A Nobilis-oriented weblog, detailing the events of a dual-group Nobilis campaign.
A Nobilis-oriented weblog, detailing the events of a dual-group Nobilis campaign.
From the Leadville Herald:
Chupacabra: the hunt is on
It is chupacabra season again. On Friday, Mayor Bud Elliott urged the populace to be on the look out for these rare creatures.
Plans are afoot at city hall to capture a chupacabra in time for the St. Patrick’s Practice Parade Sept. 18. This is part of an initiative on the part of the city to draw on the wildlife viewing tourism market.
If a chupacabra cannot be captured, a mock-chupacabra will be displayed in the parade. After the parade, there may be an expedition to find and tag a wild chupacabra according to Elliott.
Native to the Americas, chupacabras reportedly vary in size. Some reports say that the young are about six feet tall. Other reports describe the chupacabra as being smaller. The Central American sub-species has large spines protruding from its back. The Rocky Mountain variety is much furrier, no doubt an adaptation to the climate.
Chupacabras, from the Spanish for “goat sucker,” were first reported in a now infamous goat mutilation in Puerto Rico. Goats are their most common prey. Elliott said that they are believed to be living above tree-line and surviving on mountain goats. However, the numerous old goats around town are advised to be extra cautious. Elliott also said that the chupacabras, should they wonder into town, might start snacking on dogs.
“Keep your pet at home,” the mayor said and quickly added, “this isn’t about code enforcement.”
(via Stan)
Hitherby Dragons: Leaf and Bone Harmony
Once upon a time, there was tea. It was a good tea. But it lived in the house of death."Some day," it said, "Death will take me from this pot."
In his bleak cathedral, Death turns towards the tea. He points a bony finger. "All things die," he says. "All things end. There is no beginning that hath not an ending. Children shall die. They shall die in fire. In water. In sorrow. In pain. They shall be hit by busses. They shall be slain by tornadoes. They shall be killed by stupid people who don't know any better, and nasty people who rather do. All their promise, snuffed out; and not because it is right, and not because it is better, but because this is the doctrine of endings."
There's more -- go read.
The world of cryptozoology is in a tizzy over the near-discovery of an entirely new legendary, nigh-mythical creature. This beast -- composed entirely of ground beef, cheese, lettuce, tomato, and pita bread -- stalks the ranches and farms of the southwestern US and northern Mexico, killing and draining the blood from all manner of domesticated animals, goats in particular.
They call it, "El Chalupacabra."
With apologies to the producers and writers of Playhouse Disney's Stanley:
It's ... the ... Great White Book of Nobilis,
With everything inside,
But with this sketchy Index
The info we will hide.
You're sure you've seen it there before,
But you will find it nevermooooore
Lori (June's Great-ish-granddaughter) says:
This is the plan—nevermind the plan. Nobody needs to know the plan but me and Ben. I tell him to go pee before he comes in to bed, and he says, “I know that stop telling me that” but if I forget to tell him what will he say then? But I do and he must of, because he doesn’t wet his blue pajamas when the monster gets him. So there.
I must of found out about the monster under my bed just after Dad’s birthday or just before Ben’s birthday, but anyway I saved some wrapping paper from presents to make—nevermind what I was going to make, anyway there’s drool on it. I ask Ben if he drooled on it and he pulled my hair which means, no. So I knew it must be a monster.
Gramma said one time when she babysat us that if we saw a monster, here’s a gun, but don’t bother shooting your sister because it won’t work on her and you, too, Lori. The gun was orange but I colored it with permanent markers I stoled from Dad’s office so it would be cool as black but permanent markers rub off sort of all the time.
So first I cover myself in bed, after first before that I jump into bed off the top of the dresser and I almost get it right this time. And then I wait. For a long time but it doesn’t take too long.
Ben tells Dad he needs extra special help for homework, so please can you explain this halfs math stuff, which gives him an excuse to stay up late. Finally he flushes the toilet because that’s the warning, he’s coming to bed soon, be ready and not asleep as if. And good thing, too, because I can hear the monster under the bed.
First it rattles the wrapping paper.
