DominionNES2

Probably going to Join!

lord_joakim said:

I don't know what Dominions 3 is but am curious. I'll lurk and perhaps write up some stats this weekend. )

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Dominions 3 is a computer strategy game. The first of the series was called Dominions Pretenders, Priests and Prophets. It's a game about becoming the one god to rule them all, and using armies and a few hundreds of spells to achieve that goal. It's absolutely not needed to know the game to participate. I will be using it to simulate battles, mostly because I can make some snapshots and it helps me avoid bias when deciding battle outcomes. But then again, I'll tweak units stats so the game can't be gamed. And actual tactics that aren't limited to what the game can render will also be taken into account when I mod.

The Fall of the Pancreator sent tremors of emotion into the world, reverberating through the dreams of Mortal and Immortal alike. A feeling of Loss permeating fitful sleep and sleepless nights, corrupting so many. Night after night, this emotion built up, swilling through the streets and rivers of the world like sewage. Until finally something snapped.

Some say that it is a weapon of Chaos. Others whisper that it is punishment for allowing the death of the Pancreator. Some even believe it to be the personification of death. All are wrong. It is simply the Collective Nightmare of all Life in the world, concentrated in the body of a Ten Year Old.

(More to come, I'll flesh this out, but I just wanted to get this idea in before someone else comes along to take it.)

The Fall of the Pancreator

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This sounds familiar. Anyway, announcing interest.

Immaculate said:

I envision something like Sauromatia/Patala or the Yuan-ti from D&D if you ever played that.
(...)
I know its probably not as original as you might be hoping for but I like the idea and I was hoping to use it.

What do you think?

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Yes, I know yuan-ti. Basically nagas with mind powers. And I don't need everyone to be extra original.
The Pavitra Baccē looks good.

Thanks. i do the pretender submission thing to you dominions gmail address.

EDIT: submitted.

The world of Ulm
The Ulm. I remember the Ulm. They always called it 'the Ulm.' I think it was called the Ulmfirand. But Ulm will do. I remember the Ulm.

Temperature
I remember the temperature. I do.
I remember the cold nights. The frostbitten hands. I remember shepards bounding lakes with hammers, to make holes into ice, so their herds could drink. And that was just the summer. Cold summer. But my fires were warm. Fires were always warm. The Firewood gave incredible heat and grew fast. Most of my Iron was smelted in Firewood. The summer was nice. At nights, it dropped down to -10 C during days, it was +20. Warm.




Food
I remember the Herds. The fields growing food. I remember.
I remember large herds. Herds of pigs, sheep and other animals. I remember how they pushed against each other in the cold and how herders were always awake, to fend off wild wolves attacks. The herders had many belts. Many bows. And they had shelter for the winter. But they spent the warm season outside, down of the hills - animals got good food from there. And their families worked up in the mountains, cutted wheat and grew food for themselves and the animals. Herders return in late autumn. They put their large herds in stables and fed them. Stables were large. They were warm. There was food. Animals were happy there. And shepards were happy to see their families. I remember that. I remember children walking down the hills twice a week, in a large group to protect from predators. Oldest had a sword or bardiche or bow and arrows. The next year, the Oldest would have been full grown shepards and new oldest would have chosen. The children returned the same night, with backpacks full of their families products - the milk, the cheese, sometimes even meat. It was a hard packbag to carry up the hill. But straps that I made for the bags were superior quality - straps we made for the bags. The Cloth around the bag broke, but never the straps.

I remember the hunts in the winter - people from the village, both women and men, went on hunts. They hunted the wild animals - the rabbits, the elk, the wolves and even the slumbering bears. They went away from their homes for week or two. Mostly they returned with a lot of valuable fur and meat being towed behind them on sleds. Hunts meant that shepards families required to kill less of their herd, making them richer. Besides, it gave them warm fur to inline my - our - made armors. And fur gave warmth.



