“But can it ever be that what is borne in blood will not be bared by bone? Can it be that a Shadow is not true to the Shape from which it is cast? Much has been said about the low character of the modern city; near as much about those that dwell in them. Speculation is the trade of to-day, and the man of to-day is all the worse off for it, regardless if he himself speculates or not. The speculation of goods – commerce – promotes sloth, greed, and waste, all the while being as like to ruin the speculator as it is to sustain him. When fruits ripen sour and foul, there must be disease in the tree, no matter how handsome its growth or fecund its boughs. And as for the other stripes of speculation, in monies – usury – and in properties – lease-writing – are so nudely ruinous that no man even distantly approaching decency would ever need to be convinced of their nature.
Against the fallen Idea of the city is the farm. And against all of the occupations by which gain may be secured in the cities is the farmer. Of all of the occupations by which gain is secured, none can be held to be greater than farming. None more profitable, none more delightful, none more becoming of the Imperial Man, decent and Clean. Where the lessons taught by life in cities are undermining at best, life on a farm teaches thrift, industry, diligence and duty. As such, it is the smart man who looks far afield from the cities for a wife, and for a place to raise his children and dependents, surely, to a place quite similar to the one you have been endowed.
Due to the fractious holdings of the Arms, endowments are made throughout – and even outside – the Whole, so it may be that you will have to adjust according to your clime and soil, but as a rule, the best farms have vineyards situated right at hand to the houses and shelters of the establishment, with irrigated gardens, willow plantations and olive orchards nearby. Further away from the built-up center there should be meadows, grain land and secondary vineyards trained on growing trees. At the perimeter, there should be woodlands – bearing acorns, if at all possible."
- A passage from <span class="mu-i">The Endowed Farm</span>, a manual given to honorably discharged (and literate) soldiers when they receive their land endowment. It is a commonly held belief that good soldiers in retirement make for good farmers, though in practice many are not well-suited or even overly-desirous to take up farming, only requesting the land endowment for the 'two-legged spoils' that come with it – Brute concubines to be bred and civilized.
You are a group of 400 giant mice that have been cast out of your small kingdom. Long have you travelled the world in search of a place to settle, yet found little land not taken. At last, tired of running, you settled upon a foreign and mysterious land, perhaps not really suitable for your kind, but one you will claim for yourself.
You find yourselves in... >-1 A jungle of dizzying heat, strangling anacondas and fertile land. >-2 A desert oasis of enigmatic sphinxes, vast dunes and valuable trade routes. >-3 A cavern system of dim light, valuable minerals and dark creatures. >-4 The mana wastes of cruel witchwinds, wondrous ruins and strange beasts. >-5 A large island off the mainland coast which was fertilized long ago by a sleeping volcano not!Sicily >NO write-ins for this one
Pick a "curse": >-1 Your group has few skilled healers, meaning field medicine and prevention of illness will be hard. >-2 Your group has few skilled craftsmen, meaning mass manufacturing of goods will be difficult. >-3 Your group has few soldiers, meaning you will have to rely upon diplomacy to protect yourselves initially. >-4 Your group has few skilled farmers, meaning a larger portion of your population will be occupied in agriculture. >-5 Your group has no mages at all, meaning creation of powerful artifacts and casting of spells is unavailable to you until you obtain a means of education in the arcane arts. >Write-in
Pick a boon: >-1 Be it through merchant past, industrial spirit or other, unsavoury means, your group has acquired for itself a large amount of wealth that you are yet to spend in full. >-2 Either when you left or in the course of your journeys, you have obtained a small collection of powerful artifacts that make your soldiers truly fearsome even when few in numbers. >-3 Your group has had to negotiate its way out of many troubles, and as such possesses an understanding of the customs of various lands and the tricks necessary to succeed in diplomacy. >-4 Your group has some master builders, capable of constructing impressive structures. This will also aid in fortification. >-5 Your group has tamed giant cats. These can be used as war beasts or for riding. Other applications may be found. >Write-in
If you're not sure what to pick or just want to introduce chaos I have helpfully provided numbers with which you may roll for your choices.
