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Trinity Continuum: Aegis tabletop roleplaying game

Created by Onyx Path

Trinity Continuum: Aegis is a game of epic adventure and exploration set in Greece’s Iron Age.

Latest Updates from Our Project:

Preview: Mighty Oaths and Dire Portents
over 1 year ago – Wed, Aug 02, 2023 at 05:51:28 AM

Hello Argonauts,

We've got Chapter 5 coming to backers this Friday, with new rules for running Trinity Continuum: Aegis.

I've got a preview from that chapter for you today. This is just a small sample of what's coming our way later this week - a peek at Dramatic Editing working in the world of Aegis, Mighty Oaths, and Dire Portents...



Dramatic Editing

Fate and destiny are not mere words; heroes know that the gods and stranger powers often heap curses and boons upon the glorious general and the humble rural youth alike. Champions may spend their Inspiration on Dramatic Editing as outlined on p. 154 of the Trinity Continuum Core Rulebook, but all heroes may use (or be subjected to) the following Aegis-specific Dramatic Editing Rules.

Twists of Fate

The sailor escapes a horrible storm through a miraculously lucky turn of the wind, only to find herself in the path of an enemy despot’s armada. The prince escapes his would-be assassins’ knives due to a nighttime desire for a drink, but overhears his childhood companion plotting further betrayals. The healer discovers the cure for the plague growing in her house’s thatch, but the smell of the herb’s preparation attracts horrid monsters. A hero may always trust fate to pull them along, but they may not always like where they end up!

Mechanically, a hero may accept a Twist of Fate when they propose a Dramatic Edit. When they do, the Storyguide suggests an ironic, unfortunate, or unforeseen complication that accompanies the Edit, causing more trouble for the hero even as the character’s player gets what they want. If the player agrees, the Dramatic Edit takes effect, and the complication or consequence introduces itself later during the scene or session. Champions reduce the cost of their Dramatic Edit by 1, though they may not make cost 0 Dramatic Edits through Twists of Fate more than once per scene. If they accept additional Twists of Fate, they gain Momentum instead.

Twists of Fate should never reverse or spoil the original reason for the Dramatic Edit. The healer’s fortuitous herb shouldn’t actually cause the plague to spread further or cause a different contagious malady in their patients; the prince shouldn’t step away from their soon-to-be-stabbed bedding only to run into different assassins next to the wine krater. Similarly, Storyguides shouldn’t push for twists that players don’t buy into. It’s fine for Storyguide and players to talk over what sort of Twist of Fate is appropriate or enjoyable for everyone involved. If a player simply doesn’t like any of the proposed options, they may always reject the Twist of Fate and either pay for the Dramatic Edit normally or abandon it altogether.

From the viewpoint of heroes and their contemporaries, such events are bread and meat of being a hero. That their lives are beset with unexpected boons and challenges is simply the way of the world, and it’s what a hero does in the face of the gods’ fancies that proves their measure.

Mighty Oaths

Anyone may be bound by normal oaths to a friend, fellow citizen, or potentate, but heroes determined in their course may swear even mightier oaths. Whether to a favored deity, the gods at large, the Fates themselves, or simply to whoever is listening, a hero who imbues their oath with full intent to fulfill it often finds the way opened to them... but also courts disaster beyond human opprobrium if they break from their course.

A hero may declare a Mighty Oath to accomplish any feat that seems reasonably possible, but is also challenging or difficult: “I will defeat the Spartans in the field and drive them back to Laconia,” or “I will win the heart of fair Patroclus.” Clearly impossible or farcical oaths (“I will pull the moon out of the sky to crush Athens,” or “I will swallow the entire Aegean Sea”) are often simply a waste of character effort — however, sometimes they might provide interesting narrative opportunities if a player finds a way to make the metaphorical literal. For example, while the character might not be able to yank the moon out of its orbit, she may take advantage of a total eclipse to attack Athens under the cover of total darkness. Ultimately, the Storyguide and player can work together to determine whether a Mighty Oath is likely to be fulfilled, and look for chances to make good on the promise in interesting ways.

Storyguides should indicate whether an oath is outside the scope of the game and allow players to withdraw or change their statement, For example, a Storyguide might say “This game is going to focus on monsters rampaging across the ocean; you probably won’t be running into the Spartan army, but the Tyrsennian Fleet’s been raiding the coast...,” or “Patroclus is gay, Clytie, so that won’t work unless you intend to win him as a bosom companion instead of a romantic partner.” Lackluster, overly broad, or routine activities don’t qualify for oath status. (“‘I will defeat every enemy who raises a weapon against me’ is what your character was going to try to do anyway, David.”)

An oath-taker spends 1 Inspiration and clarifies their goal out-of-character to the Storyguide when swearing their oath. Once per scene until the Oath is fulfilled, made impossible, or broken, a character with an oath may reduce the cost of Dramatically Editing changes by 1 to make pursuing their oath easier or bringing it to relevance in the current scene.

Champions who swear Mighty Oaths may also use Extraordinary Effort (Trinity Continuum Core p. 153) for free once per scene when directly pursuing their oath.

