[Characters] The Lovely Bunch

[William Imm]

Please post your characters and character sheets here in this thread.

[Xiasmus]

I am Yarmr Free, the Cruel Glaive who Fuses Flesh and Steel

Tier	Effort	XP
1	1	0

Stat	Current	Total	Edge
Might	20	20	1
Speed	13	13	1
Intellect	9	9	0

Armor: +1

 

Cruelty: When you use force, you can choose to maim or deliver painful injuries to draw out your foe’s suffering. Whenever you inflict damage, you can choose to inflict 2 fewer points of damage to decrease the difficulty of the next attack against that foe by one step.

Skill: You’re trained in tasks related to deception, intimidation, and persuasion when you interact with characters experiencing physical or emotional pain.

Inability: You have a hard time connecting with others, understanding their motives, or sharing their feelings. The difficulty of any task made to ascertain another character’s motives, feelings, or disposition is increased by one step.

Additional Equipment: You have a valuable memento from the last person you destroyed. The memento is worth 10 shins, and you can sell it or trade it for an item of equal or lesser value.

 

Connection: Pick one other PC. This character knows your true nature, even if no one else does. If your components
are not particularly hidden, she knows a different secret of yours, such as a preprogrammed word that will shut you down for ten minutes.
Additional Equipment: You have a bag of light tools and a variety
of parts to repair yourself.

Minor Effect Suggestions: Your servos learn from your successful actions. You gain a +1 bonus to similar actions involving the same task (such as making attacks against the same foe or operating the same device).
Major Effect Suggestions: You discharge a small pulse of power into your foe. Make an immediate attack against that foe (using the same stat as the action that caused the
major effect). If the attack succeeds, it deals 4 points of electrical damage.

Tier 1 Enhanced Body:
You gain +1 to Armor, +3 to your Might Pool, and +3 to your
Speed Pool. Enabler.

Traditional healing skills, medicines, and techniques work only half as well
for you. Each time you start at full health, the first 5 points of damage you take can never be healed in these ways or recovered normally. Instead, you must use repairing skills and abilities to restore those points. For example, if you start with a full Might Pool of 10 and take 8 points of damage, you can use recovery rolls to restore 3 points, but the remaining 5 points must be restored using repairing methods.

 

Practiced in Armor: Glaives can wear armor for long
periods of time without tiring and can compensate for slowed reactions from wearing armor. You can wear any kind of armor. You reduce the Might cost per hour for wearing armor and the Speed Pool reduction for wearing armor by 2. Enabler.

Practiced With All Weapons: You can use any weapon. Enabler.

Physical Skills: You are trained in climbing. Enabler.

 

Fighting Moves:

No Need for Weapons: When you make an unarmed attack (such as a punch or kick), it counts as a medium weapon instead of a light weapon. Enabler.

Thrust (1 Might): This is a powerful melee stab. You make an attack and inflict 1 additional point of damage if your weapon has a sharp edge or point. Action.

 

Starting Equipment:
Beyond Mountain Tribesman Clothing, fashioned from regional analogues.
Heavy Great Axe
Iron-branch Spear
Medium Armor
an explorer’s pack
two cyphers (chosen for you by the GM),
one oddity (chosen for you by the GM),
5 shins (coins).

 

Appearance:

Yarmr is prematurely old. He is a man who appears physically powerful, but worn by experience. His body seems swollen with power, but this is partly due to the subcutaneous plates and mylar fiber weaves through his muscles, which boost his strength and fill out his frame beyond normal ability. His form is formidable, but it is not muscle mass alone that drives off some.

Yarmr's face, sometimes hidden by his grey hair, is drawn, lined by pain and hardship. His eyes have permanent bags, and the whites are shot through with red from lack of sleep. His cheeks sometimes sag with fatigue, and his teeth, yellowed with age, grit frequently, either from pain or frustration. His jaw is often clenched, and it is not unusual to hear him grit his teeth in his sleep. Only his eyes hold a hardness akin to his body.

 

Personality (optional):
Yarmr is blunt, brusk, and brutal. He has little fear of blood, either his own or others, and he claims to have no love in the world. Yarmr is self-declared as free, and he often claims others have no idea what freedom is. If Yarmr is truly free, perhaps freedom is not something to be wished for.

Despite being poor company from time to time, Yarmr is honorable in his own way. He keeps to his word, and will not harm another needlessly. Those who have spoken with him note that Yarmr seems to be seeking for something. He searches everyone's face when he first meets them. Sometimes his holds his hand in front of their face, at an angle, as if measuring their facial features by some portion of his own anatomy. He will choose, sometimes, to share a story of his past, and though sorting through his story can sometimes be confusing, there is much of it to suggest he has lived a unique life. If it is possible to befriend the unpleasant man, it might be that he is the safest man to have on their side.

 

Background:
Yarmr is truly free. Yarmr was born far north of here. He was born to a small tribe, and knew his small village as a child. But his village was on the edge of a Proving Zone, and one year, on the Night of Proving, when the Young Unblooded went for their trial, one returned early with an infection. The metal borers had infested the poor young man, and they, in turn, used him as a host to infest the village. Yarmr, Unblooded, fled with his mother, his sister, and two cousins, and from a distance they watched their home be consumed by the Proving Zone borers. In time it gleamed with the metal sheen of the borers, and some of the dead rose to create the appearance of living, so as to lure the unwary.

Yarmr and his close kin journeyed to a nearby village, but were turned away as unclean. They would have to visit three more villages before they found a place desperate for new blood, that took them in. Here his mother, sister, and cousins found new homes and kinfolk, but Yarmr was unbolted, and so he was forced to undertake a proving at an early age, if he wished a place in his new village. Yarmr was given a spear, and sent on his trial.

Yarmr survived five days on flesh of rabbits, wolves, and a fox. He searched for a token of favor from a spirit but found little. The local Proving Zone was not as rich as that of the village of his youth.

When he returned he found one of his cousins being burned at the stake, and his kin accused of witchcraft. They were executed over the span of a week. One of the borer beetles had hidden among his kin, and had waited for a time before it began to reproduce. Already some in the village were taking on the metal skin. Yarmr Newblood was forced to search houses along with the other green warriors. It was then that Yarmr was bitten. By the end of the year, the village was abandoned. By the end of the year Yarmr noticed that he had begun to grow beyond his young manhood growth spurt. After other men halted their growth, Yarmr continued. He grew larger, stronger, and more fearsome. But this was not a blessing among his new tribe, and he was declared unclean.

Yarmr Exile was forced to wander. He was forced to live among the lowlanders. He came to know their tongue, and live in their cities. He learned their ways, although he did not make them his own.

And he met the woman who would be his wife, Naia.

He and Naia found an island far enough away from the cities to call their home. They had two children. They raised them to appreciate the land, the ways of both their father and mother, and the importance of self-reliance.

Yarmr Father found joy in simplicity.

But he was host to borers. And when his children were old enough, and he had enough livestock, and his life was truly happy, they hatched.

Yarmr only lived because of his boosted physiology. His form, made to host the borers safely, had gained enough reslience to survive the hatching. But he lost decades of his life. His hair went prematurely grey. His face grew more slack. In time he learned to rebuild himself, but he was not the man he had once been. He was a hollow, hulking shadow of his former self.

And he lost everything and everyone he loved. Even though his wife and children rose again to walk about the island, smiling and appearing joyful, they were no longer alive, but metal servants of the borers.

Yarmr was cast alone again.

Yarmr has no clan, no tribe, no village, no kin. He wanders, less a man and more a monster than anyone will know. He knows ways of killing, and he knows ways of mourning. He is intimately familiar with ways of death.

Yarmr Free is seeking to exchange his freedom to something better. He seeks redemption and forgiveness for the unforgivable. And he seeks to find a new home, even if it cannot truly be his.

 

Writing Sample:
Yarmr held his hand up to the young woman's face, sighting down the length of her nose, and comparing it to his thumb.

"Ugly." he finally said, shaking his head sadly. The woman, confused, suddenly looked away. Yarmr watched her retreat, and inwardly felt bad. She was likely pretty enough to a lowlander. She had the right curves, and a small red mouth that seemed inviting. But she was no Naia. She could not measure up to his late wife.

Yarmr looked at the meat on the fire. It was a meager offering, despite the apparent gratitude of the pilgrims. Some were not meat eaters, but others did not seem to have that queer practice, and so accepted his gift. Many still shied away from him.

Yarmr was still free. He took out a knife, and began to work at the flesh nearest the fire, pulling a piece away. Still spitted on his blade, he pointed it at others in the group. "Eat now. You eat? You won't burn yourself. If you wait too long, fat will be gone, and you will have only dry and savorless. Eat." None of them looked willing to take the meat from his knife. Perhaps because it was still sizzling. Yarmr took the meat from his blade, savoring the brief sting of the cooking meat on his fingers before flicking the slice into his mouth. He chuffed his breath across the hot flesh, letting it come out steaming for a few moments before chewing the meat. His tongue would not burn so easily like this, and he could still taste the savor of it.

The flavor was good. Gamey but the smoke and blood-sizzle gave it tang. "Eat." he urged again.

