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  • What’s this now? Green Cherry Demonomicon?

    It is a time for great deeds!


    • Originally posted by Eldagusto View Post

      What’s this now? Green Cherry Demonomicon?
      Yes. And this:




        • Originally posted by Clophiroth View Post
          This was a specie of First Circle demons which idea I had a year ago or so, and was inspired today to write them. Fluff only, will put stats once I have some more time and ideas, as I suck at balance.

          From far away, it´s easy to confuse one the narodri for a raven. Maybe a large or specially fat raven, but one nonetheless. But once you come closer, you start to notice the differences: black, oily blots form what pass for feathers, constantly secreting a sticky, creamy substance which dirties up wherever the narodri stands. Its wing cover a bloated, fat body, at least a first glance: as it raises them, you can see that the narodri is in fact not thicker than your average raven, but stuck to its chest, and almost invisible due to the dark plumage of the demon, there is a layer of translucent pearls, filled with strange, and beatiful liquids, which patterns eternally dances inside their cristalline prisons. They aren´t bigger than maybe a large grape, but as a narodri can sometime collect two or even three layers of these strange pearls, this contribute to their usual bloated aspect.

          Each one of these pearls is a memory, which the narodri has somehow acquired. They can steal memories, and of course violently pick the memory-pearls from another narodri, but they prefer to trade for them: most narodri think that a memory willingly granted is more splendid, delicious and delightful that one violently robbed. They like to collect these treasures, and enjoy them in their pleasure-nests, where they relive the memory, and taste it, and sometimes, even devour it. Most narodris don´t discriminate in the kind of memories they enjoy, but some obsessively search for specific themes, ranging from such broad things as "violent memories", to such narrow memories as "teenager boys having their first kiss on a Calibration festival".

          Narodris have some uses for other demons, and for sorcerers. As any memory they acquire is forgotten by the original owner, they are often used when someone knows something the sorcerer would like that she doesn´t. Sometimes, some demon or sorcerer wants to cleanse some memory of his mind, either because it is traumatic, or because it is confidential knowledge, that he wants to store in a safe place, but not in his mind, to better protect from mind-reading spirits and enemies. They are good information gatherers, and of course, maybe the customer or sorcerer just want to enjoy one specific memory, probably stolen from another person...

          There is a number of ways narodris´ memory-pearls can be used by non-narodris. Of course, they can relive the memory just by wishing it, just as it is stuck to their bodies, but other aren´t so lucky. Putting a pearl under your tongue lets you feel the general mood of the memory (so, you could feel anxiousness and anticipation and curiosity and a little lust from a groom´s night wedding memories, but nothing more), but nothing more, unless you sleep with the pearl on your mouth, in which you can relive the memory as a dream. Of course, making a tea, with the grinded dust of the pearl as an ingredient (it tastes like a very sugary, so sweet it hurts, candy) and certain Eastern roots allows you to have a trance with the same results, and you don´t have the risk of sleeping with a grape-sized sphere of glass inside your mouth. Mixing that same dust with cocaine and a litle bit of saffron and snorting it also lets you "enjoy" the memory... But make sure to know what you are snorting. The memory is usually amplified, and if it was violent, depressing or something similar, you could be having a really bad trip...

          Lastly, memory-pearls can fit inside most hearthstone sockets, and meditating while attuned to an artifact also puts you into a trance, reliving the memory inside the pearl. Some say this is the purest form of pearl using, as it doesn´t damage the pearl, but be careful selecting the artifact you are attuning the pearl too. In some moonsilver artifacts, the memory can feel strangely, but subtly, different each time you relive it, and you don´t want to be inside a violent dream which is attuned to a soulsteel daiklave...
          So yes, two demons made recently.
          Last edited by Accelerator; 01-13-2019, 12:59 PM.


          • Ok. Guys?

            Can we all put this into some kind of google docs folder or pdf?

            Its tiring. And I want to download it.


            • Originally posted by Accelerator View Post
              So yes, two demons made recently.
              Please do not redistribute my work until it is finished. And ask first next time.


              • Originally posted by TheCountAlucard View Post
                Please do not redistribute my work until it is finished. And ask first next time.
                Oh. Sorry then.



                  Katibin, the Sages Upon Shoulders
                  Demon of the First Circle
                  Progeny of the Virtuous Scribe

                  The Virtuous Scribe is dedicated to spreading proper behaviour and eliminating vice. To this end Loramae created the katibin; the sages upon shoulders. Each katib is a small, armless humanoid figure with rapidly fluttering butterfly wings and no discernible gender. They rarely grow taller than four to six inches, and always come in pairs; sitting on the shoulders of their host or fluttering up to whisper into their ear. Though they are often annoying, they are blindingly fast, and attempts to capture, swat or drive them away will generally meet nothing but empty air and a chiding for one's failure of Temperance.

                  Katibin are made to advise their hosts on matters of Virtue, but their understanding of the concept varies from pair to pair. In Malfeas, katibin usually learn their Virtues from their progenitor, who echoes the Whispering Pyre's greater good and unbiased clarity, but young neomah-made sages can be taught other interpretations, from Adorjan's lethal philosophy of detachment to the Unconquered Sun's peerless examples. Katibin twins are diametrically opposed to one another. One is always stark white, with black eyes and black wings. It sits on the left shoulder and preaches Compassion and Temperance - or at least its understanding of the concepts - into the ear of its host. The other is black, with white eyes and wings and rises from the right shoulder to speak of Conviction and Valor.

                  Advice was not the only thing the katibin were made for. Occasionally, when their host commits an act of terrible sin or moral fortitude, they will rise and leave their host behind for a time; flitting off to report to Loramae so that she can enter the deed into her ledgers and mark vice or virtue against their name. If summoned and bound, they will instead report to their temporary master on the worth or wickedness of their servants. Should one katibin of a pair die, the other will inevitably go insane; no longer constrained by its twin's contradictory urges. The maddened sage will indulge its unchained whims, spending all its time in uncontrolled Limit Breaks associated with its preached Virtues until it meets its end.