Should a character knowingly break an oath or work against its completion, they immediately lose all benefits of the oath, and cannot spend or regain Inspiration for the rest of the session, or swear another Mighty Oath for the rest of the story. This never applies if an outside force physically compelled them to work against their oath or otherwise prevented them from exerting free will. Storyguides should always warn players if a course of action will result in an oath being broken.

If an oath becomes impossible to fulfill — “The Spartan army was torn apart by monstrous boars; none remain alive!” — the oath ends without incident. Similarly, if the oath becomes outside the scope of the current story (“Well, Patroclus is off with Achilles now and you’re exploring the coast of Africa…”) the Storyguide and player may agree to end the oath.

If the character successfully fulfills their oath, they immediately regain any spent Inspiration and count as having attained an Aspiration for all relevant purposes, once per session.

A character may only be affected by one Mighty Oath at a time, and cannot be forced to swear one they don’t fully believe in (or that their player doesn’t wish to make) by any means.

Dire Portents

While Oracles see the future in all its possible variety and wonder, any hero may catch sight of the shadow of doom upon the world. The fainthearted flee or hide at its approach, but the bold meet the challenge to prove their worth.

Once per session, a character may declare a Dire Portent; both something they’ve seen, and the threat it portends. This may be literal (“Clytie makes out the shape of ships on the horizon; the archon’s force will soon be upon us!”) or symbolic (“Solon sighs as one of the pots falls off the table and shatters on the ground; a bad sign for the Thebans standing firm with us during the war council.”)

Once per scene, any character may Dramatically Edit in further signs of the oncoming doom for free, creating a +2 Complication for a relevant check (“The nearing conflict makes the fishermen nervous; if Clytie doesn’t buy off the Complication when she’s bargaining with them, they’ll flee the area for the foreseeable future.” “If Solon doesn’t buy off the Complication when riding down his bandits his lance will break; another bad sign for the war council!”) gaining Momentum when they do.

If the portent comes to pass, the character who declared it gains an Inspiration, which may take them over their normal maximum for the scene. They may immediately spend it to Dramatically Edit appropriate preparations they’ve made for their foreseen calamity; Champions reduce the cost of the Edit by 1 Inspiration, to a minimum of zero.

If the portent doesn’t come to pass or is otherwise averted (“Solon’s generous gifts keep the Thebans happy; all that concern was for nothing!”) the effect simply ends.

Storyguides should be flexible when players introduce Dire Portents, and players should respect the tone and direction of the game. If anyone at the table objects to one being introduced (“Wait, the Atlanteans are attacking? Aren’t we trying to rescue Tiye’s lover from monster hunters and help Clytie woo that archon?”) Storyguide and players should discuss and come to agreement about what’s appropriate out-of-character.


Tomorrow, we'll have some more epic fiction with a Taste of Honey; our manuscript preview will come on Friday, and we'll get our first sneak peek at some Gifts this Saturday!

Please remember to share info about this campaign in your social circles and on your social media. Let's see if we can't add some more backers during these to middle weeks of the campaign so we set ourselves up for hitting another Stretch Goal or two!

#TrinityContinuum
#Aegis


Manuscript Preview # 3 - Creating Inspired Characters
over 1 year ago – Tue, Aug 01, 2023 at 04:48:25 AM

Hello Argonauts,

Are you ready to start the second week of our campaign? I've got a great way kick off this week! We've got our next manuscript preview!

Draft Manuscript 3 contains the following chapters from Trinity Continuum: Aegis:

  • Chapter Three: Inspired Characters introduces Champions, Oracles, and Olympians, the new types of Inspired characters available to play in Aegis. It discusses what makes each type of character unique, and delves into the themes their powers fall under.

  • Chapter Four: Character Creation walks players through creating characters for this game, and offers advice for adapting modern era Skills from the Trinity Continuum Core for this period. Additionally, it provides new Paths, Edges, and Skill Tricks for players to use.

I was lucky enough to share a preview from Chapter 3 last Saturday and it was quite intriguing! I'm looking forward to seeing the complete draft version of these chapters today!


STRETCH GOALS

First up, a reminder about our current Stretch Goal targets. We have actually unlocked one Stretch Goal since we posted the latest targets.

ACHIEVED! - At $33,000 in Funding - Trinity Continuum: Aegis Digital Wallpaper - Exciting Aegis artwork will be used to create a wallpaper for your computer desktop. This digital wallpaper will be added to the rewards list of all backers supporting this project.


At $36,000 in Funding- Trinity Continuum: Aegis Mobile Wallpaper - Exciting Aegis artwork will be used to create a wallpaper for your mobile device lockscreen. This mobile wallpaper will be added to the rewards list of all backers supporting this project.


At $40,000 in Funding - Aegis Atlas: Additional Locations and Devices - The Aegis Atlas bonus supplement will be expanded to include additional non-Greek locations, along with some Aegis-appropriate super-science gadgets and devices.



International Shipping – Collected in the Pledge Manager

And our regular reminder about International Shipping before we get into the manuscript previews. Unlike many previous Onyx Path projects, we won’t be collecting funds to cover International Shipping during this Crowdfunding campaign. Instead, we’ll be charging for shipping in the Pledge Manager once the books are being printed and we can deal with the actual shipping charges rather than using our best-guesses this far out. We’re still anticipating pretty hefty costs to ship the book internationally (see our current guesses on the front page) so be forewarned, but we’ll cross that enormous bridge when we get to it.