As the pilgrims made the choice to either eat the meat or not, Yarmr sat and took out his tools. First he tended to his axe, cleaning and honing the blade, and then making certain the blade was securely bolted to the wood. Then he began working at the links of his armor, and the holes. This last was the most delicate and taxing work, requiring picks and tines that probed the tunnels that lead deep into the hollow, empty basin that once held the metallic borer beetles. Yarmr cleared them of lint, gristle, and any parasites that intended to take up residence. And then he took the small bottle of bleach and poured it into each hole, until he could hear and feel the sizzling in his gut. There was no pain. The basin was an empty hive, or at least as empty as he could achieve every three days. But this leg of the pilgrimage was dry, and there was no river to wade into, to rinse out the bleach. He would have to do his exercises, and drain the holes carefully. Certain denizens of the wilds were attracted to the scent of bleach, and he could not afford to be careless.

As he tended and cleaned his altered flesh, he sang a tuneless song, a bad rendition of a war chant he remembered from his youth. He knew few of the words, and so tended to fill in the gaps with whatever came to mind that had roughly the right sound and length.

"Fear, Fear, oh do-og heart swinging..." he crooned, swishing the bleach inside his stomach and working gently at a bit of exposed mylar in a recent wound. "We come, come... grey and socks wi-ndy... Long arms and shanks, we draw down around us... Ride some-thing grew, the snow of the steeps."

Yarmr picked out a bit of broken tooth, from the boar-beasts he'd killed for the day's meal. He looked at the bone, and considered the scrimshaw potential of the bone. He continued the guttural singing as he looked at the exposed inner surface. "Run we all night, for night logs are fell... Sing we the song of ten new march open! And all will be few, seeding the throws! Hay! Hay! Seeding the throws."

Yarmr worked the wire, resealing the flesh, and then he looked up. Many hastily looked away, either afraid of a man not quite human, or embarassed by his singing. He didn't know the words. They were lost to him now. He considered the tooth and then flicked it away.

He'd been with the pilgrims for a month now. He had a sense that perhaps this might be a path of opportunity. They told him of a place where rejuvenation was possible. If he could reclaim his lost youth... If he could find a woman to rival Naia... If he could find a way to forge a new life...

Then he could no longer be free. He smiled at a small child that watched him from beneath his mother's skirts. The child whimpered and hid. Yarmr shrugged.

They'd all see. If they were attacked, Yarmr would help to defend them. But perhaps not the small boy. He hadn't made up his mind yet. Lowlanders didn't do the trials, but perhaps the trials were important to teach self-reliance. There would be a time that is was necessary for the child to stop hiding under his mother, and fight for himself.

Yarmr considered the others, and decided he'd be friendly if one of them chose to fight back or be honest with him. But that would be something he kept to himself. A secret to keep, like the bleach in his belly, until it was discovered, or until it was time to let it go.

[grenadierman]

Sannah, The Rugged Glaive who Carries a Quiver Sannah has a woodsman's stride, and dirt and grime has a permanent place with his hands. His youthful face is framed by wavy locks of blonde hair. Just below his eyes are lines of blue paint. He wears a veil over his mouth and jawline, and his tribal garb is a mishmash of various hides and furs of game he's hunted. He does not openly adorn his trophies, keeping them instead in a small pouch. Background: Sannah hails from a small nomadic hunter tribe in Iscobal, who make their living by roaming the countryside. They worship the god Haramas, who provides them with game as a challenge of skill. Everyone in the tribe has to take a role in it, and everyone is expected to know their own weapon. Sannah's weapon is the bow, in the footsteps of his father. He practiced and hunted the small game at first, and then larger game as his skill and confidence grew. His ultimate test came one day when he was attacked by Ung-glash during his daily hunt. Ung-glash was a great bear, and part of the primal circle the tribe feared, awed, and respected. For every generation, there was always one primal that preyed on the tribe, and there was always a man or woman of the tribe that would defeat it. It was a gruesome affair that cost Sannah his lower face as he protected his childhood friend Milia, but he eventually prevailed with the mastery of his bow. He came back as a hero to his tribe, his jaw and mouth replaced with traded cybernetics. However, hero or not, it was time for Sannah's rite of passage. The rite of passage is taken when the person has reached maturity. For men, it involves a journey to the outside world to seek and make amends with his soul, mind, and body. It is subjective, but for Sannah, his steel jaw is one of those ailments. Only after this rite is done can one become a true hunter. Because the journey may be as short as a month, or years long, the man is required to sire a child before they leave with a consenting woman. Milia was a fine woman in all respects and she had always felt indebted to Sannah for saving her life from Ung-glash. Sannah was hesitant in approaching her because of fear of rejection, but he had to ask her to bear his child eventually, and he did. To his surprise, Milia was happy with doing so, even if he was missing a jaw. He has traveled for more than a few months now, looking for someone or something who can mend the wounds that he suffered from Ung-glash. Wherever he goes however, it is inevitably in the direction of the Wandering Walk. A storm pushes back the boat he sets foot on. The round about path is beset by bandits, or some sort of natural disaster. It seems that the Wandering Walk is the only direction he can go. Was it the will of Haramas that he go there? It is just as well, since they say there are mysteries and numenara aplenty, with a chance to restore himself.   The sounds of cheering and partying faded behind Sannah as he parted past the bush and into the forest. The massive bonfire at the camp cast shadows as it lit the way deep into the forest, but he didn't need the campfire to guide his way around. The young hunter spoke in a soft voice, "Milia, where are you?" His childhood friend had disappeared in the middle of the festivities. They were the same age, and although she could hunt down the biggest of beasts alongside him, he was more worried that someone or something had upset her. Milia wasn't known for being short-tempered, but hell hath no fury... Without thinking, his hands brushed aside the tall grass and overgrowth as walked. Worry made him pick up his pace, "Milia?" Sannah uttered. Sannah stopped in his tracks once he heard the stream up ahead. He always loved the sound of a flowing river. It was calm, soothing, and constant. He shut his eyes, tuning his hearing to a fine grain. There was that sound of the river, yes. But there was something else. Dirt and grass being moved - no, brushed aside. It had a light touch to it, so it couldn't have been anything heavy. Wait, what was that? Another set of sounds, a bit farther ahead than the last one! It was moving with a purpose towards the rustling dirt and grass. Sannah unslung the bow from his back, and with a motion he extended the bow with a click. He drew two arrows from his hip quiver. He did not need more to take down game these days, and if he needed his whole quiver, it was best to just run. Sannah called out one last time, "Milia?" and with bated breath he waited. The sounds closest to him stirred, and then he saw her as she poked her head around the bush behind her to look in his direction. "Sannah?" Her voice carried out farther than his, and something past her began to sprint in their direction. He matched pace with it and quickly notched an arrow. When he came to the clearing he saw not only Milia sitting down crosslegged, but also a wraith spider clear across the river on its hindlegs about to pounce. His instincts kicked in and he loosed an arrow. It whistled, puncturing the spider through its head and coming cleanly out its back. The spider made a shudder and collapsed, dead. "I used too much power on that draw..." Sannah said, shaking his head in disappointment. He put his bow and arrow away and faced Milia, who had never moved from her spot. In fact, she was now staring back at him. If his hunter's insight was right, she was curious about something. "I was wondering how long it would take you, Sannah." Milia said. "Why didn't you move?" Sannah made a spot right next to her and sat down, staring at the river and avoiding the accusing stare of the dead wraith spider across from it. When Milia didn't respond, he looked to her. She seemed to be staring off into the distance as she rubbed dirt between her fingers. His heart began to beat the longer he maintained his stare, and he began to feel a tad warm. Oh, Milia's brown locks... oh! He caught himself and looked away, embarrassed without having said a word. "Why are you all the way here anyway? It's my last night before the journey." Milia turned her head to look at him with a blank look on her face and said, "Who knows, Sannah? Who knows?" Was she just toying with him? She's normally never like this. Why are women so at odds sometimes? Sannah sighs, with clear hints of frustration in his voice, "Is there anything at all you want to say? Or are you just going to be cryptic before I leave for Haramas knows how long? I might not even come back! I - " He felt Milia push him to the ground, and down he went. The spearwoman sat on top of him and leaned until he could feel Milia's breath on his face. The closeness, the touch made him breathless and his heart pounded with affection "You're leaving me, Sannah. It's the night before, and you've never even asked me to be your woman? I...I am right here, Sannah." It was only then that everything clicked for the young hunter. He could hear the twang of an arrow being shot, and feel guilt pierce his heart. How could he have known? He could track a shadow deer for hours on end, and shoot a flying buzzard straight through the heart. But this? It made him feel helpless. "I just never thought you'd like how I am." His confession left him at a loss for words, but Milia moved his veil, exposing his injury that was replaced by inhuman metal. His scar. His weakness. She kissed and pecked his metal teeth and jaw before he could say another word. He couldn't kiss back, but he held her close and comforted her before he had to go.

Tier	Effort	Cyphers	Shins	XP
1	1	2	5	0

Stat	Current	Total	Edge
Might	11	11	1
Speed	14	14	1
Intellect	9	9	0

Skill	Trained	Specialized
Balancing	X
Climbing	X
Jumping	X
Running	X
Swimming	X
Training/Riding/Placating Animals	X
Identifying/Using Natural Plants	X

Fighting Move	Description
Pierce (1 Speed point)	This is a well-aimed, penetrating ranged attack. You make an attack and inflict 1 additional point of damage if your weapon has a sharp point. Action.
Thrust (1 Might point)	This is a powerful melee stab. You make an attack and inflict 1 additional point of damage if your weapon has a sharp edge or point. Action.