                  Sorcerers summon katibin - carefully selected for their specific understanding of virtue, if they are wise - to bestow upon their subordinates; often binding one sage of a pair to stay silent while the other whispers unmitigated Valor into the ear of a soldier, or Temperance into that of a treasurer. The tendency of the sages to report acts or violations of high virtue is also useful, and by paying close attention to their whispers, a sorcerer might become more virtuous themselves. Katibin can flit from the prison of the Yozis when a person with no strong moral beliefs is met with a crisis of virtue, and begs for someone to advise them.


                  Jodigoba, the Wise Beasts Who Ride
                  Demon of the First Circle
                  Progeny of the Radiant Basket

                  Jodigoba are the size of a small child, with long thin limbs and wide faces. Their skin often seems to fit ill on them, stretched thin in some places and folded over on itself in others, and their slitted eyes sit just above a mouth that is a little too wide. Jodigoba were not made for their looks, but rather their intense mental acuity and wide range of knowledge.

                  The Wise Beasts Who Ride are teachers without peer among those who dwell in the demon city, and sought after for this purpose. While they are patient with those they instruct, their students are frequently impatient and demand to learn things in the shortest time possible. In this case the Jodigoba will climb upon the back of their student and hold themselves fast with their long limbs and claws. They will then guide the student through a grueling week-long course of exercises and meditations that result in a much improved understanding of a subject. (Sadly, this is often too much for mortals and some of the less hardy demons)

                  Jodigoba enjoy sweet fruit very much, and many a sorcerer has paid one for their time with a selection of fine plants.


                  Vansh, the Storm-Stripped Riders
                  Progeny of A Trinity of Tattered Banners
                  Demon of the First Circle

                  They were made as a gift. For a quiet, demure woman who caught Kiraaye's eye as he labored beneath the Golden Lords. In the Era of the Deliberative the common lot was much improved; no longer did men and women die of wasting sickness nor did rough, unnatural predators stalk the population. Man grew fat on the grace of the Sun. Cattle kept by sleek-coated wolves, to be grazed and slain as it suited their hungry Golden Lords. The story is not a complicated one: there once was a town more brilliant than Gem to the South, richer than Nexus to the East. A Princess bade it die for its design now displeased her and its population had perhaps grown errant and so, in the course of a single night, the town fathers killed their kin and snuffed out their own lives. Leaving none behind save one. This one was nothing of grandeur or legend: she was a porcelain faced maiden with limbs of living earth and a heart of liquid flame. A form shared by a thousand other maidens. Each made to serve,created to please paying masters. Amused at her arrogance the Princess dispatched a demon lord to break the little doll. To shatter her all to fragments and strew her self across the Direction. The Trinity of Tattered Banners was tasked to see this end.

                  He found her clutching a fruit knife in a trembling hand. Scarcely had he materialized than she was upon him, clumsily striking. Slashing with a knife barely as long as his finger. Fighting, struggling to the last for her meager, meaningless life. With one hand the Prince lifted her aloft. Curious he asked: why did something as simple and as sweet as she fight so desperately? Fiercely she responded: her life belonged to her, why must she give it away?

                  She wished to live, was that not enough?

                  Kiraaye loosed his grip and wove a cloak from his own steaming breath, his own searing blood. Upon her shoulders he placed the fitful, mewling thing and bade her run. Run to the wasteland. Run to the Demon City. Run as fast as she could for he would follow and if he caught her he would dash her to pieces.

                  This is the tale the Vansh tell of their creation. That it was they who bore her aloft on burning wings and lent speed to her steps. It was they who cared her beyond the reach of their father, to the chaos and clash of Malfeas. Is it true? Who can say. But the vansh that cling to Utprerak's hull in the unnumbered thousands preach it even so. In the secret places of the Unquestionable they build shrines of bone and clay and leave offerings of small, glittering things.

                  Summoning and Use (Obscurity 2/3): The Storm-Stripped Riders blend the features of birds and reptilian beasts, flayed down to the raw muscle and sinew. A thicket of tendrils coils loosely upon their narrow backs, hidden between their folding, fan-like wings, and hardened vents lace their hindquarters. They are symbiotic in makeup and long for hosts, crafting crude dolls out of clay and muck if they are unable to find a bearer. When worn their emaciated bodies shift. Slender claws clasping their bearer's bodies close as the tendrils burrow into their chest, secreting analgesics to numb any pain. Within the host's body they stimulate adrenaline and refine the reflexes, granting their companion an uncanny, unnatural speed. Their narrow jaws part, spreading a slick resin that hardens into an opaque face-shield. Framed on either side by the vansh's watchful eyes. Their manuevering tails anchored to the wearer's spine.

                  The Storm-Stripped Riders cannot fly when burdened by a bearer, but they can glide easily and bear their wearer aloft temporarily on their wings or slow their falls. By venting Essence through their calcified "ports" they may propel even an Erymanthoi to acrobatic leaps and bounds.

                  However sorcerers should be cautious, vansh are desperately needy, anxious, and not particularly bright. Long term use damages the body's ability to rest and recover and scars the organs. Yet a vansh will not willingly relinquish its hold, confident in its ability to sustain the bearer. The key is in soporifics and burning herbs, certain tinctures and narcotics native to Malfeas (most prominently Skysear Ivy) daze the creature and send it to a restful slumber. The Immaculate Order carefully tracks the cultivation of such flora to uncover Yozi cults affiliated with the Antarch Stampede.

                  Topen, the Scorch Kissed Shepherds
                  Progeny of Our Mistress of Sparks
                  Demon of the First Circle

                  From her fastness form Utprerak rains down a thousand forms of death. Primordial fire and shearing gravitational forces, meteor impacts and raw beams of essence. From beneath her span armies descend, caged in ablative chrysalis, on the backs of demon-beasts, or in the holds of strange, insectile craft. Some, such as the topen, flit to the battlefield on their own wings. Great, gauzy things that churn the air in a blur. Setting their ponderous, chitinous bulk down with deceptive grace. At a stark contrast to the brutality of their bodies.

