[Patron Lore] - Mani of Arachnids, Turtles, Elephants & Six Others

[ThatGuy_777 210]

 

Greater Mani

 

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Gûlgarmadh, Prince of Scorpions and Arachnids

 

(Created by fooyee).

 

“Mi peep latz bruddaz retern frum thaer votar. Dubty...nub, futhty! The waghoff haz thaer luzk rayzed in viktoree, letting owt a waghcri akrozz the zand zea. Latz bruddaz drag h’azh flat zkaddernackz whif menee howlurz agh jabbernackz. Azh iz a bub’hozh muhther, the zize of the Muun...o how they zelibrayt...But the muunlite zpellz thaer duum. The grownd iz burzt open, the zand arownd them fallz. ZLAM- all futhty agh thaer beazteez behind barz of bone. Ztaering down buurz zkorpien. Nub, zkaddernack... mabee... Gûlob garmadh. The dahm beazt toar latz bruddaz limb frum limb!”

-Visions of a nameless Dom Clan Lutamen

 

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Origins

    The Prince of Scorpions and Arachnids was once known outside his rainless realm, scouring miles of viridescent horizons in their endeavors for all kindred eight-legs. Thicket-culling villages would turn white with the webs of spiders, bloodthirsty hunters would become prey for bloodsucking ticks, and scorpion stings threatened folk beyond the boundaries of the desert. No domain was truly safe from the vindictive Consort of Culling in his mission to serve the Third. For reasons shrouded by time, a conflict with the Prince of Lizards, Kadal, would change the steadfast demigod. Despite having a considerable edge over the Lesser Mani, his onslaught couldn’t bring the enduring diapsid down. No amount of venom would slow Kadal, nor clawing cause him to break. The scorpion was craftier, faster, and even larger than the lizard, yet as the battle wore him down it would shift in the Lord of Scales’ favor. Biting, clawing, and whipping at his carapace until the lizard eventually pinned him down. The defeated scorpioid, perhaps ashamed or adhering to something greater, would exile himself to the lands of sand. Taking with him only his closest kin.

    Even among the wisest ancestral spirits in Stargush’Stroh, few can accurately share the origins of Gûlgarmadh. Elder shamans recount tales of its terror as far back as the orcish homeland, while cowardly survivors swear the desert obeys its every whim. Hunters, warriors, and heroes alike have fallen prey to the prowling behemoth. Burrowing through the sands, plotting its trap, and then striking before their prey has even found the voice to scream. Know the line of no return by the bones surrounding their borders, lest they are crossed by dead men still living.

 

Purpose

    Although the Ebony Prince holds considerable influence as a Greater Mani, the dunes between him and Elvenkind have oft made interactions abysmal. Even those chosen to serve the Aspects only engage with the volatile demigod when the times require it, never speaking his true name lest they lose their tongue for good. Among the orcs, he is known as Gûlgarmadh, the wraith of ruin. All too often do kubs grow up hearing tall tales about the Blackened Beast, eager to earn the glory of slaying such a foe, only to perish before so much as spotting him. Similarly, certain Farfolk civilizations have regarded the Wild God as a guardian of the afterlife. The beast that patrols the deserts of the damned: Faris-Mortis. These peoples are known to declare pilgrimages to the border of bones when corruption is revealed among the elite, serving as a means of repentance. Aside from these officials, many convicts and prisoners of war also partake in this tradition. Equipped with nothing but offerings and the rags on their backs, the majority end up claimed by the desert whilst its inhabitants chase down any stray runaways. Absolving all former crimes for those fortunate enough to survive the perilous pilgrimage.

    Gûlgarmadh would be remiss not to acknowledge the nearby desert peoples, the formerly free-ranging hunter enjoying the occasional brash attempt at his life. Indeed, for the desolate dunes only provided excitement once in a blue moon. Likewise, the most ravenous of his offspring, the Scaddernacks, found descendants to make for excellent prey. None can recall how the first scaddernack was born. Shuns speculate that it was the result of fornicating with she who shan’t be named. Others believe that they were arachnids personally elevated by their guardian in an act of spite, drawing evidence from the scaddernack’s habit to pull apart jabbernacks and other larger lizards before devouring them outright. Whatever the truth behind it, their apex position in the food chain makes descendants among the few that can truly offer them a challenge, particularly the kin of Krug. Mayhaps it is for this reason the Mani allows them to utilize scaddernacks as beasts of war? That to be overpowered and used is no different than if they were to die, making room for stronger ones in their stead? To this extent, the Ebony Prince remains partial to the orcs and their bloodlust, biding time until the next sorry soul pushes their luck just a little too far.

 

Abilities

    Tunneling through the dunes like a swordfish through the water, the Ebony Prince manages to traverse tremendous distances in record time. He is a master of the sand and never to be underestimated in his element. Leaving a fragmentary sandstorm when making haste, the demigod would rarely fail to land a first strike with the element of surprise. Partial to ambush under the cover of night, his feats of agility and lethal fluidity give him the upper-hand against any lone opponents. Even though his form is dwarfed by larger scaddernacks, it alone often lets the black-carapaced Mani overpower his prey. Against greater numbers, his aptitude in the arts of entrapment remedy his disposition. Quicksand, snake pits, rockslides, rings of cacti, even hiding smaller scorpions beneath bedsheets is a tactic he might employ. All manner of trap or scheme has a place in the Wild God’s repertoire. Survival is a beast that knows neither honor nor personal conviction and therefore takes priority above all else. Should enough danger present itself to the longevity of none desert-dwelling arachnids, he need only will them to retaliate. Coordinating venomous assaults, parasitic infestations, and every wrath within their power.

 

Location

    Save for truly immense threats, such as the Betrayer’s War, Gûlgarmadh only manifests in a corporeal form within sandswept boundaries. Marking the edges of his territory with the bones of his victims, it isn’t uncommon for these sites to be found abandoned. Places where he previously prowled that held a higher descendant presence in the past, among other things. While a call for aid against relevant threats may stave his violence, woe to those that waste his time. To survive the Prince’s initial onslaught in such a manner ensures their agonizing torture, sometimes for weeks, other times months or longer. All at the leisure of the Chieftain of Arachnids.

 

 

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Llan’sae, Princess of Sea Turtles

 

(Credit to GaleforceRin).

 

“Oh Goddess of the Tides and Eldest of Shells,

Whose sanctuary harbors many and knows more than she can tell,

We give to you our devotion.

We show to you our respect for your kind.

Oh grandest Llan’sae grant us passage, show us the old order.”

