The Tree of Stories looks so cool :star eyes emoji: It's been really, really cool to see what other authors do with the Magaambya over the years!
I figured out I was bi a few months ago and this community was really helpful for that time. Thanks everyone. eyyy, same!
Kuthek smirks at the barker's attempt. Yes, those I frighten—that I truly frigthen, bringing my holy purpose to bear—are unworthy. Unworthy of their place in society, of the trust and opportunity granted by others. His eyes fix on the scampering fey, pupils shrinking to points. He crouches, fingertips splayed across the straw-strewn floor, then launches himself up into the fey's little warren.
Possibly uncomfortable teeth descriptions:
Kuthek's jaw twists and shivers, changes, and wicked fangs set their intent on this reality, dripping anew with saliva and malice. The revenant's maw yawns, flangs slick with torchlight, and encompasses the lesser being's head. With a terrible strength, the two longest teeth pierce the creature's skull, drive into its brain, and end its immortal existence. A moment, and Kuthek wipes blood from deep purple lips, dashing toward the barker's certain demise.
Slowing their pace a bit, Eirthgim kneels to make a pretense of pulling a rock from Agn's foot pads. "I am old, Agn. Older than my predecessor was when you shepherded her beyond." They flick a nonexistent stone out into the heather. "I am not looking forward to another season's worth of waterbaskets." The hearth-spirit chuckles, tracking the false projectile until it "lands" in the undergrowth. "Begrudge you a respite? You have helped most of these people dispose of their spoor, pressed wet cloth to their buttocks, and you think they would not carry water for you?" The ancient cat gently swats the geriatric hearth-tender. "Prideful. Prickly. What am I to do with you, child of my spirit and sibling of my flame?" — Iskra's quiet hiss ripples back through the scouting party. Eithgrim stands stock still, while Agn crouches down, ready to advance should the need arise.
Agn lopes alongside Pakano for a time.
Though his attention is almost entirely fixed on the tension in his jaws, the feel of teeth on flesh, the Huntress's word manages to penetrate the saliva-slick sanguinity of Kuthek's mind. It plants itself in the soil of his curiosity.
At some point during a quiet hour, Eirthgim softly steps up next to Impulse. "That was an impressive thing. Repairing the stone."
Agn splays a meaty paw on Kala Dja's forehead, part reproach and part affectionate pat. "Child, no one sees the full picture. I doubt the gods do. Our eyes are all clouded with personality and desire." He jumps off the rock, landing gingerly despite his size, then plops down next to the girl. "An example—me. I am not a cat. I am more than even Eirthgim can see, bound though we are. I am a spark that burns fiercely at the heart of the Broken Tusk. A flame built from spirit and fire, yes, and from people. Or their ideas." His tail curls around to twitch under Kala Dja's nose. The heatless tail flame casts warring shadows as it waves back and forth. "But this shape is something like a cat, and as I am part idea, I find that for all my age and inhuman experience..." he pauses a bit as the princess's fingers find another scratchable spot behind a horn, "...there, you see? I am something like a cat. I cannot see the full picture, shaped as I am in this way, by these people." "And if a spirit with roots beyond mortal memory is not all-wise, I would not expect an emberhaired girl of not even twenty winters to be all-wise, either. And as for use, well," he purrs, ancient eyes twinkling. "Little summer fox, peak beyond this rock. Do you see your family, your following? They all have doubts. They all seek their place, now and then. That is why we are a following. No one can be all things to another—and they need not be." He rolls over and to his feet, then circles around to sit on his haunches in front of Kala Dja. White eyes bore into hers. "We all feel lacking at times. This is natural and healthy. But do not forget how you lead a fresh pack of scouts to the hunt and brought back many meals' worth of flesh. Do not forget what Asha has said to you—that Asha has said something to you, for they are silent for most." A spring of powerful legs and Agn disappears above the boulder again. As he prowls away, his rumbling voice drips off the edge and into Kala Dja's ears. "Do not forget the spark at the heart of you. After all, a princess is a rare thing among the followings."
Agn climbs quietly up the boulder, dangling his paws over its edge and looking down at Kala Dja. He doesn’t say anything. Just a little snuff at the air, a little yawn. Small sounds to make his presence known. She’ll speak when she feels the need. Always so, even as a tiny crawling climber with barely any hair.
Eirthgim's steps into the clearing are slow and soft. Agn hangs back a bit, just in case the Shemven's wary of flaming cats. "No, we never feel alone - the tusk that's broken is our home." The hearth keeper's face clouds with sadness. "Or not alone as Shemven's heart, which follows ravens like pole stars." "With raven's fair we cannot help, but Shemven's hair, plucked out? His yelps? That's a deed we rectify by returning the stone—all them and I. The ravens hereabouts, you know, are linked to spirits, sky, and snow. That stone you've got, to woo your star? Ravens anger when it's far. If it's returned, I'm resolute," Eirthgim nods solemnly, "you can continue love's pursuit."