                  They appear as monstrous beetle-things, as if a man of giant's size was bent and broken into the form of a verminous insect. Their carapace is segmented and glossy-black and their clustered eyes burn like broken, dying suns. Strips of softness in a chitin-helmed head. On six limbs they crawl, crushing stone underfoot with their strength and bulk. Communicating across the vast expanse of the battlefield with the humming, keening, of their gossamer wings. From hardened cysts on their back are born a multitude of lesser symbiote spawn. Gelatinous grub-things, soft-bellied and luminous orange, their heads crowned in gripping mandibles. With powerful flicks of muscle and sinew they are hurled hundreds of meters. With their viselike maws they clamp onto men, material, fortified walls and critical infrastructure. Holding tightly as arcane reactions in their bellies trigger and they detonate in orbs of infernal fire and greasy smoke.

                  At heart each topen is a, perhaps unappreciated, artist. In accordance with their mother's design they compete to spread beautiful char across Creation; each one husbanding sparks and scorch as a mortal might a flock of sheep. In the thick of battle they draft beautiful patterns with their bombardment. Etching aesthetic beauty out of the ruins of towns and cities. A fact often lost on those receiving the full brunt of their might.

                  Summoning and Use (Obscurity 3/4): In Creation they are utilized as living siege engines and artillery trains. Their popularity and spread hobbled by their upkeep (which is prodigious as befitting a beast the size of an adolescent yeddim), their oft indiscriminate fire, and the general blatancy of their being. More humanoid demons may be politely obscured beneath veils and dress, they may be befriended or thought "tamed". More inhuman beasts may be smaller or kept out of sight of the common man. But topen are colossal beasts who exist purely in the service of open conflict and largely lack any other reason to be called to Creation. Thus their use, once endemic in the brutal internecine wars of the Shogunate, has been heavily curtailed by the Immaculate Order and their summoning generally circumscribed. As knowledge of their use passed out of academic memory so too were they supplanted by more manageable strains of demon-kind.

                  However, recovered writings of Shogunate-era war-sorcerers may yet provide keen insight into the physiology of the Scorch Kissed Spherds. Each topen is hermaphroditic, able to produce offspring lacking any other partner. In the charred, glassy center of their great works they were known to nest. Burrowing beneath the ash and soot to lay a small clutch of young bound within luminous, translucent eggs. These fragile spawn would have many alchemical uses or, at the very least, provide more destroyer beetles.

                  Vikreta, the Menacing Mustelids
                  Progeny of the Vizier of Clotted Coin
                  Demon of the First Circle

                  The average demon is passionate, unstable, and myopically obsessed to the point of seeming insanity. The average drunken demon is passionate, unstable, myopically obsessed to the point of seeming insanity and foolish enough to act on any, or all, of its undisciplined thoughts and secret yearnings. Much the same could be said of a demon rising from a narcotic haze or in deep at a gamblers table. Vice is endemic in the Demon City, the high walls and silver sands, the lack of hope, the empty future, ensure that serfs and citizens alike seek escape wherever it might be found. Yet the lowered inhibitions and fierce tempers of the inhabitants make for a volatile combination. To be sure beating and ejecting offenders is always an option -and certainly has its place- but such is ultimately a reactive measure and can incite a general melee all on its own. Better to prevent such things from ever happening. Better to ensure that the money flows in and the customers leave largely intact with interruptions between the two as rare as possible.

                  Such is the reason for the vikreta. Paanee Ka Saamp maintains many dens of iniquity and so, naturally, requires many loyal and trusted lieutenants to oversee such operations. Demons who will disperse product while maintaining order and keeping clean ledgers. Demons who may be relied upon to only be mildly, acceptably, corrupt instead of dangerously parasitic. Thus they were born and thus, over the centuries, they have spread until the Menacing Mustelids appear throughout the shells of Malfeas. Acting as bartenders and pitbosses. Brothel proprietors and narcotic vendors. Their more mundane lusts have been channeled by their creator, articulated into an enduring obsession for success and sale by any means or any measure. The flickering sparks of good fortune and abstract wealth flowing through their body. It is said that one may note the importance of any vikreta by noting their teeth. Lesser creatures who maintain a simple wagon of spices may have a few teeth of copper and flashy, worthless crystal, while those great movers and shakers of infernal sin have fanged maws full of every shade of tainted jade or fired Antarch clay etched with reliefs praising Utprerak herself.

                  In appearance and disposition they are enormous, serpentine weasels. The accoutrements of their profession clutched tight in several of their eight, pawed hands and their heads crowned in slicked back spikes of chitinous glass. They are vicious, cowardly fighters when pressed but that comes rarely. Most often disputes managed or reduced through a keen ear and a silver tongue, both married to a forceful, demanding personality. Vikreta live in vast clans, networks of dealers and distributors, buyers and clients, with some of the more prominent even staking claims to not-inconsiderable portions of Malfeas's shells. The Princes and Princesses of the Unquestionable view such developments with a wary eye. Better to barter than battle to be sure, yet such displays of force by mere First Circles is unsettling.

                  Summoning and Use (Obscurity 1/3): Vikreta are well known amongst the sorcerers of Creation and oft employed as accountants or tallymen. Middle managers to steward over a magician's large estate and ride herd upon the other demons in their train. Significantly more reliable than any mortal helper, so the thinking goes, and far more closely bound to their "employers" best interest. Bureaucrats might bristle at the comparison but the Immaculate Order has little interest in prosecuting such summoners. Their resources are finite and while such utilization may be theologically unsound and morally suspect it is far from the most grievous offense a magician may commit.

                  Those who carefully cultivate a relationship with their demonic servant may, in time, find their due diligence rewarded as the vikreta introduces the sorcerer to ever further contacts within their vast, sprawling family. Opening up heretofore unknown avenues of purchase and sale. Easing the exchange of goods, slaves, and services between Creation and Malfeas.


