Lady Farius (Primordial)

Lore24 Post for 1/2/24

Defeated by the Lost Lord, the Primordials are the first five creatures to come into existence as nothingness churning with chaos. Battered into slumber and imprisoned the the World Song, each Primordial seeks to seize the abandoned reins of creation as their own and forge a new reality as they see fit using their bard-filled warbands. Each knows their siblings plan to do the same and will stop at nothing to come out on top. Why not work together and compromise? Because fuck them, that’s why.

Lady Fairus, the Font of Bones

Instrument: Drums

Appearance: Bald woman with tight, gray skin hugging tight to her thin body, some bone showing through. Wears a leather greatcoat with many buckles, big brass buttons, and spiked studs. Tall biker boots with bones on side, leather pants, and a ripped t-shirt over her bust. Her symbol is branded onto her stomach. Still sexy despite her corpse like manner. Carries bone drumsticks, likes to beat them against things. Positive Aspects: Order and History

Negative Aspects: Living Death and Uniformity

Venues: The Ossuarium (Stadium), The Boneyard (Outdoor), The Tannery (Dive Bar)

Fame bonuses:

Signed (level 1) - The Warband gains 4 skeletons as roadies that follow their orders.

Opening Band (level 2) - The Warband becomes hard to poison

Headliner (level 3) - The Warband gains 2 massive skeletons as additional roadies and some necromancer shit.

Superstars (level 4) - Warband members can drain life as quick as they drain brews.

Rockgods (level 5) Warband members never get exhausted and are really hard to kill. Holy water and that sort of thing hurts real bad. Sunlight sucks.

Comments

Frame Mimic

Rattling from the shadows, a gaggle of rat-gnawed bones march forward eager to slay the living. One of them lags behind, looking a bit more solid than the rest. You know your mace should have broken the leading skeletons to pieces. Yet, it merely cracked bones instead of shattering them. Tentacles lash out from the slower skeleton, adhering to you and pulling you closer to the maw manifesting from its ribcage. This is the frame mimic. The spawn of the ossuary mimic, this monstrosity also feels a kinship to the undead - specifically animated skeletons. It adopts a group of such horrors and its very presence temporarily empowers them. This is why the skeletons keep it around instead of hacking it to pieces as they would any other living thing. On top of that, frame mimics develop a supernatural stubbornness that can only be called boneheaded. So powerful is this force of will, that it mends their wounds as they plough forward against deadly spells. Frame Mimic Medium Monstrosit...

Brocade Mimic

The masked bard in gaudy attire was strumming away when the bar fight started. It kept playing even as chairs broke and mugs flew. Not one strum was missed even when blood was spilled. Then someone grew sick of the racket and stuck a hand ax into the bard's neck...with a wooden thunk. The fancy vest exploded with teeth, tentacles, and eyes. Then there was the color spray... The first brocade mimic lurked in the rafters of a bard college. Instead of eating a future player, it learned alongside them and caught a passion for the arts. Of course, it could have become an instrument but that wasn't quite grand enough. The mimic became a set of fancy clothes and was worn out the front doors. Sometimes it and its spawn become a bard's best friend. sometimes it pilots a dead one around for a bit, and other times it takes over a mannequin to strike out on its own. No matter how, the show must always go on. Brocade Mimic Medium Monstrosity (shapechanger), neutral ...

Yoke Mimic

Something tore apart the bandits you've been tracking, but it's not obvious what chewed and in some cases melted them. Maybe there's a wyrmling in the area? Either way, all that remains alive in the camp is a pair of oxen burdened by their cart. Though, they are quite nonplussed given the violence that must have occurred around them. Surely these simple beasts couldn't be the case of the carnage, could they? As you ponder this, the oxen start plodding away, pulling the cart of goods with them. Trying to stop them was the logical thing to do... their yoke coming undone with twin, yawning mouths not so logical. You know what that means... initiative rolls, please. Relatively benign, for a mimic, the yoke mimic was cultivated by an industrious farmer. They didn't see the point of wasting an animal that came into their care, even a strange monstrosity such as this one. It became a valuable tool not only to get fields plowed, but also kept the animals attached to it d...

Search This Blog