KULT of the Godbound. (F seeking Any GM. Kult with Godbound system.)

Started by Lustful Bride, November 10, 2020, 11:15:18 AM

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Lustful Bride

(Trigger Warning: This is set within the Kult: Divinity Lost RPG, and not for sensitive viewers. There isn't anything untoward in this thread, and while I am not necessarily planning for anything to be extremely messed up, I thought it best to put up those warning since I am looking to play within the Kult setting. If you can't handle a Hellraiser movie (or don't even know what that is), please evacuate this post ASAP. You might not like what you find here, and may get some bad cosmic and body horror from it, there's no shame in leaving. If you want to stick around, I'm gonna give you heads up and say that you should expect elements of religious horror, cosmic horror, and gnostic horror as the entire setting is based on Gnostic beliefs turned up to 11.)

On the borderland between Terror and Madness, between Dreams and Death, there is Wisdom Forbidden and Divinity Lost.

In time, all shall learn that Death is only the Beginning.

The world is a lie. Nothing is as we see it. We have forgotten our place in the universe. Once we were conquerors, empire builders, we were masters of the stars themselves. We were Gods! The universe howled at our arrival and all those that lived within it bent the knee to us for we had been the greatest and rightful rulers of it all. But our divinity was stolen from us, and we were cast down into a prison of infinite complexity. We live, we suffer, we die, are tortured and abused, till we are reborn only to do it all again.

Our ancient history is lost to us. Our creations have turned sour or been co-opted by those that would wish us harm. Our empire crumbled and even our original home of Metropolis seems to have forgotten humanity. The prison, the system, now only exists to delight in our pain. The jailers who control us may have once had legitimacy to their claims, may have been right to punish humanity for the crimes we committed, but after eons of constant abuse, indulgence, and retribution, who now can claim to be the same person they were a million lifetimes ago?

Who can even remember how it happened? Or who was the cause of it all?

The thief who stole away the divinity of all humanity, and enchained us made sure to inscribe his own truth as history, and ours was cast away so long ago that not even Ozymandias would have heard of it. The truth is a tale now known only by those that were there to witness the great deception, and few of them are brave enough to speak out.


Demiurgos, who was known far and wide amongst His Divine Peers as one of the Greatest Game Makers of all Time and Space, had announced His newest Game not too long ago, and Humans interested in participating were already flocking to the Azghouls in charge of registrations for it in huge numbers.

Nobody knew as of yet what the new Game would entail, or even what it would be about, but an incredible hype was already starting to build around it. His last couple of Games had all been huge successes, providing welcome distractions, thrills, and entertainments for the jaded and bored divine crowd that attended them.

When Demiurgos released his next announcement via his dutiful messenger-servants, the hype attained an even greater momentum – for it was revealed that this time, everyone could participate, no limit on the number of players. In fact, the more the merrier! Or so went the promise which the messengers conveyed, anyways.

This may have been a carefully calculated move by Demiurgos, who may have known full well that, through a combination of the sheer jaded curiosity, peer pressure and universal boredom, which were all so widespread amongst His peers, everybody would indeed ultimately sign up for the Game…

… and so it came to pass.

It was to be a Game in which people assumed fictional roles in an artificially constructed world. This was not new to many of his Players, as his previous Games had entailed similar concepts before.

It was also a Game in which the players would have to struggle with powerlessness, imperfect knowledge, and where, ultimately, the entire game world posed a huge riddle for them to be solved, in order to win the Game.

His Players thought this was a most exciting concept! They eagerly agreed to all of His terms… even the ones that included a temporary erasure of their own memories and knowledge. For of course, such measures were simply recognized to be necessary for the “immersive” experience that the jaded, bored Gods had been carefully led to crave so much.

And then, something went terribly wrong…

Or perhaps, it went exactly according to plan…?


So it was that mankind had their divine powers stolen from them. Banished to an eternity of mortal lives full of hardship and suffering, followed by an afterlife of torture by the cruelest of monsters in existence, to forever keep the divine spark but a flicker and the soul of man from ever rising again. The rulers of all were reduced to slaves chaffing under their chains. From birth to death and resurrections, mankind would suffer like no one had ever suffered before. In ways both great and small, our every waking moment would be pain, our afterlife would be torture, and our divinity would be kept out of our grasp.

So it was, so it would be, for all time. Mankind eternally beaten down and treated like cattle in a world wide slaughterhouse.

Until something gave way. The Demiurge is no more. None know who caused it. But for some time now the systems and mechanisms that keep the prison strong have been breaking down. People are starting to gain the tiniest of scraps of their powers back and using it in rebelling against the servants of the jailers. The different factions that rule our prison are now fighting each other for influence, and further weakening our bindings. It is in man's nature to break free from bondage, and even despite the best efforts of our captors, we continue to rebel and break free. Some have attained power over reality, they have fought the predators that have slipped into our prison now that our jailers are busy, they have learned knowledge both beautiful and terrible. Some may have even directly fought against the minders of our prison.

Yet none have truly managed to Awaken.

That is what the slave masters fear the most. Not just that one among us will open our eyes, but truly awaken and realize the power at our fingertips. The day when someone will truly awaken to their power, achieve such divine influence that they can shatter the prison, melt the chains and liberate all mankind from our fate.

They fear this more than anything else, it is what haunts their nightmares, even as they whip us, and tear our souls apart. The more that it seems we might awaken, the harder they beat us.

Before the chance of Awakening was just a fool's hope, but it is now an inevitability. They cannot keep all of mankind down. Try as they might, and as cruel as they can be, it only takes one soul to slip through and achieve that ancient power. All it takes is one single person, to begin the revolution to liberate all mankind.

It is coming soon. A sleeper will become aware, and begin their journey to being a Godbound. One who will achieve their ancient powers. The closer they get to it, the more power and influence they will get, until finally they become Awakened

Then, Divinity will be found.