Reckless. Ridiculous. Kuthek’s worried forehead uncreases and a broad smile brightens his face. Brilliant.
Oh, very sly. I've been underestimating her.
”You… weren’t supposed to hear that.” Kuthek mirrors the graceful young man’s sigh with his own. ”Purely inward-facing musings. I understand your frustrations, and I apologize for my response.” ”But yes, do wait your turn.” He nods toward Fiorré’s retreat and the shut door. ”I expect we could all use a relaxing bath and a bit of time for our thoughts, Fiorré in particular; let me make sure she gets it.” He drags the half-assembled bathtub into the adjacent room, finishes the construction, then goes to knock on Fiorré’s door. The sight of Funmi gives him some pause, but before he can ask anything, Fiorré steps out and offers assistance.
Task complete, he politely waves off the offer. ”Beauty before age, beauty before age. You don’t want to hear the sounds I make when my old bones start simmering. I’m happy to listen to Zintaya and wait my turn.”
Kuthek's affable expression, usually as unnoticeable as breathing, hardens into an affronted scowl. "Young man, do you realize how long I've had this?" He raises the bottomless sack and shakes it. "Squirrels forget where they've buried their winter stores, nobles forget what gilded frivolities lie under dusty sheets in unused wings. You seemed to have the situation well in hand, and a desire unvoiced is a desire unmet." He snorts and turns to Fiorré. "And yes, let's assemble this apparently now very popular bathtub." Something of his avuncular manner returns. "I would suggest we do so in the offices, but it seems you've as little concern for privacy as the average resident of a Pangolais shadowpen tenement." The man bundles the slats under an arm and carries them over to one of the warehouse's walls, muttering all the wall. Part way through the process, he heaves a deep sigh and runs a thick hand over his brow. "What was that all about, eave? Something about another surveillance state has you on edge, perhaps?" He sighs again and casts a chagrined glance at Aphotos. "No need to visit your insecurities on others."
Kuthek does his best to hide the slim smile that the two women's half-stumbling conversation elicits. Though he can't resist dissimulating a wink when he thinks Fiorré might see one out of the corner of a cat-like eye.
——— "One more batch of sinister creatures for the district," he says as he goes off to reconnoiter the warehouse. "I think I've even been called a revenant before. Maybe after that attempted drowning near Bloodcove." He checks every nook and cranny for hidden passages, magical meddling, and similar tools of the murderer's trade. He whistles jauntily as he does, the song sounding thin and hollow in the huge space. After a half hour or so, he returns to the group. "The place seems sound enough, and it appears free of divination and mundane weaknesses." He perks up at Fiorré's mention of a bath. "Well now, funny you should mention! When you get to my age, you start looking for ways to ease the indignities of the years' march." He starts pulling slats, about 4 feet long, out of a bag. Dozens emerge, followed by a carefully folded canvas and a lacquered gourd. He lifts the gourd to his lips, takes a drink, and wipes his mouth on the back of his arm.
He hooks a thumb over his shoulder toward the cluster of small rooms. "We've even got that rarest resource—privacy. So if it's a bath you want"—he waves a hand, the gesture leaving just enough ambiguity as to whether or not the pronoun includes a second party—"I believe you're in luck."
Kuthek savors the uncoiling of his god's predatory grace as he wraps it around Fiorré, then springs forward. The stout man's transmutation-quickened feet fly across the building's floor. He weaves in and among the lion-masked shadows and levitating stones, skids to a stop near Funmi, and uses the momentum to fling the meteor hammer into the murmurating earth.
Kuthek sprints toward the building's nearest window, closes his eyes, and -
A split second later, he reappears next to the amalgamate being and swings his spiked chain.
Holomog! man I hope so, I’ve want d to see more about the place for years!
Kuthek mulls over Funmi's words. He snorts, and a wisp of steam rolls out from his teacup. "And if not sahkils, I'm sure gardeners raise any number of toxic flora. Or sew invasive species on certain ancestral holdings. When you rule by fear, you get your hooks into people—I'm sure they could convince a member of the household guard to slowly poison the lord." No poisoned lords for you, though, eh young kayal? The razor was right there, after all. The stout man's faraway gaze snaps back to the present, and a smile creases his forehead and cheeks once more. "Master Nevarmo, much as I appreciate your inventory, I suspect we should be getting on. Regimes don't topple themselves."
Kuthek blinks in surprise at Fiorré's kiss on the cheek. She's moved on by the time he recovers. He exhales a quiet puff out his nose, and his lips curve ever so slightly into a tiny smile.