                  Aszok, the Venturing Vineyards
                  Progeny of the Edda Exsanguis
                  Demon of the First Circle

                  Elloge's blood is the stuff of stories. Dreams and delusions, lies and lamentation. Visceral Wine is what happens when this narrative hemorrhage is distilled down to its purest components. Purified, refined and fermented in great organic vats. The liquor is a rich, softly shining, scarlet ichor. A spirit that can, for a brief span, transport the drinker to an imagined world. Far, far away from their cares, from their worries and their fears. Needless to say such a drink is immensely popular in the shattered world nestled between the Demon City's ribs. Serfs will beg, barter, borrow and steal to enjoy a cup of a lesser vintage; treasuring the brief moments of pleasant, uncomplicated sensation. Citizens will host lavish banquets, awing others with their wealth and casks of mastercrafted tales; epic stories flowing freely, the guests given a taste of rapture. Those of Ellogean descent are particularly partial to the drink and will often trade their services for a bottle or two laced with the stuff of Creation.

                  But such a prodigious demand requires an equally expansive infrastructure. And, while some demons taste the currents and measure the cascade, it falls to others to actually brew the stuff. This is the role and function of the Aszok. A nightmare mixture of lobster, octopus, and colossal spider, they daintily stride across the surface of the Minstrel Echo's lochs and flooded forests. Vast, jointed legs suspending a slim, armored oval of a body. Armored tail flexing. The head terminating in dozens of questing, coiling, proboscis-tendrils. The underside of their bellies ringed with calloused, translucent, casks where vintages sit and settle. These redundant stomachs rotated deeper within the body, beneath the armored plates, by muscular thews as the situation requires. The contents injected and treated with all manner of organic reagents as they age. Guided by their masters these wandering vineyards migrate up and down the fluid length of Elloge's ruined form. Greedily supping upon her heart's blood.

                  Fearsome as they may seem, in truth they are placid, communal beasts possessed of little higher intellect. Brains largely unnecessary when they are so heavily warded by their jagged, scabrous hide; horned and thorned by ivory-white. Such is the nature of Malfeas: attempted raids are commonplace and cultivating Visceral Wine is no easy task in such a hostile, fickle environment. Certain casks must be exposed at different times. Some must get a certain measure of Liger's light, some must settle only in darkness. It is not unknown to see such titanic beasts hunched and huddled together. Regrowing layer after layer of rust-red shell as they bravely face the Arrow Wind. Or to see a river geyser with scarlet as a beast a dozen meters tall swims free from the riverbed. In the end they truly desire little else but to present an acceptable product. It is their purpose, their pride and joy. Nothing makes them happier than the seasonal harvests, where workcrews of demons patiently detach the toughened "barrels" and heap praise upon their heads.

                  Obscurity (2/3): Binding these creatures to Creation should be a cruelty, without access to the lifeblood that gives their existence meaning any sane, self-aware creature should curl up upon itself and pine away. Fortunately the Venturing Vineyard is simply too monumentally thick to be laid low by such a minor inconvenience. Experimentation has proved that they can and, indeed, gladly will purify even stagnant, reeking mires with a fair bit of success and sorcerers have used them to sustain mortal armies across brine-marshes or trackless sands. Much as their infernal counterparts will sometimes employ in the trains of their armies below (Elloge's blood is, at the very least, nourishing). If properly plied they are also excellent vinters and provide a bounty of useful instruction. A sound investment for any Sorcerer who plans to deal extensively with the Ellogean.

                  An aszok may escape into Creation when a vineyard is watered with the blood of merciless slaughter and base treachery. A vanguard ambushed. A family cut down. The stilled, stifled stories soaks into a soil and, within four days and nights, a Venturous Vineyard appears to dutifully harvest the fruits.

                  Katona, the Storybook Soldiers
                  Progeny of the Silkworm Princess
                  Demon of the First Circle

                  If the world will not give us heroes we must fashion them ourselves. In life and death, Heaven and Hell, this fundamental truth holds sway. And in a universe so desolate, so often deprived of goodness, the urge to envision noble saviors is a powerful one. Practically speaking the katona aren't meaningfully much different from the thousand strains of soldiery that populate the armies of Malfeas; weaker than some, faster than others. More dangerous than a few, less potent than many. But for those who employ them there is an inherent virtue to their being. An inspiring magnanimity that restores depleted spirits and lifts tired hearts. To see a battalion of the creatures cutting their way through a melee to rescue a lost warband, to see them bravely covering a retreat in the face of overwhelming odds, is to see hope. A frail, fragile, rarity in the seething cauldron that is the Yozi's prison.

                  Is this the truth? Who can say? Even a weaver's work may beguile her eye. Even a writer's characters may deceive him. Perhaps such virtue is only a self-indulgent projection by desperate demons, a gaudy mask painted over a hollow, paper-thin construction. A folded shell, bound by orders and driven, golem-like, by a personal story penned by an alien hand. It is known: even demons can delude themselves into seeing only what they wish to see. Even the workmen of the Reclamation are guilty of very human romanticization.

                  Nevertheless: the Storybook Soldiers appear as any other tome in their dormant form. A weighty book or a fattened scroll, the parchment veined with thin lines of red. The words wet and glistening as if freshly daubed by a brush. If one peers closely they may see the pages softly flutter in time with deep, even breaths. A careful eye may even note that the illustrations shift and change, reflecting prized memories and treasured recollections. In such a state the katona is largely harmless if, at times, restless and prone to pinching hands and cutting palms. When activated they unfurl. Unfold. Vellum and parchment and paper rushing out in a storm. Collapsing itself into a suit of stylized, segmented armor around a darkly beating core. Red mist drifts from a faceplate laddered with slits. Origami musculature flexes and rustles. The opened book brackets the spine. In their hands they clasp razor-edged swords and towering warbows. At an order they will charge into impossible odds or wait, dormant, steadfastly guarding their Master's holdings; an observer's unease aside they seem to take solace in their duties. If nothing else they are very much loyal and loyalty is a currency without peer in Malfeas.

                  The katona rarely speak, communicating intent through expressive gestures and complex body-language. The written word is sacred to them, the stuff of their creation, and they will not engage in it lightly. Their lettered "skin" frames their essential selves, shrouding the twitching, throbbing core in definition and structure. With an effort of will they may shatter their frames temporarily. Becoming a swarm of pages, a tangle of parchment ribbons, that flows over the landscape.

