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Geister, Geister and More Geister

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  • Geister, Geister and More Geister

    This is a thread for posting ideas for Geister. I'll kick us off with a bit of a description:

    The Corpse That Bloomed

    A man sits at a small round table next to the window of a cafe, typing on a laptop. He is in profile against the outside world, which is fuzzy through the glass. A coffee cub sits on the table next to the laptop, gently steaming. His hair is dark, short-cut and scruffy and a pair of wires lead to earbuds in his ears. A ropy, discolored patch rings his throat.

    Behind the man stands a humanoid figure. Its body is a tangle of vines and thorns wound about a bleached skeleton. Its innards are concealed by innumerable rose blossoms, forming a soft and irregular skin. The skull gleams white among the red, grinning where a head ought to be. Lilies bloom in the eye sockets. Below the waist it's humanoid shape loses definition, and the legs are only vaguely separate. It sinks roots into the vinyl floor and leans forward attentively. A hand is outstretched, pointing at the screen over the man's shoulder, seemingly as to comment on whatever the man is writing.

    The Corpse That Bloomed is a Geist of lost love and bittersweet memory. Its Keys are Passion and Stigmata. The former is born directly from its connection to love and grief, but it cannot recall the source of the latter. If one were to touch it one would find that its crimson color comes not from the natural pigment of roses but rather from a thin coating of blood on the petals. The Corpse remembers nothing of its life besides emotion - feeling is all it is.

    When calm it is relatively personable as Geister go, even capable of holding a human-like conversation. If its emotions are roused, however, it becomes entirely fixated upon them. If it sees a beautiful person - male or female - it will sing their praises for days (or at least until it sees someone else it can attach its affections to) and if it is angered it will rave and rant, demanding that its Bound destroy the object of its wrath immediately.
    Last edited by ajf115; 01-12-2018, 08:42 AM.


    Is it presumptuous of me to ask for alternating male/female pronouns?

  • #2
    Inspired by Evolutionary Biology, on a phone:

    The Synatomorph Judge

    Mutation is a fundamentally random process. Evolution is not. The Synatomorph Judge personifies why this is not a contradiction: she (she sees herself as a dark Mother Earth figure, gender included) is a geist of evolutionary pressures, competition and environ that drives species to adapt or die. She is eternally frustrated by the fact individuals cannot evolve, the closest thing possible being how psychology is affected by personal experience-and outright angered by how the dead generally aren't even capable of that. It's for that reason she Bargains; she wishes to see how her Bound change in response to the advent of their new state, and to use them as a vector to affect further change in the living world, and with it bring much-needed adaptation to the Underworld, making it more of a true ecology capable of its own balance and dynamism. Curiously, she's actually something of a traditionalist when it comes to Sin-Eater culture-she got her title from the term for biological traits shared among related species, and in her view favorable to survival. Humans have running ability, endurance, and altruism, Bound have a unified set of ethics and more of behavior that serves as both guide and limit. She is not unkind or even ruthless, viewing virtuous behavior as favorable to survival of the population, but her Bound would take care to remember she personifies the alternative to survival; she is infamously pragmatic and views the world through an alien lens where the only true measure of worth is sustainable population growth and resistance to extinction. Those who fall, in her view, simply were not good enough.


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    • #3
      Apologies in advance, I'm really bad at writing prose.

      The Shroud-Seamstress

      It’s been three full minutes now, and the guy in the tank top still hasn’t looked away from you for a single moment. Standing painfully straight at his corner of the bar, he hasn’t yet drink a sip of the drink you ordered him from across the counter. It’s definitely his first time here – and probably his first time in a gay bar at all. You rarely hit on guys like that – especially when they’re so out of your league: but there's something about him that's simply... enticing. He keeps eyeing you, a mix of shyness and excitation palpable in his gaze, and slowly, resolutely, he raises the glass and downs it. His fluorescent wristband slips slightly down his arm, and in its diffuse halo, you first notice the intricate net of parallel scars upon it, stretching like furrows on the field of his flesh.

      What you do not see, however, is the form that hovers above him: a spectral, feminine form dressed in a mass of white silk ribbons, floating and undulating around her as if underwater. From the jumble of fabric, two immaculate arms emerge: but instead of hands, each appendage ends with an eight-fingered silvery metallic construct made of needles and clockwork, oddly remindful of a spider: where she grazes and strokes the boy’s shoulders, small patches of glistening gossamer start to form. Her bust and are those of a mannequin, lacking hair, eyes and, in fact, any facial features – save for the mouth: red, luscious lips, parted in a wide grin displaying two brightly white ranges of teeth, and currently mouthing something repeatedly to the guy in the tank top, something that sounds a little bit like “Go on.”

      Once upon a time, the Shroud Seamstress likes to narrate, there was a man who loved her and whom she loved. He proposed her, and they both enthusiastically starting planning and preparing for their wedding – she even started sewing her own wedding dress. But there were constant setbacks, changes of plans, bickering between the two families. And somewhere amidst those preparations that weren’t really theirs anymore, love slowly went away.

      She doesn’t remember having ever worn the dress at all. Probably because she died prior to the wedding, she reasons: but that's only speculation on her behalf, for she has no memory of the true cause of her death. Suicide? Murder at the hand of her fiancé? Sickness, due to her physical and psychological exhaustion? It’s all blurry now – and mostly, she doesn't care to look for the answer. She doesn’t have to worry about her dress fitting her: now, her gown is fused to her very being, woven and unwoven at the whims of her Plasm.

      All that’s left for her to find is a wedding to attend.

      The two keys of the Shroud Seamstress are Stillness and Industrial: the slow, painless deathly silence of routine and things unsaid, and the pragmatic experience she acquired from all those nights, working at that wedding dress she never got to wear. Where some Geists tend to harm their Bound through their recklessness or hothead maneuvers, the Shroud Seamstress is all about pragmatism and safety. Having concluded many consecutive Bargains with numerous Necropolitan Krewes, she has quite the reputation as a matchmaker… especially between her Bound and the numerous widows of both sexes they won’t fail to cross path with during their missions as a Sin-Eater.

      In her bad days, she’ll do anything to drag him towards the “living”, ordinary side of his existence, no matter the urgency of his Sin-Eater prerogatives, or the boredom he may feel about a domestic life. She will have her perfect wedding – whatever it will take.
      Last edited by Adrasalieth; 01-14-2018, 11:18 AM.

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