[Deity] Where the falling angel meets the rising ape...

[The Vorpal Tribble]

For my campaign setting (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showthread.php?p=10251820#post10251820)...



Saga
Intermediate God (Neutral Good)
http://oi52.tinypic.com/34dh4ya.jpg

"Humans tell stories to be human - to be the place where the falling angel meets the rising ape."

Death, Hogfather


Since the the whole of creation was formed and life grew upon the firmament, there was one to write of their life and compose a song to each of them. Saga is the writer of lives and the singer of the songs. A person's life, no matter how mundane, is filled with silent miracles and desperate evils. She captures the essence of these acts and puts them into the Book of Life where all things that strive and grow, hate and love are written. She wants above all a life of meaning for the creatures of creation, long and full where all reach their potential.
Her favorite are of course sentient peoples who are not bound by instinct, but have risen above it. Their lives are therefore unpredictable and intriguing.

It is Saga who first suggested the rise of humans and encouraged the mating of the Nymph Mother and the Great Wise Ape. She blessed the first children and all that came from them. Since then she has marveled at what mankind has achieved, and cried bitter tears at the horrors they have committed. Still, despite this, they and those of human blood are dear to her heart.

The freedom she wished them to have was met sceptically by all others of the Heavens, but so too did they wish to see what would become of mankind, what their potential, imagination, and adaptability would bring about. If any would consider a way to prevent the end of the world, it would be they. Thus saved would be the other races of the world by association.

For better or worse, whether they lived or died, it would be worthwhile, and something that was striven for. It would be a glorious end, and then they could come home to the Heavens. But if they lived, how much stronger would they be for it, and the tale all the grander.
Though cynical minds say all Saga wishes is the drama, this is not so, for she deeply loves all she writes and composes for, wishing only the best for them. Then, when they have done all they can, they will rest. Such a philosophy she tries to instill in her worshipers, to strive and grow and struggle, to seek out new horizons, but also to preserve what is right and good, and offer a hand to others. Adventurers and mothers, the common man and the hero, all are equally blessed by Saga for their efforts.

Saga is a particularly fierce competitor of the Elder Evils who would wish to halt all stories, and burn the pages. To remain untold forever.
Her particular enemy is the Gurgling God (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showthread.php?t=138921), who sings a dirge of death instead of the rightful lyrics of life.

Saga's symbol is a pair of hands, either spread out as a book, or thumbs hooked to make the sign of a winged creature. Her favorite weapon is the short sword.

Portfolio: Stories, song, home, hearth, love, potential, heroes, and humanoids.

Domains: Courage, Family, Glory, Good, Song (http://www.dandwiki.com/wiki/Song_%283.5e_Cleric_Domain%29), Travel

Cleric Traing: The clergy of Saga are brave, often idealistic folk who wander from town to town or home to home, going wherever they are needed. They are generally tested in some manner during this wandering, put in situations where they must show their courage and integrity. Those who are weak of heart or with a cruel streak are rarely allowed to continue within the hierarchy of the church unless they show signs of overcoming such weaknesses. However, within the church of Saga, any may stand to speak their peace or tell their tell, and while doing so has the respect according to any cleric.

Quests: Devout worshipers of Saga are encouraged to spend at least one year of their life devoted to wandering Hearth in search of good deeds to perform and take an account of the land. Facing foes monsters, surviving the elements and protecting the weak usually encourages one to grow and discover themselves. At the end of this great quest many will hear Saga's personal song for them being sung. The melody that describes their soul and self. When this ocburs they know that she is pleased with their service, and allowed to return home, or to wherever they feel they belong.

Prayers: Saga is particularly fond of rousing song and hymn, though listens foremost to the silent, desperate prayers of the heart.

Temples: Saga's places of worship are usually acoustically designed constructions where one can speak of their personal journey through life and the coming to Saga and all may hear. Singing together in chorus however is what the churches are truly constructed for, where even the weakest voice may meld and give strength to the song.

[unosarta]

Who are Saga's chief worshipers? Bards, historians, storytellers, travelers?

Also, this god really makes me think that Illumians would be pretty cool in Hearth. Instead of being humans who had words of magic imprinted into their soul, they could be the creations of Saga, whose souls are literally made out of stories.

Also, I really want to make a Storysinger prestige class now. Is that fine by you?

[Silverscale]

Is this fir a particular setting or would you mind if I used Her in my games? Not that I have any at the moment but She is awesome enough that I'd use Her if I had a campaign to run.


Also, this god really makes me think that Illumians would be pretty cool in Hearth. Instead of being humans who had words of magic imprinted into their soul, they could be the creations of Saga, whose souls are literally made out of stories.Now you've made me want to go back and read up on Illumians.

[The Vorpal Tribble]

Who are Saga's chief worshipers? Bards, historians, storytellers, travelers?
Basically she is the main god of non-Licc humans and Okilei specifically. The above as well, though not really historians.


