The Campaign Builder's Guild

Quote from: SteerpikeYou may already be aware of this, but as far as anthropologists and archaeologists can figure out, barter economies didn't actually precede currency, as philosophers and economists from Aristotle to Adam Smith once used to postulate. Barter economies have existed, but they usually develop after a currency collapses or as a kind of temporary measure between societies with very disparate economic structures and/or no shared language. Actual pre-money economies were more like gift economies, though the term "gift" is a misnomer. Your example of village credit sounds very plausible.

I'm somewhat sceptical as to whether empire-building and the complex feudal system you describe could develop without some form of money, even if it's not metal coinage. I wonder whether somewhere like the Aztec Empire (where cacao beans and cotton cloth formed the major units of exchange) or ancient China (where cowrie shells, jade, knives, and various other local currencies preceded bronze coins) might be useful models if you want to forgo formal coinage.

There's always raw materials that can be weighted (salt, precious metals, etc) and thus used to make exchanges. Those would be relevant to any kind of "international" trade (what would be negotiated or coerced deals between citadel lords and priest kings) but too rare and valuable to be of any practical benefit to ordinary people. If the lower classes are going to have anything approaching a standard medium of exchange, it might be livestock.

Quote from: Promises and Oaths
Among all the tribes of mankind, keeping your word is considered to be a virtue of profound importance. This is not merely a prevalent cultural attitude; the concept of sincerity exists beyond the frames of fickle human morality, extending deep into the realm of the mystical. Even simple promises invoke a subtle power that can have very real consequences to their makers. Thus when ever people have promised to do something, they tend to go to great lengths in order to stay true to their words. Should that prove to be impossible, heartfelt apologies are offered and purifying rites conducted to ward off misfortune.

The ritual act of swearing oaths takes this principle up to an altogether different level. Oaths must be kept, to the letter. There are no exceptions and no excuses; a person who swears an oath is thereafter mystically bound to uphold it. Even if circumstances beyond the character's control render following the oath impossible, the character suffers full and unmitigated consequences of becoming an oath breaker. Oaths are always sworn ceremonially at dawn under naked sky, facing the rising sun. The words invoke several deities to witness the avowal and bind the swearer by name, blood and honor. Paragons customarily swear their oaths in a kneeling position, holding their sheathed sword before them upright with both hands, the tip of the scabbard resting on the ground.

Oath-taking can be used in diplomacy as a means to strengthen agreements. For example, a king might assent to release valuable hostages so that they may attend the funeral of their relative, on the insurance of having them swear oaths to return to their captor. Every paragon swears one particular oath, if nothing more: the oath of loyalty to their master.

Quote from: Servants
Most paragons are accompanied by one or two personal servants that take care of various mundane tasks: delivering messages, fetching items, tending to mounts, laundering, pitching tents and so on. They are more skilled and mindful than a typical peasant, but are nevertheless just simple workers. They do not participate in combat and cannot offer any useful advice. These attendants are provided by the citadel at no cost, but the paragon is expected to keep them out of harm's way and to treat them fairly -- if they end up dead or run away, replacements may not be provided until after awhile. For a paragon to perform the sort of work normally delegated to servants can be a humiliating experience that few would risk by abusing their attendants. Some paragons have larger retinues of followers that include specialists with desirable abilities, such as scribes, navigators, lookouts, trackers, surgeons, mahouts, jesters or dancing girls.

Quote from: Redbands
While paragons are mighty warriors superior to ordinary human beings in martial prowess, there are many times they will welcome assistance from lesser warriors. Sometimes the situation calls for a weight of numbers that a small party of paragons cannot provide on their own. Other times they may have to deal with foes that are beneath their notice, yet too stupid or stubborn to surrender in face of overwhelming odds. For such reasons paragons occasionally ride with a company of ordinary soldiers: a detachment from the citadel guard of the skyward realm.

These troopers are not professional soldiers, they are merely a militia guard formed from farmers and craftsmen that partake in seasonal drills and are ready to be mobilized when ever a war or brigandage befalls the realm. They are usually armed with bows and arrows or shields and melee weapons of modest quality. They don't wear uniforms but are distinguished by red-dyed headbands issued by the citadel, a badge that has made them commonly known as "redbands". When attached to a party of paragons, a company of citadel guards may either be placed under a single paragon commander, or divided to smaller squads among them.