-Prayer of Passage, translated from days of yore

 

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Origins

    When the art of druidism had yet to spread its roots beyond the Kingdom of Malin, bygone days before the Taynei’Sil happened upon the word altars, three druidic disciples heard a call to arms from faraway shores: Berran of Tahn, Laenor of Asul, and Saelen of Ceru. Bound by the strands of fate, each would pursue the voice with mirrored belief and conviction, but nothing more. Ideologies would clash, initiatives would go without consultation, and their personalities would languish like boulders in a babbling brook. In spite of this discord, mounting obstacles would gradually bridge their differences. Necessitating cooperation and understanding for the sake of their survival. Across bottomless valleys and through monstrous monsoons they trekked, mending shorelines and toppling terrors. After journeying across Axios and beyond with many seasons behind them, they would finally discover the source of the voice: Llan’sae, the Princess of Sea Turtles.

    Consecrating one of the earliest druidic circles on the back of their matron, el’Mayanor would originally serve as an extension of the Mani. Preserving the wilds be it in faraway lands or all the world’s oceans. All the while, their efforts would secure a second renaissance of druidic culture across all corners of the realm. Serving as perhaps the earliest safe haven for followers of the Aspects belonging to every race, and unquestionably the largest. Historical accounts revere it as one of the grandest earthly grottos, perhaps on par with the Grove of Riitill’eliuii predating its ruination. Functioning as a hub for druidic knowledge, arts, and practices. Many meetings would be arranged here between various circles, addressing issues as far as the forests of Aarlan to the shores of the Meranesian Islands, from the highest Atheran mountaintops to the most dangerous plains of Mor’Ghuun. Despite an influence once spanning across the whole ocean, el’Mayanor has become a figment of the past. Leaving nothing behind except the quiet druidic utopia on the back of the Tidemother, as well as what few disciples still strictly serve her.

 

Purpose

    The machinations of the Princess of Sea Turtles have been ambiguous for generations, longer than descendants have known to read and write. Ever enigmatic, the elderly Wild Goddess can be difficult to fathom. Some say she is aloof, disjointed from the plane she inhabits. Her followers express that she is forgiving, always patient and empathetic. But in truth, the repercussions of her decisions are infinitely comprehensive. Be it an ulterior motive or intention, her capacity for foresight has allowed the Mani to steer events by taking measures in advance. Slow to speak as she ruminates on her options, anticipating outcomes some years, decades, or even centuries down the line. Measurements of time little more than blips sent downstream. Although each resolution takes much into mind, rarely is she willing to part with her knowledge outright. Folk fortunate enough to speak with her tell of sheer sincerity, yet an eerily calculative tone to her voice. Still, defenders of nature often seek her wisdom when up against dire odds, which she supplies happily...in moderation.

 

Abilities

    Despite being the size of an actual island, general knowledge of the Tidemother’s prowess is practically nonexistent. Superstitions as to how this could come to pass vary: suggesting that the fog that follows in her wake alters the mortal mind, that a modern sect of el’Mayanor erases all information regarding their matron, that the beasts on her back eradicate visitors that learn too much. Suffice it to say such outlandish explanations are typically the tellings of troubled mortals, and most accredit the failure of scholarly advances to the trials of navigation encountered. The fog surrounding the Grove of el’Mayanor making travel most difficult. Though the possibility of meddling is up for debate, folk will either brush it off or don their tinfoil hats.

    While the Princess of Sea Turtles is thought to be capable of bending the tides at her leisure, that idea couldn’t be farther from the truth. High tides she ushers upon arrival are a consequence of water displacement, rather than a feat of magic. Boasting a tremendous diversity of wildlife on her shell, one visit to a newly formed island can populate it within a manner of days. When faced with fleets eager to pillage, she conjures weather that only she can weather. When leviathans eye her hungrily, aquatic denizens rush to her aid. None are more protective of Llan’sae than her flesh and blood children, blessed with increased size and longevity; comparable to hills at the base of a towering peak. Even after the Tidemother has escaped modern memory, her offspring will serve as a reminder forevermore. Sent away before the Wild Goddess waged her magnum opus, their flight ensured that new circles would spring forth from the remnants of Mayanor.

 

Location

    Nary a soul knows how or why el’Mayanor disappeared from history, only that the majority of its druids went without a trace. At first, the realm thought their circle had fallen to dissent and inner-conflict, crumbling just the same as other circles of olde. Then a rumor started to circulate about a war against an unknown enemy. An invader that threatened to upset the balance in ways irreversible, prompting an order-wide crusade at the cost of many lives. Thus, in no less than five years, one of the largest spanning circles became little more than an echo and their matron returned to a life of relative seclusion. Perhaps the circle had done its duty? Maybe Llan’sae originally assembled the circle just to counter the aforementioned threat? To pin descendants against an even greater imbalance so the wilds wouldn’t be left with so much as a blemish? Be these baseless accusations, warped truths or otherwise, the Princess of Sea Turtles always has a reason. To this day, she lets the ruins, and what few disciples remain, stay on her back in spite of only weighing her down. Evading mortals like the plague, save for any that have first made their loyalties transparent.

 

 

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Sha’maidan, Princess of Elephantidae

 

(Art by AnatoFinnstark).

 

“...How can one so small carry something so great? Unjust- that is what your kind would call it. Often would they plead for my aid, listing misfortunes without a single solution to offer: a pity. Let it be a lesson to keep close to heart, young one. The prospect of every peak will only amount to the stones that comprise its base. Now it is your turn to tell me, how does your generation intend to shoulder this burden?”

-Scribed from the Monument of the Mason, once whispered to be ten-thousand paces offshore of Aegis

 

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Origins

    Long ago, it was thought that the Mason was responsible for shaping the land itself. That her herd carved out canyons wherever they tread, while their weight hoisted cliffs into the sky. Sages tell legends of her passing: how the dry riverbeds would flood and fruit would spring forth from her footprints. Even today, elven ballads recount her contributions against the forces of the Betrayer, burying countless shambling husks and gouging the rest. However, once the haze had lifted and the realm was sure as safe, her gaze was cast towards the mortal races. She who had always towered above the rest, mortal and Mani alike, watched them tend to their dead. So many mourning the fallen, and many more orphaned without guidance. Babes burdened to endure the ailments of body and earth. Her tears gave nourishment to wartorn soil, but what was she to do? Thus, as the descendants set about rebuilding all they had lost, the Mani took to leading those left astray.

 

Purpose

    Eclipsing the majority of her fellow guardians of the wild in both size and strength, the mere presence of Sha’maidan can sow unadulterated admiration or dread. Even with a moniker like the Gentlest of Giants, her visage invokes a terror as old as it is seemingly insurmountable. For the Mani’s corporeal form is reminiscent of staring up at an avalanche, rending all in its way asunder. Contrarily, the Wild Goddess expressively avoids violence when applicable, only resorting to it when left without any other option. Very few are old enough to recall times that Sha’maidan has raised her trunk against descendantkind, if ever. Even accounts of backlash are surprisingly tame, ranging from the collapse of infrastructure, failure of crop yields, and the rampant overgrowth of settlements. Not a single instance causing civilian casualties, at least directly. Certain cultures consider this disrespectful, as though she thinks herself superior, but most agree that she is only sympathetic, both as a mother and a teacher. Regardless, she holds not an ounce of resentment against the children of the Four Brothers.