Perhaps a young street magician, who has been slowly chipping away at reality, breaks a chunk away, much larger than originally intended, and falls into someplace familiar. They fall into Metropolis. The long lost home of humanity. The dark and eternal city that is now as much a threat to humans as those that wander it.

Only barely managing to survive a single night in it, she is beaten, cut, bleeding. She must drag herself across the cold and dusty streets of Metropolis, feeling her life force oozing out of her. This might be the end of her journey, save for a strange ghost of a memory that demands to burn brighter than any pain she endures. She feels as if she knows the streets she is on, as if she has walked down them a thousand times. Even while on her deathbed, she pulls herself along further and further, as something wells up inside of her.

Just as she is finally about to expire, she utters out a single Word of power, and collapses from exhaustion, while her word lights up the city like a flare fired into the night sky. The signal has been sent, and the thunderous roaring of hooves are the response to her call for aid. The simple magician is soon surrounded on all sides by dark figures that close in on her like piranhas, all she can do is to close her eyes and let sweet unconsciousness take her, as one of the figures declares her arrival as if it were gospel.

"She is here."

Despite their alien nature, and their terrifying appearance, these figures do not intend her any harm, far from it really. They have waited for her return, and now is a time of jubilation. Vindication has finally arrived. There were so many that said this day would never come, and what have they to say now?

The lowly street magician is collected by those whom remember her. Not this fragile mortal cocoon she inhabits, but her original, immortal, form! In her original life she had been an annoyance to Demiurgus, once a scientist and explorer in the further reaches of the multiverse, this former True Human decided to try their hands at making games and stories to entertain themselves and other humans.

They were trashy, pulpy, and lesser when compared to the work of the Demiurge, yet they provided minor entertainments for humans and client species, as they travelled around all the human territories in something that one might find eerily reminiscent to a carnival or a circus. She'd go from world to world and gift some of her power to the best and most exotic entertainers that would become part of her troupe of traveling delights. It was dangerous to diminish her power in such a manner, and for lesser beings no less. But she trusted them, and wanted to ensure their survival and longevity.

Though none of her servants had as much power as the Ringmaster. He who balanced the books of the circus, and was even allowed to help her with her games and stories or take charge for the mistress. Truly a great honor! To be allowed to run the circus whenever Her Ladyship was away on business.

Unlike most humans, with their slaves and clockwork and mutations, She treated them with some respect. The power she gifted them with ensured that they were long lived, strong, healthy, and the mark she blessed them with let all other humans know that if they were harmed, she would take action. Though she was not as powerful or influential as others of her kind, she could offer a threat that was enough to give pause to Mankind of old. She threatened them with the only one real punishment she could bestow. Denying them new stories and entertainment. (Sure it wasn't as great that of the Demiurge's games, but anything new is something that the old humans valued. Eternity can be so boring after seeing the universe die and be reborn two or three times.).

As such, the members of her circus troupe were among the very, very, few of the old human empire who did not cheer when mankind's divinity was stolen, and humans were cast down. When the great deception was complete the Ringmaster was quick to gather up the other members of the circus, even those that did not want to leave, and race off into the darkness while the Demiurge and his followers danced the night away. For come first light, all remaining loyalists to the old Human empire faced annihilation. Only those that held hatred for mankind in their hearts were allowed to live. All others, no matter how young, or how weak, or how small their loyalty was to the humans, were put to the sword.

But the Ringmaster knew of ways that were hidden and secret, long explored by Her Ladyship, that they could use to escape and elude any pursuers, as they thought out their next moves, and found ways to survive in the new order brought on by the Demiurge. Overtime the Demiurge stopped sending followers after them, and they remained in the boonies of the many worlds for the most part. The circus survived all these long eons by staying out of the way of the new regime, putting on shows for scraps of food and sanctuary, sometimes going where they weren't supposed to and stealing what they needed, even occasionally breaking into the Prison itself, especially after the Demiurge disappeared, yet they never forgot their old Mistress, whose power still flowed through their veins.

They still honored her name and carried on the traditions she bestowed, with some of the younger, newer, members of the troupe beginning to see her as a deity to offer prayers to. The traditions she bestowed became rituals and rites to some within the caravan. Others thought of her as nothing but myth, and only put up with it since the Circus Caravan offered travel and safety, even if the Ringmaster put them at risk with his occasional slights against the jailers, and desire to find his Mistress.

Upon arriving back in Metropolis, and finding a human, they are ready to just toss her back to the human world (as they normally do with travelers they find, since there isn't really anywhere safe for their kind anymore but the prison), until they realize that this is none other than the true owner of their carnival of otherworldly wonders.

Her former ringmaster and her original clowns especially remember her well. Though her form may be different, she is known and her smell is familiar, even a thousand incarnations later. They have tried to keep the show going without her all these eons since her disappearance, and constantly on the run from the forces of the Demiurge (and others that they might have angered since the usurpation), yet the greatest show in the multiverse hasn't stopped performing.

Even if it is for mindless drones that cannot appreciate true artistry, or for terrified humans who only applaud out of fear of being killed, or even half crazed hobos that happen to wander into the tent. It just feels good to be performing for anyone now.

Yet now that she is back, the true show can begin! The Greatest show in the multiverse, and the greatest story ever told. "The Awakening of Man!"
"We've waited for you, for so long mistress."

But they are not the only loyalists still kicking around. Some still remember the power and wonder of the ancient Human era, or had privileged positions in the empire and long for that prestige again. Or perhaps the Jailers have proven to be just as cruel as their former human masters, and the new loyalists feel that another change of hats is in order?

They hear the hushed rumors of the death of the Demiurge, and they are rallying for what is to be the war for all existence.

There are still those who worship the lost divinity of the humans, who have kept the faith in these dark times. They whisper in secret, and move in shadows. The Demiurge tried to stamp them all out, and the followers of the liar still try to do the same now. But without their master, the other jailers are lost, and the harder they squeeze, the more heretics slip through their grasp.

The Kult of the Godbound grow in number as more humans achieve even slight bits of their old power. All they need is someone to help unify them. Or for a human to finally Awaken.