The wheat they grew did not produce much food. But it could stand against the cold winter. And animals also hate the straw part of the wheat. And then there were beet - sugar beet and honey. A lot of honey. They made mead out of it. They made candy out of it. Candy was not only for kids, but to survive the hunts and for cold nights down in the plain lands. I remember that youngsters, women and men who could not walk very well tended the fields. I remember the men taking care of the herds. I remember the hunts. I remember the animal fat dripping onto myself, when my master ate a warm chunk of elk. Elk which he had killed. I remember. I still do.

Smithing
I remember the marshes and swamps downhill. I do. Unlike small rivers and lakes, swamps rarely froze - they generated heat. I remember the smell of the swamp. I do. Most of the ore was brought from the swamps. Most the metal came from the swamps. Because men had no time to mine the land properly. Because we lived up in the mountains, were it was warmer. And to dig into mountain is a tough job.



I remember the bog peat. I remember it being used in furnace to smelt the iron. I remember it being used in winter together with Firewood trees, to warm the place. I remember the heat it gave. I remember it. I remember smiths and their helpers going down into swamps - into buildings and staying there days. Then one of the came back up hill and said, "it is time" and most of the village went, they carried bog peat inside of the bags and beasts of burden towed carts full of Bog Iron ore uphill. It was a good a life. The carts often broke, but rarely did our smithwork brake - it was the wood around it that broke. Our handwork rarely broke. I still remember that.

And the smith with his or her helpers had always work. There was always something to do. The rocky hills. They were only places suitable for wheat, beacuse down in the plains, animals would get the wheat, cold would have froze it and hinder its growth and land was not as fertile. But hills were rocky. And often we had to make repairs or resmelt broken tools of warming. And often we made nails, many nails, for houses - for new carts.

Armor
And when we were not making house tools, we made tools of war. Because we were rich - we had leather, we had iron, we had food and we had heat. People behind the hills that protected the plains, they did not have that. They often attacked us. Especially during winter. They wanted food. They wanted our women. They wanted our fur. Often our hunters met them in the forests, looking for us. Often they went into combat.'

Often corpses of our hunters were returned on sledges by their brothers in arm. But often there were plenty of goods stripped from enemy soldiers on board of that sledge as well. Our hunters knew the hills and the forests. They knew how to stay invisible. They had to - to hunt. But the enemy did not know that. Often we managed to land a surprise attacks. I felt how my - our - made arrows pierced through the skulls and bodies of enemy. I saw how the enemy looked around, looking for source of that Arrow and rarely finding him. And then another arrow would come. Practice of shooting arrows at agile wolves trying to kill your herd, made Ulmers good archers.

Our hunters wore chain mail armor. I - we - made many of those rings. Very many. These rings were light weight. There were often two or three layers of them, and leather in between of those layers. It was bulky, but our women knew how to make leather flexible enough to allow hiding and movement, while protecting the body. I remember every youngster, before becoming a herder, spent a year for making himself a armor - they went down hill, into the bogs, and learned the art of mining the bogs for bog metal and for bog peat. And when they had enough ore, they carried it to my masters house and then helped him in making the rings for chain-mail armor. They knew how the armor was made. That meant they knew how to quickly repair it. We fixed many armors, because quick repairs were still repairs - a masterful armor could only be properly repaired by a smith. And families which were poorer or who could not allow chain mail armor took the armor of enemies, resmelted it or simply used leather armor. Even women and children wore leather armor. Because you'll never know when the cold hits or when enemy decides to attack. And every woman and man knew to how to aim an arrow, how to hold up the shield and how stab with a spear or an axe.



Weapons

I remember the bloody one handed axes. Made specifically for attacking someone, be it a bear, an angry elk or enemy soldier. I remember the daggers. Every child older than 6 had a dagger. Their mother thought them, how to use the dagger. The dagger was used in cutting the kill. For defending oneself. Even for cutting the meat for the dinner. Every village had several sharpening stones. They were the village property. And eldery women and men, who could not do else, sat there and sharpened the dull blades. And when the blades broke, we fix them. Many of them.