Feedback Form

Throughout the campaign, I'll be sharing a new update whenever we've got the next section of our Draft Manuscript available to preview. Before the conclusion of the campaign, you'll be able to read the entire draft manuscript for Trinity Continuum: Aegis and know exactly what to expect and exactly what you're helping to build.

In fact, you can help build it even better! The Onyx Path team has created a special Feedback Form that you can use to provide feedback on the draft manuscript to help guide the writers and developers through the next stages of work on this project.

Share your Feedback directly with the writers and developers using this form: Trinity Continuum: Aegis Feedback Form

DRAFT MANUSCRIPT PREVIEWS - BACKERS ONLY

Remember, thanks to BackerKit magic, these download links are visible to Backers only - you must be logged in and reading this on the website to have access to the manuscript preview links. So, if you're reading this via e-mail, click that "Read This Update" or "Reply to this Update" link on the bottom and I'll see you below the title treatment...


Ode of Ares
over 1 year ago – Mon, Jul 31, 2023 at 09:15:07 AM

Ode of Ares


My dearest Theremis,

As you advised, I traveled out from Crete to the north, keeping my back to the mountains. I arrived in the town you told me of after three days, yet I fear I arrived too late. The man you spoke of so adamantly has definitely been here.

The town is abuzz with talk of his deeds. I quickly found a small hostel to stay the night and asked the landlady to tell me if she had heard of him. Scarce had I given her the description of a man in fine red robes and golden jewelry, then words fled from her in excitement. “Yes, stranger,” she told me, “the man has been to town. But sadly, he didn’t stay here in my humble hostelry; oh, but to imagine if he had! I could say my humble place had been blessed by the gods themselves!”

She was not the only one. Venturing into the marketplace, I met people replete with tales of the man. Truly, the people are left astonished by him and the miracles he provided. One man, a store owner, told me the traveler stopped by his stall, flocked with a crowd of admirers. “Do you believe in the might of the gods, shop keeper?” the man asked. When the store owner shook his head, the traveler smiled and lifted his entire cart, crates and barrels and all, above his head. “Be blessed,” he told the store owner, “for now you may believe.”

The traveler didn’t stay long, but when he left, the purses of the town’s inhabitants were significantly lightened. I speak not only of fine foods and wine, which was given to him aplenty. With discretion, I asked to be shown where he had lingered and was brought to a central square. Here, the traveler had set down a small sack, and asked that any who doubted his divinity might bring forth a challenge. Until the sun set, he broke the hardiest bricks asunder, wrestled any challenger to the ground, hurled the heaviest rocks beyond the town limits, and bent the strongest steel. For each, he asked a donation from the people, that his temple may be built.

He left town, sack heavy with money. It is as you told me, Theremis. For eight months, in towns across Greece, tales of this traveler in red robes circulate. In towns such as these he arrives, one after the other, this finely-dressed man bedecked in luxurious garb. He impresses the inhabitants with his powers, leaving them astonished and eager to part with their hard-earned coin in reverence. Then he leaves, journeying to the next town and repeating the same performance.

Worst, I fear, is not merely the use of the gifts we share since imbibing the gods’ nectar; that he uses it to line his own pockets is dubious enough. What truly strikes at me, my friend, is the tales the man tells. Every person he fleeces tells the same tale: That they gave their money to Ares himself!

The Society’s suspicions are doubtless correct. From the tales I’ve heard, he’s been empowered by nectar. How he came into possession of this is a mystery; we’ve done all we can to preserve the sanctity of the fluid to prevent unscrupulous or nefarious minds from abusing its gifts.

Since the discovery of nectar, I’ve put significant effort into preventing the substance getting to the hands of those who’d use it to pursue their own ends. For many of my colleagues who pursue this same goal, it’s a matter of ensuring the people’s safety. Were nectar to find its way to warmongers, brigands, or worse, its latent power could tip the balance of warfare forever. The resulting chaos would surely be devastating. But more insidious is the risk this man poses — one who uses the nectar’s blessing to sway the people’s faith.

Theremis, you know me well. I’m not a pious man, and I’ve scarce ever set foot in a temple. The gods have done little for me, yet others dedicate their lives to their worship. Some among our Society believe this nectar to be a gift from them, sent to elevate us. I don’t; instead, I recognize its danger, and the danger of those who’d desire it. Theremis, understand me well. Men like this traveler seek power in any way they can and use it to dominate others. This I won’t allow.

Make this my pledge, my friend, to all the gods you may believe in: I’ll find this man and make him pay for his abuses.

I stayed in the town for another day before journeying on, asking the townspeople which road the traveler took. I followed him. His path led me through two more towns, never venturing near a busy city. I followed his route close to Attica, then ventured north into Thebes. In each place, the same story unfolded: people left bereft of their belongings, having sold their life’s comforts to fill the coffers of a man masquerading as a god. This same tale repeated again and again. Farmers struggled to feed their families, living in the hope of the traveler’s blessings would somehow fill their hungry stomachs.