He nods at her, brow furrowed, when she returns to report her findings and plans. "This all feels off. I'm sure Funmi can handle herself, but I'll be happy knowing someone quick with a blade has her back. We'll join you shortly." —— In the alcove, Kuthek crouches to examine the dead man. "Hrm. Ink stains, leather armor, and an eyepatch. Not the most common combination." He rocks back on his heels and taps a thick thumb against his chin. "I can see preserving him to avoid the stench, which would draw attention. But why leave him here?" He surveys the chamber for any signs of struggle or unusual haste—reasons someone would cast an embalming spell without bothering to dispose of a corpse.
possibly relevant skills:
dragon stuff It's a bit late, but that probably should've been spoilered >_>
Kuthek feels the morrigna's spell worm its way into his core, then explode in jagged shards of ice and searing flame. He almost cries out, but clenches his jaw.
As does the tension in his muscles when the psychopomps lower their weapons. He nods along with his companions' summation of events.
He hrms softly at Fiorré inquiry. "Probably the basement, presuming we want to stay someplace safe from prying eyes. Though maybe wait until we hear more from these two," he indicates the morrignas with a minute twitch of a stout index finger, "since they'd likely know if something was lurking down there."
It's a relief for Kuthek to drop his prim servant's facade and adopt the loose skulker's stance to which he's most accustomed.
Hooray, it's live! This was a great assignment and automatons have tons of flavor to work with :)
Kuthek grunts at a small packet in the tea chest, impressed. "Greenpetal asp scales - you do know your business. Not many folks who stock snakeskin teas." He wafts the aroma toward himself; grassy, astringent, musty. Lovely! The stocky man sits cross-legged on the floor and removes his own tea equipment to begin steeping the strange brew. He's content to let his companions ask their own questions, for the moment, as they've all got good heads on their shoulders. Though he can't help but slip in a comment about Funmi's manners. "She is apparently a diplomat, if you'd believe it." His entirely gray eyes drift lazily up from his work. "She's also entirely right about the subduing. But I think you know that, and aren't liable to find out anyways, being a friend of Miss Drannoch's." He says it with a slightly conciliatory air.
During the Journey:
His conversations with Funmi and small pleasure in watching those new to his second home traverse it so skillfully make the journey seem much shorter than it is. Outside Litran:
His eyes scan the landscape and settle on the strange building at the city’s heart. He raises his chin to indicate its clouded base. ”I imagine that’s Gray Gardeners’ haunt. Unlikely there’s something else so emotionally weighty that it would have a similar manifestation in the Shadow.” ”Let’s leave the boundary plane and step back into the real. We can camp out of sight of the walls . Once Sarenrae shows her face, we can enter in whatever manner we decide on.” He turns his gentle smile on Fiorré once more. ”I quite like sleeping beneath the stars. Something calls to me from the wild places of our worlds.”
Kuthek cocks an eyebrow at Funmi. "The hard way?" He surveys the shadowy figure's muscle-heavy bulk and predatory stance. "And how many pounds of flesh did you lose to our young friend's hunting aspect?" Mist-gray eyes flicker toward Fiorré's masque. Proper and shy and containing multitudes. Not so different than myself, I suppose, in those first bloody nights. The stout man squares his shoulders and lopes forward, stopping toe-to-toe with the beastly shade. He tips his his head back. Twilit eyes and wicked antlers loom above him. "Alright. You," he chirps, waving a hand to encompass girl and beast alike, "clearly know at least some of what you're on about - I doubt Miss Drannoch would have contacted you if that weren't the case." He drops his avuncular gaze to Fiorré, lips curving in a gentle smile. "And I'm no stranger to, mmm... incongruous violence." Kuthek can feel the fang close against the skin of his chest. Its cold iron and static charge of dream-given potential are a comfort and a reminder. He steps back, dropping his shoulders and returning to his normal, easy-going stance, the very picture of a man headed to the town square to play riverland pawn and swap tall tales with the other commonfolk going to seed. "Direct your ferocity toward the right folk and you'll find no trouble with me. Or direct a different kind of ferocity at our gentleman dancer, if you prefer - he seems game!" His eyes twinkle at Aphotos. Kuthek's mirth is cut short by the sensation of the shadow shifting around him. He perks up at Chance's mention. "Drifting, just so! You've got good instincts. The boundary paths change even as you tread them. Nothing to worry about, just a bit disorienting at first." He raises a hand to his neck and strokes a thumb along the fang hidden beneath his tunic, considering Fiorré and Funmi one last time. Deeming it unnecessary to try chipping at the teacher's facade or risking further embarrassment for the young duelist, he simply turns to the southeast to get his bearings. Through and along blood-flecked fog to the gray gardens. The Shadow isn't subtle about some things.
