A Yet-To-Be-Named Campaign :)

[The Shadow]

This Story Hour thread isn't yet a Story Hour, but hopefully will be in the near future. :) We're still working on the campaign world, but I already have a character concept. It'll be a solo campaign.

Conceivably it could completely change as we develop the world further, but I doubt it. When I spend this much work on something, I tend to want to play it.

The following post is the character background, along with a couple vignettes from the point of view of two of his companions, and notes on the others. The next one is a short-short story I got inspired to write about my character. In it I introduced several people and place-names; they aren't by any means final, I just had to make *some*thing up in order to write about it!

[The Shadow]

Lyan is a young (17 years old) channeler of a previously unknown god, as you'll see. (Channelers are also sometimes called Chosen, which will be used in the story.) I'm leaving out the game stats for now; I have my reasons.

His Virtue is Compassionate and his Vice is Fearful. He's 5th level. (A starting level that SP and I have often used.)

Background:

Lyan was a quiet, introspective boy. He would spend hours simply staring into space; when asked what he was thinking about, he would reply, "The gods." He dared not tell anyone his secret: That a faceless god appeared to him in his dreams, a Nameless God who called himself the Lord of Compassion. This Lord had been rejected and ostracized by the other gods, just as Lyan had been rejected and ostracized by the other boys who found his ways odd. But now the Compassionate One desired to reach out to others that society had left behind, to forge a people of his own from the lost, the lonely, the confused, the feared, the hated. And he desired to reach out through Lyan.

Lyan resisted these promptings fearfully, but when his (pious, middle-class) parents died in a sickness when he was only fourteen, he took this as a sign for him to begin living out his calling. He left his home and his family, and began preaching in the slums and shanties of his home city. It's frankly a miracle he survived... though with the help of the Unknown God, perhaps it *was* a miracle.

He didn't make much headway, until one day his first disciple practically fell into his lap. A young Necrite thief had been whipped and put in the stocks. People were throwing things at him, spitting on him, cuffing him... when the boy finally snapped and cursed them, they began to stone him. Lyan put his fears aside and interposed himself between the crowd and the Necrite - one of the very lowest of the low. Speaking divinely-inspired words, he dispersed the bemused crowd, then worked his first miracle of healing, restoring health to the young thief.

Zhan (for that was his name) had never before received kindness from a human, and precious little kindness even from his own kind; this much kindness was overwhelming. Less than a year younger than Lyan, he formed an unshakeable bond with the strange human, and took his words to heart. And while Zhan still suffers a great deal from temptations to anger and vindictiveness, it takes only a wordless embrace from Lyan to reduce the young man to trembling and even to helpless tears.

With Zhan at his side as a mostly-mute but shocking testament to the power of his words of compassion, Lyan began to reach people. Soon others joined his little band: Berda, a prostitute who gave up her former way of life to follow the Compassionate One (and who discreetly mothers the group); Gurvo, a hulking Caliban ready to fiercely defend the meek Lyan from any threat; Dakone, a Malaki wizard who reluctantly follows Lyan to repay a life-debt; and Ara, a little girl who does not speak.

Now Lyan feels ready to set out on the road, to take his message to other cities. (And not incidentally, to let the heat from the local temples and ruffled respectable classes die down a bit.) He relies heavily on the older Berda and Dakone for guidance and advice - though her narrow horizons and uneducated complacency and his skepticism and sarcastic sense of humor make them less than wholly satisfactory. A prophet is ever alone in this world before his god, and Lyan is no exception.

Zhan:

"Necrite filth!" a voice shouted. Zhan bit back a furious retort, fuming quietly to himself as he listened to Lyan's eager planning. Lyan flashed him a quick smile and gripped his hand to take the sting from the insult, but continued quickly. "Zhan, why don't you see how things are among your people here. And, um, maybe you could figure out who in the local underworld we can expect trouble from?" Zhan nodded. "Sure, Lyan. I'll start right away."

Suiting actions to words, Zhan strode off from the city gates, getting his bearings. Many people scowled at him; some made the sign against the Evil Eye, others spat to show what they thought of him. Holding down the waves of rage, Zhan sighed. Lyan's words always made so much sense... while Lyan was talking. Away from him, nothing made sense except survival, punctured occasionally by molten fury. It never had.

It just wasn't *practical* to be compassionate. It'd get them all killed. Was it worth it? Zhan halted, squeezed his eyes shut, and pictured a treasured scene like an icon - an icon in a temple far in the future, far away. An icon of a dazed, half-dead, half-naked Necrite youth being released from the stocks by a resolute, naive human boy. The colors struck him, as always - the pale dead skin of his own kind, touched without fear by the warm, living flesh of the other. The light resting on the human boy's serious expression and warm brown eyes like a halo.