And I can promise you, my children, a day will come when the humans will return. The God Kings and God Queens will come back! They will assume their rightful thrones, and those of us who were loyal will be rewarded! We will be by their side as all is made right again. Though we suffer now, though we are hunted  like vermin, the tide is soon to turn. If I may be so bold, I shall give you a prophecy now. Of one who shall set the rest free. A pebble that moves to bring down a mountain!

So, lets get this out of the way right now. I know that Kult is not about empowerment. Its not about truly breaking free. Kult is about fear, madness, half glimpsed truths, and barely managing to break even at the best of times, against foes ancient and powerful. I know, and if you wanna decry it as heresy or breaking the game to play with someone reaching ultimate power, that's just fine. :) Just don't say that I don't get it. I knew exactly what I was looking for when I made this thread.

But the chains have to be broken eventually. That is what I have really been interested in with Kult for a long time now. I want that sense of empowerment, bringing down tyrants and righting wrongs. I want to explore what happens when someone breaks free, and the temptations that come with it. Can they become the saviour for all mankind? Will they go insane and become just another monster? Or will they fall victim to the temptations of power, giving mankind yet another tyrant upon the throne, as a new Demiurge rises to power?

That is what I want to explore and put my characters through. The ultimate test of humanity. Has even one of us changed for the better? It is so easy to think of how we will change things for the better if we had power. But will they be able to put their money where their mouth is if they were given the chance?

Its not totally possible within Kult itself. But the RPG known as Godbound can most certainly do exactly what I am looking for. It even has a few elements that are similar to Kult and could be swapped into the setting.

TLDR: So essentially I want to use KULT as the window dressing and lore of the game, but with Godbound as the actual system while we play out the story of Human Godbound breaking the prison and trying to free everyone. I'm hoping to find a GM who is understanding of this and willing to play ball with me. I've never played Godbound (though I do have the corebook somewhere around here. *kicks clutter around*), I also don't know how best to make the mechanics and lore fit together but I'd be okay with going Rules Lite if needed.

Playing with some of the elements of both Kult and Godbound, we could have a bit of dimension and world hopping going on. Moving from Metropolis, to Gaia, and other realms where the Circus can put on its show, and our newly Godbound human can test out her powers as she builds up a following. Their worship giving her more power as she strives to do more, awaken humans, vanquish evil, and liberate mankind. A pantheon of other characters could be built up, and then a grand final battle between the Godbound and the jailers can commence before true Awakening occurs. Then we will see what happens next.

If this interests you (and you don't mind someone who rambles and still gets confused about what dice to roll sometimes) please send me a PM and we can discuss it further and work things out to see how we can make this game possible.

Some other quick character Concepts for play if the MC above does not interest you.

1)A member of the WASP program from the second world war went down with her cargo plane and crash landed on some island that shouldn't exist. She's been stuck there, on a borderland between the Prison and Gaia, constantly drinking in the arcane energies in the land, in the water, in the ground, within the beasts she hunts for meat, and the fruits she takes for nutrients. She has been doing her best to survive all this time, alone, and becoming more in tune with her wild side. She uses the inner animal within man to help her survive, and has adopted the traits of some of the creatures that exist on the island with her.

She has no idea how many years have passed, nor that she hasn't aged a single day since she arrived, and the pilot does what she can to remain positive, to keep sane, and keep up hope. Until one day a modern passenger jet falls out of the sky, struck by lightning and slamming into the water close to the island.

Taking ropes with her, she swims out into the sea and rescues what survivors she can, and brings them back to the remnants of her own plane. She promises to help them survive, and maybe even get off the island, if they will do one single thing for her....if they would just help her get home.

Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide

2)A small town Sherriff has been dealing with the frontlines of the Opioid Crisis in her hometown, seeing how people just collapse into rampant drug abuse, turn to crime, or go insane from whatever concoction they are shooting themselves up with. The latest thing hitting the streets is some synthetic garbage that lets people see shapes and colors that do not normally exist, some even claiming it gives them higher perceptions of reality. But don't they always say that?

Eventually it comes to a head as the officers receive an anonymous tip that someone is cooking up something really nasty at an old warehouse, and the Sherriff and her deputies go in to bust the lab. While they break in and begin making arrests, she gets stabbed in the arm with a dirty knife that has been used to make all sorts of concoctions, giving her an ultimate high that truly does let her see an altered reality, flashes of truth and visions of what was, is, and will be. Especially that which the liars do not want seen.

She sees one of the servants of the Archons, pulling the strings of her partner, and she blasts the creature right in the face with the entire magazine of her sidearm, and before everyone in the warehouse, a monster falls out of thin air, for all of them to see.

She prays this bad trip will end soon....why isn't it ending? Why isn't she coming down? Its been hours! Or is her perception of time damaged? To everyone else around her, it seems as if she suddenly just fazed out of existence, while for the Sheriff, she is about to uncover the truth of the world.

Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide

3)A female member of the US Air Marshalls is on a plane bound for Detroit, that just happens to be hijacked by some crazies that take over the plane and intend to crash it into a rusty old radio tower on the ground. Responding to the hijacking, she drops one of the hijackers, but is locked out of the cockpit, just as they are about to slam into the radio tower.....but the impact never comes. Instead they are transported elsewhere, to a city of impossible architecture and size. From within the cockpit, the Air Marshall can hear the leader of the hijackers proclaiming a single word with the same elation as any religious fanatic. 'Metropolis!"

Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide

4)A member of one of the various Alphabet Agencies, has a side project of tracking down the reports of mysterious Men In Black, who tend to show up at random around the country. She has been in the game long enough to recognize a clean up crew when she sees one. She cannot work out just what they are doing, but she's spotted a pattern in some of their movements, and plans to investigate what she suspects is a safehouse of theirs when they leave it next.

Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide

5)(Alternate version of the main idea, inspired abit by The return of the Greatest Show Unearthed.)
For as long as Caroline can remember, she's heard carnival music on the wind. Sometimes its distant, other times very close. Its sound is always so enticing, so...perfect. She wandered off when she was younger, only to be found by police when she knew she was so close to the carnival and ended up being medicated for hearing things no one else can hear. She'd been so close that time, close enough to see the lights of the carnival. Since then though, since taking her strange medicine that fizzes on her tongue every time she drinks it down, from doctors who all oddly have the same signature, despite having different faces, she's had nightmares about the Carnival. A terrifying place of blood and pain that promised her only suffering after luring her in with sweet music and delights. The greatest of traps always had the most wondrous of treats.

She held onto that fear all the way through college, taking her medication each time she heard the sound of the carnival again, even if it dulled her mind, and made everything a chore for her. She had to work twice as hard as everyone else around her just to make it through school, and College was a nightmare for her at times, but she needed her medicine...till one day during winter break the snow storm outside had gotten so bad that she'd been unable to go to the pharmacy for her prescription, and the Carnival had been louder than any other time in her life. It was as if it was right in the football field for the college...if it was that close...maybe she could just...take a look? After all this time she'd go and see and prove to herself that nothing was there. Maybe then she'd never need her medicine again. She'd see with her own eyes that it wasn't real. She grabbed her backpack, some winter clothes, a flashlight from the janitor's closet, and a crowbar....just in case. She even stuffed her phone and camera into her backpack so she could record the empty space as future proof to herself.

But as she stepped out into the biting snowstorm, her eyes showed her what her heart always knew was true. The Carnival was real...it was right there! Right in front of her! She could feel the warmth coming from inside, could hear the music, laughter, and smell food that drew her in, but not as much as the voice of the ringmaster, who called for all to come and see the greatest show in the last millennium!

Yet as soon as she walked in, the smell of sweets and the wonderful music turned to the smell of blood and bile, the music was being played on instruments of bone and all this time her fears were right. The nightmares had told her the truth. Dancing around the ringmaster were a dozen demons all happily moving in a circle as he held his arms up to the sky. Each one carried what looked like a streamer or ribbon, but she could see that it had been made out of the thin leather of the skin of something...or someone. They laughed and sang and cackled in a melodious manner, while up above were artists who moved with grace through the air, while peeling off their own flesh to use as wings.

The shock of it all was too much, and Caroline threw up all over herself, alerting the Ringmaster and the dancers to her presence. There was a moment as both of them locked eyes, and the Ringmaster seemed startled, before ordering the show to stop and for her to be brought to him. Caroline couldn't even turn to leave as the circus closed its curtains, and became as solid as stone when she tried to break out. There was no way out, a circus couldn't really perform without its owner, and star attraction. They weren't going to let her leave, not after the Ringmaster had waited so long just for her to show up.

Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide

6) Inspired heavily by Clifford Unger from Death Stranding with alittle bit of Kyle Reese from Terminator tossed in. As well as the Disturbed Song Indestructible. Also going to mention that I am looking to play the daughter in this scenario.) Sometimes the best way to catch a wolf is with another wolf. Hell...the inferno....is full of so many humans who are put through endless torture to break them and tear them asunder. But some survive even despite the pain they are put through. Some are locked in their own private hells just to contain their endless....hate. A hate so hot that not even the greatest torturers in all of creation can snuff it out. The mad dogs have to be contained and locked away, lest they find their true power, or further break the weakening chains of the world.

Among those whose hate was infinite is a soldier, who has been reborn and reincarnated so many times now that a part of them is permanently attuned to the truth of the universe. Each time they were reborn into a new life and a new body, they would inevitably go down a path of violence and bloodshed. Either becoming a warrior, or raider, or criminal. Their life would always revolve around violence. From the first tribes of man killing with shards of bone and rocks, to the siege of troy, to the  trenches of the Great War and jungles of Vietnam. Sometimes they fought for one side, other times they fought for their enemy. Each incarnation they wore a different face, different gender, different flesh...but always the same soul, and the same duty. Yet their duty did not end, even when falling to the afterlife.

Vietnam was the last time he fought on Earth, before becoming a permanent resident down in the Inferno. Their memories refused to go away this time. His consciousness remembered flashes of memory, and skills from their ancient wars. With these memories came powers and abilities learned from his past selves. Wars taught him to be a warrior, but reincarnation and the mass slaughter of the greatest conflicts on earth taught him mastery over death. This prisoner was unlike most who remained in the Inferno. He never broke. A few times he nearly escaped back to the world. But he was recaptured.

In his imprisonment, he learned of what awaited all souls upon death, and desired desperately to save his daughter from this fate. He was damned, but he could change her fate by his own hand. So he broke free of his own private hell, to meet with the Death Angels, and ask to serve them, to let him hunt down and kill other humans that were awakening, and in exchange they would spare his daughter the tortures of eternal damnation.

They agreed, and the deal was struck. Since then he has been summoned out to the world each time a human draws too close to achieving their ultimate power, and eliminated thousands of would be awakened. He may as well carry the title of Judas, for he is the greatest traitor to all of mankind now. Each time someone was on the very cusp of achieving the powers of the Gods, they were all brought down screaming into the inferno with him, just as he agreed. The cycle would continue unbroken. A mountain of corpses lies at his feet, an incalculable amount of souls taken by him in previous lives, and now a new pile grows each time that he is sent to eliminate those who stray too close to the truth.

Yet the Jailers are never to be trusted. Their word is not worth what a pig could shit. For as they agreed to their new soldier's terms, they just so happily broke them. That was their first mistake, the second was allowing him to find out.