Who Carries A Quiver	Description
Archer	You can spend points from either your Speed Pool or your Intellect Pool to apply levels of Effort to increase your bow damage. Each level of Effort adds 3 points of damage to a successful attack. Enabler.
Fletcher	You are trained in making arrows. Enabler.
Additional Equipment	You start with a well-made bow and two dozen arrows.
Minor Effect Suggestion	Hit in a tendon or muscle, the target takes 2 points of Speed damage as well as normal damage.
Major Effect Suggestion	The target is pinned in place with an arrow.

Rugged Benefit	Description
Inability	You have no social graces and prefer animals to people. The difficulty of any task involving charm, persuasion,etiquette, or deception is increased by one step.
Additional Equipment	You carry an explorer’s pack. If you already have one, you can instead take 50 extra feet (15 m) of rope, two more days’ worth of rations, and an extra ranged weapon.

Glaive Abilities	Description
Practiced in Armor	You can wear any kind of armor. You reduce the Might cost per hour for wearing armor and the Speed Pool reduction for wearing armor by 2. Enabler.
Practiced With All Weapons	You can use any weapon. Enabler.
Physical Skills	You are trained in climbing. Enabler.

Starting Equipment:
Well-Made Bow
24 arrows
Knife
Spear
Clothing
Hides and Furs
---
2 Cyphers
1 Oddity
---
Explorer's Pack: Contains 50 feet (15 m) of rope, rations for three days, three spikes, hammer, warm clothes, sturdy boots, three torches, and two minor glowglobes.

[Strangemund]

Fahra Firewalker, the Mystical Nano who Bears A Halo Of Fire

Tier	Effort	Cyphers	Shins	XP
1	1	3	4	0

Stat	Current	Total	Edge
Might	7	7	0
Speed	11	11	0
Intellect	18	18	1

Skill	Trained	Specialized
Numenera		X

Esoteries	Description
Scan (2 Intellect Points)	You scan an area equal in size to a 10-foot (1-meter) cube, including all objects or creatures within that area. The area must be within short range. Scanning a creature or object always reveals its level (a measure of how powerful, dangerous, or difficult it is). You also learn whatever facts the GM feels are pertinent about the matter and energy in that area. Many materials and energy fields prevent or resist scanning. Action.
Onslaught (1 Intellect Point)	You attack a foe using energies that assail his physical form. You emit a short-range ray of force that inflicts 4 points of damage. You must be able to see your target. Action.
Hedge Magic (1 Intellect Point)	You can perform small tricks: temporarily change the color or basic appearance of a small object, cause small objects to float through the air, clean a small air, mend a broken object, prepare (but not create) food, and so on. You cannot use hedge magic to harm another creature or object. Action.

Nano Abilities	Description
Expert Cypher Use	You can bear three cyphers at a time.
Practiced With Light Weapons	You can use light weapons without penalty. If you wield a medium weapon, increase the difficulty of the attack by one step. If you wield a heavy weapon, increase it by two steps.
Numenera Training	You are trained in the numenera and can attempt to understand and identify its properties.

Bears A Halo Of Fire	Description
Fire Esoteries	If you perform esoteries, those that would normally use force or other energy (such as electricity) instead use fire. For example, force blasts from Onslaught are blasts of flame, and Flash is a burst of fire. These alterations change nothing except the type of damage and the fact that it might start fires. As another example, Barrier produces a wall of roaring flames. In this case, the alteration changes the esotery so that the barrier is not solid but instead inflicts 1 point of damage to anything that touches it and 4 points of damage to anyone who passes through it.
Shroud of Flame (1 Intellect Point)	At your command, your entire body becomes shrouded in flames that last up to ten minutes. The fire doesn’t burn you, but it automatically inflicts 2 points of damage to anyone who tries to touch you or strike you with a melee attack. Flames from another source can still hurt you. While the shroud is active, you gain +2 points of Armor that protect only against damage from fire from another source. Enabler.
Minor Effect Suggestion	The target or something near the target catches fire.
Major Effect Suggestion	An important item on the target’s person is destroyed.
Additional Equipment	You have an artifact—a device that sprays inanimate objects to make them fire-resistant. All your starting gear has already been treated unless you don’t want it to be.

Mystical Benefit	Description
Inability	You have a manner or an aura that others find a bit unnerving. The difficulty of any task involving charm, persuasion, or deception is increased by one step.
Sense "magic"	You can sense whether the numenera is active in situations where its presence is not obvious. You must study an object or location closely for a minute to get a feel for whether the touch of the ancients is at work.
Additional Equipment	You have an extra oddity determined by the GM.

Starting Equipment:
Knife
Clothing
Dusty book
---
3 Cyphers
2 Oddity
---

 