Quote from: Honorable Combat
Conflicts of interest and tragic feuds sometimes lead to paragons from different skyward realms facing each other in battle. In order to moderate the violence resulting from such confrontations and to prevent the conflict's escalation, paragons observe common rules of honorable combat. Failure to follow them results in loss of face and possibly other consequences.

According to these rules, a battle should never be started without a proper proclamation of challenge. A paragon who challenges another must always announce their name and allegiance, stating their intent to attack. One who is challenged in the proper manner must likewise declare their identity. Both sides should at all times address each other politely and refrain from unjustified insults.

Once battle is joined, all combatants are given the right of quarter, whereby those who surrender are to be spared and either taken captive or released, regardless of circumstances. A paragon who has surrendered in this manner may not attack their captor, even if an opportunity to do so arises. As long as captives make no attempt to escape or turn on their captors, they are to be treated with dignity according to their rank and provided with food and other necessities.

Should the two sides of a battle appear evenly matched, then either one may call for a truce. The call need not be agreed to, but if it is then both sides will be allowed to leave the field without shame, and with the assurance that they will not be pursued or attacked as they withdraw.

The rules of honorable combat do not apply in battles against renegades or the forsaken, although paragons may still feel inclined to adhere to some parts of them.

Quote from: Customs
While the earthbound kingdoms differ in their ways, the skyward realms follow mostly the same set of customs and manners, owing to their common past. All paragons are taught etiquette as part of their education, so they tend to be very polite.

Dining:
When beginning a meal, one is to pick up their dining bowl up with both hands and speak the customary words: "Eat well, live long." A shorter variant of "Live long!" exists, but is considered to be extremely casual and low class -- although still better than the outright barbarism of chowing down food without any kind of ceremony.

Greetings:
Ordinary people place their right hand (palm open) over their heart and bow slightly. Paragons supplement this gesture by making a salute with their sheathed sword -- holding it before themselves in an upright position, gripped in the left hand. The common phrase of greeting is "Peace and fortune."

Farewells:
The same gesture as when greeting is performed, but the parting phrase reverses the order of the words to "Fortune and peace." Sometimes it is replaced by a more formal phrase, holding a sense of finality: "May all your days be bright."

Apologising:
There are two common variations when it comes to offering apologies. The more typical is the phrase "A thousand pardons." The other case is rather extreme, reserved for occasions where a major offense has been done: "I am deeply ashamed!" Generally the person who speaks those words will be prostrating before the one being apologised to, their face planted on the floor.

Obeisance:
Paragons make obeisance to their masters and grand masters by kneeling. In this posture the paragon steps forward with their left leg and lowers their right knee onto the floor, placing their triarma (sword sheathed) to stand upright and point-down in front of themselves, both hands on it's handle, their head bowed such that the forehead touches the hilt.

Thanking:
A thankful person clasps the palms of their hands together, saying "You have my gratitude," or simply "My gratitude." A more general expression of gratefulness or relief, not directed at any person, is "Heavens be praised!" It is generally uttered in reaction to a stroke of good luck, especially when something disastrous was narrowly avoided.

Titles and Address:
When talking about anyone of master or grand master status, a paragon should refer to them as "master so-and-so", regardless of which skyward realm they belong to. When addressing one's own master, it's customary to simply call them "master". Non-paragons generally address paragons as "esteemed such-and-such", though this manner is only required of their underlings.

Introductions:
Paragons follow the form of stating their name, master, and citadel or skyward realm, in that order. Whenever one paragon reveals their identity to another one, the latter is obliged by honor to return the favour.

Clapping Hands:
Clapping of hands is commonly used as a signal to summon the servants. Two or three claps is sufficient.

I applaud you Ghostman. This work is very interesting. Do you think you might run a game in it at some point?

Thanks! :) Hopefully I can get the rules system tested and finished. Then if there's interest I might run some Paragon adventure scenarios.

Quote from: Of Insignia and Heraldry
Paragons do not wear uniforms, but they do find it convenient to display their standing within the Order. That is why they bear standard insignia in the form of engraved and colored emblems, usually worn attached to the golden scabbards or their triarma. An insignia identifies a paragon's citadel and rank, but not their name, path or master. A commissioned herald is known by a distinctive tassel decorating the hilt of their crystal sword.