Zhan sighed. The Lord of Compassion had no temples; not yet. But if there was a god out there willing to take a chance on the likes of him - unlikely as it seemed - he couldn't help being willing to take a chance back. And survival or no, he couldn't turn his back on Lyan.

...Or Berda, either. And little Ara didn't have anyone else in the world. (She always smiled up at him. Him!) Gurvo, well, he took some getting used to, sure, but under all the ugly (to say nothing of the horrifying eating habits!) he was as loyal a friend as... Surely not. But then, how many friends have I ever had to compare him to?

Even that so-much-better-than-thou Dakone got under one's skin after a while, surprisingly enough. ("Under one's skin" both ways, not just one!)

Dakone:

"Dakone, maybe you could, um, get in contact with the Malaki in town?" Dakone snorted. "I'd do that in any case, Ishan," (the word meaning roughly, "foreigner worthy of respect") "But don't go expecting me to talk up your demon god to them, understand?" Lyan sighed; that argument never ended. "Of course not. But Dakone - would a demon lead us to live the way we do?"

Dakone looked away. "I've said it before, and I'll say it again: Maybe. If he could snare the soul of even one Malak. I suppose if you zeshonti (foreigners) are going to worship demons, you may as well worship the nicer-seeming ones. But the Malaki worship the One, and that's that."

Lyan had a sudden thought. "But you don't name your One, do you? He's a Nameless God, just like mine." Dakone gritted his teeth. "Oh, and I suppose you're a great prophet of the One now, are you?" The wizard threw up one hand in frustration, while the knuckles of his other went white on his staff. "As if the One is a peer of the demons, all hurt and put out by their rejection! Pah! He made 'em, and will destroy 'em all in the end!" Dakone stalked off, piqued.

Interiorly - a true wizard valuing self-honesty above all else - he admitted to himself once more than he was more bothered by the ishanti boy than he cared to show. There was a weirdly exalted madness about Lyan that at times he was tempted to call holy. Could the boy have a Malaki soul, to move him so? He was brave enough for it... But no! It just made no sense! The Malaki scriptures had plenty to say about compassion, but not the way Lyan said.

Compassion was for the family, the people. For Heroes, and for foreigners who had proven themselves worthy of respect. Not for ... well, for the people he was currently spending all his time with, he admitted wryly. That Necrite boy still gave him the creeps, though it did not befit a Hero to show fear. (And damned if he'd be put to shame by an ishanti boy!) Prostitutes, thieves, and misshapen demon-abortions were not worthy even of a Hero's notice, yet he ate with them and spoke with them daily, forced to it by his life-debt. If it weren't for the adorable little girl, he might have gone mad. (But unwelcome self-honesty pointed out that it wasn't nearly as maddening as it had been a month before... Where was he headed?)

Dakone sighed. It would be good to be among his own people again for a little while. Perhaps he could convince a local Mother to bake him a pifoza, it had been too long.

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Those two little vignettes should make *their* attitudes clear. Berda's the most placid and clear-sighted of the group. When Zhan gets all hot and bothered about Dakone's attitude, Berda matter-of-factly reminds him (privately) that they're the scum of the earth, while Dakone is a freaking *wizard*. A scholar, a Somebody. One who doesn't even share their beliefs. Hanging out with them and keeping a (mostly) civil tongue, without trying to be boss, really is a constant major effort for him, one that he's actually making. "So you can make an effort to be nice to him too, hmm?"

Berda had heard Lyan in the streets and thought he was crazy. But his money spent like anyone else's, so when he bought her time, she was prepared to make him enjoy it. But he didn't want to sleep with her, he just wanted to hear her story. So she told him, and he really listened. Then he told her his story, which was weird. Then he asked her if she was happy. She wasn't... Suffice to say, after a couple more visits, she joined up. She's taken his teachings completely to heart; Zhan's presence doesn't bother her in the slightest any more, and she mothers him as shamelessly as she does Lyan. (Which Zhan honestly has no idea what to make of, and sometimes even resents a little... but then, he'd also willingly die for her.) She's mostly over Gurvo, too, except when he does things like eat live rats, which is gross. She's also the most able backup preacher Lyan's got. (Zhan gets tongue-tied, Ara doesn't speak, Gurvo is... Gurvo, and of course Dakone won't.)

As for Gurvo, his world is very simple. (He isn't stupid, just has extremely clear priorities.) If anything threatens Lyan, it dies as quickly as possible. Sometimes Lyan says not to make it die, and that's fine; his word is like a law of nature. (So long as Lyan doesn't get hurt - then words tend to be forgotten in a red haze.) The Lord of Compassion - he's the guy who makes Lyan's word a law of nature, so he's OK in Gurvo's book. Sure, the gods hate the Caliban, but the gods also hate the Compassionate Lord; makes sense that people the gods hate should stick together.