During the hunts - in the winter - most hunters carried the axe, the dagger and a shield with them. The design of shield was simple - there was the iron ring, it was strong. Then there were two iron bars, crossing the ring, forming an X shape. They were slightly bent, to strenghten the shield. Then the shield was covered with leather - with good and strong leather. And then the hand parts and leather part to carry the shield on back were added. Then the leather was painted with whatever insigna that the family had. One could carry a specially designed backpack on top of that shield. And if attacked, wielding the shield - dropping the backpack would loosen the straps that held the shield on wearers back, from there it was only the matter of opening the metal straps and shield would be ready to be carried. That move took maximum 10 seconds. Usually less. Depended of desing of the straps.

The axe usually hung on the belt or was attached to the backpack. A single simple move would have released the iron latches. The dagger was attached to the belt. A special scabbard made of mostly leather - it was usually buttoned, that even if man would have fallen into strong streams, who would have lost everything - the shield, the axe, the backpack, the dagger would still be attached to his belt - and unless the man lost his belt, they would still have the dagger. The daggers were beautiful. We made so many of them. So beautiful was our handwork. Oh how I miss it.

The bow. I do not know much about the bow. It was not the long bow that our enemies used. It was shorter. They carried bow on the on side of the backpack and arrows in quiver on other. In case of battle, the backpack would be dropped. And again, releasing both the quiver and the bow was the matter of simply pushing on the straps. Oh we made so many straps and so many arrow heads. Designed to stay in the enemy.

The faith

The smelthing of the dead
Ulmers had no faith. We believed that burning our deads in the fire of smelter would pass that persons soul onwards to the tool next made. The dead were usually burned in the fires and smelted into arrow heads or sharpening stone iron. That way, the dead could have still aided the Living in their fight. And that was honorbale. The sharpening iron was all used up, the dead would have passed onwards. To the realm of death. Having served the Ulm and their family in both Life and Death. And when their tools would finally broke and serve their family, then these tools would be smelted in the fire and made part of the smelter. Then the soul could escape the realm of death. And live in The Realm. And Live a Happy, peaceful and Simple life with their family.

But my master was never offered this honor. His soul is stuck in the realm of death. He has not been honored. He did not serve his family. His family was not offered the same honor. THOSE DIRTY MONGRELS. EVERY WEAPON I SMITH SHALL BE IN HONOR OF MY MASTER. I WILL RETURN MY MASTER TO THIS REALM. The doors of death are strong. I know that much. I do not know where they are. I do not know where death has hidden himself. But I WILL FIND THESE DOORS. Come out, come out wherever you are. Death. You took what was mine. You think you can hold every last Ancient Ulmer, who were not smelted in tools to serve in death. You think you can do that. You think WRONG. I shall conquer you. I shall not leave my master in your vile clutches. To suffer in the death. In dis honor. I SHALL POUND EVERY DOOR WITH EVERY LAST TOOL OF WAR I CAN MAKE AND I SHALL FIND YOUR DOOR. I WILL CONQUER YOU. The DEATH. I AM IMMORTAL, I AM NOT AFRAID OF YOU. The Realm of death shall echo when my swords smash whatever trickery and defenders your realm may have. I will return those who were not honored. I will give them chance to join their families in The Realm. MY MASTER SHALL BE RETURNED TO ME. HE SHALL LIVE HIS LIFE AGAIN AND WHEN HE DIES, HIS CORPSE SHALL BE HONORED. HE SHALL BE SMITHED INTO STATUE AND INTO WEAPONS AND EVERY NEXT TOOL OR WEAPON I CREATE, IT SHALL BE EMPOWERED WITH HIS STRENGTH. HIS STATUE WOULD BE LIKE ME. IMMORTAL. AND WE WOULD SMITH FOREVER.

But this my realm. I shall make an altar of Anvil and hammer in every town center. In every village center. And People shall pray. And people shall talk of conquering the death. And People shall tell tales in the cold winter nights, while viewing this anvil, of my master. And I shall speak through that anvil. And when I have the strength, I shall smith through those anvils. They shall forge the weapons of war or tools of peace. These anvils shall aid the villagers, if their faith is strong enough.