Then it chews on my barbies hair crunch smunch runch which is all crackly because the cat used to do the same thing, stupid cat I lose more barbies that way. Also Mom’s hairspray is not good for barbies. But I don’t care about barbies now I’m a monster hunter. Me and Ben is, too. Then it starts scritching at my blankies, it pulls them down a little and little bit more so if I don’t pull them back it means I’m asleep so it can creep up the side and eat me. Little at the bottom, little at the top.
Ben opens the door. I peek out and his shadow stretches all the way to the foot of my bed.
One foot, two feet. Creek, crick. Creek, crick. Bens walking to the bed now. I stick the nose of the monster gun out of the blankies so he knows I’m awake and just pretendin to be asleep.
…
Mom stays up until eleven o’clock cleaning slime off the walls and stuff. Finally she gives up and sends us to bed and Bens bed is all slimey so he sleeps with me and says not to wet the bed, as if.
“I don’t know where you got all that fake slime, Ben-ja-min,” she says. “Did you steal it?” “No, Mom,” Ben says. “Well, where did you get it?” “Um, I won it at school,” he says. “From whom?” “Um,” Ben says, because he’s not a very good liar, I can make anything up for instance. “When I find out who’s been stockpiling this junk—“
…
Ben is pretty brave for a boy sometimes.
But when the monster grabs him right on his socks, he screams so loud it wakes up Mom whos already in bed because of work and its me that blows the crap out of the dang old thing. Bam! Bam! Bam! Slime splatters all over the walls. Blam! Blam! The monster jumps up to the window ledge and shoves itself right through the screen. Boom! Boom! I shoot its butt off, cause magic goes right through the window screen! Blam!
The bad news is that it escaped. The worser news is there’s not enough of it to come back.
Maybe another one will just try it. Maybe we should try to catch it next time.
You don't send me fungus.
You don't bring me corn must.
You hardly shoot your spores any more
When I lay on a tarp at the the end of the day.
You used to say you'd mold me,
Said you'd never leaf me.
Now when you grow on me, late at night --
Well, when it's damp for you, babe, then you're spreading all right --
Well, then, you just turn over and seek diffuse light ...
You don't send me fungus
Any more ....
What is your character's motto, in ten words or less? Quotes, formal and informal mottoes encouraged.
(Respond in Comments.)
"He that climbs the tall tree has won right to the fruit."
-- Sir Walter Scott
Little thought for Sian. :)
Woman, 97, found alive in Iran quake ruins
BAM, Iran (CNN) -- Eight days after an earthquake devastated the ancient city of Bam, a 97-year-old woman was pulled alive from the rubble Saturday afternoon by rescue workers with Iran's Red Crescent Society.
Denis McClean, a spokesman for the International Committee of the Red Cross, said Mariska was "certainly in a weakened state, but she was remarkably serene" when she was brought to the emergency center established by the ranian Red Crescent. "Thank you so much for finally getting around to rescuing me," the elderly woman later told rescue workers. "I know you had important things to do while I was lying buried under the rubble, like setting up tents and ordering new letterhead."
"The first thing she said was, 'I am very cold. Can you please touch my head,'" McClean said. "And the volunteer stroked the back of her head. She then told the volunteer that his hands were like ice, and whatever happened to that nice pair of lampskin gloves his mother bought him last year? Or had he given them to that cheap floozie he was seeing in Tehran?
"Then she asked for a cup of tea and she complained that it was too hot and asked that it be spoon-fed to her. 'Or, if you're too busy,' she said, 'I can just sit here and tremble for a while longer. I've only been doing it for a week already, while you rescue workers were eating your nice warm meals and sleeping in your nice comfy sleeping bags.'"
... Lord Entropy's name can be abbreviated as "LE"? Which, in my own personal lexicon means "Lawful Evil."
Makes reading one's journal kind of ... interesting? Enlightening? Scary?
"In real life, unlike in Shakespeare, the sweetness of the rose depends upon the name it bears. Things are not only what they are. They are, in very important respects, what they seem to be."