    Seldom is she mentioned by name, for invoking the Princess of Elephantidae is something neither to trifle nor test, especially among cultures centered around the Aspects. She who is synonymous with the earth carries as much weight in daily conversation. To utter her name is to hold genuine intent, to keep a sacred promise or to denounce someone once respected. Only ignored on the presumption that someone wishes to be distrusted. History heralds her to be a spiritual guide and messenger, an ambassador of the Fae. Oft does she appear when the heavens, hells, and outer realms sow calamity, only to vanish shortly thereafter. Those paid visit share messages imparted, warnings of crisis to be averted or due to come. Other times she might offer wisdom, should their path be unclear and their services in jeopardy. Some are so shaken by the Wild Goddess as to proclaim she speaks on the Aspect’s behalf, having denied as much herself. Forestalling ruination cannot always be attained, however, try as the Messenger might. For that reason, she dutifully tries to salvage the destruction of continents to the best of her ability. Whether that entails raising native mountain ranges from the seafloor or taking several lifetimes to expel things that fester. Enough for the seeds of nature to take root yet again. Descendants left behind occasionally survive in spite of conditions, by some miracle, and should they be free of corruption, Sha’maidan offers them another chance to start anew.

 

Abilities

    The Goddess of the Savanna is seldom seen, but hunters throughout the realm feel the effects of her vigilance. Sacrifices are par for the course, yet should civilization push her to put a foot down to protect kindred species, efforts to oppose her tend to be futile. Said to smell blood where blood is shed, hear boasts when boasts are said, and detect all dangers that tread openly. Although that saying may be an exaggeration, there is little denying the Princess’ lofty awareness about what takes place across the continents. The pads on her feet allowing the detection of boundless vibrations and seismic activity. Coupled with billowing ears and a muscular trunk, she can inform many a herd to the whereabouts of hunters. If their numbers need to recover, hunters can go years without so much as glimpsing the herd on the horizon. Alerting their matriarch several miles beforehand, be it on the other side of the savanna or the opposite side of a grand canyon.

    Whereas numerous chosen beasts have had to fight tooth and claw for the salvation of their species, Elephantidae has always known stability under the vigil of Sha’maidan. Despite being relatively few in number. A testament to the fact that not all Mani are made equal. When whole cities have been stricken with a lust for ivory, should reason and retribution fail, elephants only endure poaching for as long as it takes the Mason to make the journey a perilous one. Cutting off descendants with raging rapids, unstable underpasses, and nary a cloud to obscure the scorching Sun. When drought has left a husk of the land and locals, she ensures that enough groundwater remains to be dug up by her kin as they migrate toward lusher summer lands. Though only the strong survive to keep the herd’s legacy. Even on Athera, elephants fled in mass as the former Daemon of Want began to stir beneath the earth. Rumor has it that the Chieftess funneled her kin through the canyons and rivers, founding a mighty landbridge of roots and stone bound for some sanctuary of olde. Although plenty of her kin would still be devoured on the ‘eve of Feldamfir’s emergence, Sha’maidan would retaliate in kind. Splitting a single, mountainous tooth from its depthless maw before making haste with the rest of her tribe.

 

Location
    When the Chieftess of Elephants has been sapped of strength, oft does she return to her fabled safe haven. Though both the realms of Mortal and Fae are traversable with ease, there and only there will she let herself rest. Wandering monks, unlike those at Cloud Temple, are thought to hail from here. Orphans of war against unnatural foes, survivors found in forsaken lands, stray souls without path or plan that stumble upon Sha’maidan and accept her offer of refuge. Perhaps she purposefully gathers people that will devote themselves to her mission, or maybe sympathy compels her against better judgment? Nonetheless, those that accept are rarely inclined to leave, and the odd exception only sets out with an established goal in mind. Indeed the tug to return to their unchanging lands affect them just as much as the other spirits of nature and Fae that flock to it, sharing its location with none. Only time will tell if that changes.

 

---

Lesser Mani

 

 

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Vesper, Prince of Bats

 

(Sourced from Reddit, credit to Saeed Ramez).

 

“Expect nay a shred of my sympathy for your wretched curse. All descendants are born ignorant of the realm they inhabit, yet trying to cheat death is a fool’s errand. A deaf endeavor that will never know solace. Look to your former kin, how they fear and despise you. Routing your ilk out of the dark places with fangs of earth and flame, while making my kind rrrrrestless! Each of you is an atrocity- an existence gladly gone. Yet tonight has shown a glint of promise. So long as there are mortals, there will also be monsters. Your deaths will solve nothing. Instead, I offer a choice: pledge yourselves to defend the blood of my blood, or let the curse consume what semblance of self remains.”

-Bargain of the Bat; the night of the Culling of Kabergard, 1498

 

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Origins

    It wasn’t long ago that the Prince of Bats patrolled the night skies with only his kindred for company, countless smaller shadows obscuring the Moon and stars. Under his vigilance, the children of the Four Brothers had been judged since they first took shelter within the caves and crevices. Coexisting in relative harmony. Forests felt the effects of the axe as mortals erected pyres each long winter, the Wild God scanning without resentment from his underhang. Then came the huts, then the villages, then the cities which rang with bells and bustled with bodies. Centralized powers arose and with them rose their population, depleting him of peaceful places to rest. The hearing he praised to be the best amongst his brethren, as vital as it was, proving to also be a detriment. Still, he withheld his vexation. Taking flight only when the drums of war routed his kind from their daylight havens: setting woodlands ablaze and desecrating valleys.

    Since the expansion of kingdoms would find no pause, Vesper chose to have his fold bide the daylight inside ruins they left behind. Alas, the gutters of society were swift to fill them in-turn, vagrants, urchins, and ruffians alike that shooed away his kin at every opportunity. Ultimately pushing the Prince’s patience for the likes of civilization altogether. The nocturnal hunter was through with his sideline observation, watching wretches cause his kin such distress. On that dusk, the Scourge of the Skies became real. Enacting retribution when descendant duress grew too great.

 

Purpose

    The children of Horen, among others, are hard-pressed to sleep after hearing his ungodly screech in the dead of night, knowing that Vesper has claimed more victims. The Prince of Bats takes flight at dusk, never keeping to any one place lest mortals come seeking his murder. Each night he pursues folk posing a threat to his patron species, impartial to whether they’re rich landlords who order forests to be chopped down or penniless paupers that drive bats out of abandoned homesteads. To offend him is to test one’s luck at escaping death, and even the scarcity of sustenance is cause for countermeasure. So zealous as to even defend the Mani of Moths on occasion, thought to race each other across the night sky long ago.