As for the others, Berda and Zhan are obviously a bit squeamish around him, but he's used to that; the important thing is they make an effort to be friendly despite it, which he values highly. (Necrites don't seem creepy to a caliban either. They look like dead humans - so? Dead humans aren't at all scary.) Lyan's also a bit squeamish at times, but that makes exactly no difference at all. Ara loves him - she loves everybody. She's #2 behind Lyan in the "make anything threatening them die" sweepstakes. Dakone obviously can barely stand to look at him, which is amusing. He also thinks Gurvo is stupid, which is even more amusing. But he's a friend of Lyan's, and has stated openly that he'll protect Lyan's life with his own, so that makes him A-OK in Gurvo's opinion.

[The Shadow]

Dinner and a Movement

Lyan looked about himself shyly as his host bustled about him; his simple homespun looked out of place in the tasteful anteroom. "Welcome, welcome! Lyan, isn't it? Thank you for responding to my invitation." "Thank you for inviting me, Your Holiness. I've never met a high priest before. Well, um, up close, I mean."

His Holiness Marva of the Temple of Dariun chuckled. "Well, I don't know it's such an honor as all that - I don't meet the channeler of a new god every day, either! Please just call me Marva." He led the way into a dining room which Lyan was relieved to see was simple enough in decor; the table and plates were of good quality but not ostentatious, and the walls were unadorned. "All right, Your, uh, Marva." He couldn't help but feel a little flattered.

The priest noticed his attention to the room and chuckled. "Have to keep up the appearances for visitors; this is where I usually eat. There's a fancier dining room in the temple for the bigwigs, you know how it is. I prefer things simpler, myself. I was born a commoner, you know." "No, I didn't know that, Y- Marva." Lyan was warming to the man already.

They ate a simple stew and greens. Once the small talk was out of the way, Marva asked him some probing and intelligent questions about the Lord of Compassion. "Very interesting! Tell me, have you considered the possiblity that your Hidden Lord is another aspect of our Dariun the Wounded God?" Lyan looked down at his plate. "I used to hope that was the case when I was a boy, sir - I've always honored Dariun. But it isn't. I've been Chosen by an entirely new god."

"Yes," Marva mused, "one rejected by the other gods, you say. One wonders why." Lyan ventured timidly, "That hasn't been revealed to me, but I think it might be because he reaches out to those the gods are said to hate." "Well, my boy, there's gods and then there's gods... and there's hate, and then there's hate. Dariun also loves the poor and afflicted. Surely a reconciliation could be arranged between them?" Lyan looked up at the man with unabashed astonishment. "You can speak for the Wounded God in this matter, sir? I mean, Marva."

The man laughed jovially. "That's what we priests do, Lyan - speak on behalf of the gods. I think perhaps we could dedicate one of our side-altars to your Compassionate Lord. You could use it for your services. And perhaps we could discuss how best to work together to help those in need." Lyan was stunned; this was far more than he'd ever hoped for - he'd been afraid this meal was going to be a delicately-veiled threat. "I... I don't know what to say, Your Holiness. ... Marva."

"Listen, Lyan. I know you had trouble back in Trilaire with old High Priest Vanys. Right?" Lyan thought back on the vitriolic sermons, the thugs, the beatings, the death threats, and decided to put the most charitable spin he could on it: "Yes, he, uh, didn't much care for the way we do things." "Well, he's an idiot. Always has been. And a hypocrite and a grafter to boot, which is worse." When Lyan gaped at him openmouthed, the man continued, "The gods don't always punish wicked priests in the timeframe we'd like, I'm afraid. But things are different here. My predecessor cleaned up a lot of the filth that had entered the temple, and I am honored to have continued his work."

"We really care about the poor and the sick here, Lyan, and I know that you do too. We can do much good together." Marva paused, then said delicately, "But, well, in order to get practical work done in the world, sometimes we have to let our heads rule us, not our hearts." "What do you mean, Marva?"

Marva sighed. "Helping people takes money, Lyan. Sometimes a lot of money. And the people who have the money often aren't very, well, pious and giving. Appearances have to be kept up." Lyan asked, confused, "What sort of appearances?"

The High Priest looked away. "We, uh, can't have, uh, disreputable people in the temple. Or being seen with someone who leads services there. It would cause talk." Lyan nodded, finally understanding. "You mean necrites and caliban." "And those Malaki... they don't even honor the gods at all, you know."

"Your Holiness, doesn't the Wounded God love all people? Even necrites, caliban, and Malaki?" After a sigh: "Yes, Lyan, He does. We offer assistance to all those people, though usually they won't take it from us. But as I said, sometimes the head has to rule us, not the heart."

The man was sincere, Lyan could see that. He really did want to help. Probably he also wanted to use Lyan and his movement for some purpose, but Lyan was sure that if so, it was a good and worthy purpose. But...