-- Hubert H. Humphrey
Two particularly fine and apropos words from Jaffrey Kacirk's Forgotten English:
heavenware: The inabitants of heaven; formed on Old English heofon, [and] waras, people; [1000-1200s] -- James Murray's New English Dictionary, 1901.
anthomaniac: One who is intensively fond of, or "mad about," flowers. -- James Murray's New English Dictionary, 1888.
"Hello there, little toaster spirit.""HI!"
"I was wondering if I could ask you something."
"I TOAST!"
"Yes, about that... do you remember what happened in here yesterday morning?"
"I TOAST! I TOAST BREAD!"
"... Quite. Were you toasting bread yesterday mor--"
"I TOAST BREAD AND THEN I POP! TOAST! POP!"
-- From Interrogatus Interruptus: Murder Investigation in the Mythic
Or, as ***Dave puts it: "Mythic Realm = Toontown"
It seems that the interaction of Mythic and Prosaic Realities is one aspect of many Nobilis games that people have problems with; it's harder to consistently visualize and every HG has their own take on how the Mythic works, it's harder to know by what rules it operates.
I've been thinking about the Mythic and the way that it is often taken as sort of a running punchline and how that's not really what I'm aiming for most of the time. (Most of the time. :) I'd love to hear some more about this.
The 'toontown' perception that I mentioned above comes, I think, from me presenting the Mythic in a fairly specific way. I've gone the route of portraying spirits as being relatively 'pure' things -- pure in a Taoist sense -- they are purely themselves, not unlike a young child, and as such they come off as somewhat childlike in their intensity of self-ness. (In a sense, they are like the little forest spirits seen in Princess Mononoke - curious about things, but fairly simple and very straightforward.)
For instance, I was recently describing an excrucian ship that had crashed on the shores of Locus Noctis. In the mythic, residual energy rolled off the ship like dry ice smoke. The local spirits were all very curious about the alien thing; small wave- and water-spirits splashed against the hull, scrabbling to get higher up on the ship before eventually losing their grip and sliding back down (like, I suppose, an energetic pre-schooler trying to climb a slide from the bottom up).
Now personally, I was pretty proud of that visualization -- I thought it captured the 'child-like sense of curiosity/wonder of a pure wave-spirit' that I was going for. Spirits aren't always useful, that's true, anymore than a toddler is always useful... but that doesn't mean they never are -- you just have to know how to deal with them.
Now, I've also run more sophisticated spirits (perhaps 1 in 10 spirits might be able to have a reasonably useful conversation with a PC) -- naturally, these are spirits of more complex things -- for instance, the Spirit of a legal contract might be quite well-spoken and erudite, at least as far as the subject matter of the contract goes.
Still, for every talkative phone-spirit, there's a toaster spirit. :)
[With apologies to Lee for temporarily co-opting his character, I just had to write down this image that I had after Death's transformation]
===
The black, shining, tractile cocoon (resembling nothing so much as an unlabeled bodybag) shifted.
This was itself unusual; the thing had not moved since Death had first encased himself -- had left his familia and wandered in a haze of reflections and revelations (in the days following Pen Lo's execution), finally stopping and allowing the liquid darkness within and without to wrap his body in its embrace.
And the thing moved again.
It is the nature of a chrysalis to eventually part and reveal the metamorphosed creature within. In prosaic nature this is a slow and arduous process, but this event was neither prosaic or natural; the third movement within the chrysalis ended with the high rasping hiss of metal slicing through the skin of the cocoon and the human form within dropping lightly to the ground.
Terminus took in his surroundings, then himself. Things had changed. His form had shifted somewhat; he was more... 'attenuated' perhaps might be the word. His sword was still with him (was even more with him now than it had been in the past, in fact) and he felt his Estate --
my Estate... mine... no longer servant but master
-- move about him, filled with nuances he had never noticed before.
He reached for the core of millenia-long hatred that was the invisible crutch of his handicapped existence and the world tipped unexpectedly, dropping him to one knee as though he had reached for a support that was no longer there.
A great many things had changed.
For a moment, a small (albeit very unpleasant) smile ghosted over his lips at the prospects, and that was something new as well.