A chance encounter allowed him to see that his beloved daughter's soul was down in the Inferno...being lashed and having her soul torn apart to destroy her memories. Much as it tortured him, he could not free her. Not yet. He'd have to wait until her soul was purged of memories...he failed as a father and did not deserve to be remembered. It would make the next step of his plan easy. The coming millennium would be an era of turmoil, allowing him to disappear in the chaos of the 'war on terror' as he used his last target as a distraction, forcing a Death Angel to send one of their avatars to kill the human before they awoke, just so he could capture it and torture the avatar for information. He had learned well from his benefactors, and showed the avatar tortures it could not imagine. Forcing the knowledge from the Avatar, he noted down all he needed to know, of what he would need in order to survive and remain hidden, while he planned to save his daughter. Once he had what he needed, he left it tied up with a grenade in its mouth, and a message written behind it for whomever would try to come after him.

"This Is Not Over."

And it wasn't.
For the past twenty years he waged a personal secret war on the Death Angels, on the Archons, on the entire fucking system. He kept his skills sharp in various warzones across the Earth, occasionally showing up where reality was breaking down and learning what he could about the prison, about magic, or eliminating threats to humans, ensuring that he is always growing stronger while his enemies grow weaker. They are spread thin trying to keep all of humanity shackled, and dealing with his actions, while he has learned how to strengthen and improve upon the abilities he now has.

He has managed to keep his enemies guessing, but he knows its only a matter of time until they figure out what his true goal is. Its not personal vengeance, or taking on the Archons and Death Angels alone like some action movie hero, but to attain enough power that he can rescue and keep his daughter permanently safe from the Inferno. Even if she doesn't remember him, even if she is born to different parents in this life...she is still his daughter....and he will do anything to protect her.

He has his mission, and he will no allow anyone, or anything, to prevent him from carrying it out.

But his reborn daughter has drawn attention to herself. She works for one of those fancy tech companies that are everywhere now. Something to do with satellites, and has been coming to see something in the endless lines of code she looks at every day. Patterns, messages, sutras, mandalas. After a year of seeing them constantly, the patterns are encoded into her very mind. She's even begun experimenting with the code she sees and caused reality to chip away at her work station. Not a major chip, but enough that the jailers have taken notice.

A kill team will be after her soon. Demons in the flesh of men with official looking badges, takin her in for questioning, to learn what she has done before they make her disappear into the Inferno. He has to step up his timetable now, he needs to get to her first and extract her before its too late.

No doubt the Death Angels will have more of their puppets hanging around, ready to ambush him when he comes to get her. But in their pride they have failed to factor in how long he has been at this, it doesn't matter how many demons, how many monsters, how many avatars they bring in.

Because no soldier, especially not the Saint of Soldiers, ever fights alone.

He will get her back, he will do what a father is supposed to do...and give his daughter a future that he could not have. He has been through Hell all these years to ensure she gets heaven. Not the lie of the Demiurge, but a true heaven, one that she will be worthy of inheriting. Even if it must be built atop a mountain of corpses and surrounded by oceans of blood. Even if she will hate him for what he must do.

She is weak, and if she is to Awaken, he must make her strong.

Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide

Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide

7) A Shard of Heaven is all that remains now, and it sits empty, leaderless, in beautiful indecision, and madenning inactivity. Heaven, paradise, Elysium. Whatever name you want to call it by, it exists in the vast layers of reality, and it is dying. Without the Demiurge upon his throne, the promised salvation of mankind from so many religions has become yet another form of torture. Not one of pain, but of blissful boredom where nothing ever happens. It is no more a paradise than a Zoo, painted in pretty colors, where even the zookeepers are prevented from leaving.

Heaven is tragic in its beauty, and constant in the sense of loss that is as ever present as the calming breeze that sweeps over the entire land. Paradise is a pleasant, vaguely Mediterranean archipelago-like land with broken marble buildings and crumbling pale statues, a close examination will find that it’s verdant greenery does not grow and there seems to be an ominous air hanging about this place. The great mists that veil it’s outermost boundaries lead straight back to where you walked into them after a short stroll in their shadowy dampness.

Was it a kind of diorama the Demiurge built to mock the human conceptions of Heaven? Or a genuine refuge he constructed for humans he took pity on? Maybe it really is just a Zoo where the Demiurge could sit and lord his power over those who would be nothing more than yes-men to him for all eternity.

None can say for sure. It has been so long since anyone new arrived, time works differently in heaven....it has been a thousand-thousand years (maybe more) of inactivity. No new arrivals to change things up, no updates from the rest of the realms. No Demiurge to even show up and demand praise. The denizens of heaven have been locked away for so long that most can no longer recall their own names, or give any straight details about the Demiurge or why he disappeared, some are barely capable of speech.

All know one thing though, that they were left there alone. With a single command that they have been waiting to fulfill, as they all look upon the Throne with intense sorrow. 

The Demiurge’s last order, they claim, was to obey the word of the first being to visit here and sit upon his throne. Maybe it is true, maybe it is a delusion. A shared lie that they have all made true, or a half-truth. This one command has been held dearly, repeated as a prayer, and mantra, the one truth that they all recognize. But it doesn't matter now, because no one new comes, and none are worthy to sit on the throne.

That is, until a Human, begins to awaken. Someone worthy of power, but never wanted it. In the time before, they were a great and terrible Human of power. Worshipped without asking for it, only because of what they were and what they did. They were one of several thorns in the side of Demiurgus, that he made sure to pluck personally, before enacting his grand plan. That is why the bindings upon her were weaker than those on other humans. Hers were no made as tight, or a well maintained, as the same chains that hold the secret soul of the majority of humanity who was imprisoned later on.

She is now known as 'Maggie', and was a simple schoolteacher, who delighted in educating young minds, raising them as the children she never had the opportunity to have. She loved all of her students as if they were her own. So it hurt all the more when a diseased Libith, demon of desire, whispered into the minds of some, and caused two of them to go on a rampage that is regretfully all too common now.

The fear and terror which ran through her heart, combined with the love she felt for her students, and the pain of those lost, led her to try to stop the shooting herself. She failed. A bullet pierced her skull, and even as her corpse fell to the ground, her soul fell down even faster into the Inferno, where all human souls are now doomed to go.