My anger boiled, and I set my mind to finding a suitable punishment for his crimes. I couldn’t slay him. My nectar’s blessing didn’t grant me strength in that manner. Even if it had, I refused to let myself resort to simple murder. Instead, I schemed a great plan.



On the eighth day, I came to the town of Enbir, on the shores of a great river. It was here in this small fishing village where I finally caught up with him, and set about enacting my plan.

I rested at a hostelry, and in the morning I ate my breakfast and ventured out to find the traveler. This proved to be little challenge, as he drew a large crowd wherever he went. Among the throng of townsfolk he stood, in the midst of the market as he’d done before, surrounded by his audience. I joined the crowd and watched him as he wrestled.

The man he fought was the town’s blacksmith — a towering man with heavy muscles honed from decades of working the toughest iron. Despite this, the traveler held the blacksmith’s brawny arms locked in his own. The gathered crowd stood agape at this feat; the stranger shucked his red silks aside to reveal a physique less akin to man and more befitting an Olympian.

With a grunt, the blacksmith folded, his knees buckling. Even so he refused to admit defeat; sweat poured from his brow as he strained against the stranger’s grasp. His struggle was in vain. The traveler pushed down relentlessly with a mountainous might, barely a flicker of effort marring his rugged features. The blacksmith fell to the sands, nursing his strained arms.

A laugh broke from the traveler. “You did well!” he jeered. “Very well, for a mortal. Few can hold their own against Ares himself for as long as you did!” With a sweeping gesture, the man waved his arms to the crowd. “Who else here would try their best? Please, place your coins in the sack and see if you can stand against the might of a god!”

Murmurs rose from the crowd. It was clear the traveler’s performance was soon to end; he’d bested most of the strongest in town and there were few left willing to face him. I stepped forward. “I’ll challenge you, great Ares!”

The traveler looked me over, a confident smile etched on his bearded face. For a moment, I feared he’d sense our commonality, as though the nectar within us both would beckon to him. If he sensed any familiarity, he didn’t show it. “You wish to wrestle, then?”

I shook my head. “Clearly I’m no match for you in might,” I explained, “but as I traveled to town, I noticed a bull feasting in a field nearby. The beast is vast, twice the size of any man. Even you.”

A ripple of amusement passed through the crowd, and a twitch of irritation flickered in the traveler’s brow.

My barb had hit home. “Would that I could see you steer the brute out of the farmer’s wheat field. Drag it by the horns, if you can. That would be a feat worthy of an Olympian!”

The traveler sneered. “Well,” he said, mockingly, “if you fear facing me yourself, I’ll certainly meet your challenge! Throw your coin in the sack.” I did so, and the traveler headed to the field, the crowd following eagerly in his wake. I hurried past and threw open the gate to where the bull sat, lazily chewing on the farmer’s wheat-stalks. The traveler strode confidently toward his foe while onlookers watched from behind the wooden fence. Gradually the bull rose, easily the height of the traveler and twice as broad.

The bull spat out its half-chewed cud and dug its hooves against the ground. With an angry snort that caused the crowd to step back in awe, the beast rushed the stranger. He met it head-on, clasping its horns in his brawny arms. His sandals dug into the muddied ground as he clenched his teeth, refusing to give an inch. The two powerful beings pressed against one another, pushing with all their considerable might. Then, with a grunt, the traveler twisted the bull’s horns, forcing it to the side. It staggered, its powerful legs scrambling. Clutching on its neck, the traveler pulled the bull, inch by inch. He shouted a warning, demanding the crowd make way for him.

He dragged the huge beast into the empty countryside where he turned it loose and then returned, head held high in triumph, to the cheering crowd. He sought me out with a grin. “Well, have I met your challenge?” he bellowed.

At this, I canted my head and hummed. “It was impressive, doubtless,” I said. “But I swear, it looked as though you struggled. Surely such a lowly beast is beneath such considerable efforts for a god?”

The man snorted with contempt and glowered. “You still doubt me?”

“Oh no, not at all!” I said. “Only...”

“Only what?”

“Only ... it would be better if you had a test truly deserving of your divinity. One which was worthy of Ares, and not these paltry slights you are left with now.”

At this, the traveler blustered. “If you have a feat worthy of me, name it now and I will best it!”

A smile spread across my lips. “Then hear this: I know of a beast. A large hound, its fur as crimson as flame and eyes like stoked embers. It bears three large heads, each of which gnashes jaws filled with teeth as large as your leg. Recover one of the hound’s teeth, that you may wear it around your neck as a sign of your prowess in battle, for it won’t relinquish them willingly.”

The traveler threw back his head. “Very well! Tell me, how will I find this beast?”

“Travel to the west from here for four days” I said. “You’ll arrive at a river. In the hours before sunset, it’ll be shrouded by mist. Wait at the bank, and a ferryman will arrive. He’s an old friend, and if you place this gold coin in his hand he will take you on your way.”

The man who claimed to be Ares plucked the coin from my hand and tucked it into his robes. He offered no hesitation, and strode confidently onward.