Bosou Koblamin: Violent petro loa. Bosou is a violent loa capable of defeating his enemies. He is very popular during times of war. He protects his followers when they travel at night. Bosou's appearance is that of a man with three horns; each horn has a meaning--strength, wildness, and violence.
Sometimes Bosou comes to the help of his followers but he is not a very reliable loa. When a service is held, Bosou appears by breaking chains that he is restrained. Immediately upon appearing he is given a pig, his favorite food. The ceremony in honor of Bosou always pleases a congregation because it allows them to eat. Usually a good number of people attend such a service. --Via Webster University, although the description seems to be copied to/from practially everywhere.
Pictue of Bossou on a voodou flag at Carrie Art Collection.
Oil drum art at Art-ickles. Sweeeeeeet.
Another flag at Oh-La-La. Bosou's stomach has been replaced with an eye.
I found quite a few more refences to "Bossou" than "Bosou."
... and Cathetel wished that none would interfere with him or his, and so he sent Punishment unto Lord Entropy, to claim injury from Arnaud, that all would know that Cathetel would brook no such interference, no such offense. - from The Book of Cathetel, Chapter 7, Verse 2
I watch her face in profile; her expression gives nothing away, her attention entirely upon my lord, as it should certainly be.
But still it seems I should read some hint... some... flicker of triumph in her eyes when she looks at me.
Nothing.
Nothing when she had entered the Desolate Lands, nothing when she had destroyed (or as good as destroyed -- desecrated, one might say) the slander-fly serpent, and nothing when I had moved to greet her.
I, Desecration’s Regal, found wanting in my Master’s sight for the failures of the Inquisitor Swords and relegated to the lowliest of duties. Majordomo. Worse, a simple Doorwarden, as though I were a witless beast or sentry scarecrow.
And yet she, whose bastard familia exposed -- shamed -- my designs before all Creation, shows no sign, no knowing smirk with which to take proper offense, and so shames me yet again.
I find myself inexplicably aroused.
- from the thought-record of Meon, Descecration's Regal
Coltsfoot is the flower of Sian, Punishment. Its Victorian meaning is Justice Will Be Done You. An appropriate sentiment for Punishment, whether it is directed at victim or perpetrator.
Other names are Fafara, Coughwort, Horsehoof, English Tobacco, Bullsfoot, Foalsfoot, Horsefoot, Butterbur, Flower Velure, Hallfoot, Fieldhove, Donnhove, Son Before Father, and Tussilage, Pas d'âne . It's botanic name is Tussilago Farfara.
It grows wild (a weed, in other word), often along railways and roadsides, both wet and dry climes.
Its leaves are used as tinder, and its flower used for any number of purposes (as befits a non-poisonous weed). It is a demulcent, expectorant and tonic. One of the most popular of cough remedies, it is generally given together with other herbs possessing pectoral qualities, such as Horehound, Marshmallow, Ground Ivy, etc. It is often applied by smoking, hence the name "English Tobacco."
The leaves grow after the flower, hence the old name "son before the father."
Interesting references here, here, here, here, and here.
Cunningham's Encyclopedia of Magical Herbs gives the following disturbing information:
Gender: Feminine
Planet: Venus
Element: Water
Powers: Love, Visions
Magical Uses: Add to love sachets and use in spells of peace and tranquility. The leaves, when smoked, can cause visions.
Huh. Wonder if Imagination suggested that flower to her ...
The general Victorian meaning described at the top is pretty widespread. But there are a few exceptions. Maternal Love and Care, for example (Mommy Dearest?). Or I’m Just Not Ready to Make a Commitment. (funny site).
There is a word which, in the Latin, means:
- to follow to the grave
- to follow to the end
- to avenge
- to punish
- to explain a thing
- to suffer
- to endure
... depending on context. Exsequor.
It and it's meanings are profoundly apt as regards the events surrounding this story arc.
They walked the road of the World Tree.
One of the roads. There were of course thousands, but this was an important road to them, one that led from their world to others, thence to the rest of creation.
Others hunted them. This, they expected.