Yet, she refused, she couldn't die yet. She had to save her precious children. Power welled up inside of her, wings sprouted from her back, and her scream echoed out so loudly into the Inferno, that the souls of the dead children flocked to her, escaping the grip of the nepharites and torturers of the Inferno, as all covered their ears, or shielded their eyes from the azure glow of her wings.

She clung to their innocent souls, and pulled them up towards the Prison again, retaking her own body, raising it up like a puppet, to the horror of the shooters and the libith. She smote the offenders with all the fury an angry goddess can have, leaving behind piles of viscera, and atomic shadows upon the walls.

Maggie, this was the name she thought belonged to her. Her true name was Minua, the Lunar Mother Clad in the Raiment of Tears, Queen of Crows, and Wet Nurse to the unwanted children of Mergos.

Her reign and title have little meaning now anymore than the kingdom of Ozymandias has to a modern person. But the power she wields, even just a fraction of it, is not to be trifled with. Even now in her panicked state, she was able to recall the horrors she'd witnessed in Inferno, and her only thought was to find somewhere to take the souls she'd rescued, to save them from that fate. Her still flowing rush of power allowed her to feel our just the space, and she went hand in hand with all of the lost innocents to what she felt was 'paradise'.

She led them happily, singing and forcing a smile through the tears, so as not to upset their already injured souls. Her powers cut open the tiniest of holes in reality, and through the mist that surrounded Heaven, allowing her to take them all to somewhere safer. Leading the way, she fulfilled the order of Demiurgus. An order which was never meant to be fulfilled, for Demiurgus had intended to leave 'Heave' as a silken prison for its inhabitants, for all time.

She, a Godbound Human, was the first thing to step through into Heaven, since Demiurgus sealed them away. All the denizens of Heaven could feel the sudden rush of power as her right foot, then her second foot, firmly touched the perfect grass of paradise. She stepped forward not to conquer, not to seek power, but to make sure the children behind her were not afraid as they saw her safely on the other side, and guided them in one by one, to leave behind pain forever.

Upon overcoming her initial disbelief, she witnesses the sky full of others she think are like her, but their wings are different, and there is less grace to them. More like a flock of disturbed birds than the heavenly host she'd been promised all her life...even if part of her already knew that everything was a lie, for what loving god would sentence murdered children to suffer in the Inferno?

Angels of all kinds seem to flock to the new arrivals in uncertain, bedraggled droves, enough to make a small army. So many wings and eyes, all turned towards Maggie, as if ready to beg her for even a fraction of the same attention she was giving to the children she brought with her, even as some of them are already in tears, or kneeling.

Their numbers vary when she looks, but they were once ten and twenty legions of the Demiurge's finest angels. Now they are barely a thousand disorientated and traumatized Angels, left broken from their lords’ absence or infighting.

There is a moment's hesitation from all present, as Maggie is unsure of seeing Angels like this, and the Angels are too afraid to approach her any further, as if she will leave them alone forever if they do. But the Godbound takes a step forward, raises a hand, and bids them all a confused 'Hello?'.

The damn breaks and the cacophony of sounds frightens the children, as the Angels all flock to Maggie with the manic desperation of the faithful whose prayers have finally been answered. Maggie extends her wings defensively, ready to defend her adopted souls, only to be given pause as the Angels just want to lay hands upon her, crying, kissing her own hands, stroking her wings, offering her their swords, their names, their blood, their very own halos.

There is so much noise that she can barely understand when a few of them, more armored, and more organized, than the rest (but no less ragged and emotionally broken) manage to push through the others, saying something about 'The Last Order!', and how it must be fulfilled. The organized Angels shove the others away, with shouts, then threats, then shields, and for some even with sword and spear.

The leader of the group orders his cohort to surround the newcomers, as they begin to push them back, threatening to turn the entire event into a violent riot. The one who leads the band of armored Angels looks to Maggie, and kneels before her. A hand to his heart, and proclaims himself her loyal servant, which only further upsets the crowd, especially as even more people seem to be coming over the horizon.

'You just want her for yourself!'

'You were always Father's favorite!'

'You used to hate them just as much as Astaroth!'

Cries the group of Angels, as weapons seem to start coming out on the side of the rioters. They are all so desperate for a purpose in life, they alternate between begging for Maggie to be the promised one, to being ready to kill everyone else around them, or even threaten her children to get her to fulfill the Last Order.

But the one kneeling before Maggie, having noticed how she keeps shielding the human souls behind her, swears to her that he and his soldiers will protect her children. If she will do one single thing, he will be her faithful servant, he will protect her little ones.

"Do one thing for me, and I will do all of this and more. I can take you to safety."

Seeing no other option, she agrees, and with a sweeping motion he takes Maggie's hand, and sweeps up a child in his free arm, before ordering his cohort to do the same, those who do not, are to keep the other Angels back.  They take to the skies in a desperate flight, and Maggie is no able to witness the sorry state of 'Heaven'...even paradise wasn't spared from the callous cruelty of the Demiurge.

They are flown quickly towards the throne of the Demiurge, bypassing decaying villages, gibbering Angels, sobbing humans, long shattered monuments. All are smirched and tattered, even the very throne itself is becoming a shadow of what it once was, for all of its might and power.

The crumbling marble throne at the center of the archipelago stands several miles high, incorporated as part of a larger structure, and is guarded by four comparatively small angels who are each nonetheless the size of skyscrapers each stoically positioned in four cardinal directions. To most, it emanates a sense of profound lost. Even the Angel who is guiding Maggie towards it is suddenly fighting back tears that fall from his eyes.

But oddly, Maggie feels something else from the Throne. She feels....ownership of it.

Entering the throne room, all are momentarily given a vision of a white robed patriarchal figure through the minds of most humans who see it for the first time. But not Maggie, no her vision is one which inspires anger instead. Coupled with what she has seen of the Inferno, and now of Heaven, it truly clicks in Maggie's mind that God was a bastard, and now he fucked off to leave the universe to crumble. Even his throne is a shadow of its former glory. Enormous rifts, some of them 10 meters or more wide, crisscross the throne's structure, with piles of marble gathered around the base of the throne. Yet, it needs someone to sit upon it, to proclaim their right to rule, to command Heaven.