Specter Starvation (幽灵饥饿, Yōulíngjī'è), a curse considered in this modern era to be without a cure, a death sentence either through the afflicted wasting away to spiritual starvation or being hunted down once they are consumed by their unnatural hungers. A curse so terrible the mere whispers of it are enough to scare most of the cultivation world from pursuing ghostly dao or cultivating and refining deathly or ghostly yin Qi. But you aren't like most other Daoists, you are the great and more often than not magnanimous Huanliuxue (欢流血, Happy Bloodshed/ Happy to Shed Blood), the founder of both the heretical and ghost aligned Ruler of the Great Wheel's Law(统治者的这重大轮回法律, Tǒngzhìzhědīzhèzhòngdàlúnhuífǎl) and the heretical but noble sect of beasts, outcasts and oddballs, The Palace of Natural laws sect palace of natural laws sect (宫殿的野生彝宪, Gōngdiàndīyěshēngyíxiàn). And this curse will not be your end or downfall. For you know the medicine and treatment that was forgotten ages ago.
All that must be done to cure one's self of the ghastly desires and gnawing hunger that afflicts that most debased and feral of hungry ghosts and wild Jiangshi, is to devour the lifeforce of dragon or something of equally profound spiritual energy or possessing Qi or vitality as refined and powerful as their own. And while you are certain, if given enough time, you could find an alternative means of curing yourself, especially with the assistance of the ghostly calamity who infected you with the accursed and gross hunger for life-energy and souls that you've so far been able to resist and ignore, Aodasheng (Proud Great Sage, 傲大圣) who has so far proven not only loyal to and capable of fulfilling his promise to act as and be your subordinate, but is also a learned scholar of most of what is forbidden in this world beneath the unjust heavens.
However, you nearly fainted from hunger and feel your marvelously trained and sculpted body beginning to weaken as starvation begins to sap away your strength and fog your usually peerlessly sharp and sagacious mind, hazing and messing up your ideas and thoughts. So there isn't an excess of time for you to search for an alternative medicine or risk going rabid with hunger, especially since you were just about to declare your tournament open and started when you shamefully collapsed out of hunger in front of an elder demon hunter and the head of another sect!
And to avoid embarrassing yourself like that again, since it is utterly unthinkable you could share the pitiful fate the others who've fallen victim to Specter Starvation, that you've traveled to the Summer Sea at the south of the Chuan Kingdom. Cont
It’s the 765th year of the Empress’ Calendar. And in a small, remote village in the Threshold, the most honorable guardians of the Realm and the fist of the Empress, the Black Helms, are dispensing justice for the most foul crime of loitering. This disruption of the peace was brough about when an ordinary street performance turned into a majestic display of dance that could put the most famous artisan troupes of the Blessed Isle to shame. Those who bore witness to this glorious show of skill fell under its thrall and a dance fever broke out in the crowd like a plague. Anyone who looked at it for too long was susceptible to joining the crowd of dancers himself. When one of the Black Helms themselves fell under the spells effect the rest of the guards were left with no choice but to intervene and put a stop to the festivities by force.
But Mnemon Jet knew little of that. All he knew is that he made a wonderful performance that brought a little joy into the lives of the people in the city and now they are tarnishing his work. Not only that they wer behaving in a manner more fit for barbarians, not those representing the Empress' Justice. He felt rage swelling within him, and the desire to make these ingrates repent. "By the dragons, what am I thinking?"
"Those people were singing your glory and danced in your name. Their adoration was yours, and they took it. It's only natural to want to punish them." The demon, Markolab, spoke in his mind, egging him on to act.
"No. This is insane. Clearly my mind is being affected. I can't afford to bring attention to my presence any more than I already have. I need to regroup with Kaya and Ena."
"Who says it's "you" who is to bring attention to himself?"
