a frightened Claudia called out from behind him.

Clement, however, hissed at her words.

“Let's all calm down. I’m just here because you two look lost. I can show you a way back to… well, wherever you came from. Certainly not from around here,” Mordric dryly observed.

Upon hearing the bat speak, Clement froze, the branch slipping from his hand. “You… you…”

“Can talk!” an excited Claudia exclaimed, reacting more cheerfully to the talking bat.

“Who else would it be?” Mordric clicked his tongue before dropping down to land on Claudia’s shoulder. “Is he always like that? He should calm down before his blood pressure rises.”

With a grumbling Clement trailing behind them, Claudia chatted with Mordric. However, as the sun began to set, Anastasia floated behind them from a distance, cautious to not alarm them. She paused, lifting her palm and closed her eyes in concentration. A small orb of light formed under her palm.

“Follow and guide them, be the light down the darkened path,” she whispered. At her words, the orb moved toward Mordric, who immediately recognized it as a sign that his keeper was near, offering her assistance.

─── {⌘} ───​

A long, long, long time ago​

"Varkata," he sneered, words laced with a venomous bite as he grasped her arm tightly. A guttural growl escaped from the back of his throat, a sickening twist as he spat, "Anastasia!"

In an instant, he dropped her.
She fell.

codebydeer​

 

[LecternOfJasper]

Simon Whateley

Turn 1


​

Action 1: Explore Lost Carcosa for Magics (An Encounter with A Star-Maddened Naturalist)
Simon's travels across this domain he's descended upon have led to him encountering quite a few odd characters. Some magical beings had closed themselves off behind labyrinths full of entirely unrelated creatures of the night, and others shout their scorn plainly at the "beings from beyond"- most inscrutable, though not all unfriendly.

It was close to the end of this journey that he spied what turned out to be the most helpful stop. A wandering natural philosopher and magician followed by a menagerie of creatures and whose eyes reflect stars that are no longer there. It would be nearly impossible for anyone to notice that, but the Godbound of Stars knows the sky better than anyone. He seems quite set in the path he would not disclose - but offered a secret to his guest in exchange for a story of another world.

Should a story be provided, choose one of the following:
Secret of Blackened Ice: Once per scene, as an action you may roll Stars to form a stellar shadow over an area, potentially freezing a foe in place until they can break free.

Secret of Strangled Mana: Once per scene, as an action you may roll Hope to spread your Magic Resistance to a number of targets equal to the number of successes for a number of rounds equal to the number of successes.

Secret of Night's Path: The Star-Maddened Naturalist has seen the signs, and knows there is a blot of Uncreated Night within one hex- the entrance to a Night Road. He offers the location with enough specificity to find it without issue....

Action 2: Explore the Mothblown Heath
Simon's diplomats find the Heath to be mostly pleasant. The sun rises here, though it seems to hover around the horizon for longer than it should, the evenings stretching long, to the pleasure of the locals. Though there are some small outlying homesteads and hamlets, a small town nestled in the center of the Heath boasts very little agriculture at all, and seems to have daily festivals extending through the night. The dance is led by a spirited woman sporting a single butterfly wing and a blade that reflects oddly in the afternoon sun....

A bottle of honey wine and an invitation to join the festivities at any time was offered, though they seemed reluctant to speak of the trials ahead during the party. The scouts thought it better to return with the information they received before partaking in either....

Gain Mothblown Mead and an invitation to the Twilit Dance. May be resolved as a scene....

 

[LecternOfJasper]

The Ghost of the Whispering Vale

Turn 1

​

Action 1: Exploring the Whispering Vale: An Encounter with the Eaters of the Dead

The Vale seemed, among other things, teeming with the souls of those not yet departed. Whether by love, loss, or heartbreak, these sorry few seem to linger on. She is nearly attacked by lingering shades in the mountains, but upon showing them her light, they backed away with due reverence. The dead have many responses to their queen floating among them, from laughter, to sadness, to some not recognizing her at all.

But there is one thing they all tell her: there are some valleys of the mountains spirits go to that they do not return from. And those places seem to be spreading, slowly.