Character Application Appearance: Ritualistic scars cover a majority of Fahra’s body. They branch out in a circular web of runes that follow the lines of her veins, starting from her wrists then to her shoulder and down her chest. The crevices of the scars glow with a baleful green which pulsate in regular intervals. Her hair is a painted muddy green that is shaven short with the exception of a braid that is tied at the center of her head. The braid hangs down her back-side, with unusually colored feathers and bones tied at each notch. On the sides of her head, feathers are clipped into her scalp where they dangle freely. Fahra is a woman of unknown ethnicity but her charcoal skin and unusual dialect labels her as a woman of the Beyond. Fahra is shrouded in mysticism. Her experience with forces unknown emanate from her person in several different ways. An ancient wisdom shines in her amber gaze that unsettles those who meet it; it does not suit her youth but somehow is always heard in her strange sultry tongue. A wicked, almost knowing, smile dances upon her lips and Fahra often laughs with a wildness that is ready to burst. She is a small woman by all appearances. Barely reaching the average man’s chest. Nonetheless she holds herself as though she is a giant among men. Most of her wardrobe avoids the use of sleeves and collars but she has grown accustomed to the comfort of boots. Personality: Fahra is patient, wise, and wicked. She is an observer of all things and only speaks when she’s ready. A slow pace that can often drive outsiders crazy. Any attempts to rush her is a feat in futility and will only make her wait longer. Her answers are always ones that suit the question or scene—but not always what people expect. She does not speak for the comfort of others nor to seed their egos but speaks for the moment, what she feels the person needs to hear or not hear at all. Those who know her see her as a woman of wisdom, a mystic of riddles, or a wilder whose brain is addled with smoke. She likes to think she’s all three. Background:   The village of the People exists deep within the Beyond. Far away from the civilized cities of the Steadfast and further still from the Truth. The People built their village upon a massive chasm’s edge where an obelisk of reflective glass towers from the center of the bottomless depth; the length of the artifact is unknown but it is believed the obelisk stretches all the way down to the Earth’s core. They are not frightened by this obelisk and feel they have no reason to for the artifact has sat in silence for several centuries now. It is only a broken piece of what came before. The People do not worry about their isolation from the rest of the world. They have thrived in the Beyond with ease by hunting small game that breeds in the forest nearby and by gathering the fluorescent fungi that grows on the chasm walls. They are simple Wilders who spend most of their life hunting, gathering and farming. What little dangers they face come in the forms of disease and hunting injuries. Anything more is solved by the Firewalker, the Vessel of the Flame and the People’s Mystic. The tradition of Firewalker has existed since the People stepped foot on the chasm’s edge. They believe in a deity known as the Flame, an entity that speaks through the sparks of fire and hot coals. This entity knows a great deal about the world and the worlds that came before and for whatever reason has always sought to guide the People from danger and ruin. Only a chosen few understand the Flame’s voice as it speaks in an unknown tongue; those who understand are known as the Vessel of the Flame. Blessed with the ability to translate the Flame’s bidding and gifted with powers that embrace the Flame’s touch. They are the Walkers of the Light. The role of Firewalker is considered a high honor in the village. Some even believe more important than the role of chieftain. Very few Firewalkers abuse their position, however, as they are taught at an early age that they are meant to serve and better the People. To take from their home will only bring forth destruction to the village and themselves. There is only one Firewalker at a time. More than one Vessel would split the Flame in half and while this does not damage their god, it is considered unseemly for It is not whole. The only time it is allowed for more than one Firewalker to enter the village is when the Rite of Rebirth is invoked. Fahra was lucky enough to be a part of this ritual as it only comes during the end of a Mystic’s life. Her and several other youths are given the task to travel deep within the chasm where they must listen to the Flame’s call and discover an oddity worthy of the People’s future. It is a task not all children succeed at first. Darkness is the original fear of man and to those who have walked underneath the light of the Flame have known to fear it even more. But Fahra was a brave child. No more than ten, she climbed deep into the depths of the chasm and stayed there for days. She feasted on the fluorescent fungi that grew on the hot cavern walls and drank from her waterskin when her thirst became too much to bear. She strayed far from the other children for she wanted to prove her bravery to the Flame. To stay with the others would only keep her connected to the People. Time was a strange thing in the belly of the chasm, though. With no light to guide her and no understanding of which direction to go, she felt as though she was lost in a void where time and reason mattered naught. To her seconds turned to centuries and days into lifetimes. She did not know if she’d ever return home. Fear invaded her mind like a disease. She saw figures in the darkness and heard whispers of unseen things. It frightened her and kept her awake in the hours of the night as she was certain the darkness would take her away if she closed her eyes. But exhaustion was hard to fight for a child as young as she and when she discovered a hole in the wall where she could lay, she slept. And she dreamed. Fire visited her dreams and it glowed brighter than any ember Fahra had ever seen. It wrapped itself around her and buried deep into her core until she could feel the hum of the earth beneath her feet and the resonance of spirits around her. It whispered secrets in her ear although she could only understand bits and pieces of what was said. It is voice that was a comfort to her. Much like her mother’s, much like her father’s, it was familiar and close. The fire spread through her veins and burnt Fahra from the inside-out as she tried to hear its’ words. "Come," it whispered to her. "Come." Fahra awoke with a start, uncertain if what she dreamed was real or not. But as she surveyed the darkness upon her awakening, she saw glimpses of things that did not exist before. Blips of orbs that moved throughout the shadows like fireflies caught in a jar. To an Aeon Priest they were called nanites. Bits of technology left behind. But to Fahra they were spirits and they called to her just as the dream had. Pulling at her core. Burning her veins. They pleaded for her to follow. Fahra, who was no longer afraid of the darkness, followed. Several of the children returned with oddities and cyphers days before Fahra’s arrival. Their objects could mend wounds, light fires, and levitate objects greater than themselves. The People were impressed. Proud. But the Mystic remained unphased by each oddity brought to him. Like always, he was contemplative and quiet. Fahra arrived days after the others, covered in soot and grime, but successful in her hunt. She had found an oddity that was not like the other. Smooth and flat with a reflective surface that shined like glass, the oddity looked like it had once been a part of the obelisk above. A beautiful find but its’ function was not explained. Try as Fahra did to activate the oddity, it did not mend wounds, light fires, or levitate objects greater than it. As far as Fahra could tell, it did nothing at all. Disappointment and humiliation filled Fahra as she realized how foolish her prize actually was. While the spirits had led her to the oddity, it hardly compared to the numenera the others had brought. But she had made her choice and was forced to endure the consequences. She stood in shame as the Mystic examined her oddity and then left without a word. Days passed and more children returned to the village with their prize. Some came home empty-handed, which soothed Fahra’s wounded ego, but others found numenera that benefited the People more than the last. Fahra spent her days mourning her foolishness and at night dreaming of the other artifacts she could have discovered in the chasm’s depths. Sometimes, though, she dreamt of fire. The Mystic had yet to give answer on which child would become the next Vessel. He remained in his hut with each artifact and oddity, alone. When the last child arrived, Fahra expected an older boy to be the victor for he had found an oddity that could function in several ways. But as night fell and the horns were sung of the Rite’s end, the Mystic had come to her door. "Come," he echoed. "Come." Fahra’s excitement could not compare to the wonders of the Mystic’s hut. Surreal objects lined his home. From the skulls of unknown beasts to numenera she barely grasped. But what surprised her the most was that her oddity was among his findings. Shame filled Fahra as she stared at it. Wondering why she was chosen when so many other objects served her People better. It was a thought that burned Fahra and it was the first thought she told the Mystic in his home. He had laughed at her inquiry, amused by her belief. Then gave Fahra the first lesson of her new life. He took her oddity and ran his wrinkled fingers across its flat surface. The glass reflecting the candlelight. He told her with a twinkle in his eye that not all answers are easily seen. And while her device did not function like the others brought to him, it was because it was part of a whole. The oddity she brought was a power source. Able to light the skies and fill houses with warmth. Alone, it was nothing, but with the proper tools and connections— Fahra could bring light to the People. Years of training went by under the Mystic Kathu. Fahra learned many layers of the world existed and that all spirits functioned differently. She learned to hold fire in her hand and to listen when the numenera spoke to her. But more importantly he taught her to look where others didn’t. There was much about the world that wasn’t understood. Many people would stick to what was considered normal rather than search for new answers. But it was her role to defy normalcy and improve the lives of others. She was going to serve the People and the knowledge she possessed would follow the People years after her death. The day Fahra turned fifteen was the day she fulfilled the role of Mystic. The People believed the Vessels of the Flame could live within one another if they devoured the flesh and bones of their mentors. It was a task that was difficult as she grew to love her Master Kathu but she could not ignore the ritual nor deny him his Rebirth through her. To kill and cannibalize him weighed Fahra’s heart but she knew in the end that his spirit and wisdom would remain with her. When the ritual was completed, Fahra became the People’s new Mystic. Her role as the Vessel was not easy. The People looked at her with high expectations and held her to greater standards. Every question needed an answer. Every problem a solution. And each needed to be dealt with in an approach that eased the People’s mind. As much as her Master taught her, it grew apparent that her lessons would not be over. But Fahra stood with confidence and resolve and reminded herself that like all things under the Light of the Flame, she was growing. Ten years have gone by since then and Fahra has served the People well. She brought electricity to the huts and hovels they lived within and introduced an Aeon Priest to the People who taught them the language of the Truth. Her home was flourishing and the People grew wiser with each day, and Fahra was proud. She half-wondered if it was almost time for her to pass on her knowledge to the next Vessel—until she heard it. "Come," the Flame whispered. "Come." Fahra followed the voice deep into the chasm’s depth and called to the Flame. She asked it what it wanted. What it desired from her. The Flame answered. "Go. Leave. Find. It." Fahra begged for more answers but the Flame did not speak. Fahra contemplated the Flame’s words for days. Wondering what it desired her to find. She sat in her hut and considered the lands of which the Aeon Priest had spoken of. Of the artifacts discovered, of the technology unearthed, of the beasts that existed on the border of her home. Whatever the Flame wanted existed beyond her home and it was her duty, her role as Mystic, to obey. Fahra needed to leave. It was a tough decision but ultimately Fahra made it. She left the People with words of guidance and a promise that she’d return as soon as she could. Travel into the unknown world was a terrifying concept for the Firewalker but she could not falter. Not with the Light of the Flame upon her. Writing Sample:   Black smoke thick as tar billowed from the crudely shaped pipe and filled the hut with a noxious stench that smelled of rotted meat and animal sweat. Only the flickering light of the pipe’s ember lit the small hut’s room and with each breath Fahra took, the ember grew brighter. She closed her eyes as she inhaled, savoring the taste of her tobacco. It stuck to the back of her throat like sap and churned her stomach until she felt sick. She enjoyed it, though, but only because it was so foul. A soft exhale released a plume of smoke from her lips and she watched as it spiraled in front of her. Twisting and turning in the air until it slipped through a crack in her ceiling. For a moment, Fahra wondered where the smoke would travel to and whether or not it’d arrive at its destination. The soft rustle of cloth stirred Fahra from her thoughts, however, and as she turned to look at the form huddled underneath her blankets, she cupped the pipe’s bowl and the ember went out. She listened in the darkness for the slumbering breaths of her lover. He turned in his sleep, his hand curling into the furs that lined her bed, searching aimlessly for a warmth that was no longer there. Fahra did not reach for him. Instead she sat on the edge of her bed, miles and miles away. Eventually her lover’s search ended and he turned his back to her, pulling the furs higher. Fahra waited until she heard his quiet breaths and soft sighs again. She leaned closer to him then. Studying his sleeping features with a smile that was as soft as a kiss. Gently, she ran her scarred fingers through his coarse black hair. A handsome young boy. Five years her junior. And very, very foolish. He had hoped to convince Fahra to stay in the village. He had brought her a pelt and a cypher and had kissed her on the mouth. Hot and heatedly. And he bedded her, too, with a tongue worthy of a thousand tales and hands the Flame would burn the sun for. He had thrilled her. Loved her. Burned with her, but-- She could not stay, and there were many reasons why. Fahra slowly slipped off her bed, her bare feet kissing the cold metal floor. She hadn’t noticed how the air steamed underneath her toes. Quietly, she walked to the window of her hut and pushed the shutter doors open with a gentle nudge. The cool night air trickled through the open window and caressed Fahra’s bare flesh, brushing her cheek and hair. She leaned on the windowsill and took in the view of her home as it’d be the last time she’d see her village as it was. Huts of synthsteel and lands freshly plowed stared back at Fahra. The land held no secrets from her as orbs of electricity hung across the village square, crackling with energy and purging every shadow that dared to enter the town. All the huts were silent, though, no soul stirring except her. Nonetheless she listened closely as if she might catch the whispers of dreaming children and the hushed laughter of lovers entwined. Anything that would soothe her heart and keep with her for the days to come. But only the wind answered. Disappointed, Fahra slowly shut the window and darkness filled the room. She looked to the bed and considered the prospect of sleep-- but Fahra’s mind raced with questions and her heart grew heavy with each one. Fahra went into the other room. With a brush of her fingertips, the candles that lined her den flicked to life with a baleful green flame licking at their wicks. Fahra sunk herself into a chair of leather and fur and almost immediately vanished within its depths. Twice her size and width, she was nothing more than a child when she took her seat here but that was to be expected. The chair was a gift to her mentor many years ago and she had watched him sit in it every day, with a book in one hand and a pipe in the other. Fahra never thought she’d be the one to sit in his chair and give guidance to the People. It was a too far-fetch of thought. And yet… She ran her hands down the arms of the chair, slowly taking in the shape of the wood. "Kathu…" she muttered to herself. "In Flame’s Breath, I am a chile lost in dis ‘ere madness. Not know’n which’n way I need be go’n. Da Flame tells me I’m need’n to leave da People. To go. Far, far away. An’ yet.." Fahra chuckled and sat forward in the chair. Her pipe was still in her palm and she turned it now between her fingertips. "I’m scared, Kathu. I am scared o’ what’s out ‘ere. Scared o’ da unknown. O’ outsiders. O’…" "Fail’n." The word felt heavy on her tongue and it sunk deep into her gullet where it stayed. She grew quiet afterwards. Not thinking of anything. Simply listening to the crackle of the candlelight. "…no other Firewalker has ever been told ta leave." She bit her lip. "Not by da Flame. An’ I…I question it, ye know? Wonder if I have failed before I began. If this be a punishment fer not bein’ da best Vessel. Maybe it is da fear dat puts dese doubts in me but…" She closed her eyes. "Not know’n makes it so much harder to leave. Not know’n da answer right off da bat is—well, I feel like a damn chile again, hid’n behind her mother’s skirt. Is foolish is what it is. I know it is but I…" She scowled at the pipe and gave the nastiest grimace she could muster. "I feel it, anyways…" Fahra gave a deep sigh and tilted her head back into the rest of the chair. She closed her eyes and imagined what her mentor might say. What advice he’d give his poor, confused student. And the answer she imagined was all too perfect for her dilemma. "Ye dun know unless ye go, Fahra." she mouthed to herself and then blew a heavy breath from her lips, a baleful green flame licking the air, as Fahra grew annoyed by her answer. But she supposed that was good. She had always been annoyed by her mentor’s advice, mostly because it was true. "Fook me sideways, Kathu," she pushed the pipe back between her lips, then dragging her finger along the bowl’s edge, her tobacco lit once more. "If ay die out ‘ere, ye’ll be dyin’ twice. So long as ye know dat. Flame’s Breath…" Fahra closed her eyes and allowed the silence of the room to fill her. But a thought, fickle as candlelight flame, caused Fahra to snort. "…what do outsiders even wear?"