It is considered vital to be able to recognize important and powerful people, including those one hasn't met before. Knowing who one is dealing with means knowing when not to take someone lightly. Thus, all paragons of every path are taught a basic proficiency in the skill of heraldry -- the art of knowing and recognizing people by insignia and memorized descriptions. While most paragons from foreign realms are of unknown character, those in prominent station and those who have garnered noteworthy reputations can usually be identified.

[ic=Picnic]

"Hurry up slowpokes, it's over there! Look, look!" Little Min's voice exudes adolescent enthusiam as she beckons her siblings. Standing on a grassy hilltop overlooking a valley ahead, the girl flails impatiently, hopping up and down. Soon her two brothers, Tondo and Parn, have caught up with her. Min's elder brother Tondo picks up Parn, the youngest of the trio, lifting him on his shoulders. Their eyes widen as they gape at the picturesque vista emerging before them.

Glistening under the hot-burning sun of early summer, a broad river slowly meanders across the bottom of a wide valley, feeding a maze of narrow irrigation canals that criscross plowed fields on the floodplain. Villages of clustered mudbrick huts and small patches of forest bespeckle a lansdcape that gradually curves up toward cedar-encrusted heights surrounding the valley. Copper-plated peaks of small pyramids poke out from amidst the foothills, gleaming red in the sunlight. The wings of lonely windmills slowly turn in the warm summer breeze. Flocks of purple-feathered zikka birds flutter over the fields, kept at bay by the noise of brass wind-chimes fitted on scarecrows. Herds of grazing tripods wander near the outskirts of the farmlands, their tentacles hungrily reaching for the foliage of trees.

High above the valley looms the skyward realm of Lantaforna, a great island of yellow-brown rock covered in the greens of grass and trees, floating majestically in the air, with a flock of smaller isles in steady orbit around it. On the main island the cyclopean fortress of the citadel bathes in light, it's perfectly smooth walls of glossy ocean-blue stone almost blindingly bright. Mounted messengers saddled on winged feline beasts are flying to and fro, making landings on a great balcony on the citadel's facade. The island's shadowed underside becomes illuminated by a golden beam of magical light as a lizard-drawn cart full of supplies is beamed up from the valley to Lantaforna. A small river snakes across the floating island's surface, cascading off it's edge to plummet down to the earth below. It raises up a cloud of billowing mist where it hits the ground, streaming thence to join the great river. A coruscant rainbow arcs before the waterfall.

"It's a rainbow!" exclaims little Parn. His sister seems just as delighted: "It looks so pretty from up here."

"Aw, we can't see our house from here. This hill isn't tall enough," complains Tondo, sounding mildly disappointed. The three kids, being born to the caste of paragons, live in a house upon the floating island. Although today Lantaforna hovers lower than usual, it is still too high up to spot buildings smaller than the citadel from their vantage point.

"Look! Boco-boco bugs!" Parn points at a group of creatures moving in the valley, childish laughter in his voice.

"Those are tripods, silly! They just look like boco-boco bugs 'cuz they're so far away." Min corrects him matter-of-factly, waving her finger in an exaggerated imitation of a scolding teacher.

Tondo chuckles at this and sets his younger brother on the ground. "All animals kinda look like boco-bocos from afar. Even people, too."

Their chatter is interrupted by a call coming from nearby, from the direction they'd ascended on the hilltop: "Come, children. It's time to eat."

"We're comin', granma, granpa!" utters Min, already spun round on her heels and making her way back down the hill. As always, she's the quickest among her siblings on the uptake. Her brothers race after her, and all three soon reach a level clearing on the hill's slope where await their grandparents Meea and Joran with a handful of servants in tow.

A large square blanket has been unrolled on a patch of grass, parasols erected by it to provide shade. Upon the blanket lay opened reed baskets and clay jars containing a variety of delicious foodstuffs: fresh fruits, nuts, dates, spiced dunehopper legs, dried fish and amphibians from the river, flatbread, boiled lizard eggs and yellow tigervine grapes. The servants, having finished their tasks, bow to the elderly couple and withdraw over by a copse of trees a stone's throw away, where their pack animals have been tethered.

Meea and Joran, both of them gray-haired and venerable, smile warmly as they regard their daughter's children. Having retired from their duties as paragons of the citadel of Lantaforna, they now find the time for idle distractions such as today's foray to the hills, whereas their daughter is kept away on a mission. While their own days of adventure are behind them, for their grandchildren such trials have yet to begin. That is why days like this are a precious thing: serene moments when the young can sit with the old and enjoy the simple joys of life, unburdened by the demands of duty and honor and the like.