This is what the Angel captain tells Maggie, as he once again kneels, this time planting both of his knees to the ground, as he bows his head enough to place his forehead to Maggie's hand. He pleads with her, to just sit on the throne, and give them a single order. It doesn't matter what. It cold be to commit suicide or to hop on one foot for all eternity. Just to please give them a purpose again.

"If you do this one thing, we will guard your younglings. If you do this for me, I will fear you and love you, I will be your slave. You will be my lord now. I'm sorry...I know I ask a great thing, but please." The once mighty Angel begs in the most pathetic voice one of his kind has ever given outside of being tortured in the Inferno. For the pain he feels in his heart is as bad as the worst that the Nepharites could do to him.

Seeing no other choice, and already spotting more of the previous Angels heading their way, she accepts. The Angel kisses her hand, and begins to shout orders to his cohort, to move the children somewhere safer, and for others to block the doors, as the Angels and even humans, outside begin slamming their bodies into the door, demanding to see 'the promised one'.

Maggie refuses to be helped to climb the throne. She needs to do it herself, to earn it and place herself upon it. She used her arms and wings to pull herself up the broken segments of the once glorious throne, towards the actual seat, the eyes of the 4 giant Angels at each cardinal direction all turned towards her, while the Cohort of hew new loyalists try to brace the doors, the sound of the crowd outside becoming ever louder. She knew that she could have flown up it, but it felt wrong somehow. Something that 'he' would do. But not she...not her.

Maggie finally managed to climb up on to the throne and.....she feels nothing. She sits on it, feet dangling over the edge. She tried sitting in the center, with her back pressed to the back of the throne. Nothing happens!

Just as she begins to panic, the doors are broken open, and the Cohort forms together, to try one last time to hold back the rioting Angels and humans. Weapons are drawn, all are ready for blood, and Maggie sits on the throne one more time.

This time she speaks with the voice of authority to all who will hear.

"Stop this violence!" Her voice echoes out even past the Throne room, to all of Heaven, and even the Archons and Death Angels find themselves thinking that they heard something, as Astaroth suddenly feels a sense of apprehension in his dark tower in the Inferno.

All the eyes of Heaven are turned towards the new ruler of Heven, sitting proudly upon her throne. It is no longer oversized, the proportions of the entire building have changed in the blink of an eye, she is now at ground level, elevated slightly, and with her hands on the arms of her marble throne.  Those within sight of the throne are filled with a soothing, saintly contentment, joy, it is finally time.

Weapons are dropped to the ground. Tears flow instead of blood. The gathered crowd all prostrate themselves before Maggie, one by one proclaiming their loyalty to her. The loudest of voices being that of the leader of the Cohort, whose oath is a little different than the others.

He will seek out the others who are willing to be loyal to the one true rulers of all, to unleash the lost divinity of Mankind. He will obey her for her word is law. Her wishes are divine and destiny. She is beauty beyond compare, and he prostrates before her as an unworthy worm. He and the other reborn angels shall weep in gratitude to her, as they gather about her throne to sing hosannas to her name.

Once the roar of the crowd has died down somewhat, the one who had helped her so much already, crawls towards her, his eyes looking up at her with a near manic devotion, still crying, but smiling harder than anyone has a right to. The look in his eyes like a child desperately begging 'Did I do good!? Did I do good Mommy!?'

"My lady, my Archangel. In your name I shall reward the worthy and cast down those who are hateful in your sight. You have but to give me a name, as I am reborn in your light.

"So anointed, we will serve you with equal zeal as we once gave to the previous tenant of the throne, in whatever other realities you command us to march into, despite what wounds or burdens that we might suffer.

"We beg thee, speak. What are your orders, Archangel? Ruler of Heaven, upon your divine throne?"

They all looked at her, the same way that her students did when they heard the gunshots at the start of all this madness. They had been abandoned by the only father they knew, a heavenly father that had promised so much, and delivered so little. These were all her children now.

Thus, the new ruler opened her mouth to speak, and her voice was the caring declaration they had always wanted from the Demiurge, which never came.

"No more tears. I am here now. Things will be better, I promise."

Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide

Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide

8) The Old Manor and the Old God.

This one is inspired in part by this song and its cover image.

In a bit of a classic Call of Cthulhu scenario, a young woman from an upper middle class family has been informed that she's inherited an old manor out in the woods from a family member that she can't really recall ever interacting with. Neither does anyone from her immediate family really know the name or location, but hey, it's a free house! At the least she might be able to sell the land off, so she travels over the hill and through the forest, to where the directions said the manor was, and finds that the keys she was given actually work.

The manor is old, covered in dust and boarded up like someone wanted to keep people out...but also to keep them in. If she looks carefully she'd find the boards and iron bars marked with strange symbols (which are in truth prayers to the Archons and Death Angels, the Jailers which keep humanity enslaved).

Her family has always been well off, not living like the 1%, but always comfortable. This was due to the owner of the manor having long ago cut a deal with the Jailers, to aid in capturing a being of equal power to them which ruled supreme over the many forests of Earth.

He was once known as the Malkin King in Red. He Who Walks Between The Trees. The Dancer under the stars. Lord of the Hunt. A being from the realm of Gaia, a primordial realm of savagery and instinct, he was once invited to Metropolis, the ancient lost home of humanity before our fall, where he learned to stand upright and mimic humanity, while retaining that animal part of him that came from Gaia. He had no real interest in the works of the Demiurge and the other Jailers and roamed where he wished, for the Forests were his natural domain, and at the heart of them was always his home, among the King's court were other nature deities who bent the knee and offered him tribute.