"I'm not sure if they ever asked for it, but flowers have always borne the often absurd weight of our meaning-making, so much so that I'm not prepared to say they don't ask for it. Consider, after all, that signifying is precisely what natural selection has designed flowers to do. They were nature's tropes long before we came along. ...
"This stands for that: flowers by their very nature traffic in a kind of metaphor, so that even a meadow of wildflowers brims with meanings not of our making. ... Sometime long ago the flower's gift for metaphor crossed with our own, and the offspring of that match, that miraculous symbiosis of desire, are the flowers of the garden."
-- Michael Pollan, The Botany of Desire
I was going to do this as an email, but format was a pain:
Quiz question -- Short version: in one word, what is the theme of your character's Personality? In one (different, hopefully) word, what is the theme of your character's Domain?
No sophist arguments that "I've been doing this so long that the one has become the other" -- for the sake of this exercise, A <> B
For the longer explanation of where this question came from and what I mean by the terminology, see below. Feel free to post answers in the comments.
Where this came from:
An interesting comment cropped up on the Nobilis list as people chatted about character generation (not from me):
My opinion is that the hot-button issues for the personality should be in a completely different arena than the hot-button issues for the Estate.
For Example: If your Personality theme is Responsibility, and you're the Power of Duty (or the Power of Irresponsibility)... well, your personality will never tell you anything about your Estate, and your Estate will never tell you anything about your personality.
You will, in short, have no -other- point of view to examine either your Personality or your Estate from.
If your personality theme is Responsibility and you're the Power of Tools though, you can examine the question of responsibility from the issues of tools, and the question of tools from the issues of responsibility. Make sense?
Yep. Does to me, anyway. I thought it might be an interesting thing to mull over if people are having a problem with getting into your character's head.
Flores from oneword having nothing at all to do with the storyline. No, seriously.
"Cousin. I didn't know you were coming."
The Fair-Haired One nodded. "I must admit it surprised me as well." He folded his cloak over one arm and shook water from a wing. "The weather is dreadful."
"Our dark lord is troubled today."
"Ahh."
And another one:
"Aren't you... that's odd, I thought Fate was blind."
"No."
"Hmm, very strange that I'd get that confused."
"You're thinking of Justice... or Love... there are several, actually. I, as you can see, have eyes."
"Pity that."
"Excuse me?"
"Oh, no offense, I'm sure. It's just..."
Karma is bullshit.
I mean that when I say it and I believe it -- you don’t get what you put in and you don’t get what you deserve -- you get whatever the hell the Universe feels like dumping on you.
I believe that. It still doesn’t keep me from thinking about what I did to deserve some of this shit.
I met a god a couple years back. Goddess. Whatever. The Queen of all Reality, basically, is a tough old woman from Iowa or some other middle-of-nowhere place and I caught her attention. I don’t think I’m lucky because of that. Mostly the opposite.
“I’m in charge of Reality,” she told me over greasy spoon ham and eggs one morning.
“You’re in charge of old hotels and dirty sheets and old boxer shorts with holes where they shouldn’t be and cheap wine and piss and hate and regrets and misunderstandings,” I said and took a drink of lousy coffee. “Good for you.”
She looked at me for a long time. “That’s not all there is in Reality.”
“That’s all there is in mine.”
Which I guess means a lot to her -- what my Reality is, I mean. I guess she really can’t just wave her hand and make me the king of Persia or something -- Reality is what it is and my reality is a vacant lot full of empties most of the time.
Still, she wanted me around. Said I’d give her some perspective. I called it the bug’s eye view and she got mad at me for awhile, but that passed. I’ve got a way with the women, even the old ones that are really gods. Her name is June.
Things don’t ever get boring with June involved. She called me in my head and woke me up out of a dream I was having that I wouldn’t miss; told me to expect company and get some things together that I couldn’t afford. Gods were coming over for a visit and they like expensive single-malt, I guess. Then she told me how to call these gods up. I wrote it down (first thing I’d written in two weeks) and got going.
One summoning involved some fucking, so I called up Linda and Judy and her fat cousin and got to that first, but no gods showed up. Messed up the bed, though.