                  Obscurity (2/4): Every Yozi have their favored warrior-breeds and the Storybook Soldiers see widespread use throughout Elloge's geography. Obtaining information on their general characteristics is not particularly grueling and many sorcerers employ the demons to guard and monitor their hidden caches of lore, great archives, or sanctum libraries. But it is only those who undertake careful investigation and win the favor of these champions who might uncover the truth: each and every katona yearns for actualization. They burn for it. From clumsy, clay tablet to crystalline First Age reader they edit and self-modify. Endlessly iterating towards some self-evident end. Their arrogance boundless, matched only by their ethic and dedication to their cause.

                  A katona may escape into Creation when a tome penned all in blood is left to linger on the shelves. The demon taking up occupation of the pages. Sorcerers with such works are reminded to handle them regularly or, at the very least, copy the works in something less tacky.

                  Inaurata, the Cleansing Crawler
                  Progeny of the Marrow Prince
                  Demon of the First Circle

                  An open wound invites infection and courts contamination; an untreated laceration is little more than an unbarred gate, a warm welcome that beckons gangrenous rot and other blood-borne sickness. The Minstrel Echo's entire worldself is covered in such raw, ragged injuries and her blood courses through the landscape even still. Driven by her shuddering, shivering heart. The vulnerability is obvious and the nature of Malfeas further compounds the issue: the Yozi are ever jockeying, struggling for space. Kimbery cries out and the sea chews the land. Rivers sizzling and spitting as they drown in acid. Isidoros flicks his head and captured detritus rains down. Teeming with a boar's muck and effluvia. Metagaos crawls forth, vines coiling, seeking ever more sumptuous spreads and such an incursion is the worst of all for it brings with it plagues of parasites and stubborn, resistant growth, both coupled to the threat of a hungry Yozi.

                  The Cleansing Crawlers were designed to serve as one, among many, lines of defense against such dangers. A quartet of heavy, arthropodal forelegs; the limbs fused with slablike shields, tipped in hooked claws to anchor in the earth. A, sinuous, lashing body with hide the shade of fine porcelain; overlapping chitin as hard as tempered jadesteel, layered over with long, milky white spines. A snake's hissing maw; vents within that send the inaurata's potent breath weapon issuing forth. Nymphs the size of a small child. Mature, molted adults as large as a river-barge. A shieldwall-swarm of the demons is a true terror to behold. A mobile artillery line that squirms across the Highlands as fast as a horse can gallop. A moving line of trenches and foxholes, able to burrow down into the river mud in mere minutes.

                  Their greatest weapon is their chemical spray. A crimson cloud of mist that calcifies and crystallizes what it touches. Petrifying enemies and ruinous swamp-growth alike; rendering inert, impotent, and leaving them vulnerable to shattering by hails of the spear-like utricating spines or contemptuous flicks of a broad-sided tail. Common use sees the inaurata deployed to quarantine blights and contain offensive action. Their arrival heralded by a rolling bank of carmine fog that freezes the enemy advance in its tracks.

                  In demeanor they are aggressive policemen and they take their position incredibly seriously. Without their work entire swathes of the mythos might fall. Or, worse, be subverted and infected by an enemy Yozi and who could say what the results of such an immense breach would be? Such a position breeds both paranoia and pride. Their armored legs are often fluid-etched with the great battles they've participated in, the great plagues they've forestalled. Their ire at being slighted is immense and their courtship contests are impressively bloody.

                  Obscurity (2/3): Creation is no stranger to pathogens of terrible virulence. The Great Contagion scarred the world and shattered empires. Nexus-that-was-Hollow holds beneath it an entire city of plague-dead and it is far from alone. Even today, in this Fallen Age, entire metropoli may be depopulated by pox and plague; rendered desolate and deserted within a Season. At times a heavier touch is called for containment and the inaurata hardly need encouragement to go about their duties. They are no less potent on the field of battle and are an impressive shock-force but sorcerers would be wise to bind them; to a demon one germ-bag looks much like the other. Men and women of a more gentle disposition may instead summon the beasts to milk their venom-sacs. Heavily diluted such demonic toxin is a powerful coagulant and able to staunch even the most terrible of wounds.

                  A Cleansing Crawler may escape into creation when a city's quarantine is broken. Panicked infectees fleeing into the dark, evading mounted patrols and search parties; destined to spread their doom far and wide. Salvation comes from an unlikely source as demons from hell gleefully pounce upon such poor souls. Cloaking them in ruby red and shattering them into glittering shards.


                  Eyorthi, The Wings of Fear
                  Demon of the Second Circle
                  Warden Soul of the Great Terror Worm

                  In those tomes of demonology which speak of the Great Terror Worm, there is much written of its form – the ever-churning coils of its serpentine body; the bleeding sockets where its eyes once sat; the trio of craggy, spade-shaped mandibles which form the front of its great blunt head; the gnarled, misshapen plates of grey chitin which cover its oily white flesh (so varied in size in shape that they chafe and overlap each other like a hideously ill-crafted suit of leather scale) and the black, twitching, spear-like legs which jut outward from the many gaps between them without any rhyme or reason, such that no “top” or “bottom” can be truly defined.

                  Many also speak of Ghalu-Than's great wings: rippling sheets of thick purple smoke which spew from a hundred puckered upwellings in its shell (not dissimilar in appearance to barnacles on a ship or volcanoes rising from a plain). These are the source of the Demon Prince's graceless-yet-terrible speed, for while they seem unable to truly bear it aloft, these wings allow the Great Terror Worm to leap upward in soaring, twisting arcs, soon falling with an earth-shattering crash – yet rebounding immediately skyward once more.

                  These wings are all Eyorthi, the Warden Soul of Ghalu-Than, and many sages of demonic lore hold them to be of far greater use than the Great Terror Worm itself.

                  When detached from their progenitor-host and brought forth via Sorcerous ritual, the Wings of Fear manifest as dozens of quill-shaped fans of roiling red smoke, each seven hands long and three across at their widest point. In this form, they are of little use – though they tenaciously resist being pulled farther from one another than a cubit or so, and laugh at even the strongest of Creation's winds, Eyorthi are of little utility as anything other than a means of obscuring enemies' line of sight with their swirling mass, or fouling the flight of their arrows.