Jet paused in his stride. Then he took a sharp turn and headed into an alleyway that the crowd already ran out of. Finding a secluded spot he concentrated on the image of a person who does not exist. A man slightly taller, more muscular and more rough looking than him, with a prominent scar over his eye. As soon as the image was clear his shadow bubbled like it was about to boil over, then it sprung on him like a living thing and wrapped him in a tender penumbra of inky blackness. A few moments later his shadow became quiescent once more and his shape was changed to that of the man he imagined. "How do I look?" Even his voice was much deeper than before.
After a moment a pure violence, all that's left of two of the harpies is a pile of bones and sinew. When they all focused their attention on the prince, you took that moment to explode forward and turn them into meat. No harm shall befall the prince, and any who take him away from you will suffer death. You draw your bow and aim for the final escaping harpy.
Your blood lust is denied however, as the prince leaps down from the nest. You are forced to drop the weapon into the blood below in order to catch him. The very moment you reacquire the prince, you are filled with a great sense of relief that pushes out the rage. He doesn't look very happy, firing little daggers out of his eyes right at you. He is NOT impressed by your ability to dish out a gratuitous amount of death in a very short amount of time.
"What took so long?" He struggles to be freed but you do not release the prince "Unbelievable, first you let that disgusting creature capture me! Then you insult me in front of the kidnappers! 'couldn't even feed a coyote'? Would you be happier if I was a whale?!"
"My prince, I was simply attempting to trick them. You are plenty meaty."
"Oh? So you think I'm fat then? Ill tell papa about this you can beat on it!" He boots your chin with his foot, but still you do not release him.
"If my prince believes it is prudent to do so"
You carry the wiggling and writhing prince away from this place of bone and death. He continues to chew your ear off, but after a while it just turns into white noise. Eventually you find a hidden place along the cliff side of the mesa where you can easily walk down, prince in hand. From the corner of your eye you see the final harpy circling overhead, but now that you have found a safe route down she simply chooses to fly away.
When you were young, you dreamt of being a Sorcerer King, like those of stories from before the Collapse. Of wielding power akin to that of the gods themselves, living forever, and ruling wisely.
Over time, these dreams matured. By the time of your mid-adolescence, many of your peers were already working in family business or taking higher courses, provided they were blessed with intellect or wealth. <span class="mu-i">You</span> were preparing to enter the Academy, study magic and eventually help people like the responsible adult that you were expected to be.
Yet these aspirations were not to last. Optimism quickly turned to confusion, then to despair. The sheer amount of work and talent required to succeed once you passed the entrance exams was astounding. The meditation techniques were hard to get a grasp of, and your focus wavered often. Maybe you had taken a place intended for someone else, because you witnessed how others bore a much lesser burden of practice and theory required to advance.
Well, it didn't matter anyway. The expulsion letter ended your possibilities of a career as a licensed mage.
You kept studying still, working menial jobs and spending your free time reading whatever magic tomes were available in the library. It wasn't much. You learned to meditate properly, little by little, and taught yourself some cheap tricks like lighting a fire without flint or creating a mote of light instead of a lantern. But the publicly available knowledge was little, and soon you had to look for a proper job when your mother wouldn't support you anymore.
And when it dawned upon you that you would be stuck in the same place for the rest of your life like the rest of your peers if you didn't do something, you went away, leaving your family: your more competent and serious elder brother and your mother - to fend for themselves.
The tricks you learned in the libraries were a bit useful. Some down on their luck adventurers hired you as cheap magical support for their expeditions. It wasn't much, but it was honest work, and you learned bit by bit again, picking locks, evading tough enemies and besting weak ones with your dagger.
Soon, you were exploring ruins on your own. Maybe luck had finally turned towards you, or you were experienced enough to succeed, but you made ends meet with trinkets you looted from old, less dangerous and hence less popular ruins. Sometimes you would still dungeon-dive as part of a group if you needed some more spare coin.
You restarted the regimen the Academy provided you with as well. The endurance training that some first-years (namely, you) were going through strengthened your body and the meditation cleared your mind.
Yet all the same, the remnants of dreams from your expulsion slowly died within you, replaced with a simple, unsophisticated will to live.