The next one was easy. I read a poem from some asshole I’d never heard while the girls were showering off and some mean-faced old woman was suddenly sitting in my only chair and complaining about the decor. I handed her one of the bottles of good stuff and hoped to hell she’d shut up.
We kept going like that: recitations, rain dances on the roof; one guy was made out of nothing but electricity and just about made me piss myself -- no one can tell me I’m a coward, because I’ll say it first. We called up a woman who's supposed to be Punishment (who looked real good except for the gun in her hand), Fungus (some kind of damn I-don’t-even-know-what), but June told me to wait on calling Death.
Death. June keeps bad company.
Then the guy made out of sparks showed back up with a girl that...
I thought I had to die to go to heaven. I wanted to jump into that and just burrow around with my eyes closed til I died. It scared me more than the electricity guy did, mostly becuase I could tell that whatever she was doing, it wasn’t really working on me. Not really, but I can’t imagine it being any worse.
I had five gods on the roof of my building, talking about other gods and getting in fights that flattened buildings and what to do about it and asking me to explain things and June still wasn’t there. The thing that scared me the most was that I might forget all of it before I got a chance to write it down just like it happened. I even tried to keep a handle on the beer and stay straight.
But it didn’t work. I did forget. This isn’t the way it happened at all.
It was worse, but I can’t figure out how to explain it.
"Two Exemplars, three dukes, plus Guilt and the Nemesis... it's a wonder they haven't been targeted before."
"You're saying this is a conspiracy, Depa? That Cathetel was executed wrongly?"
Conspiracy shook her head. "There are two possibilities; Cathetel was competent and his Powers skilled. He held certain amount of influence in the Valde Bellum and has certainly made his share of enemies. Anyone of that type will eventually attract close observation. Under such observation, many of us would fail to live up to our reputations."
The other nodded. "You said two possibilities."
"Well, if I were the sort to conspire for power," Depa's lips twitched a fraction of a centimeter, "Cathetel would be a very tempting target indeed."
More GM flores
"You hate him." The dark figure stood in the darker shadows of her living room, impossibly tall, wearing a long coat and wide-brimmed hat that should have been ridiculous.
She shrugged, not looking at him. "I hate what he is. I hate his hypocrisy."
"Hypocrisy?"
Her face twisted. "You know many other angels that make a project out of exporting vibrators to eastern-bloc countries?"
"He is Lust."
"Sure, just don't tell me your goal is the sanctity of the home while you're filling out the shipping order."
"Still --"
"And not forgetting how he sent me to blow a third-world dictator's brains out."
"...while he was sodomizing his sister's child, you mentioned."
She shrugged again. "I work for the power of Lust, not Punishment. It looked to me like I was killing one of the choir. Slime-ball, yeah, but it's not like you get too many Saints on our side of the fence."
"Yet you went."
Her eyes narrowed, focused in the indeterminate distance. "I don't exactly have a choice, with what he did to me. That's the deal. I'm stuck with it." Her eyes moved over the well-furnished loft and the edges of her mouth twitched in a way that was not entirely friendly. "Other than that, the perks are alright."
"Yet you hate him."
"Sure." She looked up at him directly for the first time, at the shadows beneath his hat, and flinched away. "Yes. Yes, I hate him."
"You would kill him."
"Can't." She learned back and spread her finely-muscled arms along the back of the couch. "Harms the mission. Not possible."
"You sound confident."
"I've done my homework."
The hat brim dipped. "What if I told you," his voice continued, smooth and liquid, "that you could do this thing without in any way harming the true master of you both, or his goals. That you could, in fact, be Lust, the way you envision it might be. The way you think it should be."
She looked at the shadowed figure for a very long time without speaking, then: "I'd ask you how."
This is not where it began, but it is where it started for her.
Another bit of floral bordering for the Nobilis game. This one is ENTIRELY spoiler-free (at least relative to the story arc). It's just a lame attempt to write out the enNoblement of one of the NPCs I'm using in the story. My intent was just write out an enNoblement for anyone, just for the sake of doing it, but unfortunately I picked the Power of Loyalty. What I found out is that Joshua Stark's martini-dry demeanor does not allow for the sort poetic waxing that most of the enNoblement bits in the rulebooks have.