Ah Theremis, would that I could tell you some humorous conclusion of this fraud’s epic and recount his shameful return to the town. Yet six weeks have passed and not a word of his escapades has reached me. I’ve traveled from town to town, and none have seen him since he set out, unwittingly, for Hades’ realm.

Perhaps one day, he’ll return. But between you and me, my friend, I doubt it. Even though I’ve no belief in the gods, the traveler certainly did. I wonder if, perhaps, he believed himself truly a hero of his own tale.

I look forward eagerly to my next assignment.

Yours, Dimetrus.

Podcasts and Previews
over 1 year ago – Sat, Jul 29, 2023 at 07:25:51 AM

Hello Argonauts,

Today I've got a preview from our upcoming chapter, but before that I've got two podcasts for you to check out.

The first is an early delve into Trinity Continuum: Aegis right from the end of last year! Episode 238 of the Onyx Pathcast from December 2022 -

Onyx Pathcast Episode 238: Trinity Aegis <link>

This episode delves into some fun early discussions

  • What is Lauren up to?
  • Trinity Aegis!
  • A bit on the setting
  • On the gods in an ancient setting
  • Groups in Aegis
  • Themes and myths
  • Powers
  • Atlantis
  • Character concepts

And then, if we get into the most recent episode, the team revisits the Aegis discussion now that the project is live and being shared.
  • Aegis is on Backerkit!
  • A new line for Trinity Continuum
  • What is ambrosia?
  • A bit on the setting
  • Strange places
  • Culture and societies
  • Character creation
  • Differences from other eras
  • Historical differences
  • Antagonists

I love reading the draft manuscript previews that get posted for backers to read, and I love seeing the game in action (if I get any actual plays, I'll be sure to post them), but I really love listening to the developers and writers discuss their processes and thoughts behind the book.


And speaking of writing and previews, let's get a preview from our next Chapter. Coming Tuesday, we'll have the full draft manuscript of Chapter 3: Inspired Characters, but for now we'll have a small preview.

Inspiration

Inspiration refers to an Inspired character’s ability to harness and control ambrosia’s fate-twisting energy, and the capacity at which they wield it. With it, they are capable of amazing, superhuman feats. Champions display incredible physical strength and wit, and can twist probability in their favor. Oracles’ powers include divination, transformation, and control over the elements. Olympian abilities go even further, wreaking changes on their bodies and minds and allowing them to display a prowess far beyond any mere mortal’s capacity.

Characters in Trinity Continuum: Aegis gain their abilities through contact with ambrosia. This may be through a deliberate action such as bathing in a pool of it, receiving a sip during a ritual, eating foods infused with it, or stepping into a shaft of light where golden particles dance. Characters can also experience ambrosia’s effects without understanding what it is they’ve encountered. They might walk through a meadow covered in golden mist and inhale its particles, or sleep on ambrosia-infused ground and awaken refreshed but unaware of the shimmering veil that blanketed them while they slumbered. How much ambrosia one imbibes doesn’t dictate whether the character becomes a Champion, Oracle, or Olympian, though it’s a common misconception that further contact might introduce additional changes. In fact, three people could submerge themselves in the same pool of ambrosia at the same time and each come out a different type of Inspired individual.



Champions

Humanity has always had heroes. Back to the first stories recited around nighttime fires, back to the first figures inscribed upon cave walls, and back further still, disappearing into mysterious darkness that the first people walked from. But eventually humanity’s heroes carried food to feed the many in cleverly woven baskets instead of overfull hands; eventually they raised knives of flint and fire-hardened lances to hunt and drive off the beasts of the land. Possibilities expanded as civilizations grew. Inspired to greater and greater things, new heroes’ stories echoed even louder than those of their predecessors. Then fire fell from the sky, bringing with it the golden liquid that kindled inner Gifts, and the first Champions opened their eyes after drinking deep.

Champions are Inspired individuals favored by fortune. Their luck saves them from anything from a rampaging bull to an awkward situation. They’re capable of great athletic prowess, creating works of inspiring art, and clever thinking.

Champions are often aware that they are now different, and recognize their potential to impact the world. Some credit their newfound abilities to fate, and seek to fulfill or surmount what they perceive as their destiny. Others attribute it to the will of the gods, and work to honor, propitiate, or emulate them. The comfortable and self-assured may ascribe their newfound abilities to superior birth or other supernatural musings, using it to justify their actions. Many test their own limits as they try to fit their Gifts into their philosophical understanding of the world.

Champions enjoy all the benefits of Talents from the Trinity Continuum Core (p. 151-155.) They may Dramatically Edit, purchase Inspired Gifts, and benefit from Facets, but ambrosial changes push them even further. Their Gifts reflect greater abilities, and their Dramatic Editing options go beyond those of Talents. Furthermore, their awareness of their ability to affect probability is greater, no matter what name they give to outrageous fortune and endless possibility; a Champion understands on some level what it means to swear a Mighty Oath, and that the Twists of Fate they’re subjected to are more than mundane humanity must contest with.