"The food is ready now, so let us sit down and eat before it spoils," Meea murmurs.

"Yes, granma."

All five of them sit on cushions and pick up ceramic bowls. The children hasten to fill theirs with their favourite treats. Once everyone's ready, old Joran raises his bowl and the others follow suit. "Eat well, live long," says everyone in unison, and the servants repeat the dining phrase, enjoying their own meals in the shade of trees. Wind rustles the leaves and the pack animals neigh quietly.

Meea reminisces with her husband while their grandchildren are digging in the food: "This brings back such pleasant memories, doesn't it, dear?" Joran nods. "It sure does. It was on this very hill that I proposed to you, after all." A tinge of nostalgia resounds in his venerable voice as he recalls days past so long ago. "Although I was being dispatched on a long distance scouting mission to uncharted lands the following day, with no idea when -or if- I'd return, you still said yes." She smiles at his words and leans on to him, savouring this moment of peaceful tranquility.

With their bowls emptied and their bellies full, the kids and their grandparents rest on their cushions. The summer breeze brushes by gently, and bugs are making chirring noises in the thickets. Little Min, lying on her back, is startled when a shadow suddenly glides across her face. She jumps up and points at the sky. "A dragon! Many dragons!" she cries out surprisedly.

Everyone turns to look. A flight of dragons is soaring across the sky, their slender serpentine bodies snaking like banners in gusty wind. The magnificent creatures are bearing straddled figures on their backs, one on each, though they could easily carry plenty more. Despite having no wings they fly with the speed and grace of noble birds of prey.

"Dragon riders. When I pass my paragon examination I'm going to become a dragon rider too!" the eldest child Tondo declares with a surprising force of determination in his voice. He even tries to strike a badass pose, but ends up looking a little silly.

"As if~!" rebuts Min teasingly. "Only the best acolytes get to be dragon riders. A slacker like you'd never make it~!"

"I'll become one of them without fail! You'll see!" Tondo barks back at his sister, who retaliates by grinning and sticking her tongue out.

Granpa Joran interjects, halting the siblings' quarrel. "Now now, you two. No acolyte is ever made straight into a dragon rider. It takes a lot of practice and many accomplishments to prove one is worthy of such a noble mount." He pats his boastful grandson on the head, ruffling his hair. "Tondo, if you are determined to ride a dragon one day, then you'll need to work hard and do your very best. That's the way you'll see your dream fulfilled," he says in a gently lessoning tone. Young Tondo nods. "Even if it'll take a long time I'll give it my all, and I'll keep on trying."

They all gather on the hilltop to watch as the dragon riders cross the valley and fly off to the horizon.

[/ic]

Quote from: The Wheel of Time

The Dawn of Man: The hermaphroditic First Men are spawned from the life-giving rain in the beginning of the world. They solitarily beget a host of offspring, which are become the tribes of mankind. Knowing nothing of civilization they find their living off the wild-growing plants and the roaming beasts, scattering to the four winds as they spread out to populate the earth.

War in the Heavens: A cloud of black smoke blankets the sky, alight with thunder and raining down ash, as celestial spirits make bitter war upon each other. The upheaval rages on for countless generations, devastating the world. The tribes of mankind are driven from their pastures and hunting lands, seeking shelter in caves.

Thousand Years of Terror: Reptites, a chthonic race of hairless lepidote sorcerers with venomous fangs and forked tongues emerge from the bowels of the earth, wielding diabolic magics and erecting twisted towers of mucous stone. They revel under the tainted sky, conducting wicked rites in praise of their nameless gods. One after another the tribes of mankind are subjugated and enslaved under eldritch yoke, forced to bear endless hardships in servitude to their cruel reptite overlords.

The Night of Falling Stars: The war in the heavens ends in the defeat of the empyreans who are cast down, falling to earth in a monumental rain of fiery spheres that illuminates the sky and agitates the earth. The towers of the reptites shudder, their bloodstained altars fall over when mighty gales of a gigantic storm sweep across the world, clearing the skies before the rising sun that once again shines unobstructed upon the lands below.

Heavenly Seeds Blossom: Empyreans shed their obsidian wings, forevermore bound to walk the ground beneath their feet. Longing for the lost majesty of heaven, they use their powers to create the skyward realms: resplendent islands lifted high in the air, kept afloat by the magical citadels built upon them.