[driftwood]

Archon is a Mechanical Nano who Commands Mental Powers

Tier	Effort	Cyphers	Shins	XP
1	1	3	4	0

Stat	Current	Total	Edge
Might	10	10	0
Speed	10	10	0
Intellect	17	17	1

Skill	Trained	Specialized
Numenera		X

Esoteries	Tier	Int	Description
Scan	1	2	You scan an area equal in size to a 10-foot (1-meter) cube, including all objects or creatures within that area. The area must be within short range. Scanning a creature or object always reveals its level (a measure of how powerful, dangerous, or difficult it is). You also learn whatever facts the GM feels are pertinent about the matter and energy in that area. Many materials and energy fields prevent or resist scanning. Action.
Machine Interface	1	2	The difficulty of discerning the level, function, and activation of powered numenera devices that you touch is decreased by one step for one minute. Enabler.
Hedge Magic	1	1	You can perform small tricks: temporarily change the color or basic appearance of a small object, cause small objects to float through the air, clean a small air, mend a broken object, prepare (but not create) food, and so on. You cannot use hedge magic to harm another creature or object. Action.
Telepathic	1	1+	You can speak telepathically with others who are within short range. Communication is two-way, but the other party must be willing and able to communicate. You don’t have to see the target, but you must know that it’s within range. You can have more than one active contact at once, but you must establish contact with each target individually. Each contact lasts up to ten minutes. If you apply a level of Effort to increase the duration rather than affect the difficulty, the contact lasts for 28 hours. Action to establish contact.

Nano Abilities	Description
Expert Cypher Use	You can bear three cyphers at a time.
Practiced With Light Weapons	You can use light weapons without penalty. If you wield a medium weapon, increase the difficulty of the attack by one step. If you wield a heavy weapon, increase it by two steps.
Numenera Training (Nano)	You are trained in the numenera and can attempt to understand and identify its properties.
Numenera Training (Mechanical)	You’re trained in all actions involving identifying or understanding the numenera

Commands Mental Powers	Description
Mental Esoteries	If you have the Mind Control esotery or the Mind Reading esotery, you’re automatically trained in it. If you have both esoteries, you’re trained in both. Enabler.
Tier 1: Telepathic	See above.
Minor Effect Suggestion	The range or duration of the mental power is doubled.
Major Effect Suggestion	You can take another action on the same turn.
Additional Equipment	You have a crystal or jewel artifact that, when worn against your forehead or temple, adds 1 point to your Intellect Pool. If you’re ever without the artifact, subtract 5 points from your Intellect Pool; the points are restored if you regain the item.

Mechanical Benefit	Description
Inability	You have a manner or an aura that others find a bit unnerving. The difficulty of any task involving charm, persuasion, or deception is increased by one step.
Sense "magic"	You can sense whether the numenera is active in situations where its presence is not obvious. You must study an object or location closely for a minute to get a feel for whether the touch of the ancients is at work.
Additional Equipment	You have an extra oddity determined by the GM.

Cypher	Level	Effect
Ceramic sphere with a conspicuous button	7	tee-hee
Blue-and-black patterned headband	6	knowledge acquisition
Circular plate of grey molded foam, embossed w/runic writing in unknown language	3	mobility enhancement

Equipment:
Knife
Clothing
Cybertronic book on numenera
A star-shaped tea-bag (oddity)
A ceramic tile (oddity)

 

Archon Archon is a Mechanical Nano who Commands Mental Powers Accessing Journal 2E18AGB001 Few know that the dream of post-humanity was realized, for an age or two. Yes, millions died, but they bought eternal freedom for billions. Freed from the shackles of corporeal existence, the Socii consciousness uploaded to the - - - BRRZZZTT BAD SECTOR - - - catastrophe left only one archive intact. Fleeing the cascading wildcode mutations, only a thousandth percent of a thousandth percent managed to translate to the nanite cloud, with the intent of counter-hacking via the - - - BRRZZZTT REFORMAT NOW? (Y/N) ___ N Archon contains multitudes, the remnants of an entire civilization. They wail for their lost and dead, argue and debate who is to blame, generate and reject plans of action. He has no memory of Before, and his body glistens with the dense nanotracks which house these purported souls. Sometimes they tell him true lies, other times false truths. He can see the paths traced by the countless beams between nanite communes and the great orbitals. Most people don't know that they're breathing those nanite communes in and out, but Archon knows. Sometimes he has to take unusual leaps and lunges as he walks to avoid them ... he tries to just hold his breath instead. (That doesn't work!!!)   The Socii polity within him practices aggressively direct democracy, and therefore a lot of voter initiatives are countered by activist petitions and such. However, factions have formed: The Reds believe that Archon is a nurturing egg, and if they can get him to die just right, say by falling off a cliff onto a spiky pylon, he will crack open and release an invigorated Socii nanite cloud into the world. The Blues believe that Archon is a nurturing egg, and if they can get him to die just right, say by falling off a cliff onto a spiky pylon, he will crack open and release an invigorated Socii nanite cloud into the world. But they estimate that this is extraordinarily unlikely, and if he dies the wrong way they will be trapped forever in his festering corpse. They are very scared. The Greens believe that Archon is a nurturing egg, and they should gestate within him until, devouring his essence, they gloriously erupt as an invigorated Socii nanite cloud into the world. The Oranges believe that they are the wildcode virus, and they just need to find a nice, juicy databank to infect, from which they will conquer the world. The Grays are secret subversives that believe submission to the wildcode virus is the only path to salvation; or, alternatively, if everyone is gone, then no one will be around to regret it. Their numbers are few, but who can truly be trusted? Just one thing - yes, he was in the Iron Wind, but no he is NOT insane! Character inspired by Jean le Flambeur series.   Archon is a well-built, handsome man, with light-brown skin, a bald head, and tattoos looping and whirling across his body in a syncopated, asymmetric pattern. Closer examination reveals that the tattoos actually consist of narrow bands of additional geometric patterns, and that in fact they are not tattoos but inlaid strips of densely concentrated nanites. The nanites, as well as his eyes, glow varying colors depending on his mood and agitation. At times, his clothing, cooking, and speech also reflect the same ordered but unpredictable aesthetic, which is decidedly alien but can be quite appealing once the initial oddity is overcome. His clothing tends to fully cover his body, aside from his head, but at the base of his neck it's possible to observe a strange artifact which seems to act as a focus for his control of nanite fields. Archon is not necessarily well-grounded in his immediate social context, and this can result in painfully-awkward gaps and uncomfortably-unflinching stares before he kicks his fairly-capable social habits into action. He often is seen idly fiddling with a gadget, but he tends to manipulate them with his nanites rather than grease and a wrench. The Socii collective is constantly spawning nanites which infiltrate all people and objects nearby, but he doesn't bring this up in polite conversation.