Conclusion
I remember the Ancient Ulm. It was a cold land. We lived up in the mountains. During summers women and children grew ulm wheat - this wheat had incredible resistance to cold and it stalks fed the herds. During summer the herders herded their herds down in the plains. And when winter became too cold for plains, they herded their herds up into their villages. Everyone hunted in winter. They were tough. Hunting was hard, but it spared the cattle, the pigs and beast of burden. And it gave good warm fur.

The Ancient ulmer wore either leather armor or mixture of leather and chain. They battled the wild animals, the wild men beyond the mountains. They used their shortbows, their axes, their daggers to fight. They knew the land - the forest.

Their axes were made out of Bog ore. Most of the metal came from marshes and swamps. But it was good metal. The fires burned thanks to Firewood plant together with swamp peat. And the smithing was held in honor.

The dead were burned, their souls would be stuck in the realm of death until tools smithed out of the iron would broke. And these tools would be smelted entirely in the fires of smelter. And souls would be free to join their deceased family in the Realm. The paradise of Ulmers.

The life of Ulmers were tough. The winter was tough, even in summer the lakes often froze. The was not too much food to go fat. There was not enough firewood to make houses boil in heat. But there were tough Ulmers. Much love and many kids. And good smiths.

I still remember. And I shall reshape the Ulm in the image of Old. I still remember. And I will find the DEATH. And I will slay the Death, imprison him in the realm of Death. And make sure that the unhonored ones could be honored. I WILL FIND MY MASTER, RETURN HIM TO ME AND WE SHALL SMITH NEW TOOLS FOREVER. FOREVER. Oh my master, how I miss you. I still remember you. I shall smith this world in YOUR NAME. In Your VISION. I am the Anvil. The Smith of this world. I - We - Shall be honored in this world. I shall find the gates of Death. And I shall defeat anyone who comes in my way. For I am THE ANVIL. and I still remember my master, his world and our life. I still remember.


I shall find your warriors, your creatures, I shall pound their heads into pieces. I SHALL HAVE MY MASTER RETURNED TO ME. FEAR ME DEATH. EXPECT ME.
I still remember.

I am the anvil.

I still remember.

The Anvil

Remember.

My master.

DEATH, HEAR ME, GIVE ME BACK MY MASTER!

I will take him back.

Oh, how I miss him.

Miss.

Master, Master, oh master, where are you? Where has death hidden you? Where have those dirty mongrels who killed you hidden themselves. I will find you. I will torture those mongrels. We will become one again.

I do not want to be alone.

I miss you.

Master.

I still remember.
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Edit: good enough for world setup?

NW, this is good enough indeed.

Alifat is a small kingdom on the border of chaos. It isn't a place for anything out of the ordinary. A single king, king Surangular, sits on the throne and rules the kingdoms with the god's blessing. The capital Naoot is a medium sized city, walled, and bumbling with life. Two more small cities, Nooth and Tooth exist south of the capital, closer to chaos. Small cities, mostly just artisans and a market for the farmers whole live in the villages of the kingdom.

The kingdom have existed for several centuries, safe from outsiders because it was so unimportant. Only sometimes chaos creatures would cross the borders and cause damage, but these will soon pass through deeper into the world.


Yet now, under king Surangular, something strange begun. The king have spoken that he hears voices in his head. A great god of love wishes to make Alifat greater, its people happier and love to spread everywhere. This god commanded him to build a temple in the capital, a temple for the god of love, where people could flock to have their wishes answered.

The temple is not awfully large. But its main deal is a great door right at the center, a door into a small darkened room. Before this door people are told to stand and make a wish to the god of love. If their faith is strong enough and their sacrifice is good enough in the eye's of the god the door would open and their wish will come true.

This is a new god apparently. The people are still not trusting. But the king, the king gives all to this new god. More and more of his highest ranking officers join him in prayer at the temple. If the god of love for real?