Due investigation revealed a valley in which no spirits dwelled. And littered along the ground were dozens of sinewy... plants? Roots? Either way, they sported long jagged teeth lining a gaping maw no plant should rightfully have. They tried not to move once Anastasia got within sight, but she could tell they were turning slightly to follow her movements.

And yet... she could also feel a small kinship with these beasts. As if they no longer belong to the dead, but maybe they once were....

Upon interrogating them from a safe distance, the best one of them managed to rasp was "How does it end?"

Gain an infestation of Eaters of the Dead. Sustaining themselves on what they can pull from the departed, perhaps they can be quelled or even brought to heel by a finished story? Feed them Tales of Terror, Somber Recounts, Dramatic Conclusions, Recalled Fables or the like to quell the beasts. Give them Searing Engimas, Exalted Mysteries, Dreadful Paradoxes, or the like to rile them up, if that seems sensible. Give them nothing, and they will slowly expand and devour the dead of the Vale in an attempt to sate themselves....

After a certain level of investment, the situation will evolve.

Action 2: Assisting the Souls of the Vale
Many of the beings that dwell in this place have given up on true eternal rest, whatever unfinished business that has brought them back being left long in the past. But, when word spread of their new Queen's ability to save them regardless, those who held out hope flocked to her castle, and begged for release from this life. And so, she began to save them, or at least bring them peace from their long-held turmoil. She learned far more of these people from letting them come to her than in her previous wanderings, and they spoke at length about themselves, their lives, and their ends. What's more, it seems there's no end to the dead that seek their peace here, and those from stranger lands grow in number every day....

Gain 2 stories from the following, and choose one additional one each Turn hereafter:
Tale of Terror
Somber Recount
Dramatic Conclusion
Recalled Fable
Searing Engima
Exalted Mystery
Dreadful Paradox

These are a resource, as much as material goods in other lands are. Anastasia may expend a story to gain a bonus to a Charisma or Intelligence roll relevant to the story at hand (for example, a Tale of Terror would be able to grant a bonus on Intimidation).

Further, she gains the basic information available about all surrounding hexes, and more detailed information about two hexes of her choice.

Call to Service: The Service of a Thrice-Dead Leshy
Some say fae and other spirits of nature cannot truly die. These people are wrong, though it is a bit harder for death to stick to them. Life appears to have finally left this stalwart spirit of the forest, and it has wandered to the Vale as many others do. Anastasia has coaxed Borovoi the Thrice-Dead Leshy into service for a time.

Gain Borovoi the Thrice-Dead Leshy
Level 1 Hero
Defenses:
Might: 4
Speed: 2 (1)
Will: 3

Skills:
Violence: 4
Charisma: 1
Intelligence: 2
Awareness: 3
Plant Magic: 3 (Ranged, Targets Speed, Damages Speed)

Abilities:
Fade into Shadow (Circumstantial Advantage to Awareness in dim light or darker)
Rootbound Grapple (Debilitating Bind, Might, Speed, Violence, Concentration)
Constrict (Circumstantial Advantage to Violence against foes affected by Rootbound Grapple)

 

[LucasGhost]

Turn 2
The Rat King

​

Now this wasn’t bad at all. The fire crackled in the pit one of the lads had hastily dug out, spreading the aroma of somethin’ akin to grilled leeks as the dryad’s flesh slowly charred. Frankie never had grilled dryad before but it wasn't bad, the longer it cooked the easier it was to bite. The char gave it a bit o’ flavor too, which was always a plus. Now Frankie wasn’t picky or anything, it just wasn't the sort of thing that cropped up in a place like Anhedonia. The bit of mead he managed to scrounge up a few days back (hidden away behind some freaky looking statues) certainly helped to wash it down though.

The mages weren’t exactly of the same sort that his boys used t’ be, but that wasn’t exactly a problem either. Better, if anything, cause now he knew for sure he could outrun the poor bastards if the rats turned on them again. They calmed down of course, but swarms of rats charging after you certainly put some things in perspective. Like how it was a whole lot better to be running with the rats than away from them, generally speakin’.

And so long as he was generally speakin’, he was also going to be sayin’ that he wasn’t all that keen on this idea the Rat King told ‘em. Not that he exactly had any other ideas to do elsewise, but it didn’t exactly make a man jump in line when it was his own bits and bobs that were on the chopping block. It wasn’t all that strange though, plenty ‘o folks went and done stuff like that in Anhedonia before the fire, he just wasn’t too keen on being the first one up, was all.