A Champion’s inherent Inspired nature doesn’t fully owe itself to ambrosia, but their particular relationship to Inspiration is certainly mediated by the golden gift. Maybe other circumstances could result in Champions rising in other situations, but ambrosia has seen their creation en masse during the time of Aegis. Many are aware of the gift ambrosia has given them, and some seek to master it further, but further evolution or transformation must be by their own hand: ambrosia has already given them the gift of living as their best, most Inspired selves.

This isn’t to say that Champions have no further use for ambrosia. With access to the miraculous substance, intentionally directed diversions of fate such as invoking the Morai are possible, and it serves as an endlessly malleable and useful catalyst in the construction of wonders and raising of fantastical creatures. But rare is the Champion who seeks to glut themselves on it; for those who wish to indulge in worldly pleasures, many prefer unwatered wine, a fresh rack of lamb, or lovely musicians playing the pipes. Ambrosia is a tool, albeit one of incredible power and mysterious origin.



Oracles

Oracles display psychic abilities such as controlling the weather, predicting the future, and wielding powers of transformation. Many act as advisors to people in power, whether that’s whispering in a queen’s ear or advising a general on the evil of battle. They’re revered priestesses in busy temples, or sorceresses living in remote seaside hovels. They understand the give-and-take that such abilities require. Everything has a price; sometimes you declare what you’re willing to pay, sometimes fate sets its own. Some destinies are beyond an Oracle’s ability to predict or thwart, but this doesn’t make them shy away from the power at their fingertips. It’s a matter of knowing that if something is worth doing, you must know what you’re willing to give up to do it.

Oracles often literally shape the world around them. Combined with other reagents and rituals, they use ambrosia to affect changes in their environment, people in their vicinity, and even what a person’s future holds. Their magic — or their manipulation of probability — helps them knit flesh, conjure storms, and lay curses upon those who cross them.

When an Oracle uses her powers for another person’s benefit, she rarely does so for free. Her expertise comes at a cost, and it’s only fair to ask the same level of commitment from her client as she puts in herself. She may set someone seeking her wisdom with a task to prove their worth, whether that’s an arduous climb to the rocky promontory from which she’ll cast her spell, a quest to procure a component from a dangerous beast, or a riddle they must first solve. Those who seek an Oracle’s wisdom aren’t guaranteed clear or easy answers. The future is always changing, after all, and even armed with foreknowledge seekers often stumble into their own fates. Those who dismiss an Oracle’s advice do so at their own peril; many a kingdom has fallen because its leader didn’t like what he heard.

The Price of Power
Oracles’ power, to outside observers, seems mystical or god-given. What Oracles consider the price of power, or the whims of fate, is in truth the result of their manipulating probability. Their abilities are transformative in nature, manipulating weather, elements, and biology in ways that wouldn’t occur naturally. So calling up a great storm on a clear day risks capsizing ally’s ship or delaying a critical message from arriving on time, even as the storm stymies an enemy’s fleet.

Oracles’ Gifts often require a ritual or reagents to perform, and sometimes even rely on the availability of ambrosia. Often, this is a narrative device set to represent the sacrifice an Oracle makes in exchange for manipulating fate. However, for particularly powerful Gifts, if an Oracle doesn’t have the proper reagents, time, or access to ambrosia to activate them, the Storyguide may elect to add a Complication to the roll reflecting an unintended consequence that will happen if it’s not bought off. On a botch, rather than adding Momentum to the pool, the Oracle’s player and the Storyguide may work together to decide on a narratively and dramatically appropriate consequence.

Olympian

To be an Olympian is to stand above.

Olympians are more than human; while young ones may still appear mortal, from the moment the divinely transformative ambrosia passes their lips, they are as different from a baseline mortal as a lion is to an ant. The story of an Olympian is the stuff of myth. Theirs are stories that will be told again and again as their personal legend grows and they challenge the powerful and reshape the world to suit their vision. Theirs is a story of epic conquest, divine odyssey, and riveting discovery.

It’s also a story of ascension and growth, as the mortal-turned-god comes to grips with their newfound might. As they understand their abilities and wield them with more confidence, the trials of their youth fall like wheat cut by the sword that is their majesty. The world shakes with their footsteps, nations fall at their mere suggestion, and walls crumble with the slightest touch. However, this incredible power often comes at an incredible price: The life of a mortal is difficult to maintain when those around you look to you as a god. An Olympian may find herself not only beloved by but responsible for more people than she ever imagined she’d meet, or she may discover those same people fear her instead; either way, her relationship to the community she once knew and considered herself a part of changes drastically.

Whether they discard their humanity with glee and abandon and embrace their role as a force of nature, or cling to it like a sailor thrown from their ship clings to driftwood in a raging storm, the outcome is usually the same. Just as a king cannot be a peasant, one cannot be man and god forever. The Olympian will forever stand apart from those they once knew as kin, and that distance grows as the Olympian grows in puissance. The only question is whether she defies the gods of old and becomes a benevolent deity or follows the well-tread path of cruelty, envy, and pettiness of those who came before.

Mechanics of an Olympian
The exposure to ambrosia made massive changes to the Olympians; their bodies are more muscular, their minds quicker, and their charisma undeniable. They are uniformly difficult to injure and faster to heal. They can do everything from elemental manipulation to leaping tall buildings to controlling the emotions of others. They get into all the trouble that the gods of Greek mythology can get into without as much of the celestial baggage.