Also, this god really makes me think that Illumians would be pretty cool in Hearth. Instead of being humans who had words of magic imprinted into their soul, they could be the creations of Saga, whose souls are literally made out of stories.
Naw, never really much cared for Illumians and the main point of humans coming to be is she didn't make them. Just encouraged those who would later produce them.


Also, I really want to make a Storysinger prestige class now. Is that fine by you?
May have it covered: Storyhost (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showthread.php?t=27651)


Is this fir a particular setting or would you mind if I used Her in my games?
It's specially made for my A Dying Ember campaign (see signature if interested) but you're welcome to introduce her to yours http://www.giantitp.com/forums/images/icons/icon14.gif

[unosarta]

Basically she is the main god of non-Licc humans and Okilei specifically. The above as well, though not really historians.
Ah. You should talk about class prevalence in Hearth sometime. It would be interesting to know how many of each base class are wherever.


Naw, never really much cared for Illumians and the main point of humans coming to be is she didn't make them. Just encouraged those who would later produce them.
Who did create them, then?


May have it covered: Storyhost (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showthread.php?t=27651)
Hm, that is certainly interesting.

My idea was more along these lines (Note: the story itself is to set a context for the character)

“Let me tell you a tale...

There was once a great oak. He was tall, ancient, and beautiful. The other trees marveled at his height. He grew into, up, and above the clouds, intermingling and reaching past. He grew so he could see the sky, forever shrouded in a layer of ice. He grew so he could reach the stars, find the sun, and stretch his branches out. He grew because that was all that he could do, and the only place he could go.

He grew to outrace the death he knew was coming. He grew from desperation.

And he continued to grow. He would grow past every other tree in his forest, and then past the other trees on the continent. Soon, he would grow to be the tallest tree in the whole world. If you looked on the farthest horizon, you could see the tips of his leafy boughs reaching past the rim of the world.

And he kept on growing. He hadn’t spoken to any of the other trees in years. Centuries. They were below, too far away. He missed them.

He was still afraid though.

One day, he felt hands on his trunk. He felt someone touching him, and he grew once more afraid. He trembled, and quaked, fearing that some mortals far, far below had come to cut him down. He feared his demise, once more. He feared the death that he had been outracing.

But the hands didn’t chop. They didn’t cut, or saw. They didn’t destroy. The tree was puzzled. What were they doing there, he thought to himself.

Probably something terrible, he concluded.

But then the hands did something even stranger. They started to climb. All the way, up his trunk. It was at least the arm-span of ten humans, at that point. He felt the little fingers digging deep into his cracked and scarred old bark. He felt the little feet cling to the great surface of him, and he felt the climbing.

It continued. For hours he felt. For days. For weeks. They continued to climb.

Unlike as one would think, trees do not in fact dislike people to climb on them. For a human, it would have been an insatiable itch that needed to be scratched, some terrible curiosity to remove the offender. But trees are patient. Trees love the feeling of someone climbing on them. It makes them feel appreciated.

The climbing continued. The tree would try to help the climber. To create footholds, hand holds. Place to rest. But it could only reach up, always up. It no longer wanted to reach the sky. It no longer wanted to see the sun. It feared the great height to which it had come.

The climber continued.

After a week of climbing, the tree felt the climber reach his leafy crown. He opened his great, green eyes to look at her, and saw a young woman, barely fifteen years old. Her hair was long, flowing and dark brown. Her eyes were open wide, and a wide smile was on her face while she looked to the horizon.

The tree opened his great maw, and spoke to the girl;

‘Why have you come to me, my child?’

The girl turned to look at him, without missing a beat. Her smile widened even more if that were possible. She sat down on one of the branches. It was 9 feet across, and her weight was easily held.

‘I came up here to see the world. You see that place over there?’ She pointed ‘That is where the sun sleeps. His older brother, the moon, wakes upon the suns arrival, to take care of his affairs while the sun rests.’

‘How do you know this, little one? Have you been there?’ The tree looked at her questioningly.

‘No.’ She responded, still staring at the land below. ‘You see the sea?’ She pointed at the vast expanse of blue to the west. ‘There are flesh eating mermaids there. They would skin me alive if they found me.’

‘Have you been there?’

‘Not yet.’ She grinned, and kept staring at the land.

‘Why are you really here?’ asked the great tree, his eyes still watching the girl. Her grin slowly faded.

‘Sometimes I get lonely. Even on our farm, with Ma, and Pa, and Torec. I get lonely. The wind, and the stars, and the moon, and everything. There is just so much. But no one ever understands.’ She stopped for a moment, ‘So I fill it up. I fill up the loneliness with stories. Stories of places that I have never been, and probably never will. And I figured, well, if the nothingness is filled up with stories, how can I be lonely? I can just go listen to a story!’ She turned back to the horizon, her eyes downcast, ‘But no one ever listens. They call me a liar, and a cheat, and lazy.’

‘I will listen to your stories. I too am afraid of the nothingness.’ The tree said slowly.