Frankie wasn’t much of the mind of talking back to the great big blob of rats, but maybe he could toss one of the lads in line before him. Just to see how it turned out, of course. If everythin’ seemed all ship shape, then wasn’t that just grand. And if not, well…

Was a pretty damn good thing he could outrun the rats.

---

A severed arm flies through the air, and the Rat King catches it gleefully. The flesh is stripped away and work has begun upon the bone before the twisted body of the elf has even gone cold. The Rat King had thought the circus more bodies to eat at first, but this arrangement was far more preferable. The gift of his favorite treat enough to change his many minds and show him all the good that was to come. It also helped that it seemed the Circusfolk were not interested in filling their bellies to the same degree of desperation held by the makeshift Anhedonian army.

The forest would not last forever though. Already now it bore the scars of the passage of The Clown and the Rat King. Puddles of blood and broken bodies, splintered wood and shredded leaf. It had hardly taken any time at all, the clock tower of Anhedonia not yet chiming twice since the rats had first set out. They aren’t sure why they feel as if they would know when it sounded, they are an awfully long ways away by now, but it is something that they seem to just know. Like the names.

The Rat King hears a few distant shouts of glee, sign that the Circus has found more civilians. He will join them, perhaps, when they all lay still. It was not often that someone got away from the Circus, but the Rat King was careful to stay hidden when he could. One rat suggests that it’s an old habit, and the rest agree. They also agree that something leafy is on the menu. With that, they reach out, aiming to grab a fresh clump of vegetation and break it apart with many mouths, but they pause instead, beady eyes turned toward a space on the ground.

A chunk of crumbling brick sat amidst the weeds, scorched surface still retaining the dragon’s fire as the stems and leaves of the nearby plants began to yellow and curl, tips going blackened from the heat. No sooner was it observed than a shudder seemed to pass through the forest, the brick disappearing in its wake and leaving only rich earth in its place. The plants, though, the plants remembered as they continued to succumb to the lasting damage. The rats remembered too.

How odd.
How curious.
Strange.
Very strange.
Indeed.
Happening more and more.
We are close.
We will see.
What happens next?
We will see.
We will see.
We will see.
What will happen next.​

---

Action 1: And if Genco and Rotti so will it… SECRET SECRET

Action 2: And the River takes what the River wants… The Rat King continues the assault upon the Forest of Poets. The Godbound of RAGE has yet to be satisfied, and the city of Anhedonia hungers still for others to share in their misery. Successful scouting will be put to use as the tide of rats and criminals aim to make one final push.

Additional rolls:

Unnatural Selection Evolution check for the rats
Free action Evolution check for the Rat King

​

 

[CaptainSully]

The Clown​

Turn II​

_____________________​

In such a short time The Clown had sown mischief and spread gore in quantities that made an abatoir look clean. Unfortunately for those in his path, things were only going to get worse. Rumours of his exploits began to spread quickly and it wasn't long before a nearby resident composed a poem for scare young children into obedience...listen to your parents or The Clown will get you. Soon enough though, it was clear that the rumours were a major understatement of the reality of The Clows vicious depravity.

In shadows he waits and grins,
With painted face and grotesque sins.
His laughter silent but cutting like glass,
A twisted jester that none surpass.

His suit is bright and his smile wide,
But evil is what he is inside.
Balloons of red, like hearts they float,
While razors gleam beneath his coat.

The children cheer, the parents stare,
All without thought or care.
For The Clown it's more than just a game,
Twisted followers kill in his name.

His joy's not found in sweets or candy,
But within the bag he keeps handy.
Knives, clubs and razored whips,
From bone innocent flesh it rips.

He loves the chase, the hide and seek,
The moment when their legs go weak.
With every gasp, with every plea,
The Clown’s in perfect ecstasy.

His eyes gleam bright beneath the paint,
A demon masquerading as a saint.
For murder's not a fleeting joy,
He kills man, woman, girl and boy.