Olympians’ Gifts are often more overt than those of Champions or Oracles. They need not dance to call the rains; nor do they beg Zeus to grant them lightning, and they don’t need to do pushups to gain the strength to sunder walls. They may believe their strength comes from exercise, their elemental powers a gift from the gods, or their knowledge of weather comes from being well informed. They throw lightning; they do not call it. They punch walls down; they do not ask them to fall.

While training can encourage certain Gifts to manifest, many others emerge in times of crisis. As a tempest bears down upon their people, they may find that their powers allow them to control storms. An Olympian faced with an army may find they have an infinite capacity for martial prowess. Any Olympian can manifest any Gift, but a mix of personality and circumstance determines which ones do manifest.



So just some pieces of a larger manuscript. As mentioned, on Tuesday backers will have access to Chapter 3 and Chapter 4 from the book and be able to read the complete text.  I'll be back on Monday with some more awesome Aegis fiction. 

So, as always, please continue to spread the word about this campaign. Share in your social circles and on your social media, and let's keep up the pace and see if we can knock out another Stretch Goal or two over the next few weeks!

#Aegis
#TrinityContinuum



Ambition
over 1 year ago – Fri, Jul 28, 2023 at 06:50:08 AM

Ambition

Standing on a mountainside, Biriam looked over his future and balanced it against the blade of his axe. He wished, would that I am remembered. The edge was chipped — blunted and carved with the lives it’d ended. He called it Ambition. Biriam honed it, polishing the blade, working it with whetstones, hoping with each swing to carve his path into the future.

“Wake up,” curled a coarse tone. “Sunrise.”

Biriam sat up amidst furs and fleece. Darkness ebbed and thin rays of morning intruded from the tent flaps. He loathed the morning; awakening brought an urge to flinch, intuiting a boot colliding with his ribs to urge him to the day’s work. But those days were shorn away on the edge of his axe, sacrificed to Ambition. Yet still in the in-between waking moments they stirred.

He shoved aside the tent’s flap and surveyed his warriors.

Striding among his men, family bought by coin and the shared dreams of Biriam’s future, he sipped from a water trough which reflected crimson skies the shade of the evening’s soil. He thrust the metal cup into the hands of Garades, a red-haired youth from Nador who’d pledged a blood oath to the gang and was all but Biriam’s battle-brother. “Drink well,” he said.

Garades smiled, clapping his war-leader on his ox-wide shoulder. Biriam met the smile, held it in like a breath. He prayed it would never tarnish like the metal cup had.

He loved Garades, loved all his battle-brothers with a heart forged in seeped, shared blood. The youngster passed the cup back, and Biriam passed it to another: Perius, the fleet, the horse-rider. “We push forward tonight again,” said the warlord. He knew any one of his family would give their lives for his dream; their dream.

And yet, he’d sacrifice any upon the edge of his axe-blade to achieve his Ambition.

During the long afternoon, when the sun crawled, he sat and schemed their siege. They’d watched the caravans for months as they extracted materials from the starfall. The wagons brought their goods behind the walls of an encampment two leagues distant, where the students of the gods kept them.

Perius drew in the sand, parting grains with a sharp-tipped stick. On one side, the fields and hill and Biriam’s warband; on the other, their destiny. “They call themselves Lions,” he said, crouching by the pictogram.

“We’ve killed lions before,” laughed Garades. “I’ve seen Biriam choke the life from one.”

“Probably a cub,” Perius joked. Amusement rippled through them.

“Be serious,” scolded Biriam. The fighters, like children, hushed at their father’s word. “These are no cubs we fight.”

He didn’t need to remind them of the severity of the mission. Had it been any other, he’d have welcomed the levity. But for this, he would brook no nonsense.

The warlord Biriam’s past was a millstone, a weight paid in shed blood. Even into his fortieth year he kept his hair cut short, like he had in his days in the Athenian military. A half-decade of banditry had followed. Many of the oldest in his family came from those days, and they’d fostered hopes of assailing mercantile roads for a comfortable life. Yet still, Biriam dreamed of more.

The evening met Biriam’s crew drenched in blood. His axe-blade led the way, severing dusk and night as the sun slipped low. A cry rose from his ranks, the fighters eager for more. They’d planned for a siege, one which would shatter the encampment’s defenses. Bitter bile rose in the warrior’s throat. “Break the walls!” he screamed.

To his left, a battle-brother clashed with a defender: Adros, an older comrade. He’d joined Biriam’s retinue shortly after the star fell, had sworn his blood oath soon afterward. Adros, who amused the band on spring evenings plucking drunkenly on his lyre. His opponent was formidable. Adros fell, his body ripped from shoulder to gut by spear-point. Biriam clenched his teeth, steeling himself to hold firm, urge forward. A section of wall collapsed into rubble beneath his charge. He rose, buoyed by rage, cresting a wave of his battle-brothers.

As the wall fell, he smashed Ambition against the skulls of two defenders, severing them like eggs, spilling crimson yolk. He laughed, remembering Adros. “These are no lions!” he yelled — it was performative, he knew, emphatic boastful confidence to drive his fighters on. “They call themselves the Society of the Lion, but look how they die!”