Quietly, he said, "I can't do that, Your Holiness." The young man's face was set like flint now. "Lyan, be reasonable. This offer will give your god a foothold for years - for centuries! - to come. You can't do everything yourself."

"No, Your Holiness, I can't. I am but the vessel for my god, and if I fail Him, doubtless He will Choose another. And what's more... they are my friends. My brethren. I'd never have made it this far without them. I can't abandon them just to advance my cause. If I did, it really would be *my* cause then, not my god's. And where are we then? I might help you make some more money, but it wouldn't win any hearts, no matter how well you spent it. Because my heart would be empty: How can an empty bucket fill other empty buckets? It has nothing to give."

Marva drummed his fingers on the table and said ruefully, "'Never argue with a prophet,' as the saying goes. Have it your way, young man. None can say I didn't try to save you." "Save me, sir?" "Read the histories of the early church of Dariun, Lyan. Those who preach peace and love are usually met with hatred and bloodshed. Those who preach peace and love for those that are universally despised will likely suffer a far worse fate. Already forces are moving to destroy you, if you could but see them."

Lyan swallowed, hard. He rose to his feet. "Well, Your Holiness - Marva - if I am to be destroyed, let me at least be destroyed as a man who was faithful. To his god and to those he loves."

Marva rose also, visibly settling his high-priestly persona upon himself. "Perhaps your way is indeed best, Lyan. Go in peace. What blessing I can give you, I hope you will receive."

And so the prophet of a new god knelt to receive the blessing of the priest of an old one. Lyan went out into the night.

The faces of his brethren searched his anxiously as he returned to camp: A homely gap-toothed face; a smiling little face; a pale dead face; a misshapen ugly face; a black face framed with azurite. He looked at them all, full of love. Finally Zhan said, "Well?! How did it go?" Lyan paused, thinking. "It went well," he said. "We have a friend in the Temple of Dariun."

And with that he bedded down for the night.

[Father of Dragons]

But I want to know what happens next! Soon?

[The Shadow]

Always nice to have an eager audience! :)

Hopefully soon. We need to nail down the main continent, as that's where most of the action is going to be. And we need to finalize how the different kinds of adepts work.

So... if you can help us at all with those things (especially the adepts), the sooner we can get started with the game? ;)

[Father of Dragons]

So... if you can help us at all with those things (especially the adepts), the sooner we can get started with the game?

Well, I can try. Could you post a short list of open issues with Adepts on your settings thread? You guys have clearly been having off-board discussions and I'm not sure what the remaining issues are.

[The Shadow]

Yeah, SP isn't able to post here much, so I just post the results of our talks. I thought I mentioned what the open issues were in the latest mammoth post, but I can see how they could get buried. I'll post again.

[The Shadow]

Here's a description of Lyan I wrote just now; as usual for me, it veers rapidly into character study. :)

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

Lyan is a tall, gangly youth who looks likely to grow another half-inch as you watch him. He's clearly not yet at home in his new (and painfully skinny) frame, and is occasionally awkward. His unruly mop of brown hair is arranged carelessly above sensitive brown eyes. The bit of fuzz on his chin and lip might in some moods be called a beard, if one were feeling charitable.

Lyan wears only a simple homespun robe bound with an old rope, and a pair of ratty old sandals which he keeps outgrowing. But he doesn't talk like a peasant, that's for sure; the boy's read some books along the line. He often gives the first impression of being shy and awkward around people, perhaps even tongue-tied... but as he warms to people, or if the topic turns to something he deeply cares about, his words come fast and easily and excitedly. He also is frank about his emotions in a way that sometimes takes others aback.

And when push comes to shove - when there's injustice to be confronted, or a matter of principle to be upheld, or the honor of his god to be defended - many would swear that those soulful brown eyes flash with a light of their own as he displays a sure confidence that commands immediate respect.

On those occasions, he has astonished many with his bravery, with his bold defiance of society's nastier little conventions. But as he himself says, "I'm afraid most of the time. I told my god that He Chose someone who isn't brave at all. But He said to me, 'I do not ask courage of you, only love. Love will be your courage.' And love is something I can do."

So he can. Despite his quiet demeanor, Lyan can be found in the street talking to nearly anyone, anyone at all: Rich, poor, human, otherwise, happy, sad... he seems to have time for everyone, and sympathy for every problem. Even when there's nothing he can do to help, at least he'll send someone on their way with a kind word and a prayer. Sometimes he can be found preaching to passersby, and though those who know him well realize his heart is pounding, he speaks with zeal and conviction.

And when the fit takes him - when those eyes seem to open up on a world beyond our own - strange things can happen. He speaks words that move angry crowds to tears, makes the sick and wounded whole, and displays knowledge of things he could not possibly have learned by mundane means.

In short, few who have met Lyan are indifferent to him. Some love him for his ready heart and kind deeds, some hate him for flouting their mores and making waves, some are amused by his antics; but none are unchanged.