Where The Roads Converge To End

[Grey]

This game will not begin before January 15th.


Selections will be made with great discernment,


There will be between 3 and 5 players.





I shouldn't be here.


I shouldn't be anywhere.


When I hauled myself from the womb of the earth, I knew it. I had no words, no concepts, but being, mere existence... it was beautiful, and agonizing, and I knew the soil from which I crawled was barren, and that this was somehow my fault.


There was no one to greet me. Only a note, tear-stained and hastily written. I couldn't read it. Not then.


For months, I sought companionship only to be shunned by you... you who made me ache to look upon, and in my childish anger, I lashed out. The earth blighted at my footfalls. The others followed the trail of the dead to find me. I think, before they knew what my maker had done, they planned to kill me.


Sometimes I think that would have been kinder, but I don't blame them. I hadn't even had a chance to fail, yet. And I have failed. Many times. This is a hard pilgrimage through Saturnine night, and in trying to understand the strange alchemies which animate me... mistakes were made. More like me were made.


I don't have time to regret it. The New Dawn is so near I can taste it.


I will be like you - human.





A game of horror, humanism, philosophy, and alchemy.


Promethean: The Created.





You are a corpse animated by Divine Fire. Your very presence sickens the earth and drives people to madness. You are gripped by Torment, pursued by Pandorans, directed by Qashmaillim, and ever at risk of falling to Flux. You manipulate yourself, and the world around you, through alchemical Transmutations, and seek to transmute yourself from the lead of Promethean existence to the gold of humanity.


But the Great Work lies at the end of a long pilgrimage. Can you endure the decades necessary to study the Refinements, to understand what it means to be human, and finally claim a New Dawn for yourself?


Prior experience unnecessary but useful. Familiarity with the material ambiguously beneficial.


Character concepts should be a sketch personality, nothing else - your character isn't quite tabula rasa, in the beginning, but they need time to take shape.


The Lineages


These kinds of Promethean you can play.


Frankensteins


Assembled from the strongest, most useful parts of many corpses, animated by the Divine Fire as expressed through electricity, the Frankensteins are patchwork people with rivets and screws visible when the mask drops away. They are ruled by the choleric humour.


Galateids


A beautiful corpse, raised by a demiurge seeking company, or perfection. Governed by the sanguine humour, Galateids are associated with air.


Osirans


And the body was divided into 13 parts, the least being discarded at the whim of the creator, then the body revived in the sacred water of the Nile. The phlegmatic Osirans often take the myth of their divine progenitor too seriously.


Tammuz


The melancholy Golems are reborn in the dark womb of the earth, and they will not remain slaves.


Ulgan


The initiate walked with the Spirits at the behest of the shaman, and was torn apart, and remade, and this new form was not the same person. The Riven are attuned to the spirit, and ectoplasm leaks from their wounds.


The Unfleshed


A thing in the shape of a man, governed by the artificial humour of oil.

 

[Tronethiel]

Is quite excited about this.

 

[Random Word]

This is a very curious game, and I have no idea how it works in play, but I'm intrigued enough to try it. An Unfleshed Galitean sounds fun.

 

[Mordecai]

Ew... Tron is here? I'm out.


Just kidding. Looks great!

 

[Crocodile]

~peers in~ This tempts me to buy our shop's last copy of Promethean.

 

[Tronethiel]

Ew... Tron is here? I'm out.
Just kidding. Looks great!

*waves pleasantly and dawns a welcoming smile*

 

[Coal seam Fire]

It occupies the bits of flesh that used to be Ian Carter. It knows this, because the sheriff's deputies found It and took it home to Ian's parents. It learned quite a lot about Ian, from reading the things in the boy's room, and everyone assumed It's confusion was just amnesia from some kind of great fright. That's funny enough, since they had no idea just how frightful It's first moments were. In a way, It and Ian are opposite sides of a mirror. One made of promise and potential, but cut down with no hope of realizing that potential, the other made of death and impossible nothing, forced to build a full life with no foundation to start on. That's also funny. But not funny-ha-ha. More funny-boo-hoo. Ian should have had the chance. He deserved life more than It does. And if Ian were still around, the ghosts wouldn't be. Ian's parents were really unhappy about the ghosts.

 

[Coal seam Fire]

(I may have picked that name just to get to abuse the apostrophes.)