In his youth, they’d called him the Beast Biriam, for his brutality. Death walked with him, close enough his family knew to stay several steps aside lest they be struck down by his Ambition. They wouldn’t be the first to do so. Such had marred his youthful days in service of Athenia’s King, a savagery which earned him the loathing of his fellows-at-arms, a winding road of butchery which led to exile. Now, among his family, he retained his discipline — but not at the expense of his rage.

As the robe-clad Lions died, he beckoned his family. “In, through the break!” he bellowed, “Now!”

Garades and Perius hurried to his side. The youngster leaned down, scooping up scrolls which littered an upturned table. “I hoped we’d find fighters here,” he said, “not these scholars. There’s no fight in them.”

Biriam snorted. “Don’t congratulate yourself yet. Some here have turned their stolen treasures to their own benefit. That’s why we liberate it.”

Garades threw the papers down. “Their fortress is a vault. We’ll find what we seek in its depths.”

The gods did not choose the Lions, Biriam decided as the band broke door by door. At his lead, his battle-brothers put scholars and students to the blade, until the paving stones of the fortress ran slick with blood. “Burn the papers,” said Biriam. He closed his eyes; the smell invaded his senses. With each step, he’d feared judgment; he wondered if he’d break upon Hades’ branches. Certainly, if he didn’t achieve his ambition. And if he did, he’d best Hades himself.

Resistance met the fighters as they breached the fortress, delving deeper into its heart. Combatants armed with blades, roused from the suddenness of the invasion, broke like waves upon Biriam’s onslaught. Flames quickly enveloped much of the building’s outer rings, sealing their escape and stemming the rout. They fell like stunted trees broken in thunderstorms. Only as the band pushed inwards did they meet true resistance.

A young fighter, Biriam did not truly remember his name, fell first to the empowered. The man who slew him wielded might unlike any mortal; he was muscled like an ox, blazing each step with impossible speeds. Several of Biriam’s kin turned to flee as the air within the hallways turned thick and black as night, enshrouding them in panic.

“Hold firm!” he yelled, clutching the throat of one who ran from the Lions.

In that moment, Biriam was ready to slit the man’s throat. His combatants needed to fear him more than they feared those who’d claimed the god’s might. It’d take fear for those who trusted him to hurl themselves into death itself; this was the price his ambition demanded.

As the fortress burned, the band met the Lions. Biriam heaved, clefting atwain those who stood against him, but only after they’d first broken themselves against the warlord’s brothers. As the ground grew uneven with the bodies of felled fighters, Biriam wondered how many mortal lives it’d take to drown those touched by gods.

The weight of lives ended balanced on either side of his axe’s edge: his family on one side, those of the Society of the Lion on the other. A cost to be paid, souls to outweigh those who’d stolen the bounty of the starfall. Yes, the Society claimed to protect it; Biriam knew their claims. They’d shuffled away the gifts of the gods, hidden it in vaults like this to study and understand. Yet they’d keep what secrets they’d found from him.

He brought his axe down again and again. He imagined he was hacking apart the lies, bringing mortal judgment to these Lions who thought themselves the gods’ equals like Prometheus stealing the flame. A fire which, as far as the warlord was concerned, should be his.

Few of his family survived the onslaught. Amidst ruin, ashen ground, and bloodied, crumbling walls, the warlord emerged to walk, step by aching step, to the vault. The door crunched and shattered, its guardians rent apart. He laughed, shoving masonry aside. In the center sat several oaken chests, anointed with carved sigils. He pulled a lid open; it resisted to the last. In spite, Biriam tore at it, splintering the wood, twisting the locks. He wouldn’t be denied. Not after coming so far. Not after having paid such a price.

Within were flasks, ornately decorated and hewn from fine calf leather. They smelled slightly of sunlight and honey.

Here, he thought, the nectar, beverage of the gods. He clutched one flask, pulling at the lid. The might of the gods swirled within, the power to do as he willed. He drank in his dreams. With his ambition realized, he’d be the one to divide life and death on the edge of his blade; not the Fates, not the gods.

He drank thirstily, eager to absorb his destiny.

Heat burned within, raging like a fire, like his fury. It swelled to a crescendo. He stumbled, dropping the flask. His body became power itself, shifting, might and strength combined. The roof of the chamber broke apart against the bursting corona of his might. Searing flames ignited in his eyes. Biriam — or the man he once was — evaporated. In an eternity lingering for a fragmented moment, he felt the greater part of himself seared away.

Instead, there was only his purest sense: a singular thought, the center of the flame which had been him. In that moment, he was reborn.

As he stumbled free from the ruins, survivors fled. The faces of those he couldn’t remember fully turned to him in horror, their bodies small, fragile. He brought one of his hooves down upon them. Any kinship he’d once shared with them was half-forgotten, the memory of a dream. He looked into the night and, for a moment, tried to remember what that word which sat on his tongue — ambition — had ever truly meant. Whatever it was, it was meaningless now. All that mattered was appetite.

He howled. Somewhere in the mists, the Fates laughed.