So if you hear a jaunty tune,
It means The Clown is coming soon.
Run away and run fast now,
Before he splits you stern to bow.​

_____________________​

⦿ Actions:

• Action 1:

•...​

• Action 2:

•The Circus join their new rat friends in flaying what few inhabitants remain.​

 

[Trektek]

Slaves to Armok


The Golden Mound


Turn 2


The Golden Mound awoke on the soft ground. Soft ground? Shouldn’t the ground have been that of the hard arena and not something that had some give to it.


For that matter, The Golden Mound was also confused to be among the living. He was sure that he had taken a deadly blow from which he was to cease his existence. Unless of course this was the afterlife of some sort?


The sky was bright and the golem stayed admiring it for a while until after what most would consider far too long, he finally sat up. Sure enough, he wasn’t laying on the cold hard ground of the arena, but the soft fields of his formerly destroyed home.


The last time he had seen these lands, they were covered in blood of the fallen defenders and those that would not submit to imperial rule. But now….. Now there was soft grass, untouched by calamity.


There were farmers in the fields and children laughing as they shirked their duties to play in the haystacks. Things were as they had been before. The Golden Mound looked around. Vast monolithic walls seemed to surround the community in such a way as he felt it a personal boon of protection for his people.


Hmm. Yes. Maybe this place was better than before.


Beginning his slow and ponderous walk to the nearest town, he watched as everything was idyllic. There seemed enough food to go around and the lands seemed to radiate with a goodness and happiness about them that he just could not put his finger on.


It seemed as if everything was right with the world.



—--------------------------------



As soon as The Golden Mound entered the town center, everyone had stopped what they were doing and cheered. Perplexed, the golem put a single hand up.


“Why are you cheering for me? I haven't yet done anything to warrant such an outburst.”


One of the assembled men smiled and gave a laugh.


“You’re our great protector, aren’t you? We just want to make you feel appreciated.”


The golem put down his hand and for a moment seemed in great thought. In theory, that made sense. But something felt off. That was when it had hit him. The man that had spoken to him, he had seen him fall on the battlefield, defending his home from the Empire.


In fact, looking around, many of those assembled were the same. Those who had given their lives to the protection of these lands. And yet, here they all are now. Alive and well. As though not only was he given a second chance, but all of them as well.


Perhaps…..perhaps he could do a better job this time around. Perhaps, he’d be able to keep them all safe and sound.


Yes. That was something that he would do. He would do things better this time. He would save them all from whatever lurked beyond their borders. Whether it was The Empire waiting for them, or something else.


“Yes. Thank you all. I am much appreciated.”


Action 1: Build a school to better educate his people


Action 2: Build a better road system for improved mobility and trade

 

[Cosmo]

Xavia
[Mighty Xilu]
Turn 2

---

Arvina's steps were light as she walked down the worn sandstone hall that was dimly light by braziers, although her steps were light, her walk was heavy. The weight of current reality was wearing down on the woman. She had been barely sleeping or eating, lacking the time to truly do either and when she managed to scrap together some sort of freedom, the stress wouldn't let her enjoy either. She was alone, surrounded by hyenas waiting for a moment of weakness, waiting for the lioness to stumble so they could pounce, to rip and tear into her flesh ignorant to how this very act would leave them open to predators, but to blind by the need to fill their bellies, to consume short term power without regard to long term longevity. Even her own Praetorians, the symbol of Imperial Power, of Imperial Authority, he supposed mail fist to bring down on rivals and a lorica against harm were nothing more then a dagger waiting for the right moment to plunge into her breast. No one knew better then she of the fickle nature of the Praetorians, they had too much prestige, too much ego and too much power. Her own father met his end at their blades. She could, and often did, see the memory replaying, of hiding in the armoire in his office as they stormed it, as he yelled and shouted, as they plunged their blades into his flesh, each one, a stab, to ensure they shared the burden... and the glory. The Emperor, her father, a man larger then life, a god, reduced to a bloody churned piled of meat as his clothes and crown were auctioned off. There was no room for weakness in Xavia, if the lion fell, if the predator stumbled, they became prey. Such was the way of the world.