Oh well. It was still sort of fun.
I was offered Godhood while visiting Los Angeles, something I've always considered vaguely ironic for any number of reasons.
My immediate response was to write it off as some sort of joke in poor taste, which I felt (and still feel) was an entirely sane and understandable reaction.
The Being I would later call Master is most certainly not the sort to waste idle time in debate. I was shown a portion of Reality that I had never known or dreamed existed and the the conversation continued once I had realized what was truly at stake.
Even so, I resisted.
"I cannot imagine that you would want someone of my nature for your service," I said. "I am certainly not the sort of saint one usually sees achieving immortal status."
"We do not require purity," it said. Even then I knew instinctively that any appelation of gender in regards to the Perpetual Wanderer would be somehow wrong at a visceral level. "Further, immortality is not one of the gifts We will bestow; that much should be made clear."
"What sort of... duties does someo-- a being... like yourself require?"
"Yours is the Estate of Loyalty."
I could not help but laugh at that point. I realized later that the only reason I was not destroyed immediately was simply because I was not yet one of my masters servants. "You'll have to forgive me, but I'm afraid you have the wrong man."
"We do not make such errors. You are Our choice."
"Then I can only offer up my utter lack of credentials by way of argument. I am no paragon of loyalty, gracious lord."
"Again, this is not what We seek."
"I am afraid I do not understand."
The being regarded me for long moments (I assume that, here, I also avoided destruction, for my Imperator does not enjoy explaining itself). Finally, it spoke: "Long have We used Servants who embody the Estates We choose to bestow. There is wisdom in such methods, as there is in all things We do; but there is also wisdom to be found along other paths. We choose you at this time, when We require one that knows their Estate as... a Tool: a thing which can be wielded, rather than worn, to best effect. To you, Loyalty will be a sword."
"Or perhaps a knife," I murmured, my eyes focused on an indistinct point in the distance.
It moved its head in a way I would later interpret as a dismissive shrug. "As you say. We have need of weapons, for there is more assuredly a War."
"You realize then, the sort of person you will be bringing to your service?" I asked. At times, honesty is the best policy. It doesn't happen often, but it is more common than most people realize.
"We know far more of the nature of Our servants than Our servants know of Us," it said, but my mind was already filling with the possibilities that lay at my feet.
In retrospect, I believe It was warning me. I sometimes wish I had noticed.
-- From the thought record of Joshua Stark, Duke of Loyalty
Again, possible spoilers for players... I'm just messing around though, so there's not any real information.
"THERE IS NO NEED." As always, the voice was a contradiction, all-encompasing yet soft and pliable - a very gentle, loving hurricane. "IT IS THE NATURAL THING, MOREOVER A THING WHICH YOU KNOW I LOVE."
"I do know, and that is what gives me strength."
"DO YOU HAVE DOUBTS AS TO YOUR CHOICES?" I could hear the sudden hint of concern in his voice, the idea that all of this might fail because of me, and I shook my head, knowing he could not see it.
"I have no doubts, only fear. It has been a very long time for me."
"THERE IS NO NEED. YOU KNOW WHAT BENEFIT COMES OF THIS. YOU KNOW YOUR PERSONAL REWARD."
I nodded, but at the heart of me, at the very core there was a sweet, rotten cylinder of fear. "I know. You're right, I do know..."
"AND YET YOU FEAR."
I dropped to my knees, my hands clasped in my lap. My head hung low between my shoulders and tears dropped on the backs of my crossed thumbs. I could not answer, although I tried several times.
"WOULD YOU KNOW THE TASTE OF WHAT IS TO COME?"
I blinked. "I... I couldn't. We..."
"IT CAN BE DONE. ASK."
I stared into the silence of a room in which I was the only occupant, hoping against hope. "If it can be done, then... yes, I would dearly like to know."
"MY DEAREST SERVANT MERELY NEED ASK."
And then I knew what was coming; I knew the length and breadth of it, the pain and the great, great joy.
And I knew that it would be enough.