    Although the urge to fly from danger is practically second-nature, the Scourge of the Skies has demonstrated that he can hold his own in a fight many times over. Instances that would require the slaughter of an entire guard force, bands of witch hunters, or various mages in order to reach his true prey. Seldom do those that raise a blade to him live to tell the tale. Relenting only when the guilty drop dead, the Prince is responsible for some of the worst massacres in western Aeldin’s acquired history. In most circumstances, however, the Mani will take the path of least resistance. Patiently waiting for the chance to strike when his prey is vulnerable and away from bystanders.

 

Abilities

    Aside from one of the best pair of ears in the known realm, the ability to produce a vast range of frequencies and deafening decibels, he who shuns sunlight possesses many of the same traits as other Mani. A plethora of fairytales originate from the moonlit forests that Vesper oversaw in days of yore, turning the howling treescape alive so as to scare away trespassers. Yet those were more peaceful times. Nowadays, one would lucky to escape their branches unscathed, let alone after committing transgressions against batkind. Still, the spirit of the wild never kills without warning, informing transgressors how they might live to see another day. Words on the wind, dreamly premonitions, ephemeral writing seen with closed eyes. People wise enough to take the signs to heart and make amends are spared, but feigned ignorance warrants punishment. Invoking fear on nights that start like any other, clued to his approach when the surroundings start to contort and stretch. Objects that were once close appearing distant. Normal hallways spiraling indefinitely while creeping shadows seem to reach out. Familiar faces are alien, riddled with malice. His illusions warping the perception of reality to nightmarish effect.

    Witnesses have shed light on the Terror of Aeldin, elaborating on the company of his travels. Man-sized bats of mysterious origins that aid his cause, tracing back to as recently as the early 1500s. Their vague similarities to a variety of lesser vampire, known by some as upirs, have been the subject of unending debates between researchers. Depictions show a creature with a notable snout, fur, and even wings, unbeknownst to monster hunters. Those that follow Vesper appear to feed exclusively on the blood of descendants and vampires alike, and secondhand accounts have emphasized at least some capacity for elaborate speech; though no known witness has ever held a discussion with them. If they are truly one of a kind, the realm may never know the extent of their origins. Liable to die in action at the Wild God’s side.

 

Location

    Known most prolifically across the lands of Aeldin, Vesper’s terror is fabled throughout the Empire to its west. Spanning as far south as the mires of Vardin to the northernmost peaks of Endaen. In recent centuries, sightings of the Prince have arisen everywhere from the Isles of Vailor to the lands of Arcas. The Scourge of the Skies looking to broaden the scope of his supervision. Never known to pass up a shelter at daybreak, one is as likely to find the Mani within the thickest thickets as much as any earthly hollow, from dilapidated castles to labyrinths. Many dwarven cities have reported similar beasts taking shelter within their domain at dawn, only to disappear with the setting Sun. Occasionally, dwarves have even been saved from plunging to their death by the Prince’s cohorts. Other descendants recount being watched by playful bats, ultimately thought to be nothing more. Whatever the true extent of the Mani’s machinations, remember that they’re hardly malevolent. No matter how sickening the Judge of the Night’s history may sound, he is still a being of reason. Never acting without justification.

    There was a time when the Prince of Bats was only known as far as the edges of the so-called Darkwood, located in the mountains east of Varendoz. When the Men of the West began their campaign against Aeldin’s elven populace, their forces would stumble upon the fringes of his forest, overgrown and cast dimly by twilight. Brambles and other foliage impeding any who entered. So they were put to the torch just like many elven forests prior, intent on burning alive every last elf hiding in its midst. Lo, the Darkwood crackled alight as the inferno engulfed its canopy. Many creatures old and powerful, beast or otherwise found themselves left without so much as shelter. Though Vesper’s displacement still had time before it would turn to ire, the others that once called the Darkwood home would sow havoc across Aeldin in the decades to come.

 

 

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Tāmatu, Prince of Crabs

 

(Artwork by miriamrez).

“Ack, I already told ya, ya daft pill...er, I mean Sir! ‘Et was a giant crab! A giant crab done took the ship, none of ‘dis foul-play bollocks. Ya haf to believe me! How long haf I served the fleet? Ten!? Fifteen years of ‘dis awful place and notta once did I waver. Notta once did I pinch food, wine, or women! I’m as clean as the Capten’s Quarters. The varmint held me up in ‘ets pinchers and looked me in the eye. Hollered so loudly ‘dat I coughed up supper. Must have spoiled ‘ets appetite too cause ‘et done flung me starboard- righ’ before cleavin’ the Augur in haff! Honest to GOD, Sir!”

-Interrogation of Aarlan Ansley, helmsman of the royal galleon Ark Augur, 1615

 

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Origins

    The Prince of Crab is a wild card among wild gods. None are quite like the kleptomaniac crustacean with his eccentric personality. His obsession with handmade crafts has never been entirely understood by descendants at large, save for the fact that his approach may deviate from aggressive threats to earnest appreciation and vice versa nigh spontaneously. Scholars who’ve tried to rationalize the mindset of the mania prone Mani only ascertain their own frustration. Indeed, for fishermen swear that the Crustaceous Collector will keep vessels clear of collision or capsizing if their crew take only what they need from the ocean. There are even reports of him delivering waterlogged sailors back to shore. However, captains also complain that he absconds with any ship that catches his fancy. Forsaking any previous clemency for mortals as soon as their efforts obstruct his acquisition. Thanks in part to his preference of pilfering forgotten wrecks or temporarily abandoned ports, confrontations have been few and far between historically. Still, any excessive display of extravagance on a maritime transport is traditionally unadvised for fear of pirates and pirating crustaceans alike.

 

Purpose

    Known amongst adherents of nature as the Reef-Rigger, Tāmatu has used the designs of Descendantkind in the formation of coral reefs since their earliest voyages out to sea. Prior to the age of sail, stones and bones were all the undersea architect had at his disposal for the polyps to latch onto. Resources that weren’t terribly easy to appropriate without lasting ramifications on their respective ecosystems. So when the sea began to swallow creations of wood and steel, the innovative Tāmatu would make use of them in ways that wouldn’t go to waste. Millennium later, he still toils tirelessly. Smashing and stacking constructions of civilization to provide an ideal, stable structure close enough to sunlight for polyps to flourish. So long as the Caretaker of the Seafloor continues to form the base of new reefs as well as restore older ones, life beneath the waves will continue to thrive now and forevermore.