 

[Grey]

Good to see you, Coal Seam. I am most pleased with that pitch.

 

[Coal seam Fire]

Ulgan, in case I hadn't made that obvious. Aurum by necessity if mom and dad are still alive, Ferrum to overcome the limits of a youthful frame if something happened to them.

 

[Tronethiel]

When the one who gave birth to me first spoke, he said many things, but his only command was to seek out the repositories of knowledge called "libraries." The words he spoke were, "enter with the fall of night and never stay long, but go as you are able." It was there, he said, that I would find some grain of understanding. For then, I was nothing and understood nothing. Indeed, I find that I remain nothing, but my path has become more clear. These things called books. They are like me. They are recordings of what was, what might have been, or what will one day be, but they are not what is. Their bindings and pages are chains that keep the truths within prisoner. Even if their words reflect what once was real, they will never be the things themselves. Stories, they are shadows and illusions. I am shadow. I am illusion.


In one of the their holy books, their is a man named Jeremiah. He was a prophet who wept for the deliverance of his nation from chains. He spoke these words of his Creator:


"My flesh and my skin hath he made old; he hath broken my bones.


He hath builded against me, and compassed me with gall and travail.


He hath set me in dark places, as they that be dead of old.


He hath hedged me about, that I cannot get out: he hath made my chain heavy."


I lament for the enslavement of my people as well. But like him, I walk alone and my words are heard only by myself.


My chain is heavy. I walk as one who is dead. I am Jeremiah.

 

[Aur0ra]

Our purpose generates from utter greed, ignorance. You will make another creature...one day, make sure they aren't as scared as I was

These were the first.....and the last words I heard from my creator as lightening struck, after my wretched birth, or....rebirth.


I was presented with an old journal, which documented both his life and thoughts. This was the only information I was given about this world, it was what I clung to....my very own Quran, my very own Bible.

I envy you humans...... for possessing a soul


I DESPISE you...for misusing it.
​

The only clothing I had were the two screws coming out of my temples, not that I understood the importance of clothes at the time. With my book in my hand I left that filthy room and walked aimlessly until I reached the shore. I stood there for a whole day, mouth open, lost, as the waves crashed at my feet tickling my toes.

I envy you you humans.....you're happy and with a purpose


I DESPISE you......for making us suffer.
​

I had to leave the shore that day. Somethings....some creatures floated lifeless after I stood there for a while, It was because of me, I knew it was, though the reason I had to leave however was a child screaming as she ran to her mother claiming she saw a monster. Horrified I looked around me trying to locate the monster, trying to escape, then realized...... I was the monster.


After a while I discovered that in order to survive in this world, the first thing you need is a name. ''Bellua'', an old drunken man kept calling me that one day, and I decided to make it my name, only to discover later, that it was Latin for ''monster''...and Arabic for ''disaster''

I envy you filthy humans,


yet I DESPISE you..


I shall finish my pilgrimage


and overcome the monster
​

​

 

[Aur0ra]

I hope there aren't too many ''I''s xD sorry about that

 

[Queen Brick]

He saw a bleached blonde 20-something with a nice rack. Not a corpse. He didn't ask before he touched my shoulder, so I warned him. "Touch me again and I'll break your hand". I even smiled, nicely. He leaned in, grinning whisky sour, and his left hand grabbed my waist. He was almost a foot taller than I am. I don't like to be touched, by any one. He was a hundred pounds heavier too. If he said something, I didn't hear it. He was still smiling as I wrapped my hand around the fingers on my waist. When I peeled them off my jacket I think he swore. I pulled his fingers back. Hard. I know he swore when his fingers snapped. I would have felt bad, but I did warn him first.


My Maker, Elizabeth, named me Angel, because I was a "Gift From God". She wanted a sister, and what she got was me. I spent my days studying her college textbooks, dry, medical crap, filled with charts and diagrams. At night we would stay in and talk. She would tell me about the world and her hopes and her dreams. It was a good month. I left while she was in class. We had done things. I felt wrong. I couldn't stay any more. I ransacked the dorm for cash and left. That was three weeks ago. I don't know what I am, other than "not human". Right now, I'm taking some "me" time and moving on. I don't know where I'm heading, but it has to be better than where I am.

 

[Grey]

Awesome, four so far. One more and we're good to go.

 

[Grey]

This isn't dead, fyi. I've just been really busy.