                  However, this is to be expected. After all, the Great Terror Worm does not send forth its wings, and its wings do not naturally seek to go forth from it. To truly benefit from summoning the Wings of Fear, one must then wear them as Ghalu-Than does.

                  Eyorthi, being accustomed to living as an appendage to another, is quite eager to oblige such a request from its summoners, and gaily burrows into his (or his chosen champion's) skin with each of their wings' needle-like ends, pushing their smoke down through fat and flesh and muscle until it anchors in the bone. What pain there is soon vanishes, for Eyorthi finds no pain in taking up residence, and from the moment their points pierce their summoner, the two become all but one.

                  Thus garbed, the sorcerer becomes a force to be reckoned with: enfolded and buoyed by Eyorthi's wings, they can leap impossible distances with no more effort than stepping up a ladder, and even forsake the ground entirely for hours at a time. To attack one who bears the Wings of Fear is an arduous task, for the demon's sightless gaze extends in every direction and they will push their bearer out of an assailant's path if they can. Even should a foe prove too stealthy or too adroit to be completely evaded, they must still contend with Eyorthi's wings directly, which violently tear and yank at any incoming threat with enough force to shatter arrows and fling blades wide of the mark. If pressed, the sorcerer can even strike out at foes with their borrowed wings, though to little more effect than if they were wielding a well-crafted blade*.

                  However, this power comes at great cost: Eyorthi happily shares its nature with the Sorcerer and protects them harm, but slowly drinks the life and stability from its host in turn**. A great many treatises on Eyorthi and its conjuring go into great detail on the bloodless, boneless carcasses which remained of those past summoners who did not mind the limits of their own flesh when wearing the Wings of Fear. This slow weakening and death is a risk no amount of orders or threats can forestall: the steady destruction Eyorthi wreaks on its hosts is an inevitable consequence of seeking to feed a creature accustomed to the thick, incomparable corpus and ichor of a Demon Prince with naught but mortal meat and Essence, which is less than watery gruel by comparison.

                  A more worrying consequence is the fact that no creature of mortal born, not even one of the Celestial Exalted, can truly claim to remain pure of mind when in such intimate union with a Demon of the Second Circle. Eyorthi's presence inflames whatever fear or protectiveness already dwells in the sorcerer's heart, driving them to recklessness, paranoia, cowardice, or acts of extravagant (and often needless) self-sacrifice***.

                  Aside for when the Great Terror Worm itself emerges to herald the downfall of a nation, the Wings of Fear are not known to visit Creation without being summoned forth by another



                    Elkethen, the Flesh-Puzzles
                    Demon of the First Circle
                    Progeny of the Hungering Manse

                    When the Hall of Sorrows accepts one of his victims as his own, they are subsumed by the formless void that is his true flesh, and in this twilit nowhere-place he pours himself into the many hollows and containers within their flesh, until their very souls lie open to him. Every aspect of their being is weighed and judged, every act of slothfulness and indolence is exposed, and all are inevitably found wanting in some fashion, declared somehow less than perfect.

                    Here, another Prince of Hell might cast aside these poor sinful wretches, yet Gebruzhall perseveres – after all, no two supplicants can be identical in their imperfection, and why should he discard them when instead their strengths can be compounded upon themselves? Thus does the Hungering Manse take apart his chosen mortals and build elkethen from the parts, taking that which he most adores in each to make true and worthy offspring.

                    What emerges from the Hungering Manse's heart of hearts is a blight upon all the peoples of Creation who seek safety & security, for the Flesh-Puzzle Skulkers are zealous proselytes of their (re)maker's philosophy. Where they find graves lying near living lands, they shall lure children into stirring them up, and then flee as the angry dead rise to wreak vengeance for the slight. To peaceful, happy homesteads (a rare thing in the Age of Sorrows), they bring 'gifts' of murder, theft, and planted evidence, that such slothful dullards may know suspicion and discontent once more.

                    Worse are what springs from interactions with refugees, the mad, and others who walk Creation in fear and uncertainty, for they bear the sympathies of the elkethen – and as is distressingly common, a demon's sympathy can bring more heartbreak than their wrath. To the Flesh-Puzzle Skulkers, such misery reminds them of their former selves, and so they seek to become guides and shepherds, taking the broken and uncertain and reforging them into fellow servants to the Hall of Sorrows. Though rather short-lived compared to other demonic cults, the harm such mad conclaves do to Creation may linger long after the demon's departure.

                    Notes and Abilities: The elkethen are strange and hideous in their natural forms, for they appear exactly as they are – a mangled assemblage of pieces from men of North and South and East and West (and men who have never gazed upon any Direction, and forgotten things which, though mortal, are no men at all), woven into each other with strings of milky sinew. These patchwork bodies easily part and shear around blades and spearheads – and just as easily snap back into place at the elkethen's will, leaving their enemy's weapon trapped and useless.

                    It is likewise foolish to assume a Flesh-Puzzle's reach is the length of its arms, for they can force their reassembled limbs to briefly stretch and dislocate, striking out at foes who thought themselves out of harm's way. The greatest mortal contortionist in Creation would weep with jealousy at the sight of what a determined elkethen can do with its unnaturally flexible, malleable form.

                    More worrisome for the keepers of civilization, however, is their ability to take on almost any form they choose. While a neomah can subtly shift their features to appeal to a given prospective employer, an elkethen can completely rearrange their body to appear as almost anyone – pulling their more inhuman traits into their flesh, crushing bone and meat into the proper shape, and even feigning their target's voice through muscular manipulation of their vocal chords. By the same token, they can twist their features to project hideousness almost beyond imagining, and freely push their own bones out through the skin to stab and shred those who oppose them.