So she filled up the nothingness around him, with brightness and song. She filled up the nothingness with hope, and glory, and adventure and delights. She filled up the nothingness with fear and hate, pain and destruction. She filled up the nothingness until there was nothing left to be afraid of. Then she told some more stories.

She is still up there, with the oak, telling her stories. If you look to the west, where the sun sleeps, where his older brother, the moon, wakes upon the suns arrival, to take care of his affairs while the sun rests. If you look to the west, across the greatest seas, you can see his leafy bows, if you strain your eyes and look closely. And if you can look just right, you might see her up there, filling the nothingness up with story.”

The children around the old woman sat silently for but a moment, and then broke out into cheers and claps, and great guffaws filled the square. The old woman had amassed a large crowd around herself, as she told the stories. She sat hunched over, smiling guilelessly at the little children. Every so often, an adult would drop some coins in front of her. She would smile graciously at the kindness offered, and sweep the coins off the ground. Then, she would go on to tell another story.

When the hours passed, and the crowds had left the square, and the sun was going to the west to rest, and let his brother take over, she moved to a back alley. Her eyes crinkled and her mouth spread into a lipped smile, as she went to the children who lived in the shadows. She motioned for them to come out, and thirty small, dirty children crept in front of her.

“Thank you for listening to my stories, little ones. I cannot truly thank you, but I do have something here to pay you back. A good listener is always hard to come by.” She smiled, and lay the coins down in front of the children. Their hair was soot black, and their faces dirty and sunken. Their eyes were hard, harder than the stone upon which they stood. Their clothes were tatters and rags, barely held together, and what skin showed through was sunken. The old woman could see the ribs of several of the children as they stooped to pick up their coins.

“Thank you, great lady.” The children said.

“No,” the woman replied, “thank the great story teller. Thank the Singing Lady. And thank you, for listening to an old woman’s stories.” She bowed to them, and then came forward, and kissed the head of each child, one at a time. She waved them off, and then walked off into the night. The children looked off to the west, and squinted hard. They could almost see the tips of a great tree. When they looked back for the old woman, she was gone. They took the coins, and raced off to the temple to the Singer. They knew what stories they would be telling to the priests.


The Storyhost is certainly interesting, but I was thinking more straight bard, maybe bard/cleric.

[The Vorpal Tribble]

Who did create them, then?
See the Timeline on the first page :smallwink:



My idea was more along these lines (Note: the story itself is to set a context for the character)
That was pretty awesome right there. Would definitely like to see something done with that.

[unosarta]

See the Timeline on the first page :smallwink:

I think your setting just became even more awesome. I feel stupid for not reading that before.


That was pretty awesome right there. Would definitely like to see something done with that.

I'll try to write it up. Is it okay if I use Saga as the patron god? Or at least the predominant god worshiped?

[The Vorpal Tribble]

I'll try to write it up. Is it okay if I use Saga as the patron god? Or at least the predominant god worshiped?
Go forth and homebrew with my blessing!

[Lord_Gareth]

"Humans tell stories to be human - to be the place where the falling angel meets the rising ape."

Death, Hogfather

[The Vorpal Tribble]

"Humans tell stories to be human - to be the place where the falling angel meets the rising ape."

Death, Hogfather
That's the quote I was trying to recall. You da man.

Think I'll stick it up top.

[Seraphiel]

You always impress me with the depth and beauty of your homebrews. :3


Also, unosarta. That was awesome. Awesome.

[unosarta]

You always impress me with the depth and beauty of your homebrews. :3
I concur most heartily.


Also, unosarta. That was awesome. Awesome.

Thank you so very much! I really appreciate it. :smallsmile:

[The Tygre]

It's absolutely beautiful. :smallcool:

[Debihuman]

This was a joy to read. I wish more homebrews were this good.

Debby

[The Vorpal Tribble]

Thanks all.

Best thing about D&D deities? Generally pure fluff, and no crunch to worry about :smallwink:

[LOTRfan]

Unless you're Bhu/Deities and Demigods Fanatic. :smallwink:

[The Vorpal Tribble]

Unless you're Bhu/Deities and Demigods Fanatic. :smallwink:
Meh, my gods don't have no steenkin' stats.

[unosarta]

Rule -1 of Dungeons and Dragons; give something stats, and the players will find some way to kill it and/or use it to their advantage.

[lightningcat]

Meh, my gods don't have no steenkin' stats.

Truth to that.

If you don't mind, Saga would be a wonderful addition my own setting. :smallsmile:

[Debihuman]

Meh, my gods don't have no steenkin' stats.

LOL. And I'm the complete opposite, I actually like to read those kinds of stats. It seems like nobody ever makes proxies or petitioners though. Divine minions make for excellent NPCs.

Debby

[LOTRfan]

Personally, I love statting out the divine minions. I make a three planar allies for all my gods, one for each spell.

Of course, I would like to expand that a little, but it wouldn't make much sense for non-summoned divine minions in a fiend-infested jungle.

[Super_Dave]

I really like this. The quotation by Death gives me goosebumps!