Until the day the Jailers decided that he could not be allowed freedom any longer, and began to war on nature, cutting down his forest, burning them, assaulting his court or turning them against him, weakening the King over the centuries, until a mortal sorcerer trapped him within the Manor, bound by chains, his eyes plucked out, his tongue cut off, body mangled and ruined, until all the King could do was remain unmoving, wrapped in agony, and with no company to keep but the cries of worshippers and animals outside of the manor, calling out to him, all the while he felt the forests of the world continuing to be assaulted.

The King's power was diminished, and at best he could only whisper in the dreams of those who were willing to listen, and commanding animals to do his bidding, keeping himself alive from a tiny trickle of worship and sacrifices in his honor.

But all of that is about to change. For the blood of the conjurer who trapped the King, has finally returned to the manor, and shall unwittingly set him free.

Deep in the basement, within a cell lined with iron and countless esoteric symbols, is a decayed, ghastly thing. An amalgamation of man and animal, with a set of antlers coming up from his head to almost form a crown or halo above his head.

Once he could freely walk where he pleased, as a King, but now, trapped in this circle, he cannot even grovel as a slave. By the blood of the conjurer, his chains were forged. But by the blood of his descendants would the King's chains be broken!

All the King needs is for the newcomer, the descendant of his captor, to free him. So that he may walk beneath a canopy of trees again, run with the animals, hunt and feast as he once did. But of course, he will reward his rescuer with such wonders for finally releasing him.

What greater reward than to make her his bride? For every King needs a Queen, and what greater insult to those that originally trapped him?

This one could have a bit more of a dark romance as an inhuman being seeks to make her his, to keep her in his arms forever. Oh how happy they will be, living in the forest a king and his queen, the hearts of the forest. All the tears she weeps now will be nothing compared to the tears of joy the two will share after a century or two of matrimony.

Possible Character Sheet for the very first/main scenario of this thread.
Sophia Flores (Godbound)
Name: Sofia Flores.

Description: Mid to late twenties Hispanic woman who seems tired, yet with a genuine smile to her. Long dark hair that looks as if it could use more combing and cleaning products.

Goal: Awaken.

Current HP: 9/9

Current Effort level: 2/2

Current Attack Bonus: +1

Fray Die: 1D8


Strength: 10 +0,   Check: 11

Dexterity: 16 +2,   Check: 3

Constitution: 14 +1, Check: 6

Wisdom: 8 -1,  Check: 14

Intelligence: 13 +1,  Check: 7

Charisma: 13 +1,  Check: 7


1) Sofia coasted through school. She never had to apply herself too much and tended to get good grades while in the US school system in Virginia. She enjoyed the balance of an easy life and good grades, but was then unprepared for the real world and couldn't match up to her chosen profession. She lost the job and later was unable to find any employment, while also turning her nose up at flipping burgers or working for Amazon. Eventually she just up and left home. Unable to live with the shame, while out on the streets, she dreamt of a vast and ancient city, and soon began to feel the pull of magic in her blood. (+4 Urban survival).

2) After leaving home, she refused to let herself slip into poverty and starvation, without losing her soul or selling her body. Her life would not be a waste, and she risked arousing the suspicion of the Jailers by using her street magic to put on performances and keep herself fed. Sometimes she even managed to get a good performance without using real magic. (+4 for public performances).

3) She became part of a coven of other street magicians when one of them noticed her. She has no power in that group, but she is part of it and had an easier time on the street thanks to them. Sofia was always willing to toss abit extra into the group's pool of money, even if it cost her something she wanted. (+4 when trying to do something with the '7th Street Sages' group of Street Magicians).

Words & Divine Gifts

Word: Alacrity.

All Directions As One (Constant)
You can navigate vertical or overhanging surfaces as if they were flat ground. You can pass through rough terrain effortlessly. You have an invulnerable defense against being pushed or made to fall.


Word: Journeying.


Dust at your Heels (On Turn)
Commit Effort. You and those with you cannot be caught by pursuers as long as you keep traveling. Your group will always be moving faster than them regardless of their speed until you halt your movement.

Opening the Way (Action)
Commit Effort for the scene to create a hole in security, whether it’s a guard suddenly wandering away from his post or a rift appearing in a magical barrier. The hole will allow you and your allies a clear path into or past a place and will last as long as is practical, no less than five minutes. This security hole is not usually large enough to allow unhindered movement within the location, only entry into it.

Know The Path (Constant)
You always know the safest and easiest way to go to reach any location that is not kept secret from the world. Those who go with you also count their journeying to be food and sleep, allowing constant travel.


Word: Sorcery.

Greater Pavis of Rule (Action)
Commit Effort for the scene. For the duration, you are immune to all low magic spells and gain a +4 bonus on all saving throws versus theurgy. If a theurgy invocation would not normally allow a save, you can make one without the bonus to resist its effects.


Universal Gifts:

Divine Wrath (Smite) Action
Commit Effort to the end of the scene. You smite a chosen foe within sight with the energies of the Word, inflicting a 1d8 damage die per character level. You are always immune to the wrath of your own bound Words, as are other entities that wield similar powers. As a Smite power, Divine Wrath cannot be used two rounds in a row.


Effort: 2

Influence: 2

Dominion: 0

Wealth: 0


Clothes: Winter jacket. Jeans. Tight T-shirt with a Depeche Mode logo on it. Steel Toed Construction Boots a size too big for her.

Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide
-1 Deck of Trick Playing Cards.
-smaller performing items.
-Lighter for fire tricks.
-1 Paperback novel.
-1 packed lunch. 3 Water bottles
-notebook for magic thoughts, half used by now with mostly wrong theories.

Armor: None. Base AC: 9

Weapons: Pocket knife. Pepper Spray.

Thank you for reading this far, and I hope that my rambling has been at least somewhat coherent :P

Lustful Bride


Did some cleanup of the main idea at the top of the thread, and added in 6 alternate scenarios/character concepts that could be used. Still looking for this and hoping to find someone on the same wavelength as me.

Lustful Bride


I am going to have three weeks off soon, and looking for another roleplay. The desire for this specific game has returned to me and I am eager to try it out.