                    Wise men who suspect a Flesh-Puzzle's presence among his own know to call for the drawing of blood with a sanctified blade – the elkethen, for all their artifice, cannot hide the truth of their innards, and shed naught but a gray, suety mush from their wounds. Wiser men avoid the problem entirely by arranging an expanse of sand in their homes that guests must spend time upon in the course of their visits: in time immemorial, Gebruzhall committed some great forgotten sleight against the Endless Desert, and so she punishes his children when they dare impinge on her domain. Their flesh seethes and aches horribly at the touch of sand, such that they suffer Limit for each full minute they are forced to walk upon it or feel it blowing against their skin.

                    When fear drives a man to murder his elder sibling on a night when the moon is hidden, an elkethen sometimes crawls forth from the shadow of the corpse, and offers to help hide evidence of the killing. Those who agree seldom face judgment for their crime, but the demon will then go forth into the world to spread misfortune and unrest until the season's end.



                      Ten-Bura, The Barbarous Agents
                      Demons of The First Circle
                      Progeny of the VItrolic Dragon

                      A guardsman patrols the walls of a seaborne redoubt, unaware of the creature stalking him, he hears nothing but the crashing of the waves and the howl of the wind. All is well, save for a slight feeling dampness on his skin that has nothing to do with the weather, up until the moment he presents his back to the ocean, a sleek black-grey figure pulls him down over the wall and there is only the sound of steel meeting flesh and then there is nothing but the wind and waves.

                      That is the trade of the Ten-Bura. They are commandos and special forces agents without peer; they slink through fortresses and cities with nary a sound, assassinating officers, poisoning wells and food supplies, as well as opening gates for an invading force, and acting as scouts and skirmishers for larger armies.

                      The Tenbura are tall, gangly figures, with a dark grey pelt with a texture and patterning that reminds one of seals and flippered feet and webbed hands, with hound like faces that are featureless save for their three glowing green eyes and a kraken's beak. They were leather harnesses across their chests that are filled with the tools of their craft; daggers and throwing knives, lock-picks and smoke bombs. Their emerald eyes allow them to see in darkest of nights and if they cup their breath into their hand or breath it into a man's face, they can cause a fully grown man to faint.

                      As a breed, they are very loyal to their masters, often requireing all but the gentlest of binds. This loyalty has its own issues however; they are exceptionally paranoid about the welfare of their commander and her holdings. Often they will take the slightest hint of dissatisfaction as treachery, and seek to remedy such matters on their own; a servant who complained about the dirt of the sorcerous keep will be tortured for information they do not have and then found hung from the rafters the next day, a mortal king who was truculent during negotiations will be found slaughtered in their beds, while a rebellious teenage son will be beaten to an inch of their life.

                      Uses: The Ten-Bura are breed for wetwork; they are excellent killers, though not as good as dedicated combat breeds such as Blood-Apes or Cloud Arsenals,and they are supernaturally stealthy, able to slip most sentries with ease to commit assassinations, sabotage or terror tactics upon a fortress city to make its subsequent conquest easier.

                      Often demonologists summon them in small teams of about six or seven as the stiletto to the hammer of that is the Blood-Ape. They can serve as Skirmishers or infiltraitors for a larger force, though they tend to perform poorly in battles as they lack the proper equipment and abilities for it, and then there is their aforementioned skill as operatives. They can escape from Malfeas when lowly soldiers plot rebellion against their master near large bodies of water during a storm. They gain limit whenever they are denied the chance to investigate a threat, real or imagined, to their master.



                        Bozirenky, the Witches of the Sea

                        Demon of the First Circle
                        Progeny of The Muliariz, the Pearlescent Handmaiden

                        The Bozirenky were made in the shape of comely women dressed in the most fashionable dresses and robes, with too big eyes and whose teeth are fused together and pointed in a manner akin to a squid's beak and they are also capable of changing the color of their skin and their hair, which floats through the air around as if they were submerged, to any color and pattern possible; this functions both as a form of camouflage and as a tool of vanity. Their arms are bunches tentacles from below the elbow that are far stronger and more dexterous than any human hand and are quite capable of pulping a man's skull through a steel helmet. They are creatures of refinement and grace though, and will not use such direct violence as first resort, preferring to use the power rumor and gossip, along with the occasional curse, to undermine and destroy their opposition.

                        They are intensely vane and ambitious creatures; they will always dress in the highest fashions and are constantly seeking to gain influence in the court of their progenitor and the ruthless desire to retain their stature. This combination breeds a paper thin ego and paranoia, they are quick to be insulted, among their own kind they practice a strict system of manners and protocols that allows them to work their strongest magics without inadvertently insulting one another. In the event that that they are offended enough, they will not show any outward sign of offense, but will work tirelessly to destroy and defame their enemy with poisoned words and curses.

                        The role of the Witches of the Sea is two fold; they serve their mistress as both ladies in waiting who bow to her every whim and desire and as powerful practitioners of the arts, they are Scryers, curse layers and potion brewers. In the sea surrounding the island city of the Pearlescent Handmaiden, covens of the Bozirenky divine the future by charting the stars of Malfeas as they shine through the waves and sufrf, cast curses on their rivals and bless their allies and their mother-queen.

                        Note and Abilities:These demons are popular among Summoners and Cultists alike for their beauty, social graces, they are pleasing to the eye, well spoken and friendly in their own formal manner. They are also skilled in several schools of thumathurgy; most of these demons will know several different thumathurgy rituals relating to astrology, curses , potions and blessings. Most will know about 3 or 4 Initiate level rituals, 2 Adept rituals and 1 Master level. The oldest of their kind, those who serve Muliariz herself, will know much more.

                        The can escape when a young socialite is left weeping and suicidal from a public humiliation. The demon shall come to the young woman in her darkest hour and teach her the arts of the demon realm so that she may blight her tormentors with curses and demons.

                        Limit conditions: these demons cannot stand to be slighted, insulted or belittled in any manner, and they take a point of limit each time they feel they have been wronged in anyway. This can range from not being greeted properly, if they are not served food or drink in the correct order or quality or if they believe that they have been improperly addressed.