Outside Tooth a child cries next to a burning farmhouse. An old man, covered with black rugs comes near him. "Child, why would you cry? So much life is still ahead of you." The child looks up to the old man, and speaks with tears. "I played with the lamp! The fire caught on and my parents died! I killed my parents!!!!! I burned my house!!!" The old man put his hand, covered with leather gloves, on the child's head. "Do not worry child. A god of love has shown himself at Naoot. The king himself builds a temple that grants wishes. How much would you like your parents back?" The child stopped weeping. "I want it more than anything in the world! I would give anything for my parents to return!" The old man laughed. "Well than my child. Go to the temple and have faith in the god of love. Then you must offer a sacrifice." The child pressed his nose one last time. "What kind of sacrifice do I need to give to ask for my parents?" "What kind of sacrifice you think you need to give? To return life from dead would require an amazing amount of sacrifice and faith." "I will even surrender my own life!" the child yelled and ran away from the old man. He ran to the main road, on the way to Naoot. The Old man stayed behind. His head covered in rugs followed the child. A small laughter could be heard. "They will surrender their faith and minds to me. They will sacrifice all for their own little greed. The god of love. Now that was a good one." The old man then vanished into thin air.

It almost Makes me want to be the Gatekeeper of the Realm of Death and pick Ermor, Northen.

Ooh, I want in. I'm working on a Pretender now. Should be ready by tomorrow.

«Taurus»
Taurus was once a near-man like the near-men he rules over today. In his time he was a great hero, feared by many and loved by all. He was a Minotaur, though his kind heart and keen intelligence bested his wild heart. He traveled all ends of the world and made the men-kings know that not all of his beastly kind were stupid, violent beasts. In fact, the only trait Taurus shared with his kin was their short lives, and at the end of a mere forty years his life seemed near done.

But the Pancreator intervened.

Little had Taurus known that the greatest god of all things that were, are, and will be watched over Taurus and saw the Minotaur's successes as itself own—or at least that is what Taurus thinks. Upon taking his last breath the Pancreator manifested itself in the form of a young maiden with burning red eyes and skin black as ash. The She-Pancreator told Taurus that he had proved himself not just worthy of near-godhood, but that he had proved his whole peoples worthy of civilization. It was at that moment that Taurus became Taurus.

Not long after the divinely empowered Taurus single-handedly conquered his quarrelsome peoples and established the small Kingdom of Bœuf.



I will be expanding on the information in the schematics spoiler.

The Legend of Ezio, the Unseen Pretender.



More to come later.

The Phoenix

That is an abuse of spoilers, no matter how meta it may be. >:C

Background:

Pretender Form: 6 winged angel wielding scythe and donning a blackened armor with many eyes.

Start: Ermor. DUH.

Innate Powers: Incredibly powerful. The Reaper's Scythe that she holds is rumored to be able to carve an entire army apart with a single stroke. She can fly (duh) and her very presence brings the dead around her back to life to serve her. She exhibits an aura of fear and numbing cold that affects all enemies.

Armies: General Roman Army stuff (Legionaires, Javelin throwers, auxillaries, cataphracts, combat engineers... centurions... standard bearers... battle deacons... blah blah blah) mixed in with plenty of UNDEAD ROMAN ARMY STUFF.

Religion: The New Order of the Guardian

Pantocrator has fallen and the New Order arose from its ashes. Serving a new horrible Goddess, this religion is very similiar to the old, with its use of temples and an army of missionaries, but serves Death Incarnate instead of the All-Creator and seeks to bring the Promised Land onto Earth.

Domain Effect: Kills stuff very quickly. Brings unnatural cold and disorder to the land. Dead rise back up to serve Samael (free units) and those who survive the harsh conditions tend to be very fortunate individuals.

I think I'm done now.

Background:

Pretender Form: An old human lady. A crone, but yet with the beauty of eternal youth.

Start: Fertile lands lots of rivers, birch trees

Innate Powers: She can seduce any man and woman with one smile. She can give the Bliss to whole town, armies, countries... She can turn brother against brother if she demands them to fight for her. Men would do anything to please her.