    Grand royal galleons and leaky luggers, wooden docks and stilted huts, anything that is larger than a rowboat can be of use to Tāmatu. He typically accepts humble offerings ranging from jewelry of shells and seaweed, to wooden carvings and tools made of bone. Certain objects such as aurum pieces, silver cutlery, and other shiny baubles are prime tributes too on account of his fascination for items that glitter. Adding onto his collection with every opportunity he gets. There are even records of captains directly bequeathing their ship to the demigod for both favors and favour. A couple going as far as to deliver them in person with the aid of nature’s intermediaries. Despite being the so-called Lord of Hermits, Tāmatu values his solitude only as much as any other Mani. A common misconception derived from the likeness he shares with one of the species under his supervision: the hermit crab. Claiming the occasional ship as his own to serve in place of a shell.

 

Abilities

    Both an architect and a gardener of great undersea reefs, few Guardians of the Wild hold more sway over the ocean floor than the Prince of Crabs. Capable of urging them to his defense, local corals will actively impede enemies while drifters stuck to his hull function as a living suit of armor. Sea anemones and seagrass entangle those that stray too close, stalling for crabs and other organisms to stage their own assault. Abundant sea life acts as outstanding camouflage, making the Collector appear but a common shipwreck. As opposed to other seafaring Mani, however, he is nay bound to the brine. When venturing onto dry land, the hulking hermit relies on his claws to crush, cleave, and swat aside the opposition. Nonetheless, it leaves him at his most vulnerable, which is why the Prince rarely strays beyond the shallows unless the situation is urgent. Indeed, he would much rather guide his kindred crabs from afar so as to keep them from becoming too reliant. Almost as keen to care for the reefs as his own fold.

 

Location

    Fond of the fruits of his labor, vibrant oases across an undersea desert of sand, Tāmatu only leaves the threshold of his reefs when he intends to facilitate another. A combination of camouflage and illusion concealing the bulky crustacean’s identity under most circumstances. Indistinguishable from any ordinary part of the reef, or yet another shipwreck when the hull of his home crests the surface. Descendants are typically only able to discern the Mani when he’s actively moving, though stumbling within reach of the Prince’s crablike features is also a sure solution. Gobsmacking curious divers who turn tail to tell the tale, most either divining it to be a sign...or simply madness. While adventures inland leave him incredibly exposed, his bias for places that descendants have deserted also allows him to do so with relative impunity. He avoids pushing his luck, however, keeping the sea in sight and returning to the tides as soon as possible. Eager to carry on with his contributions.

 

 

Spoiler

 

 

 

Spoiler

 

 

Amametta, Prince of Peafowl and Paradisaeidae

 

(Piece by Nojjesz).

 

“...Fledglings must learn that love cannot be founded frivolously. Fathering young requires time and dedication, yes, but love must persist without a doubt. The former plants a seed to set-up for success, the latter only gardens as long as you draw bated breath. Both are beautiful, yet they require aspects of the heart that are otherwise apart.”

-Writings of Taliar Amehier, an alleged apostle of Amametta

 

Spoiler

 

 

1

Spoiler

 

Origins

    Originally, it is thought that Amametta was conceived on accident. Born the youngest bird of a feather, the steadfast son yearned to impress Cerridwen above all his siblings, despite personal shortcomings. Unlike the swift owl who could swoop without a sound, his flying was far from elegant. Whereas the clever raven could outwit any opponent, he was of a one-track mind. Even the songbird, most compassionate of his siblings, sang beautifully while he himself was mute. Although his plumage was dull and colorless, even when his steps left little to admire, nothing would deter him from performing before the Aspect of Life. Sun and Moon are said to have sped across the sky so many times that they aligned, and still, the King of Courtmanship danced his heart away. So headstrong was the bird that even as an inferno enveloped the forest around him, he refused to grant pause. Thus was Amametta of olde burned alive and from the flames born anew, bestowed Cerridwen’s blessing as the Prince of Peafowl and Paradisaeidae.

 

Purpose

    A flirtatious trickster at heart, the King of Courtmanship finds pleasure in sowing societal turmoil if it serves to benefit him in the long run. Able to physically morph his appearance at a whim and reveal one’s deepest desires, many of civilization’s prospective dangers are mitigated with the Wild God’s intervention. Known popularly as a figure of love, passion, and penitence, the penalties he distributes are considerably devious given his talents. Like a puppeteer pulling mortal strings, he exploits ignorance, greed, lust and other shortcomings of society to ensure that wrongdoers rue ever crossing him.

    Although his portrayal in fables varies tremendously due to the flexibility of his personas, the aptly titled Prince of Paradise stands apart from his fellow Guardians of the Wild through sheer force of character. Ever the optimist, perhaps it is his underlying wish for nature to someday coexist harmoniously with descendants that make them one of the most enduring of the Aspect’s chosen. Albeit, as well as one of the harshest criticized among the ranks of fervent followers and fellow Mani alike. The Prince of Peafowl is typically paid tribute by young, lovestruck elves seeking to woo a special someone. Elders will suggest offering humble handcrafts: necklaces, talismans, wind chimes and anything made with heart, foregoing ideas of grandeur. Alas, the reckless souls that snub their advice find their greater expense to be for naught, and rejection frequents any with the audacity to present the feathers of peacocks, birds-of-paradise and other kindred fliers as offers of tribute. Yet the worst fate by far befalls those that shirk his warnings, fashioning more gross garments out of his kin and presenting them with expectations of patronage. While the benevolent bird avoids bloodying his feathers when able, the act of buying affection with the lives of his kind assures penalties that will make perpetrators wish for death's sweet embrace.

 

Abilities

   The Staged Stranger, Master of Mirrors, Father of Fire; these among other titles have been attributed to him over generations. Never alluding to himself by the same moniker twice, knowing that the moment he does will be the hour of his own comeuppance. Though his prowess in the art of disguise unquestionably facilitates his integration into any nation, culture, or way of life he so chooses, there lies much more to the Mani than meets the eye. Unlike other lessers of nature’s pantheon, Amametta runs the risk of succumbing to mortal corruption persistently due to the very nature of his work. At times he must indulge acts abhorrent to his nature, and even his own brood, for the sake of a greater good. Averting the destructions of war by sparking civil strife, bankrupting lucrative businesses with misleading offers, reducing renowned hunters to common criminals for deeds they did not commit. His part to play is practically the antithesis of his identity, perilous and particularly susceptible to transforming him into a vile beast. How does he manage to evade the clutches of corruption? Only time will tell if the gospel truth is divined by mortals.

    Avid followers explain that the flames that swallowed the fowl’s form incinerated everything but his burning passion, unaffected by mortal vice. Even the first depiction of the Wild God, made many ages ago, only represents his form upon rebirth, for their belief is that he lacks any definitive features. Many tribal cultures think the Mani built up an immunity, while critics argue that he’s already fallen to depravity. Some wandering druids think the Master of Mirrors has managed to stave damnation due to his capacity to ascertain the deepest desires of mortals. Needing only meet eye to eye for the truth to dawn on him, he treads a fine line to elude those with overwhelmingly wicked hearts as well as dangerous magic arts.