It's been about a week since you led an expedition to find a route through the forests around Helsinki from which supplies are smuggled into the stormdrains, and one of your agents, L1 Shimizu Yoshimitsu, was pretty injured. You figured he had just lost respect for you and spent time away to avoid having to deal with your apologizing, but after talking to people as the days go by, it comes to the Stormwatch's attention that the door to his sleeping pod has not been operated in six days. Within a few hours, a week's worth of footage from every camera is scanned and ratified that he has not appeared on any camera that is connected to Finland's federal security system stored right inside Stormwatch HQ.
Popular theories from the security clerks that talked to you suggest he probably used his fishing trip as a ploy to get a chance to find his way into the Undercity. They hazard a guess that it was never his intention to stay in the Stormwatch, but to use the knowledge of operating here to find something; a common occurrence they say, but they refuse to declassify how many times it has happened. His identity seemed legitimate, but would need further verification between the government of his homeland to really make sure.
All this doesn't help you feel any better.
Aside from your personal worries, the Stormwatch is preparing itself for a big mission. It's called "Operation Kekripukki." Upon the first day of winter, a high ranking Stormwatch agent will try and bargain with the Undercity to bring Lorppo, the terrible Jotunn responsible for killing many L3 and L2 agents several months ago, out to duel. If they do not comply, almost the entire Stormwatch will mobilize to sack the Undercity, an event where you were assured you would have the best chance of earning your L3 promotion. If they do comply, then Lorppo will be killed.
You aren't cleared to be made aware of <span class="mu-i">how</span> they are going to kill Lorppo.
They just assure you that he can be killed now.
You saw the bodycam footage of the people trying to fight Lorppo. He was fighting them all so casually. The axes ripped through his mountains of flesh to no effect. Giant clouds of levin made him jolt, but stopped him little. The very rearing of his fists sent agents flying away, let alone the actual strikes. And he spoke in this... sing-song tone... all the while.
What could they possibly have to fight him now that they didn't before?
It is the spring of the year 1254. In Mithras, the archipelago has shattered in pieces as the ancient empire desperately calls for aid from the accident, with heathen fire-worshippers encroaching upon their heartland. In Castana, a man stands imprisoned as the princes, merchants, and bishops bicker and scheme, and the eagle from beyond the mountains casts its wings over the land. The crusade was already called in 1253, but the armies are just arriving now, eager for glory and absolution. But not all come to Mithras out of duty or zeal; some come for the gold, others for the land to be gained. But all know one thing: whether they are noble or commoner, chivalrous or knavish, heathen or faithful, steel shall clash and blood shall flow.
When you left Rittersbach, you had expected there to be a lot more gallantry and battle. Those hopes were rather quickly dashed when you now still stand looking at a man behind bars; in a rag, not even the most humble of monks or destitute of beggars would be caught. Guy of Guisbes is different from the priests you usually deal with. A rebel against his own hierarchy, resentful of the bishops, deacons, and cardinals. Still, with him incarcerated, there is not much he can do; he is politically impotent, and his planned monastic state seems to have slipped from his fingers. Cardinal di Cremolora put him in the custody of the Gonfaloniere, the ruler of the city, and if you were to free him, you should first temper his radicalism; he is dangerous, after all. He speaks both Tauten and Aurilén, and could control his followers by virtue of being the only one able to speak to them.
<span class="mu-i"> ''You claim that the church is full of corrupt and power-hungry men, but now you are attempting to create your own nation? Is that not dishonest of you?'' </span>
''I do want to take over myself, at least not without heavy limits and check on my power. The episcopal model has failed in my eyes, monks and the laymen should both be able to elect their own leaders, these leaders would then cooperate with each other, one attending the secular needs and the other the spiritual.''
Well that is one question answered at least, though there is a other one, members of the clergy are banned from bearing arms or actively fighting, how would he defend against those who don't care about Curian doctrine?