Armies:
There is a standing army of chivalrous knights and a standing "army" of circles of witches. The first are bound by honor and title to the king, and a eager to please the queen and her lovely sisters. The second are under direct control of the queen, and are the "priests" of her religion.

Religion: The maiden, the mother and the crone

1. Be chivalrous!
2. Protect your family!
3. Respect the elders!

Also there be religious secrets, not known to anyone but the witches of the circle. Like:

1. Men need to feel loved.
2. Men need feel strong.
3. Men need guidance!

Domain Effect: Blissful peace or sheepish obedience, depending on the point of view.

Contemplations on Theology

As she slithered through the thick jungle, occasionally slashing at a vine with one of her falchion, Madhavali couldn’t help but be troubled. She had been the first consort of Pavitra Baccē, and both the nāga and lōga referred to her as his prophet but that did not mean she did not feel doubt.

Her tail propelled her quickly through the thick underbrush with a dry sort of silence, her scales protecting her from thorns and biting insects. Even her slitted yellow eyes were protected by a clear eyelid that protected her from the jungle’s grasp. She was at home here, in these jungles that shifted and changed with the will of her master. Indeed, such was her link to him, that she felt the jungle too, a sort of continuation of her self, an awareness that extended beyond her. Those thoughts turned her back to her doubt. She knew there was a link between this land and Pavitra Baccē, for she was of him and she shared that link. But amongst the lands of man, when she visited Lōgapur (the city of man), she did not feel that link. The steles said that one land was as the other but that the jungle, the ancient ruins of Nāgapur (city of nāga), and even the holiest site, Lake Manosarowar, were all one, created by the Pantocrator, an expression of her love for all of creation. And yet, Madhavali knew they were different. Her lord, indeed even she, was strong in the lands of the jungle; their rule was absolute. The hooded and venomed slithering cousins were everywhere, their flickering tongues praising Pavitra Baccē each time they tasted the air. Amongst the lands of man, it was different. She could feel the faith of man driving the jungle to new fertility, pushing up the shoots and bringing rain and she knew that their faith brought the cobras. But that was it- it was the faith of man, and of those few nāga who made their home beyond the shadowed forests- that shaped the lands, not the will of her master. So why was it different? And why did she worry?

It was these thoughts that had driven her to seek the solitude and quiet splendor of Lake Manosarowar. As far as she knew she was the first and only mortal name-giving creature to visit the lake. She liked that. The stele alluded to but did not state that it had been the birthplace of her lord, that it was here that the ancient Pantocrator had smiled upon a simple water flower and with a breath given it life and form and thereby opening a new chapter in the perfection of creation. The thought made her smile again; she was an integral part of the perfection of creation also. By their patience and hard-work they would continue and finish the project the pantokrator had begun.


Finally she arrived at the lake. It was vast but its boundaries were shallow for many miles and millions of small islands dotted its rims, each home to many trees, their branches and the vines that grew upon them intertwining to form a continuous canopy over the broken waters. The air was thicker here, warmer too perhaps and the raucous sounds of the jungle just a bit more hushed. No doubt the monkeys, birds and others sensed the holiness of the place and couldn’t help but quiet their chatter in solemn deference. She slid herself into the waters, parting lilies and lotuses quietly as her form returned to the element that all nāga were born to. The waters were cooler than the jungle and immediately she felt the heat bleeding out of her. A sense of comfort and serenity slowly blossomed insider her. She slid between the islands and finding a wide patch of deeper water upon which the sun broke through the canopy to shine, she took a moment to study her reflection. From the waist down she was snake, her tail nearly fifty feet long, thick and strong, capable of squeezing the life from man or boar in seconds, its length covered in shimmering blue-white scales patterned in gold and a darker blue. From the waist up she was both snake and woman and something else. Though much larger than any mortal woman, she, like them, had stomach and breasts, shoulders and arms. Unlike woman, her arms numbered four, much like her lord and many of the more senior nāganin (female nāga). Her face and neck were like those of a cobra, complete with hood and fangs and shining yellow eyes, though no cobra had ever grown so large as she. She, like most nāga, wore a breastplate of copper and gold, inset with jewels. Combined with their rhythmic, snake-like motion, the minor mangicks of the jeweled armor might hypnotize a would-be attacker and save her scales from having to turn an opponent’s blade. But here she had no need for the armor and she quickly discarded it, taking note to remember where she laid it. With a single strong push of her tail she took to the deeper waters, turning on her back that she might stare at the sun and feel its warmth upon her face and breasts even as the water’s coolness tempered its heat. Overhead dragonflies buzzed and darted, lazy from the sun's heat reflected on the waters