 

Location

    Birds of a feather through and through, Amametta sticks around only as long as his services are needed. Similar to many other feathered guardians of the wild, his very nature compels him to fly for grand distances. Beyond horizons old and new as he’s done since the world was in its infancy. Only the avian’s apostles claim to have ever met the Mani in corporeal form knowingly. Successful druidic rituals to call upon him behold a bird bearing an immensely intricate plumage, yet only ethereal. Presumably dismissing requests that require him to be present. Often attributed to imposters, non-existent individuals, and mysterious encounters across the known realm, solid evidence of the Prince of Peafowl’s involvement is a rarity. Long gone regardless. Evidence suggests that these apostles might be capable of locating the Prince, but they’re just as secretive as their patron. Employing subtle means of teaching while the majority of reports consist of desperate pretenders. Hushed whispers speak of gypsies and folk of noble birth, others allude to actors, artists, and minstrels. Indeed, the only apostle widely known happens to be a writer from lands unknown, dispersing his creeds through means that continue to undermine authorities.

 

 

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Drongo, Prince of Chameleons

 

(Artwork created by RuslanKadiev).

 

“All I remember is eating some berries, the same I pick every afternoon. But this time was different, the world around me started to spin. Spun so much that I wanted to die. Wanted to die so much that I started to sing a song about dying, and all the voices of the forest joined in. Flowers with the faces of people I used to yearn for started to flirt with me. I saw a rainbow of trees dance underneath a sky made out of eyes... I um... I-I think I was shot out of a donkey’s...actually, I’ll just spare you the details. When I came to I was hanging upside-down from a tree, fifty feet high. A taste of bugs in my mouth, vomit on my robes, and a headache almost as bad as my attunement to top it off.”

-Anonymous druid's account after publically denouncing Drongo

 

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5

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Origins

    Once a Mani without so much a name to call his own, fearful of the wilds outside their vast, timeless jungles, the sanctity of his kin’s solitude eventually collapsed under the weight of time. A growing threat from which he willingly averted his gaze, vainly hoping that his kind could be left to their own devices forever. The day that wall came crashing down, when tree after tree fell to unholy steel and flame, the meek Wild God would come to terms with his failure. That his fear of the inevitable had cost chameleon-kind everything. Reflective, he thought of the choices he had made as the season drew to a close. Until the last shreds of shrubbery were cast aside and only a single tree remained of his grand rainforest. Yet in the depths of his desperation, a demigod who had never before taken risks nor made chances chose to try his luck. Knowing he had nothing left to lose. Somehow, someway, it paid off. For like rabid dogs the enemies turned on each other, sons against fathers and mothers against daughters. Drawing upon truths, tricks, trades and more in his high state of madness, foes would take his words to heart as though from the mouth of a long lost friend. One by one, the tables turned, until the fog of death muffled the last ragged breath. No blowing of the wind or rustling of the leaves. Neither the chirping of birds nor baying of beasts. The only sound was blood dripping off corpses, painting the basin a stark red. That day a cowardly Prince of Chameleons awoke to a grand revelation, one that would change him forever. Shaping the Mani later known as Drongo, the Pactmaker.

 

Purpose

    Renowned as a patron of raw luck and deceit, the Prince of Chameleons is a perplexing beast for the mortal mind to grasp. Lacking the raw resilience and power attributed to most Mani, the Duke of Deceit has overcome untold obstacles in spite of his own inability. Forces potentially greater than some of his most formidable brethren. His uncanny gift for persuasion is as iconic as it is misunderstood, confounding many of the Aspect’s own subjects. Rumors abound about the peculiar Mani, some wagering that he’s actually a forgotten Daemon of Trickery. An insinuation lacking any evidence, meriting only Drongo’s infamous laughter. Reveling the absurdity of such a claim. It may be impossible to confidently point to the nature of his success, whether due to dumb luck or genuine methods to his madness, but none can deny his triumphs in a world that seemingly wants to be rid of him.

    A power vacuum was left after the disappearance of the former Prince of Lizards, one that Drongo was eager to fill. Curiously, the False Lord of Scales, or simply the Usurper, originally wanted nothing other than to live peacefully within the jungle domain of his kin. Yet over the season of their destruction, every aspect of the Mani was transformed. Knowledgeable nomads claim that the Prince came to realize that he didn’t possess enough power to prevent the extinction of chameleonkind, and so chose to broker his services in the form of lasting pacts. Obliging requests in return for loyalties and, most importantly, protection. Disgusting many of his fellow Mani, but none more so than Kadal, who had scorned the weakness of his scaled counterpart since time immemorial. Yet when the Chief of Color took on the Lost Lord’s title, regardless of actual intentions, his behavior only deviated further from the old. Apprehension turned to boldness. An avid avoidance of taking risks gradually crumbled away, supplanted by a thrill for taking chances. In spite of his frailty, the Prince of Chameleons found courage in the stolen title of his counterpart. A courage that would be necessary for overcoming the string of tragedies soon to oppose him.

 

Abilities

    Staying true to form, Drongo lacks much of the prowess of his fellow guardians of the wild, being the least equipped for direct confrontation. Although diminutive in size, just a tail shorter than the giant (Komodo) monitor, he compensates with a charm unbefitting of most Mani. Taking on vividly different colorations while engaged in conversation, one rarely knows when his words offer honesty or treachery. Typically irrelevant by the time it’s found out. Perhaps the lack of intimidating qualities contribute to his gift for deception? Many sorely underestimating him at first glance. Another quality of the Prince is his aptitude to prevail against the bleakest odds. Knowing when to play his cards effectively in tandem with overwhelming luck. Every sweeping misfortune and disaster that has come crashing down fails to break him: recruiting aid to mend necrotic landscape, dismantling expansionist efforts from the inside out, salvaging his kind from freak tsunamis, playing the part of betrayer in a staged dealing with devils, even convincing a servant of Lyes that he and his tribe weren’t worth their time.

    Additionally, the art of Herblore is thought to originate from Drongo’s tutelage. In that respect, he stands as one of the best in the realm, if not the greatest. Altering the qualities of flora in ways that would take learned masters their entire life just to hone correctly. The Wild God is fully capable of shutting down bodily functions, inducing ailments, producing potent acids, poisons and more with otherwise average flora. He might fortify a fig tree to be as durable as solid Ferrum, reliable enough to convince him that mortals would never penetrate his jungle of olde. Medicinals of every kind come naturally to the Chief of Colors, and prior to their grand revelation, it is said that the First Druid sought him out when the Green Dragon, Taynei’hiylu, fell terribly ill.