The Fell War: The reptites gaze enviously upon the wonders of the empyreans and soon come to clash with them, beginning a terrible war that spans millennia. They marshall armies of slave-soldiers and work foul sorceries, allying with mountain-devils and fell spirits, but the skyward realms stand firm against all attacks. To put an end to this bloodshed the empyreans conduct a plan to liberate the tribes of mankind from their slavery, forging an alliance with them. They select from among the humans the wisest and strongest and take them to the skyward realms, where they are infused with magical power and instructed in the arts of civilization and sorcery. With the aid of these uplifted soldiers -- the first paragons -- the Empyreans are finally able to destroy the reptites, albeit at extreme cost. Before being wiped off the face of the earth the fiends curse their foes, dooming the race of empyreans to a slow extinction.

The Passing of the Mantle: For centuries the empyreans continue to teach and protect their human disciples, even as their own numbers inexorably wane. They build the exgates, magical portals that enable nearly instantaneous travel across the longest of distances. As a final act of benevolence they create the citadel lords, exalted paragon rulers that act as magical vessels preserving fragments of the power and wisdom of the empyreans, so that it would not be completely lost. These citadel lords inherit the sovereignty over the skyward realms and form a council to lead the paragon order.

The Deluge: Heaven itself weeps for the passing of it's wayward children. Torrential rain pours down without pause, drowning the world in a great flood. People and animals take refuge on the skyward realms. Eventually the waters recede and life returns to earth.

Tribes Divided: At the command of the citadel lords, cities are founded along transportation routes formed by the network of exgates. These city-states, known as earthbound kingdoms, are colonized by those tribes that choose to submit to the overlordship of the citadel lords. They settle into a sedentary life, learning the crafts of tilling fields, weaving fabrics, and shaping clay into pottery. Those who refuse to relinguish their independence retreat into the wilderness, continuing their nomadic lifestyle as hunters and gatherers and herders of beasts.

A World of Balance: For a long time the world knows peace and prosperity. The earthbound kingdoms expand, growing ever larger. The skyward realms also flourish, fed by tribute from the lands below. Paragons enforce justice and contemplate on the mysteries of the universe.

A World of Chaos: Menace befalls the world, heralded by the dread omen of tenebrous cobwebs spun in the sky by the Cloud Spider. Cosmic balance is disrupted; monsters creep out of their lairs and trespass on the lands of mankind, while wickedness takes root in the hearts of people. Brigands and petty warlords ravage villages, preying upon the weak. Cabals of the fallen gather in secret, spreading the venomous corruption of the Scourge. The exgates slowly begin to malfunction or shut down entirely, leaving the earthbound kingdoms and the skyward realms isolated. Long distance communications cease, the power of the citadel lords is diminished, and the paragon order loses it's unity. Beyond the margins of civilization the nomadic tribes of wild men grow violently restless, gathering in vast hordes and abandoning their homelands, as if fleeing before some terrifying threat.

[ic=Level Up!]
On the snow-white, windswept summit of the holy mountain Iki-kuura stands an ancient monolith: a broad-faced obelisk of peculiar greenish-gray rock, three storeys tall and chiseled all over in geometric symbols. Despite it's immense age and constant exposure to the elements this monolith shows no signs of weather or wear; it's surface remains flawless and somehow untouched by ice and snow. The wind moans strangely as it flows past the obelisk, an eerie sound almost like singing. A haze of clouds surrounds the summit, partly obscuring the distant silhouettes of nether mountains.

Three figures draped in furs and thick capes of mammoth wool stoop in a kneeling posture before the towering obelisk, heads pressed on the hilts of their downright-held swords -- magical blades of crystal sheathed in golden scabbards.

"In peace we have come, Iki-kuura," one of them speaks.

"In peace receive us now, Iki-kuura," another one follows up.

"In peace we shall depart, Iki-kuura," the third figure concludes.

There is no response; the monolith looms silently in place while the cold wind howls, lashing and raining sleet upon the trio. Having ceremonially paid their respects for the god of the mountain, they all stand up.

One of them, a man named Seppo, casts off his cape, boldly embracing the montane chill and the gale. His face is that of one who seems wise beyond his years; old in spirit yet young in flesh. His long and wavy, silverly white hair flutters wildly in the wind as he turns to talk to his companions, a look of determination in his deep-blue eyes: "I'm ready. My friends, please be patient and watch over my rite of ascent."