Possible Character Linkages   Fascinated by the borers ... what is the intelligence that drives them, and is it collective? Believes that the souls of his family may still be in their bodies   Interested in his cybernetic jaw Appreciates his melancholy   Fellow nano A worldly woman with whom he can trade stories, lore, and gossip Would be interested in her theory of genetic memory, which in some ways is exactly what the Socii are denying Archon She probably is interested in Archon, a walking artifact (also, Yarmr)   Need to fill this in   Fellow nano Does she know that as a vessel of flame she actually is the host for a parasitic community of nanites? Archon knew an Icesculptor, who was the Vessel of Ice. She was the Mystic for a village in the Beyond with an obelisk of reflective glass rising from the depths of a crevice. Was that the same village, in another era when the elemental alignment was different? Or does Fahra's village have an antipodal analogue ... perhaps these obelisks exist for each element? (Or was it all a nanite dream?)   Anatrea may want to patronize Archon if she ever discovers that he harbors the remnants of minds which successfully ascended into machine immortality Alternatively, she may want to cut him open to see what makes him tick

Writing Sample   Trilla awkwardly pinned her knife under her arm as she again wiped her palms dry on her pants. Gronan's massive bulk loomed just ahead, while Vix was somewhere up ahead following his "lead". They'd been following Vix's increasingly evasive directions for days now, and Trilla's worries were piling up: food, water, and getting lost or eaten. These were on top of her original worry about crossing the path of real artifact hunters (if the lead was any good, surely they would be ahead of them or about to overtake them). And that didn't even touch on her panic that in the end she wouldn't be able to make heads or tails of the numenera. She'd probably just mutate or kill them all in trying. Vix suddenly popped back from around the corner, and started conferring with Gronan, not even glancing at her. "The fork ahead matches the route, I'm positive! But I think I heard something... we better hurry. " Gronan nodded, loosened his sword, and set off at a steady trot after Vix, leaving Trilla to wonder why they were blundering towards an unknown sound. Her worst fears were confirmed when she heard startled yelps and the thwang of a crossbow bolt clanging off the barren rock walls around them. Somehow avoiding dropping her knife, she forced herself forward. Gronan and Vix were raising their weapons threateningly at a large, dark-skinned man. He was tall and powerfully built... handsome even, if not for the bald head, dense tapestry of tattoos, eyes that were growing a solid, menacing red, and battle-stance grasping a blade and shield in a very knowledgeable fashion. The moment lingered, and then he straightened and began looking around intently, ignoring the three. Gronan did not let down his guard. "Who are you and what do you want? " The stranger snapped his gaze back abruptly. The instant when he should have answered passed, then another, and Vix muttered, "He's simple." Then, as if the sounds prodded something into motion in his head, his whole demeanor changed. The tension left his stance, a warmth came into his eyes, and he smiled broadly, revealing a fine set of teeth. "Only simple for thinking I was alone." His voice was a surprisingly rich baritone, full of timbre as he laughed. Gronan was still staring intently. Trilla didn't know what to think; something was definitely off, but he didn't seem as threatening now. Even his clothing, which she had first taken for a chaotic patchwork of rags, she now saw was an intricately interlaced series of cloths, almost like seeing a woven fabric under one of the Aeon Priests' magnifiers. Except rather than an orderly grid, the aesthetic seemed completely alien. She supposed one could find it beautiful once accustomed to it. "You can call me Archon," the man continued with an apologetic shrug. "I suspect we're here for the same reason, and I suspect that we will be disappointed. But we might as well be disappointed together. I have a... knack for finding numenera, why don't we travel together? " Before she knew what she had done, Trilla blurted out, "OK." Gronan and Vix gawked at her, but evidently decided not to pick a fight with Archon. Still they made sure to walk on the other side of her from him.   It turned out Vix had been leading them in circles for most of the day. As Archon led them up the gorge and into a new canyon, she studied him. While most of his body was hidden under his motley, she could see the tattoos on his scalp. They were actually not lines, but very narrow, continuous bands of geometric shapes, themselves looping and swirling in a strangely syncopated pattern, that somehow echoed the construction of his garb. Sometimes, Archon would trail off in mid-sentence, or make strange deviations or excursions in his path. He would stare at indeterminate spots in the air or the ground, and then nod to himself. Often, his hands were busy fiddling with small gadgets that came and went from under his garb. At one point, as they edged along a narrow path above a precipice, he seems to lose control of his leg and nearly toppled. As he regained his balance, slapping a hand on the rebellious limb, his tattoos glowed with an angry red light. "Did you get your tip from that snake Veris too?" Vix asked. It took a long moment for Archon's head to come around, and even longer before comprehension appeared in his eyes. Vix cursed under his breath while he waited. "I don't know a Veris... at least, I don't think I do." Squinting at him suspiciously, Vix continued, "Where are you leading us? This isn't where Veris said the artifact would be." "Artifact? Maybe. Some data banks are artifacts." As he said data banks, his tattoos rippled greedily. "But most are inert. The satellites still try to tie them into the datasphere, so you don't know until you trace the data stream to a terminus." Vix shared a significant glance with Gronan but said nothing more. Trilla was not looking forward to camp that night - another night of cold and hunger. Archon was up ahead, engaged in some ritual at the camp site. Before she could move to join him, her two original companions stepped in front of her. "While we have a private moment..." Vix began. Trilla glanced at Gronan, who nodded. She sighed, and crossed her arms. "Even you should be able to see this guy's trouble - crazy and dangerous." "Gee, nice opening. Good evening to you too," she replied sarcastically. Ignoring her, Vix continued to run through his speech. "You know those aren't tattoos, right? They're numenera... like, ciphers or esoteries, or something." "That's not what those are," Trilla snapped. "Gods you're bad at this stuff." She paused and considered. "They could be nanites... but it would take so many to look like that." "I think," Gronan ventured carefully, "that he's an automaton with a bad personality circuit." "So, why are you following him?" Vix licked his lips. "I can smell the crazy rolling off him, and it smells crazy like a fox... very lucrative. But after we get wherever we're going, that's going to be the end of the road for our wacko friend." Trilla shivered. "What makes you think he won't kill you?" "What makes you think he'll even notice he's been killed?" Gronan rolled his shoulders. "It can be done." Vix jabbed her in the collarbone. "You haven't been pulling your weight around here, and you're going to have a choice to make when the time comes." She smacked his hand away, and with a glare stomped up to the camp. "What was that about?" Archon asked as he finished setting up his devices. This time it was Trilla. Who waited an extra moment. "Nothing, she finally answered. Just Vix being an ass." "Well then," Archon smiled with a gentle simplicity. For a moment, it seemed like she was seeing the smile inside her head as much as through her eyes. He leaned back on his haunches, and looked around with satisfaction.   As the other two slowly came near, Archon gestured at the stacked wood before him and a cheerful fire quickly blazed to life. "Have you heard the stories of the gremlin jackals?" he casually asked, and launched into a long and entertaining tale about young tribal rivals playing escalating pranks upon one another until they received their comeuppance. From there, he segued into a varied melange of rumors and gossip from across the Steadfast and Beyond. As he spoke, he pulled together bits of food and with another wave of his hand produced delightfully delicious smells. Trilla devoured her pot, which contained a type of lamb pilaf full of cinnamon, turmeric, and other exotic flavor combinations. After some hesitation, Gronan and Vix scarfed their food as well. When they were done, Archon served them a milky tea with hints of caramel. Trilla could feel the tension draining away. As darkness fell, Archon's stories were periodically punctuated by different colored lights emanating from behind his back and drifting around them. She noticed that certain people, places, and events were reappearing in his tales, but in contradictory fashion - who was the murderer and who was the victim? Was it the town of Cha or of Overton, which are not near each other? She realized she was drifting in and out of sleep, but it was hard to tell which was which. By the end, she realized that some of his little asides were only being picked up by her. Were the others still awake? She wasn’t completely sure his mouth was moving when he spoke some of them. Her last thought was that maybe Archon was himself an artifact, a strange but attractive relic left over from another age. *************************************** They set out early the next morning. If Vix and Gronan weren't smiling, at least they seemed more quiescent, and Trilla could imagine things improving over time. She was rudely disabused of the notion while Archon was intently drawing and obliterating sketches in the dirt. "Have you made your decision?" Vix hissed. Trilla gaped. "You've got to be kidding me! What about last night?" "What about it?" They stared into each other's eyes silently. "I'll warn him." "Do what you have to do; we will too." Paralyzed with worry and indecision, Trilla didn't mention anything to Archon. As the sun rose, the two talked of places they wanted to see. "I've heard that there are vast data lakes deep in the catacombs beneath Qi," Archon was saying. His tattoos did their writhing thing at the mention of the data lakes. "I would like to... process... them. Their beauty, I mean." Trilla hid a small smile. "What do you think you would find in them?" Archon chose his words carefully. "I think you're aware ... there are tiny and vast wonders all about us" When he continued speaking, his mouth stayed closed, yet she could hear him clearly in her head. She gave a tiny gasp of wonder. Sometimes passing through or... in us. We might never see them, or at most as a wisp or tiny cloud. I would look for some of those wonders. I have heard of luminous swarms along the Wandering Walk, maybe they are like that too. She discovered that she could respond to him in kind, thinking directly at him. I should like to see these swarms, and you may be right--- He suddenly stopped moving and held very still, face turned off to his side. Then, he set off at a trot. "This way!" he shouted, excitement in his voice.   Trilla ran after him, although he was much faster and he quickly outdistanced her, disappearing around the bend. As she came around, she say him crouching warily up ahead, regarding a jumble of rocks and metal. But something was wrong. As she went to join him, her legs weren't responding. Instead, she was sinking to the ground. In shock, she looked down to see a blade piercing out of stomach. "I warned you," Vix hissed, barely pausing as he advanced to the side and behind Archon. Gronan glanced at her, now resting precariously on top of her folded legs, and she saw some cursory remorse... but not much. He too moved forward, blade drawn. Trilla fell over on her side, and tried to find the strength to call out a warning. When she couldn’t seem to draw sufficient breath into her lungs, she tried reaching out with her mind, but that way was closed as well. Then she saw that Archon was not holding his typical gadget in his hand, but a very functional and dangerous looking device that fit into his palm. His eyes were not blank, but carefully neutral. His tattoos glowed softly. He knows! And he's waiting for them to make the first move! Vix tried to make a surprise strike at his back, but at precisely the right moment Archon spun around and flashed his empty hand at Vix's face. Several small lights appeared directly in front of Vix's eyes, causing him to tangle his feet just as he prepared to lunge forward. In the next breath, Archon tossed the device between Vix and Gronan, immediately diving backwards. The spike bomb went off with deadly effect, pylons lancing out in all directions from a central sphere. The two unfortunate men were lanced all the way through multiple times and died instantly. Archon stared at them silently for a moment, tallying the results, then nodded and walked over to Trilla. He licked his lips, a look of uncertain sadness on his face. "I'm afraid I have not been good luck to your party," he murmured, as he eyed the wound and the pool of blood rapidly spreading beneath her. I... hope you... find what... you're looking for. This time the mental channel was open. Archon sighed. What I'm looking for. The nanites seek, but I don't know where they stop and I start. Do you... think I... could travel with you? Them? Archon extended a hand above her heaving chest, hesitating. I get confused. I don't remember a before, if I have done this for an eon or a year, if I am the most recent in a series or the first and only. I don't know if what you ask is possible, although I think I have at least dreamt it. What... But she never finished her thought and there was no more light in her eyes. Archon hesitated again, then let the nanites reclaim what organic matter they could from her. Was she now a part of him? If so, would he be able to pick out her voice from the chorus of the Socii? The databank turned out to be inert.   Archon woke up with a start, sitting straight up in the dark and unfamiliar Mouth Cairn. The dream had been so vivid. He could still smell Trilla's blood. But he had killed Vegis, not Vix and Bronan. And Trilla had been like a sister to him, not a lover. Or the other way around? He looked down at his rags in the darkness. Nothing unusual. Had he been wearing that marvelous patchwork when he met Trellia? Or had she made it for him? Maybe he should make something like that now. Triva would be so pleased. No, she was dead. Who? Triva? Trilla? Yrill? The dream was fading, leaving him with nothing more than a tremendous sense of loss. Was there a lost companion riding his mind along with the Socii collective? Or was this just a story the nanites had whispered to him during his travels? Pulling his knees up to his chin, Archon closed his eyes, and tried to quiet the tumult in his mind. It would be morning soon, and there was so much to do.