- from the Thought-record of Sisera Twice-born
So, here's an Interlude for the Nobilis game. Should be player-safe, but if you want to remain as ignorant as your characters, do not proceed.
“There’s been a problem.”
Joshua Stark, power of Loyalty, felt the awareness of his master fall upon him like the weight of a thousand homeless souls. Air pressed out of his lungs for a moment and the lights of the Chancel seemed to dim. Just as suddenly, the presence was gone.
“Things become less predictable when one faces the dragon in its cave.” The entity known as the Perpetual Wanderer, whose true name was not spoken or thought by its servants, inclined its head. "What specifically has gone wrong?"
"I… we don't know." He gestured sharply with his hand. "They didn't die. They were supposed to die." He was elegant, even in frustration. That was his nature.
“You mean the other Nobles, following the assassination of their Imperator?”
Stark looked pained. “Execution, my lord; we possessed evidence of treason against the Valde Bellum, presented it to the Locust Court when asked, and have been exonerated of all wrongdoing. The fact that an Inquisitor Chancel supported us is proof in itself.”
“Justifying a murder after the fact simply makes it acceptable, Joshua, it does not make it less a murder.” The Imperator’s motioned with one hand in his noble’s direction. “Do not take this as censure on Our part; your actions were justified, but We do not care for sophistry.”
Joshua bowed his head. “As you say, my lord,” he said, hesitating before going on. “It was my understanding that a Noble could not survive death of the master --"
"Such is traditionally the case, as We have told you before."
Joshua nodded, not looking directly at the Imperator. "Yet somehow…” He shook his head. “Servants were sent to assure that they had in fact been destroyed but in almost all cases the subjects not only survived but acted quite effectively to preserve themselves.”
“We hear the word ‘almost’, Joshua.”
Devon glanced toward his master. “The Graf died, but in such a way as to suggest that it was merely another of its many demises and thus unsatisfactory. One of the others… it is unclear what exactly happened, but the evidence is not reassuring.” He waved his hand and a table rose next to him, covered in reports. “We think we might have some idea where…”
“We do not wish to know particulars.” The table vanished.
The Power of Loyalty inclined his head. “Of course.”
“It is enough to know that they have acted against the Valde Bellum and, not inconsequentially, Ourselves. Details are the reason you are here.”
“Of course.”
The Imperator regarded his noble for a moment before continuing. “Where are your brothers and sisters?”
Joshua’s chin rose to indicate the open window of the chamber. “They search, my lord. They are aptly suited for the task.”
“Agreed.” The being turned to the window as well, through which the hazy cityscape of Deus Sanguinas stretched away to the limit of mortal sight and beyond. “We are weakened, Joshua. You know this well enough and you might have some small inkling of how it must feel to know that the reason for this weakening is one of Our own kin and a onetime ally.”
Joshua shifted his weight. “I have some small understanding of Loyalty, master.”
“Don’t engage in banalities, Joshua.”
“I apologize, my lord.”
“It is important to Us to show the rest that We can yet exact Our own vengeance while protecting the goals of all.”
“I... we all understand this.”
“Therefore, you will not fail Us again.”
The man (who was not truly a man, and had not been for years) hesitated for only a moment before nodding. “Yes, my lord,” he said.
He was already alone in the room.
Hogshead/GoO has a PDF "example of play" available on their website -- basically it's 20 pages right out of the rule book and it's a hell of an entertaining read.
It's also huge. I took the document, excised the two full-page pictures from the document and chopped it down to about a third the size. Download the file if you like -- even if you're not into Nobilis, the example of play is a hoot to read.
A bit of flores from the Nobilis list
He sat in his suit, candy-striped, and poured the bag of beans onto the table.[written by Timothy Ferguson]
"There's a flavour here, the red one, that you'll really like, and another, the blue one, that you'll really hate. There are two that are good, one bad and four you'll be indifferent to. You have to eat them all, and usually in handfuls, not one flavour at a time. That's your life."
"And after I Commence there are more red ones and fewer blue ones?"
"Oh no. There are just fewer bland ones, and you never get to the bottom of the bag." - from the musical "He Said He Could"