Her light steps brought her to an immense iron bound door, Arvina reached out and with a practiced ease that belied her small stature, pulled back on the great bolt and slammed it back, the boom of the heavy iron echoing in the hall and bracing herself against the wall, she pulled the great door open to reveal the room within. Luxurious rugs and furs lined the floors, fire singing stones sat in scones to provide eternal light and an immense bed too large for mortal men dominated the far wall upon which sat the Champion of the Arena, drapped in a silk robe, the great minotaur was staring off into space likely lost in what little thoughts he had, but when she emerged in the doorway, the minotaur opened his great maw into what can only be called a great sharp grin and roared, "Little Lucy! Little Lucy has come to see the Mighty Xilu!"

The minotaur's voice was booming and echoed, carrying farther then it had any reasonable reason to, the power of the voice shaking even her bones, but it was not pain that met it, "Hello, Mighty Xilu," the Empress said offering the minotaur a small smile, a smile that felt unpracticed and strange, but natural, "I heard you were hurt?"

The Minotaur held up both his arms to show the melted flesh that, even before her eyes, was slowly knitting back together, "Yes! The Cave of Eyes tried to eat Mighty Xilu! But Mighty Xilu cannot be eaten, for Mighty Xilu Eats!"

"Oh, is that so?" Arvina said, almost as if talking to an excited child eager to tell her about his day rather then a demigod of carnage, "Was he a great foe?"

"Yes! Little Lucy has come to hear of Mighty Xilu's Glory?" the minotaur said, excitement edging into his boisterious voice, his great hands started to grab at the various blankets and pillows on his bed as he dropped them onto the ground in a great pile next to him, "Come! Come! Hear the tale from Mighty Xilu!"

Arvina glided across the floor to sit down in the great pile of comfort that had been crudely created, her exhausted body sinking into them and a breath of stress and tension finally slipping out of her lips as she let her eyes close and leaned against his knee.

"So Mighty Xilu approached the cave of eyes and it sent out a scroll! A SCROLL! Ha! As if Mighty Xilu had time to read! An-" his voice continued on, recounting his struggle, of his diving into the beast, he spoke and he spoke, retelling and growing the tales, even as her breathing slowed next to him and for the first time in a long time, the Empress fell into a deep, peaceful sleep.

---

Actions
1. Creation of the Skeletal Legions.
The victorious, valorous and other such dead which are plentiful in the land of Xavia {Well, I assume so at least, ancient empire + Eternal word}, will be exhumed and, using the Great Work, research will be spent trying to bring them back to serve their Great Empire once again.

Consuming
1 Unit of Bulk Ore [Steel] for equipment for the new legionnaires
1 Great Work: Necromancy
1 Extraordinary Implication

2. NPC Diplomacy
Open Diplomacy with Didact's Bluff to strengthen the current growing relations and see if they cannot establish a more permanent arrangement.​

 

[Twist]

Turn 2
The Hand of Haimas

Spoiler: Theme

Word Abilities:

Crime
You are a master of all things that any reasonable despot would like to see not happen. Smuggling, robbery, arson, and more come to you cleanly. You may roll Crime to commit crimes, up to and including assault and murder. Note, that in some lawless places, assault and murder are not covered by this Word. Also, turn Actions and Scene actions taken to perform any sort of crime gain an additional +1 bonus, and actions taken to identify you as the culprit are one step harder.

Unspeakable
Your crimes so profound they are known throughout the multiverse; even the dullest farmer knows of your misdeeds. You may roll Unspeakable to recall knowledge of your past misdeeds (which could really be anything at this point, provided it makes sense to be a crime committed), intimidate, or attempt to break the wills of your foes. This ability is greatly effective against people that live in especially just or law-abiding societies, and is less effective in places where being a horrible person isn't that remarkable.

Absolution
You know within you divine soul what it is to be forgiven; the deities of your past saw hope in your salvation. You may roll Absolution to help others forgive, restore hope to the failing, and purify the wicked. You do not get the normal +1 Word bonus to attacks with this Word, but those reduced to 0 Will HP with this Word do not regard you as an enemy (if they still live), and will begin to turn away from wicked deeds. This plays absolute *hell* with most demons and devils, should you wish to watch them squirm.