"We'd wait till the end of the world for you, Seppo," declares Unto, a swarthy and thick-bearded older man bearing a proud smile on his face.
"Come a storm or a million devils, we'll never break our vigil!" adds Iina, a red-haired woman with a scar across her forehead, a jubilant ring in her voice.

"You have my gratitude," Seppo says and nods to them, clasping the palms of his hands.

Then, turning his back on the obelisk, he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. With the slightest of movement he suddenly leaps high up in the air, vaulting into a backflip and landing squarely on the top of the monument. Balancing on it's pointed tip on just one foot, he straightens himself to stand upright and assumes a ritual stance, raising his sheathed sword above his head, pointing it at the sky. Thusly poised he stands, looking more like a statue than a living person. An eldritch halo lights up around the golden scabbard, and a vortex of spiraling air begins to form in the cloudy sky above.

Unto and Iina stand silently and watch this spectacle unfolding before their eyes, a spectacle they've both experienced before -- as watchers as well as ascenders.

Time itself strays from it's steadfast course, venturing down strange and occult paths, as the sun now begins rapidly rising and setting and the stars speeding fast on their celestial pathways in what feels like mere moments to Seppo's companions standing vigil on the summit of Iki-kuura. The vortex in the clouds waxes, whirling faster and faster, and a barrage of cacophonous thunder erupts in it's depths. All throughout this Seppo remains frozen still, perched on the obelisk with his sword pointed up at the eye of the whirlwind. The orchestra of fulmination within that tempestuous vortex continues to build up. Suddenly, an immense bolt of lightning shoots downwards, striking the upheld sword with a booming thunderclap. Still maintaining his stance on top of the obelisk, Seppo is briefly engulfed in a luminescent aura. In a flash it fades away, and time resumes it's familiar flow. The heavenly vortex likewise calms down and dissipates.

"It is finished," Unto nonchalantly observes. "He has successfully ascended to a higher level of power."

"That's something worth some celebrating, isn't it? How about we scour the citadel's wine cellars and treat ourselves to the richest of feasts once we've made it back home from here," Iina chucklingly suggests.

"Sounds like a fine plan to me," Seppo agrees as he leaps down from the monolith, landing softly on his feet. He bears no signs of harm upon him, although a faint haze of steam rising off his body and a slight echo in his voice betray the influx of magical power that was jolted through him just moments ago.

Together the three companions begin their long trek down from Iki-kuura, leaving the ancient obelisk as they found it.

[/ic]

Quote from: The Rite of Ascent
Paragons are capable of growing in might and increasing their power levels. This is no mundane process, but rather a mystical transformation that elevates a paragon a step higher in the cosmic order of being -- something similar to a minor apotheosis. When a paragon is ready to increase his power level, he must perform a magical ritual known as a rite of ascent, which triggers the transformation. This ritual is performed on an elevated place under the naked sky, typically the top of a mountain or a large structure such as a pyramid. Ancient obelisks built by the empyreans are often found in such places, and are considered especially auspicious. The paragon stands in a ritual posture, pointing his triarma at the sky. A magical vortex of thunder forms above him and a great bolt of lightning strikes down, drawn to the triarma. It is customary for this ceremony to be overseen by other paragons, usually selected from close friends and comrades.

Quote from: Cartouches
Most paragons have a personal cartouche, created on the day of their coming-of-age. A cartouche is a stylished combination of hieroglyphic symbols identifying the paragon, enclosed within a rounded rectangle border. It is used as a signature in letters, poems and other writings, but also bears a mystical connection to it's owner. By some unbreakable cosmic law every cartouche is unique; namesakes inevitably end up each with different alternative combinations of hieroglyphs, owing to the nature of the writing system. Moreover, a cartouche is bound to it's owner so powerfully that it cannot be forged, nor can it be drawn by anyone else -- any attempt to do so simply fails. It is commonly supposed that the act of drawing one's cartouche is literally imprinting one's soul onto the papyrus, and that the subtle beauty and flaws in the shape of the hieroglyphs of a cartouche reveal something essential about the person of it's owner. Most paragons use utmost care and calligraphic effort when drawing their cartouches.

That's very nice. I can actually imagine some funny stuff coming out of this. Like, the most careless of Paragons having a super ugly cartouche and people would always be like... 'sigh' at the sight of it.