<span class="mu-i"> "Wouldn't that just be a society that will be attacked and taken over by a more militant, centralised state?" </span>
Some low power villain bullshit I'm doing to take my mind off things. Don't expect for this to last too long. I'll try to update at least once or twice per day.
(You) are a low level super powered individual, Anon Hardwood, Male, working under the payroll of medium level crime boss TONY "TITANIUM TOMMYGUN" TORTELLINI.
Pick a powerset.
>Vile Familiar You have the very manifestation of your soul, and it's just as much of a bastard as you. It's a magical animal-type thing that you can summon at will. Whenever it dies it simply isn't able to be summoned for around half an hour. It's very loyal and affectionate, but tends to show it through love bites. You kind of get a power boost when it's close to you. It's not very strong though. (get a grunt-tier "evil" pokemon)
>Acid Assault You have the ability to excrete a thick and slimy acid from your hands. Very deadly, and you're immune to it, as well as your clothes, thankfully. However, whenever you throw a punch, globs of it tend to go flying everywhere, and friendly fire is a real concern. Also, you're not any more durable than an average goon, so don't try to acid aikido your way into deflecting a bullet or somesuch.
>NOSLEEP You've got infinite stamina, meaning you operate at peak performance forever... physically. This power also removed your ability to sleep, and as a result, you're a bit... unstable now. Just try not to kill too many of your own men, alright? Also kids, that tends to attract the loonier supers, and Tony don't exactly approve of that either.
Pick a Perk
>Partners? More like Brothers. You and Tony go waaaay back, growing up in the shitty part of town. He'll trust you quite a bit more and loan you more goons for shit.
>+1 Pants You've got some nice swag that synergizes with your abilites.
>Slippery fucker Years of running away and barely avoiding getting your face caved in have made you very adept at both those things.
Also pick your villain name >write in
It's a cold night as you're helping watch over a shipment of weapons coming in the harbor with a small 8 man team of goons, plus your negotiator, the only one fluent in russian. The small tugboat carrying the contraband pulling in. You watch over as the translator speaks in russian, passing money to the the runners. However, as the briefcases are being exchanged and the bills and weapons being counted, suddenly your walkietalkie springs to life and you hear a quick *THUMP* sound before it cuts off. You know the runners are skittish and greedy bastards, if shit goes south, they'll prioritize saving their own skins and demand extra on their next shipment, but they're usually greedy enough to wait until money has actually exchanged hands. >go check up on the lookout by yourself >take (up to 6) men with you to check up on the lookouts >send (up to 6) men to check up on the lookouts >try to hurry up the deal >write in
Your father is dead. Now, having only just passed the threshold into manhood, it is up to you to provide for your mother and little sister. You've been waiting for this responsibility. Your father, once the great retainer of some (now fallen) lord, lost himself in his latter years to cards and spirits. He was, at least, never violent, but he squandered the little you stood to inherit and worse, left the family with significant debts.
Penniless and desperate, unable to even secure an apprenticeship with any of the masters of the village (debt is worse than leprosy in that regard), you've taken up his old sword and his round shield and come to the town of Hobcroft to try your luck as an adventurer.
It's been six days since your arrival and you've burned through the dozen or so silver staters you had come in with--coins your mother practically forced you to take, though it will mean subsisting on thin barley porridge and whatever chestnuts your sister can scavange from the woods. But you've managed to secure some leads on possible employment. The bigger jobs are reserved for those with the reputation to meet them, for the rest either the pay is uncertain or meager or the risk is great.
You have three offers before you: >The guard captain is looking for someone to help infiltrate a mysterious fire-worshipping cult that has setup in a nearby ruin. The pay is good, and you'll be led by an expert in such things, but the risk of getting caught gives you pause. >A merchant is looking for someone to survey the lands to the north, for purposes of a new settlement. The journey should easy given how many will be in the company, but the pay, split so many ways is equally paltry. >An old blind man wants to be escorted to the Oracle of the Moon, a journey that will take you through the mountains and across the river. The pay is decent, but the journey, though through safe roads and lands, is a long one. At least you'll be paid up front.