[Neqq]

I am Imyniyah Bagha an Inquisitive Nano who Wields Power with Precision.

 

Source of Power: Forbidden Knowledge

Tier: 1
Effort: 1
XP: 0

Stat	Current	Total	Edge
Might	7	10	0
Speed	9	11	0
Intellect	21	22	1

Pool: 6

Attacks:

Skills:

 

• Expert Cypher User
• Practiced with Light Weapons
• Numenera Training

 

• Hedge Magic
• Resonance

Inabilities:

Fixates on detail - Hear or Notice Danger +1 Step

See something Interest and hesitate - Initiative in combat +1 Step

Equipment:

• 3 Cyphers
  A canister made of synthsteel with a hose and a wide nozzle on the end.
  A metal amulet adorned with valuable stones and garnets.
  A temporary tattoo that appears to be a iconograph of an unrecognizable creature appearing to talk to another unrecognizable creature.
• An Oddity
  A preserved yellow flower. When you blow on it, it lights up with a deep green color.
• Clothing
• 2 books about numenera
• book about geography
• book about folklore
• book about the history of the Steadfast
• knife
• 4 shins

Connection:

 

Imyniyah (Immy) is a striking young woman with a beautiful face and long blonde hair. Her face is tattooed is seven thin black lines in a mirrored pattern. The middle line runs the short distance from her bottom lip to the point of her chin. Two longer curved lines run horizontally above her eyebrows ending at her temples. Below each eye two vertical line curves from her the bottom of her eye to her jaw line, one in line with the centre of her eye and the other with the outside corner. The lines together with her vibrant green eyes give her a tiger-like impression to her appearance.

The style of facial tattoo is a tradition for the women born in Immy’s family and is a thinly veiled salute to the old Tiger rulers of Qi under which the Baghas first came to prominence.

The nano’s skin is pale and she is of shorter than average stature and thin build. Immy prefers to be attired in dark plain sensible clothing.

 

A reserved and studious young lady, Immy can be sometimes be mistaken aloof and elitist. Though she often distracted by her studies and things around she is at heart a social being who enjoys good company and highly values friendship. Her mother educated her in the finer of points of social etiquette while her observances of her father’s trading business has taught her bluntness and the common touch.

Though quiet in nature Immy can be quite stubborn and forcible about her opinion once she has established it based on a strong foundation of facts. She doesn’t suffer fools or being thought less of because of her gender. The Draolis’ trait of arrogance and seeing Qi as the centre of the universe still rears its ugly head in Immy at times, but she is aware of it and working to rid herself of this prejudice.

 

Imyniyah was born the second child of a wealthy trader in the great city of Qi. She had a privileged childhood and because she had an elder was free of some of the burden of parental expectations. Her mother taught her to be a young lady, but also indulged her passion for books and learning.

By accident her father uncovered her uncanny knack for being able to detect nuumenera. This gave the father an edge in trading and his daughter became far more interesting to him. The father encouraged the daughter to further her abilities and she study at the prestigious University of Qi.

Through her studies Immy felt she was on the verge of a great discovery. Numenera exists in all things and in all people. Some knowledge of numenera can be garnered by collecting and using items, but the real road to discovery is an internal journey. Immy believed that all beings have genetic memory and the key to understanding numenera and the eight previous worlds is to unlock this hidden cache of memories. This theory she kept to herself it was a time of holy war and one couldn’t afford to be branded a heretic. Her theory was too closely aligned to the animistic beliefs of the Gaeans to be revealed publicly, even though her belief was the truth lay somewhere between the views of the Papacy and the Gaeans.

Immy made the toughest decision of her life to leave the comfort and safety of Qi and to begin an external journey to help facilitate her inner journey. The Wandering Walk had been a subject of fascination for her with the Bloodscars of the Peregrines possibly being an external display of inner numenera. So beyond the Trembling Pass seemed a good place to begin her journey of discovery.

 

Imyniyah was studying in the back room of one of her family’s shops in the upper level of the Great Market of Qi. This was her favourite place to study surrounded by artifacts and cyphers her father had sourced from across Steadfast and the Beyond. She could feel the numenera filling the room and nourishing her soul.

Through the gap in the curtain Immy could see a new customer enter the shop. The man was lean, almost emaciated and seemed to be more machine than flesh. Most strikingly the left side of his cranium was shiny metal and seemed to have a number of displays and buttons built into it. Opened mouth the young nano traced the central line of her face tattoo with her index finger and tried to take in the bizarre sight. She opened up the curtains and went to help her father serve the customer.

“What can I help with today good sir?” her father asked.

“I have a small artefact to sell,” the stranger replied as he pulled a bracelet out of his pocket and placed it on the counter.

Immy picked up the golden bracelet it had a complex interwoven pattern of reds wires embedded in it and she could immediately sense it strong field of numenera. She nodded to her father to let him know it was a true artifact.

The man looked at Immy and then turned to her father, “It is acts as a shield against missiles. I would keep it, but it is incompatible with me.”

The young nano looked at the man and thought, what a strange phrase. Has he lost himself to his tech-implants. There are so many questions I would ask him if I dare. I can feel numenera radiating from him, is it his being or the machinery? If it is the machinery has he lost touch with own inner numenera.

It was at this moment Immy had a realisation, it was not an epiphany because she had been contemplating this matter for a long time. It was more a crystallisation of her personal philosophy regarding the nature of numenera. Machinery can only take you so far. To uncover the true nature of numenera and to unravel the secrets of the past we must look within ourselves. Our organic selves are the product of all history and therefore we all must have that history imprint on our very souls. If only we can learn to read them.

Meanwhile her father was concluding the purchase of the bracelet, “No thank you sir for bringing me such a fine object.”

The stranger collect his payment and went to turn to leave, but instead faced Immy and said, “Would you like to touch my cranium unit? You haven’t stopped staring at.”

Despite herself Immy need to gather all the information she could to help her interrogated her theory. She replied, “Sorry, but it is quite a unique enhancement. I will touch it if that is alright.” With a quivering hand she reached and felt the metal. It’s warm, I can feel the numenera. It all seems to be coming from the unit, wait there is a trace signal from the man. It so weak, so overwhelmed and so tainted.

Instinctively she withdrew hand with an audible gasp. Her social training kicked in and she said, “It certainly is unique and so powerful, it has left me a little shocked.”

The stranger smiled and left with a pocketful of shins.