But I'm impressed that you even think of things like that. Like... it makes sense, but never would I have thought of it.

To the Ghostman I have to say that I loved Astral Blades and was so forlorn,distraught,crestfallen when nothing happened with it.

So I'm glad that you've started hammering together a successor setting.

I love the pseudo brozne age  epic fantasy world that you have set up, the fact that all those so called mythological events are literally true is something else that I like.

I hate when people try to fix or retune somebody else work to fit  their definition of cool and or appropriate. So I'm not going to do that, i'm going to share my thoughts and ideas and you can do what you will them.

I think that Sparkletwist's critique of Paragon has some merit, looking at it from outside I can so much room for expansion and a few places that can be tweaked.

First there could be more room for Paragons that were born and perhaps manifested there powers without begin a part of the Order. Personally I got no problem with begin a regular member of the Order born and raised to take my place ammidst  its august body.  However a lot of people do have a problem with it.  Folks want to play the new kid on the block that is just coming into their power and is whisked away from their mundane life to adventure and glory;how many stories from antiquity to modernity follow the set up that I just described.   They also want to play the home town hero that slew the dire sabertooth in burst of supernatural puissance and skill!  The badass lonewolf,man on the edge, the cop or agent that's always gets called  in to their superior's office but is never actually discharged from their service because they are just too damn good at what they . Related to the "The badass lonewolf,man on the edge" is the wandering gun-slinger or samurai, the figure who can save the system precisely because they exist outside it.


Where do these lost Paragon's come from? Well the children that Paragons leave behind in the amongst the surface human populations. The most common scenario is the father that dies in battle before they can claim and raise their child. With a little tweaking this scenario can even be applied to Lady Paragons I can see the story now...

QuoteA Lady Paragon is in a remote settlement she's enjoying a feast in her honor after slaying some rampaging  demonic beasty, then she looks at that one gaurdsman who refused to break ranks when the Warlock's beastly minions surged over the town's walls...he starts to sing , he has the voice of an Empyrean. Nine months later it's a dark and stormy night Lady Paragon has delivered a healthy child. Unfortunately a messenger has barged into the room, he was sent to get the Lady-Paragon for the Warlock thought dead has returned with another even larger and more fearsome horde of beasts.  Lady-Paragon knows her duty she hands the child to the father,leaps out of bead gathers her things and rides off to rally the guards;while labor is an ordeal for human women Paragons are magically infused superhumans. Lady-Paragon fights all night and holds the line against impossible odds and slays that Warlock once and for all. However she is slain in the process, the townsfolk find Lady-Paragon standing atop a hill of corpses sword in driven through the Warlock's black heart!  The Father takes the Triarma it's light fading and promises to give it to the child.

I think that the Paragon order could benefit from having a Ranger corps of some kind, Lord of the Ring's Dunedin or Game of Throne's Nightwatch could serves as inspiration. Some real world inspiration be drawn from Circuit Judges and or the Texas Rangers. Paragon's are obligated to protect a vast amount of territory and even with a wide array of domesticated giant flying  beast are likely to be a reactive rather than proactive force when it comes to dealing with threats. A partial solution is for a contingent of Paragons drawn from the ranks of  the outdoorsy types that are rather good at dealing with people, to be assigned given territories which they patrol for dangers;there would also be ranger station where people know that they can go to for aid or shelter in event of a crisis.


Magic that mere mortals could tap into. Maybe it's cutting deals with demons or nature spirits, maybe A strong willed mortals can manifest eidolons weaker than what a Paragon could call forth certainly but still impressive to other mortals, perhaps mortals can use the same dynama fueled magic as Paragons albeit a much weaker version.

The invention of money all the problems come with a cash based economy. Some far flung city-state or federation of city-states introduce the concept of money to the "known world".

Rebel Paragons. Not evil just rebellious Paragon's that genuinely believe that their kind's stewardship of humanity is a form of oppression and must be brought to an end.

Tyrannical Paragon's that think they should just conquer humanity rather than playing distant off handed guardian and have taken steps towards their goal.   

Other Magic weapons. Are one handed/hand and a half blades of orichalcum and sheath bound together with the users soul into Triarma truly the only weapon suited to Paragons?

What of Bows.





Spears.




Two-Handed Swords.


Staves


and

Knives.
.

And even if the Triarma must be a sword and sheath, are their no mighty arms that could be bestowed upon a worthy mortal companion.

Well that's all I got.