Gifts

Crime
Passing Sight Unseen: Twice per scene, so long as no one is looking at you, as an action, you may immediately vanish and reappear anywhere within 100 feet, provided no one is observing the targeted location. This ability fails if the desired destination is being observed, but failure does not expend the use.

Eyes of the Family: You can identify criminals just by looking at them or the crimes they've committed. The Unworthy do not get a save against this; Worthy foes and Godbound may attempt to save using their Awareness to foil this ability. This could be very useful in setting up criminal organizations, bringing others to justice, or many other tasks.​

​

Unspeakable
Aura of Infamy: Your very visage strikes fear into the hearts of mortals, as even when they don't recognize your face, your actions have a lingering effect on their psyche. You may activate this aura as a free action on your turn. While it is active, all creatures that see you are automatically attacked by your Unspeakable skill vs Will as the recoil in fear. This attack occurs on your turn when you activate it. At the beginning of an opponent's turn, if they can still see you, they take a lesser version of this attack (Unspeakable/2 vs. Will) every round until you are incapacitated or out of sight.

Whispered Rumors: You may spread rumours - true or false - about yourself or your misdeeds with ease, as well as render such rumours mute. When you meet someone for the first time, you may decide how much they know about you and your misdeeds. If you do this on a large scale as an action, you may bring great unrest to another's domain. Additionally, you may force others to remain silent about your actions, rendering them literally unspeakable. Unworthy do not get a save; Worthy foes and Godbound may save against this affect once per turn.​

​

Absolution
Sacred Sanctuary: You may spend a Grit point to sanctify an area or building to serve as holy ground. Both the righteous and the wicked flock to such places, though the wicked may not know why. You may make all sorts of contacts here, who will regard you with at least indifference. Physical or magical attacks cannot be made in such a place, other than those powered by divine Words. The sanctity of such a location is broken by such an attack made by someone other than you.
Additionally, in such sacred ground, your Absolution attacks are more effective and gain a +1 bonus, and there is a 50% chance a given target does not realize that divine power is at work.


Domain
Shadow of the Hand

Crime: The presence of the Shadow near other domains casts a wrench into their operations, whether that be an unfortunately sticky criminal presence approaching paragons of good or embattled paladins who keep getting lost in the trenches and depths of evil. Nearby domains have their unrest increase, which has a chance of inhibiting actions. You may choose one of these to be affected less, and one of these to be affected more (there will be a good 3-6 surrounding domains).

Unspeakable: The atrocities committed here have long since caused all mild souls to abandon this place, and this approach continues well into the new world. Traffic between the Shadow of the Hand and surrounding domains is greatly reduced. This reduces the affect of neighbours societal issues (e.g., plagues, social movements, and elsewise), though significant (honest) trade is also pretty unlikely without some major work.

Absolution: This with nowhere else to turn can only turn to you (or, well, the other people on the map with similar Words). While in your domain, a unit of Condemned are available at any time. If any conflicts break out in your domain, you gain an extra unit of Condemned on top of your usual military allotment.

Weakness: Desolation
Originally the land of Halvos, now only a desiccated husk of it's former glory. Once a nation rich in beauty and natural wealth, the Shadow land bears little resemblance to its past, and what does remain is only a twisted imitation wrought by Haima's Hand. It would be incredibly difficult to squeeze useful resources out of your domain, as even the obvious ones (e.g., lumber from the Hangman's Forest) have been twisted beyond use by your earlier workings.

The rhythmic thunk of the hammer echoed across the clearing, each strike driving the nails deep into the wooden beams of the stable. The Hand worked methodically, securing the last board in place as his mount grazed nearby. The lumber was fresh from his new "partners" in the Dead Heat, though the Hand knew its quality was lacking for any true rebuilding. The wood was rough but durable, sufficient for the task at hand. His mule, Rhyton, stood nearby, foraging by the lake, its quiet braying occasionally interrupting the stillness of the afternoon.

He paused for a moment, wiping the sweat from his brow, and leaned on the handle of the hammer. The interaction with Nine-Toes lingered in his mind like an old bruise, a reminder of the tenuous alliances he was now forced to build. He had expected intimidation to smooth the encounter, to remind them all of his strength, as it once had in the dark days when he ruled Halvos with fear. That was how he had always solved his problems before—through power, force, and the unmistakable threat of violence.