 

Redlines

-Only capable of influencing and restoring nature on par to a T4 druid in the Control & BH subtypes respectively

-Cannot influence weather

-Cannot evoke illusions beyond his immediate vicinity, both in ethereal & corporeal form

-His capacity for persuasion isn’t magical, rather entirely mundane (should be played by ST who will play him smart)

-His capacity for luck also isn’t magical, but an agreed modifier on rolls is acceptable

-Feats of Herblore should still be both reasonable and believable (i.e.- wood cannot be invincible, athin cannot turn you into a block of ice, etc.)

-All other standard Mani redlines

 

Location

    Formal worshippers of Drongo are a rarity to come across due to the extreme practices they’re exposed to. Be it the more conventional cultivation of jungle to...dining on mostly insects. In order to demonstrate true devotion to the demigod, one must not only benefit his kindred species but also take on their way of life. Suffice to say, lifelong service is only a result of a perpetual dilemma that only the demigod can solve, much to their predilection. To find someone in a pact with the False Lord of Scales also means picking up their patron’s trail. For the guardian of the wilds only appoints his followers to places once visited that he deems in need of preservation. Although some are known to wander as his eyes and ears, throwing off anyone that would try to spill the Chieftain’s blood. Life may be demanding for the Chief of Colors, more than most of his fellow chosen, yet all the same, he has managed to get by.

    Words on the wind tell that the last tree of Drongo’s forsaken realm still stands to this day. Said to be a soot-stained spire in the middle of a blood-red basin, bearing leaves the color of autumn eternal. Despite the thicket’s progressive regrowth, none of the followers, their patron, or even a single chameleon can be found there. An eerily silent landmark for those that come across it.

 

 

Spoiler

 

 

 

Sabio, Prince of Albatross and Seabirds

 

(Painted by Magali MB Gauthier).

 

“There I was- the last of my crew who hadn’ died of thirst ‘er hunger. Some lasted longer...but in the end couldn’t live wit’ what they had done...what we all did to survive. I pray fer their forgiveness, good Father, an’ hope I can make amends in the eyes of GOD. The Sun scorched everything, my skin, the air, an’ my regret. I was desperate. An albatross landed on the crow’s nest an’ fer the longest time my eyes stared. Thinkin’ about snapping its neck and eatin’ something besides...but then I remembered me granddad. Somethin’ he told me as a boy. So I carved an albatross into the mast an’ pleaded fer the Saint of the West. Begged fer deliverance on my hands an’ knees ‘til I collapsed. Initially, I thought meself a fool. But then I felt the blessed breeze, passing out as a great pair of wings obscured the Sun.”

-Confession of an anonymous sailor, circa. 1631

 

Spoiler

 

 

1

Spoiler

 

Origins

    Since wanderlust first compelled descendant sons and daughters across the ocean, Sabio has guided those lost. The Sage of the Western Winds offering a breeze to sails without it. The Mani is nigh indiscriminate with who he helps, save those that overfish or seemingly harass his various kindred seabirds, and therefore holds respect among many a sea dog of all races. While to see an albatross fly alongside the ship is a good omen, to spot Sabio descend from the clouds afterward assures a safe voyage. Watching over the descendent vessel ‘til it next makes landfall. There are those that question “what would’ve happened to the sailors if one of them shot a bolt through the albatross?” Alas, the dead tell no tales.

 

Purpose

     Navigators, ferrymen, and sailors at large would be foolish to spurn the High Seas Savant. Though he resembles an albatross in corporeal form, in truth he watches over many seabirds of varying shape and size. Petrels, shearwaters, cormorants, auks and even boobies fall under the vigil of the Sage. Flying higher and farther than any other who chose to heed the call, some say there isn’t a corner of the mortal plane unbeknownst to him. Why he alone bears this burden isn’t entirely understood, yet it is one that the Sage takes to contently nevertheless. Gauging places out of the way from all else for matters amiss.

 

Abilities

    Akin to his peers, the Parent of Petrels is capable of urging nature to his aid in times of need. However, the combined tribulations of altitude, distance, and generally desolate deep oceans make it difficult for Sabio to do so with immediate effect. Close proximity to a seabird colony might change that, but then he’d still only have the help of kindred blood. Encountering plantlife is slim except for on the occasional island, while sea life is similar in that they are only reliable if they’re close by. For these reasons, he has historically relied on the manipulation of weather to achieve his goals. Steadily honing his mastery over the span of lifetimes, each spent alone at sea. A flap of his wings can conjure a gust- giving form to waves. His fury can raise storms while his kindness can dispel them. Even tropical cyclones are well within his capabilities, yet their devastating effects on civilization and nature alike make them seldom used by the Sage.

 

Location

    Although myths about the Prince of Albatross holding sway as high as heaven are untrue, it puts into perspective just how much time the Mani spends in the skies. Mortals only manage to spy him when he wills it, and it’s a possibility that he might be able to fly indefinitely. After all, next to none can recall when he’s perched to convene with descendants, the rarest of an already rare occasion. Most simply tell of a grand avian flying low, heralding gales behind their sails in an otherwise stagnant sea before eventually ascending out of view. Taking neither the time to talk or even sound off a call. Moreover, while druids have heard next to none about the Sage, the Sage doesn’t even know about their existence. Soaring well out of the sights of any grove as he scours areas that haven’t known the influence of their ilk since the beginning of time. However, that hasn’t stopped sailors from figuring out ways to request the Saint of Safe Voyage’s blessing. Their patron heeding the pleads of all that are faithful to him, admittedly, only if he manages to hear them.

 

 

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Spoiler

 

 

 

Fih’uell, Princess of Locusts

 

(Sourced from ProtectedArt on Pinterest).

 

”Lil’ Jon found a grasshopper, Asked ‘im for a bite to eat,

Stole from his Papa’s field and said not a peep!

Ran ‘round together, Playing hide n’ seek,

Friends forever to sing together ‘til Jon falls back to sleep.

Took more heads of cabbage, Papa came a-lookin',

Papa said she’d eat ‘is hand if ‘e didn’t quit it.

But ‘e didn’t listen, Fed ‘er right through the drought,

Came the rain and sure as rain she flew into a fit!

Locust swarms, Lady ‘hores, Leavin’ not a leaf,

People die, Say goodbye, Leavin’ Jon behind.

He asks ‘er why, She only cries...

And counts ‘is final sheep.”