Kuthek is very still when he notices Fiorré's appearance. He moves a hand to his neck, both to hold his chin pensively and to make it easier to unwrap his bladed scarf should need be. "Fiorré? You... seem yourself. But there's something... with you." He relaxes slightly at Funmi's calm demeanor and apparent familiarity. "So you two know each other, then? And you've worked together on this, ah," he surveys the dripping fluid and looming, monstrous figure, "condition?" He walks in a slow circle around the manifestation. "I don't mean to pry—we've all got our secrets, I'm sure. But what is it? A part of you? Some entity you've bonded with? Something else? I've never seen anything like it in my time in the Shadow."
Fantastic news! I'm so proud of the staff, freelancers, and community for all their support and hard work - and to the executive team, thank you for taking a huge step forward :D
Paizo management, recognize the union.
Oh, I've also got the death's call focus spell, which is a reaction.
Any early impressions from subscribers? Glad you liked them! I wrote that section, with some excellent inspiration from Michelle :)
No wonder my Frankensteins aren’t animating!
The subjective degree of oppression has nothing to do with that. (I've been writing this for a while and can't remember what the 'that' in the quote refers to, so I'm just using the idea of subjective degrees of oppression as a jumping off point) I'd rephrase this as which groups hold more real-world power, cultural political or otherwise, and that's a really important factor in these discussion. If you have something like North American indigenous culture, they definitely haven't held power in recent history. In many cases the US government tried to exterminate them and wipe out their culture. It's much different to have Native American cultural figures pulled into games than say, devils. Devils (as compared to Satan/The Devil) have been a part of a dominant culture-at least here in the US, where Pathfinder is made and where most of the freelancers live—for long enough that they're pretty well defanged and ubiquitous. Their inclusion in fantasy RPGs isn't really hurting anyone or exploiting any historical power dynamics, because devils're a part of the dominant group's cultural tradition. Christianity has also been well-represented in the halls of political power. Even non-career politician Christians have enough access to power—through feedback to legislatures, faith groups, etc.—that if something truly offensive were being done with Christian imagery, they be a meaningful part of any conversation to alter what was happening. Meanwhile, many Native American groups don't have the cultural or political presence/power to exercise that control over their own cultural heritage. E.g. the Washington football team with the slur for a name, or the state of New Mexico using one of the sacred symbols of the Zia pueblo on the state flag without permission. In short, remixing devils neither perpetuates any historical cultural misuse. And if devils/demons/etc were more important sacred figures in contemporary Christianity, the people who held actual stakes in their portrayal could exercise a meaningful amount of control over that portrayal. If marginalized authors were writing e.g. folklore creatures' portrayals in a Bestiary, that'd be different. They're the stakeholders, they have the context to choose a respectful, joyful way to bring that heritage into the game. You can see that in Bestiary 3, in fact! Off the top of my head, check out the stone lion and the tikbalang.
If I wanted to attend a school, I'd attend the University of Lepidstadt in Ustalov. To be fair, the Magaambya is a much different sort of school than the other big institutions we've seen on Golarion. Much more community-oriented and "get out there and do stuff" than a lecture hall, 101/201/301 kinda place.
I totally missed the more Haitian elements in this book (albeit I haven't finished it yet). Which parts of the book have any Haiti inspirations? Genuine question. I believe folks’re talking about Vidrian, the nation that used to be a Chelish colony called Sargava.
They have eight eyes, which they can use to Seek in two directions at once.Lost Omens: The Mwangi Expanse Preview from How It's Played.Okay somebody's gotta tell me more about the goloma because this is the most monstrous ancestry we've gotten yet and I am here for it Eight big ones, then thousands of itty bitty ones in their hair!
The gods section is fantastic, pretty much everyone one of them made me want to make a character who follows them.
I swear one of the books describes it somewhere. I just can't remember where on what page. I believe I touched on it in Book 2’s Among the Xulgath section! I think you have pretty broad creative license, though - their diets are upsetting by most folks’ standards and demonic forces have messed with their species for a looooong time.
Eyyy, now I don’t have to comb through months of old emails to catch up!
Ah, I recognize that! It's 1e, an alraune from my Ecology of Carnivorous Plants article in the back of Tyrant's Grasp book 4, Gardens of Gallowspire.
! I hope theres a bunch of runes in this. I can say that it does have... Spoiler: EXPLOSIVE RUNES!!!!! :p
Something about clicking right into the discussion thread seems to keep the various tabs from appearing. Go to the default product link, and just below the "See Also" section you should see the review tab!
Yep, they’ve said there’ll be ways to get non-spellcasting classes involved! I don’t know how this fact interacts with the details of the AP at all, but also keep in mind that canonically the Magaambya accepts people without magical aptitude, as mentioned in Lost Omens Character Guide.
HYPE *ahem* I’m very much looking forward to this AP!
Gonna be such a cool book!
This thread being brought back is a good time to point out that one of Jatembe's Ten Magic Warriors was a serpentfolk, as revealed by Lost Omens: Legends! (which came out after this thread ended the first time) ;)
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