As he lifted another board into place, the words of Haima’s slithered into his thoughts, like an unwelcome whisper carried on the wind. 'Darkness clings to every land, The midnight hour shapes your hand.'

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the voice. But the words clawed at him, as they always did, stirring memories of the crimes he had committed in the name of power. The cruelty he had unleashed. He took a deep breath, willing the voice to fade, and muttered a quiet prayer under his breath. "Toyoshi..., Usha..".

The Hand’s grip tightened on the hammer, his jaw clenched against the voice that gnawed at his conscience. 'The creatures watch, they know your name, Blood remembers every claim.'

"., Raphael..., Tello.."

The names echoed in his mind, anchoring him, pulling him back from the edge. He repeated them like a mantra, weaving them together with the other names of the prayer he barely remembered, hoping the chant would drown out the god’s taunting. It was the Turtel Prayer— a prayer he had never uttered in his past life but now clung too. The gods had absolved him, but Haima’s had never let him forget. 'And whosoever stands with might, Shall face the shadows in the night.'

"Ey..., Leo" The names flowed from his lips in quiet repetition, each one bringing a sliver of peace as he continued his work. He drove another nail into the wood, the sharp crack of the hammer punctuating each name like a heartbeat. But Haima’s, the god who had once blessed him with power, always lingered in the shadow of his mind, watching, judging, and waiting for him to falter.

Rhyton, sensing his unease, nickered softly, its ears twitching as it watched him. It was a gift from these gods, and their Lady, Samiah, a reminder that, despite everything, he had been given a life line. The peaceful cabin by the lake, the mule, they all were more than he deserved for what he had been, the Hand of Haimas, the scourge of Halvos.

"Lend me your strength, your power... to walk the path before me."

He would need the pantheons strength. For he was stepping deeper into the underbelly of another nation, surrounded by greed and violence soon...

He looked up at the stable, nearly finished now, and let out a slow breath. The structure was simple, functional, a place for his mule to rest after the journeys they would soon undertake. It would be his companion as he delved deeper into this new world and his past crimes. And though the Hand was no longer the man he once was, he knew that some part of him—the part that had been the Hand of Haimas—would be necessary if he was to undo what he had wrought.

Rhyton snorted, as if sensing the nearing end of the day’s labour, and the Hand smiled faintly. “You and I have much to do,” he murmured, resting a hand on the mule’s neck. “But we’ll make it through this. One step at a time.”

Gone to the wind through the power of his prayer, the words of Haima's however lingered like a dark cloud 'And though you strive to break the chain, Your soul still bears its bloodstained taint.'

Actions
Build a stable
Establish a gambling/match fixing ring in Xavia (Eyes of the Family/ Whispered Rumours) (Word Ability Crime used if applicable)

Bonus
Use a Grit point to sanctify the cabin/ lake area.

 

[ThatWhichShouldBe]

LOST CARCOSA TURN 2
He's seeing. He's seeing. From his room he's casting out his gaze across the veil, across that thin line of Is-and-Is-Not. Skipping between insanity and reality as a note on a melody, as a leaf on the breeze.

Things look back.

Things look forward.

Flames. Despair. His eyes turn across the little map that his scouts have begun to piece together- and he places a marker there. It's a gravestone, more than anything. It was too far, what was coming too soon.

Time. Things were ever too soon or too late.

Whateley forces his mind back into his body, into the confines of where he was and what he had chosen to be.

Infinite possibilities was rarely good for the mind on prolonged exposure.

Whateley blinks, as he looks at the map with fresh, mortal eyes.

He supposed that in the end, one should start simply.

First things first. Cleaning up his own house.

---

Action 1: A Mission.
With the lands of Lost Carcosa as infested as they are, Whateley leads a small expedition to strike at a particularly infested stronghold- in the hopes that it will help make his lands safer as well as provide treasures. With him will be whatever outside powers willing to go with him on his little quest.

Action 2: Strangers at the Door.
Have agents monitor the recent emissary from the Locust Groves- something was off about those lands. But Whateley *would* negotiate and see what deals could be made to Carcosa's advantage. But it was better to be prepared for strange trickery, than caught unawares.