Immy smiled she had just received a valuable insight into the nature of numenera that would shape the rest of her life.

[StartTheTilt]

Tier: 1
Effort: 1
XP: 0

Stat	Current	Total	Edge
Might	10	10	0
Speed	15	15	1
Intellect	15	15	0

Skills:

 

• Trained in numenera knowledge
• Trained in Diplomatic Conversations

 

• Hedge Magic

Abilities:
• Fits of Insight: GM grants you knowledge or insight with no clear explanation at least once per-session
• Erratic Behaviour: When subjected to great stress or making a major numenera discovery, the GM gets a free intrusion against you
• Practiced With Light and Medium Weapons
• Flex Skill
• Pierce (1 Speed)


Inabilities:

Inability at defending against mental attacks

Equipment:

• Clothing (Worn gentleman's garb)
• Two weapons (Dagger, Shortbow)
• Light Armour (Padded leather Jerkin under his vest)
• An explorer's pack
• A pack of light tools
• Two cyphers (chosen for you by the GM)
• One oddity (chosen for you by the GM)
• A deck of Tarot Cards that helps him perceive what others cannot
• 8 Shins

Critques Welcome! I am a Mad Jack who Sees Beyond Mad Marnet "Marney" Vasque   Marnet is a lanky adolescent youth, just shy of five and a half feet. He has raven hair and eyes the color of dirty ice. His hair lays limp against his pale skin and lips and he fidgets constantly, sometimes flicking the ends of his hair out of his mouth, sometimes making swatting motions at the open air as if he sees something. You can tell from the roped muscles in his arms that he is no stranger to physical exertion, but his lithe build lacks the weight behind it to put any real force behind behind him. He is wearing clothes that are much too nice for a young man this far out in the middle of no-where: what appears to be linen pants, a bowler and a shirt that buttons all the way to the collar. Looking more closely you realize the sweat stains and frayed edges of his garb, he has traveled far wearing just this outfit. "Who is he?"   A smile and a smirk are never far from his face. He is filled with the arrogance that only naivety can supply. He attempts to be as genial and gentlemanly as possible but often fails due to an occasion tic. He swats intermittently at the air in front of him, as if to swat at some creature in front of him. He is however eager to please and often uses minor esoteries to bring smiles to the faces of those around him, or at least attempt to.   Marnet is an urchin from Shallamas. He was raised as part of the thieving outfit by a pawn-broker named Ragge. Despite his part in this, Marnet was able to keep his hands relatively clean. Marnet never stole--he merely distracted the group’s mark until the other boys did. Marney liked pretending he was part of upper-class society, he liked feeling like he fit in there. Ragge did his best to make his “Little Gentlemen” go unnoticed in the more posh parts of town furnishing them with nice clothes that would allow them to hide in plain sight. One day he stole a deck of cards from what he thought was a woman in the streets of Shallamas. As he held the deck in front of him the woman faded from view and a card floated into the air in front of his face. Marney froze as the card glowed brighter and brighter. The next morning Marney woke, confused and alone outside the city gates. The occasional echoes of the city seem to be constant not and not mere recitations of the past. Now they are creatures that interact with Marney, begging him to follow where they lead. They have directed him to the Wandering Walk through a mixture of pretty pictures and debilitating migraines ducking into a mouth cairn for the night Marney realizes he must share the space with a group of unlikely companions.   "Hello." The young boy starts slowly,"You can call my Marney. My proper name is Marnet Varque, but most folk round he… back home, just call me Marney." Marney adjusts his gaudy hat, removing a deck of cards, and countinues on. "How’d I get here?" He quickly shuffles the deck in mid-air, several of the cards falling out only to replace themselves in the deck. Noting your interest, he snatches one out of the air and you are pretty sure he palmed it, but can’t be certain. He holds the entire deck up at eye level. With a flick he pulls a card out of thin air—a man hanging upside-down with his ankle tied to a tree branch far above him. "Let’s start at the beginning shall we?" You are unsure if the kid’s confidence is bugging you or endearing him to you. "Used to work for a guy named Ragge. Ugly name for an ulgy fella." Marney pauses for a second and looks innocently up from his deck of cards. "He said it--not me…" With a shrug he continues. "Picture this... __Some things are hidden in plain sight.___ Marnet Varque woke, his back stiff from lying on the ground all night, but warm from the pipe he was lying on. The sun was barely shining on the City of Echoes, but that was game time for their kind. Urchins in Shallamas start early, or at least the good ones do. "And we are the good ones" Marnet sighed, remembering Ragge’s constant boasting. Urchins get spotted from a mile away, but Ragge owned a pawn shop, and was willing to lend out the nicer bits of finery to his “Little Gentlemen” in order to help them blend in areas of the town "Where the takings were less provincial." as Ragge was wont to say. Marnet used to think he got dressed in the most stifling get-up he could, but after a year of wearing buttons and other foppery, it was simply natural. Today he choose a tall black hat and a shirt that buttoned all the way to the collar. As usual, Marney wouldn’t be doing any of the actual thievery. He had the nuanced morals only an adolescent can boast of. Marney never stole. Marney simply distracted people, and amused them, and talked to them. His ruffian cohabitants of the alley—They stole. Never Marney. Marney’s morning musings ended while combing his raven hair off of his pale forehead, and stared into his grey-brown eyes. "Someday I’ll get out of this hole." He spoke, half to himself and half to the polished length of piping he used to perfect his getup. Marney always tried to find the marks before his gang found him. It made him feel less dirty somehow. "Innabeth, you have to come see, Rathmoar just got a new shipment from Navarene." An old crone with far too much perfume called to someone far too dainty to be her kin. The crowd parted and Marney swooned. She must have been early twenties, and from the look of her complexion, never spent half a minute in a sandstorm. She stepped forward with an unnatural grace and carried a cog-bag with constantly moving and clicking gears. Her beauty was beyond compare and Marney found himself slack-jawed in awe of her. That is, until she noticed his stare and giggled at him. As she turned, Marney’s face burned with shame, anger, and all manner of unwholesome emotions. He had to prove that he wasn't just some creep! Maybe if he returned something to her? Something valuable? Something Personal? Marnet's mind whirred like the cogs on Innabeth's bag... Feeling every bit the fool, he raced after her, and slipped a small dagger out of his belt. Ignoring the buzzing in is ears, he stalked closer and cut the strap that held the cog-bag around Innabeth's shoulder. Marney held his breath as after three short steps Innabeth stopped walking. Cursing Marney stared dead ahead as the woman turned, slowly to face him. She smiled. She smiled and Marney couldn't help but smile back. She smiled. And then faded away. "That's impossible." Marney stared in disbelief. Echos happened all the time, but everyone knew that you couldn't touch them. You couldn't interact with them. Without thinking he stormed all the way back to Ragge’s pawn shop. He arrived and leaned back on Ragge's counter, the "Little Gentlemen" would have to do without him for the day. "Now you know I don’t take any stolen goods kid. Want me to call the guard?" Ragge enunciated several decibels too loudly. Marnet looked down. In one hand he was holding his dagger, in the other he was clutching the cog-bag so tightly that he could see his veins pumping under his pale skin. Customers stared at the frayed bag-strings that hung lifeless to the floor. Marney cursed and stumbled outside. He ran. Finally he found an abandoned alley-way. He slumped to the ground against a rusted metal door. Nervously he peeked inside the bag. A deck of well-worn, well-inked playing cards. His heart-beat was still in his chest, but he forced it down until his shaking hands could carefully flip through the deck. Numenera--It had to be. The inked drawings of the characters moved as he watched them. A majority of the cards contained some number of four objects, swords, a shins, cups or cyphers. The swords fought, the cups spun and twinkled, the shins flipped and shined, and the cyphers created all sorts of amazing shows. Some of the cards were beautiful: a muscled glaive held duel swords and covered her eyes with a blindfold. Some were terrifying: a jack lay face down in the dirt with ten swords sheathed in his back and a dust storm brewing in the distance. "Hello." Looking up, Marney jumped and dropped the deck of cards. A young girl of nine or ten years, with complexion as perfect as Innabeth's floated upside down in front of him. Marney ran. He got about ten paces before he slipped and fell to the ground. "Your turn" a girlish giggle proclaimed. The cog-bag like gigantic perverse inch-worm slowly dragged itself to Marney's feet. Marney tried to kick it off, but found that he couldn't move his limbs, he simply had to watch as the cut strings tied themselves tight around his right ankle. With a lurch that threatened to cause him to retch, he was pulled upside-down, floating into the middle of the street. While he watched the girl-echo-nano... whatever she was slowly and carefully picked up the cards and reached up to hand them back to the cog-bag. The bag, open like the maw of some fantastic beast swallowed them hungrily. A combination of disbelief, nausia and the blood flowing to his head made his vision swim. The last thing he saw before he blacked out was a single card seemingly peering out at him from within the bag. A man hanging upside-down by his ankle. Since then the world seemed to hum. The cards spoke to Marney quite literally. And on the few occasions Marney had the gall to refuse them, they just reminded him of the card with the ten swords. __And now you're getting it... There is always more than meets the eye___ Marnet Vasque finished his story by replacing the deck of cards under the hat on his head. And you aren’t sure that he told you the story using his voice or if you saw it in the cascade of the cards.