                        Shr'illioa, the Melodious Lures

                        Demon of the First Circle
                        Progeny of the Pearlescent Handmaiden
                        They sit upon a rock in the open ocean, beautiful men and women with fishtails instead of legs, who sing songs so breath-taking and hypnotic that no mortal captain could resist the urge to sail closer to hear their sweet, sweet music. Then, once the ship and its enthralled crew is close enough, their features turn predatory as shark teeth fill their mouths, their nails grow into grasping claws and their song turns ear piercingly loud, stunning everyone who can hear it and the Shr'illioa leap onto the vessel, kill the paralysed crew, eat their flesh and drink their blood, steal literally everything remotely shiny and sell or sink the ship to use as a house below the waves.

                        The Melodious Lures are singers and pirates without peer in the demon realm; their simple but effective strategy has worked well for them over the centuries, earning them a reputation for brutality. They are, however, not clever creatures. Their method of attack is more instinct than actual strategy, and they care little for the worth of goods, so long as it is shiny. They have on occasion passed up loot worth a fortune in favour of a shiny bauble

                        As an adde bonus, their singing helps keep Adorjan away.

                        Notes: they see use mostly by sorcerers looking for a pretty consort with a sweet voice, but they are also exceptionally useful for guarding aquatic locations and as an aid for piracy, for even without singing they are fearsome fighters in the ocean and on the decks of ships, not to mention their use as entertainers.

                        They can enter Creation when a crew of sailors sing a song really, really badly when their holds are full of shiny goods. The demon slips through a crack in the world to silence the offensive sound and to claim all of their goods.

                        These demons gain limit when presented with a shiny object which they are then denied the chance to take it.


                        Gegrimanti, the Black-Iron Centipedes

                        Demon of the First Circle
                        Progeny of the Silver-Eyed Lion King
                        Fifty four scuttling legs of steely chitin pound out a rhythm on the ground. The sinuous form they bear has a shell of black iron, an enormous centipede twelve metres long. Gegrimanti can move up walls and across ceilings as easily as they can move along the ground, and attacking from above is a favourite tactic of theirs. They spend three days in four coiled around sturdy objects - pillars, posts, trees and the like. On the fourth day, they search for food in silent, sadistic hunts, breaking the quiet with shrill laughter as their prey runs from them in terror before paralysing them with their venom and feasting on their faces. A Gegrimanti’s victim is left faceless; a smooth, blank, featureless mask that cannot scream, their memories and identity stolen. The Centipede has devoured and assimilated both, and can extrude at any time a copy of any face it has eaten from between its clacking mandibles, with teeth of razor sharp metal and four slitted eyes marking the features as stolen, twisted mockeries.

                        Older Gegrimanti are often knowledgeable, possessed of all the memories they have devoured in their lives. If one can navigate their complex, sadistic word games and convince them to offer their aid, much can be learned from such a demon. Prospective seekers of knowledge should be wary, though, that they do not become the Centipede's next meal. Gifted with a certain aptitude for stealth, and able to ignore gravity so long as they have a surface to cling to, Gegrimanti are often summoned as assassins to silence a tongue that might know too much. Disposing of someone in this manner gives the sorcerer the added benefit of finding out precisely how much the victim knew, and where they found the information out. When a person remembers something long forgotten about themselves, they sometimes appear and take it back - along with, if they can manage it, everything else.



                          Penzmadarka, the Coin Fetches
                          Demon of the First Circle
                          Progeny of the Custodian Abstract

                          A penzmadarka is no larger than a man’s hand, and takes the form of a songbird with brazen feathers and a head of an aged woman. In Hell, they flock around the door-mouths of their maker Quv and pick forgotten treasures from his door-mouths. Their music is ugly to the ear and yet alluring, and while they sing men ignore things that are unpleasing to the eye and see only beauty. This tarnishes their hearts, coating them in a thin sheath of verdigris and from this verdigris is born greed.

                          Such men gather their wealth together and sit by it day and night, watching and endlessly recounting it. This pleases the coin fetch, for when the greed-wracked man falls asleep the demon swoops in. Despite their diminutive size, their hunger is immense and pains them constantly and a single penzmadarka can consume tens of times its volume in wealth in a single feast.

                          From such avaricious gluttony the coin fetches lay priceless eggs, made from precious materials and encrusted with hellish gems. These eggs are so beautiful as to break the mortal heart, and many who own one become ascetics, suffering exquisite agony from the knowledge that nothing else they own is as beautiful as this. However, not all hearts are so soft and many eggs are smashed open and the metals and jewels sold for base wealth. The penzmadarkae do not care about the destruction of their eggs, however, and they will gladly feast on their shattered remnants.

                          Summoning: (Obscurity 1/3): Sorcerers know well of the coin fetches, and call on them to take wealth from others and for their eggs. Quite apart from their beautiful nature, the hellish gems that encrust them have many thaumaturgical and sorcerous purposes. It is not rare for a particularly avaricious sorcerer to walk around with a penzmadarka on their shoulder. Hunger inflicts suffering on these greedy birds, and they gain a point of Limit for each day that they do not consume things worth at least Resources 3. A coin fetch can escape Hell when a snake egg is hatched by a brooding bird, the demon breaking out of the leathery egg.


                          • Wow the Coin Fetches are brilliant!

                            It is a time for great deeds!



                              In one game I ran, I invented the Sinucasi. They loook crosses between giant roaches and spiders, only made of shadow. They are decent scouts and spies, but their main focus is on understanding social relationships. Effectively they all have Understanding the Court active all the time. Unfortunately, they are tremendously cynical creatures, and they tend to narrow in on the most flawed parts of any relationship. They will eventually see potential treachery in all but the most impossibly pure relationships, driving their masters to alienate and even kill their loved ones, if they come to trust their demon's advice too much.

                              Of course, to facilitate discrete communication with their masters, the Sinucasi can dissolve into shadows and hide inside its master's nasal cavities (basically, sinuses - leading to my girlfriend's nickname for them: sinus demons) and whisper to them.

                              EDIT: Oh, yeah, and they probably belong to Aluvea or something. I honestly never gave it much thought at the time. While technically an important detail, it didn't matter much to the game I used them in.


                              • You still have the material posted that I asked you not to share. Please, remove it.