Here she did not feel fear or anxiety and felt she could better turn to the theological questions that had been troubling her. Taking a clay jug from her belt, she sipped slowly from it, savoring the cow’s milk that the lōga had left as a holy offering to her. And that brought her back to the issue with which she grappled- the lōga- man- woman- those who walked on two-legs. The nāga had brought them faith and worship, had saved them from fear and ignorance. They had visited nāgapur, sometimes in search of its jewels, sometimes in search of the wisdom of the stele, sometimes, for the more enlightened, as acolytes of the faith eager to serve their masters but they had all returned with the wisdom of Pavitra Baccē, the one who had been born here. They, like she, had read and reread the shifting steles, had drunk thirstily at the wisdom they offered. Some had gone back to their homes to live the wisdom. Others had stayed and served the nāga priests more directly. Others had returned to their people to share with them the wisdom and to form the priesthood that would organize the lōga. And so it had been.. for as long as most lōga, and even many nāga, could remember.

But there were whispers. There were doubts regarding the way it was. The lōga were ruled by the nāga- it was simple. But many of the lōga did not see it that way. They preached that there were different roles for each but that in the eyes of lord Pavitra Baccē, there was no real hierarchy. Indeed, some of the lōga had obtained such proficiency in the rituals and adulations that the nāga had taken such pride in mastering, that it was difficult to argue otherwise. And yet many did, though not publicly and never the nāganin; they left such passions for their male counterparts. But the issue had stayed with Madhavali and she had spent the better part of the day studying the steles, seeking the wisdom of her lord. She had focused on the teachings of reincarnation and finally, realizing that there would be no association between ‘perfection’ and reincarnation as a nāga or imperfection and reincarnation as a lōga, had given up, seeking instead the quiet solitude of the sacred waters.

Now, thinking more and more on the issue, she realized there was nothing in the wisdom of her lord that suggested that lōga must serve nāga. It was the way it had always been and certainly it was the way the nāga would like it to always be… but would it last? And if it didn’t, what would happen?

Suddenly her thoughts were broken by a movement below the surface. There was something else in the water with her- something large.

The Eternal Pyre

Background:


Form: A massive fire, while it can't move on its own if something is caught on fire from it its presence spreads with the fire. The Pyre is capable of gifting power to those it chooses, those with the power are often covered in burns, the more burns the more power they have. The flames of the Pyre can temporarily bring the dead back to life but this is not often done.

Start: Somewhere in The World

Armies: Medieval in nature, Paladins are quite common, Martial orders like the Templars are the core of the army while supported by general levy troops. There are some Orders of Pyromancers that can be found on the battlefield but rarely in large numbers.

Religion: The Disciples of the Pyre
There are many holy orders that make up the Disciples each one has different practices and preaches different values. Common values are of family, loyalty, strength, fervor, and passion.

Dominion: To those that worship the Pyre in its dominion they fell a gentle warmth and a feeling of strength like when one warms themselves by the fire after being in the cold. To those that don't follow the Pyre its realm feels oppressively hot and they constantly feel exhausted.

Prophet: He is the first man to discover the Pyre, his name has sense been forgotten and he is only known as the Burned Man. His entire body is covered in burns granting him great power and is often considered a living conduit to the Pyre's power. To prevent panic from spreading from the sight of his body he wears hooded robes and a mask at all times.