-Lil’ Jon and The Locust, a children’s sing-along

 

Spoiler

 

 

 

 

3

Spoiler

 

Origins

    Famine, a plight as old as mortal mouths. Instigated by the Princess of Locust, her plague befalls the realm not out of intentional anger or agenda, rather at the behest of one Grandmother of Culling. It is neither a vice of the elusive Daemons nor a curse born of prying spirits. The raw hunger that compels Fih’uell’s throng is a burden that has been bound to her since the beginning. A dreadful mission which she takes to with a heavy heart, yearning to someday grant her locusts a peaceful existence. Nevertheless, following dry seasons with deluges, when rapid growth goes without a stall and the land’s inhabitants flourish, her sense of self buckles like a bursting bubble. Overcome by an all-consuming urge to breed and feed that trickles down to her fellow locusts, be it in the thousands or the trillions.

 

Purpose

    Those knowledgeable about the Lady of Famine commonly view her with contempt, even among ritual worshippers of the Aspects. Whereas many Mani manage their species accordingly, Fih’uell is incapable of controlling the cravings that make her fold take flight. A most primal compulsion that sends them for hundreds of thousands of miles in search of sustenance together, cannibalizing those that dare even step out of line. As one of the primary cullings at the Aspects disposal, her swarms serve as one of their greatest worldly equalizers. Routing imbalances through sheer numbers and starvation. Once a plague has properly amassed, there is nothing to do but let it run its course. Even an entire circle of druids cannot expect to calm the wrath of a full-blown plague, only divert or shorten its destruction at best. Battering them with a cacophony of voracious chatter, nigh omnipresent, and the screams of everything devoured in their wake. Though a matron of all orthoptera, the fate that becomes of innumerable locust has haunted the Plague Maiden’s mind for all time.

 

Abilities

    Offensive capabilities aren’t traditionally sought out from the Plague Maiden, avoiding most confrontations even after succumbing to her bouts of mania. Her nuanced place among the guardians of the wild makes her fit for a war of attrition, a plague of locust having more than enough bodies to cannibalize once there isn’t any flora to sustain them as well as others. As another child of the Third, her blessing is equal parts curse. Inner peace grants her sway over the underbrush, rousing a range of unseen life from places below, often in conjunction with illusions. Yet in her demented state, these abilities falter. Replaced for vicious winds that carry her swarm accordingly and desertification that frequents nearby areas while she’s frenzied. Historical scripts reference the demigod directly, manifesting to lead plagues of legendary size. Although swarms usually hit a hard-cap well before their numbers can blot out the Sun and sky, ideal conditions can set the stage for the Mani to direct such catastrophes. An ephemeral presence that only lasts as long as her madness persists, fleeing to the Fae realm as soon as her sense of self is regained. The plague dissolving shortly thereafter.

 

Location

    The grieving starlit singer secludes herself away from the mortal realm and its inhabitants, residing deep within the Nightfall Domain of the Fae Realm. Storytellers tell of songs luring children from their beds when the stars shine bright, the New Moon provoking pixies to play their dastardly tricks. However, the real culprits are nothing more than crickets, comforting their matron by joining in her gentle lament. Stray children fortunate enough to avoid the hungry beasts and prowling Imp-Folk will find themselves kindly catered to by the Queen of Crickets. Sometimes they see her as a crone who shares sweets, others times as a playful pixie, never as her actual corporeal form appears. But each time it ends with her singing them to sleep, waking up in their beds with vivid accounts that fall on deaf adult-ears.

    An elvish fairy tale shares a similar structure, but with a darker twist to it. How the naughty oem’ii are whisked away to the Realm of the Fae, where she fattens them up as though they are starving kin. Ignoring all protest. Bellies primed to burst or just doomed to suffocate on a rancid morsel. Afterward, their corpses are provided to the Zhuanth that also call the Nightfall Domain home. Sadly, darker attributes pertaining to the story have faded from both memory and mention over the ages.

 

 

---

 

Purpose of Lore
 

Spoiler

 

 

 

 

 

 

Spoiler

1. To provide LoTC with a plate of colorful patrons that the Story Team can utilize for narrative and events at their discretion.

2. Cultural benefits that are mostly self-explanatory.

3. So as to broaden the understood scope to which these animal demigods can contribute to the realm at large. They are neither forces bound to the realms of elves or even druids for that matter. Every Mani is a sapient being that has existed nearly as long as the Aspects have presided over nature. Different beings that are liable to be written with every nuance of personality, quirks, and traits imaginable, so long as their dominant obligations to the species that follow them still stand. Creativity is only limited by its creator.

4. With the long-term goal of driving people mad through the excessive use of alliteration.

 

Citation

 

 

Spoiler

 

 

 

Spoiler

 

 

 

 

 

 

Other references may also include:

 

Relevant by proxy of Drongo’s talent with Herblore.

 

https://wikia.lordofthecraft.net/index.php?title=Scaddernak

Due to the wiki being the only veritable source of information on Scaddernacks.

https://wikia.lordofthecraft.net/index.php?title=Aeldin

In spite of the references being vague and itself a rabbit-hole when discussing lore continuity.

 

 

 

 

Along with my earlier Mani submission- presuming that it doesn’t get denied and backfire on me until edits are made accordingly.

 

 

Credits

Delmodan- for the current state of Mani lore, giving feedback, and lending inspiration to the overall lore

Nivndil- for feedback and being my most reliable name critic

Keefy & Dwyn- for their insightful suggestions

...And all the other folk who gave me suggestions/inspiration along the way. Cheers!

Edited April 18 by ThatGuy_777

[SourDough 2,585]

That'll do pig, that'll do.

[DISCOLIQUID 802]

This is some of the best lore I’ve seen in a while. 

[Space 2,303]

i don’t know about you but the only sexy spider manifestation i get behind is my gal Nemiisae, am I right?

[WuHanXianShi14 10,241]

Always happy to see more Mani lore, gotta fix the formatting in your spoiler boxes though, they fucky

[ThatGuy_777 210]

6 hours ago, WuHanXianShi14 said:

Always happy to see more Mani lore, gotta fix the formatting in your spoiler boxes though, they fucky

Lordy o lordy, you ain’t kiddin’. Grinds my gears something fierce.

[ScreamingDingo 4,346]

I hate these submissions because Mani are crap and I can't even find anything wrong with this or anything reasonable to complain about. You even got the entire bat symbolism angle done right >:((

[Trinn 1,734]

2 minutes ago, ScreamingDingo said:

I hate these submissions because Mani are crap and I can't even find anything wrong with this or anything reasonable to complain about. You even got the entire bat symbolism angle done right >:((

 

this is a high praise

 

 

but +1 in all seriousness guy : ) i love love it 

[ThatGuy_777 210]

6 minutes ago, ScreamingDingo said:

I hate these submissions because Mani are crap and I can't even find anything wrong with this or anything reasonable to complain about. You even got the entire bat symbolism angle done right >:((

 

 

 

 

Spoiler

 

If I were to be struck down now, I’d die in peace.

[Delmodan 670]

Thank you for submitting your piece! It is now under review, you should have a verdict in about 1 ½ weeks to 2 weeks.