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<blockquote data-quote="Shemeska" data-source="post: 2714603" data-attributes="member: 11697"><p>I have a cleric/necromancer in my own campaign who might be something like that. He and Factol Skall of the Dustmen (of Planescape fame) were collaborators very early on during the mortal life of them both, but ideological differences gradually saw them drift apart once Skall embraced lichdom and fully defined his philosophy of the 'True Death'. This other person, eventually referring to himself simply as 'Death', migrated to the Astral where he took a path not altogether unlike that taken by the entity once known as Anubis (before his transformation into the Guardian of Dead Gods). Currently he isn't 'alive' but he isn't 'undead' either, appearing as a softly glowing, robed humanoid figure that constantly sheds streams of insubstantial, gossamer silvery light. I've left him fairly undefined as to what he actually has become, though I know just what he wants and where he's going.</p><p></p><p></p><p>And I had something else involving members of the Planescape faction known as the Bleak Cabal. This group feels that there is no purpose to the multiverse. There is no underlying structure, and there is no grand scheme or purpose to anything. In the absence of meaning, you must find and define a meaning for existance within yourself. They tend to be a dour lot, and eventually a good number of them go completely insane, unable to cope with the idea of a meaningless world. This madness and mental collapse, known as the Grim Retreat, has claimed three of the past Factols of the Faction, and two of them have developed a strange, frightening level of innate psionic ability since their incarcertation. Esmus and Tollysalmon, a human and a githyanki respectively, are more or less a drastic reversal of the typical Bleaker Mindset. Look at the bleakers as Existentialists taken to the extreme. On one hand you can be overwhelmed by the lonely, purposeless world around you, or you can suddenly come to the realization that there are no external rules. There is nothing holding you down, and the universe is there for you and you along to work to your will. Out of the ashes of their own mental collapse in the Grim Retreat, they have become something else entirely.</p><p></p><p>Tollysalmon has escaped on one occasion, and eventually returned to her cell willingly. It seems increasingly obvious that her incarceration in the Cabal's Criminally and Irretreivably Insane Ward is entirety willing on her part, and she could leave at any time she wished, but doesn't for reasons unknown.</p><p></p><p>Here's a brief little episode of what happened when one of the PCs in that game encountered her last week.</p><p></p><p></p><p>"Don't listen to L'har, he's insane." She said, narrowing her eyes and glancing to the other Factol's cell where he huddled, moaning and whimpering.</p><p></p><p>"They locked him away because he's barmy, in the grips of The Retreat." Tollysalmon continued. "Me? They lock me away because they fear me."</p><p></p><p>The air around her head wavered and distorted, like the lines of force emenating from the pole of a magnet. They drifted it and out of focus, extending from her body and into the cell around her, glowing white in the darkness, casting her into shadow except for her eyes. Ever potent, ever piercing, they cut like a knife out of the gloom.</p><p></p><p>"Do you fear me?"</p><p></p><p>She curled her lips into a thin smile. Back in his cell, L'Har began to cry.</p><p></p><p>"Everything is meaningless." She said, sitting down on the cold stone of her cell. "Nothing has a purpose you know. Imagine it. Imagine that fully and come to believe it, because it is true. When your mind can encompass that, it is a harrowing, terrible realization, that your mind cannot accept, does not wish to accept. And then, you break."</p><p></p><p>The light in the hallway outside of her cell was growing dim, and the mad factol was smiling as it did.</p><p></p><p>"You break utterly and completely. You are not unlike a larvae set upon the Gray Waste. The Waste slowly devours the petitioner, saps at its will, consumes its passion and emotions, sucking it dry and ultimately leaving nothing behind."</p><p></p><p>She was still sitting there, but she seemed closer. It must have been a trick of the light and nothing more. But it was unnerving, and with every word dropped from her lips the distance seemed to close like the space of the cell was constricting in upon itself.</p><p></p><p>"But," She said. "Some refuse this fate. A scant few transcend their agony, the hollow nothingness around them, and they embrace their pain and their misery. We, in the depths of the Grim Retreat, in some odd parallel to the Waste, meaningless as that is, we allow the void of nothingness that is this universe to devour us, consume us, destroy every bit of what we were."</p><p></p><p>She was definately closer. It was no trick of the light. He eyes and the lines of force that rippled away from her head like a perverse halo of a saint or the corona of a dying star, they were glowing fiercely in the darkness, even as the gloom only increased in starker contrast.</p><p></p><p>"Please..." L'har whispered plaintively. "Make it stop. Get it out of my head... telling me things... none of it is real... Get.Out...please..."</p><p></p><p>The surface of Tollysalmon's cell door was cold. He hadn't noticed that he had approached so closely to her. His hands were reaching out, gripping the bars. He didn't remember consciously doing that. The Factol looked up at him and smiled, an expression just as cold as the iron in his hands.</p><p></p><p>"Most never recover." She said. "They kill themselves in the cold quiet of the night, alone in every way both metaphysical and literal, and they die. Some of us react differently, just like those few larvae that transcend their agony to become Hordelings. And for us of the Cabal, then what do we have left?"</p><p></p><p>Without having appeared to move, she was directly in front of him, standing, gazing into his eyes.</p><p></p><p>"We have become that void, and it hungers." She said. "I hunger, for that is what I have..."</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Shemeska, post: 2714603, member: 11697"] I have a cleric/necromancer in my own campaign who might be something like that. He and Factol Skall of the Dustmen (of Planescape fame) were collaborators very early on during the mortal life of them both, but ideological differences gradually saw them drift apart once Skall embraced lichdom and fully defined his philosophy of the 'True Death'. This other person, eventually referring to himself simply as 'Death', migrated to the Astral where he took a path not altogether unlike that taken by the entity once known as Anubis (before his transformation into the Guardian of Dead Gods). Currently he isn't 'alive' but he isn't 'undead' either, appearing as a softly glowing, robed humanoid figure that constantly sheds streams of insubstantial, gossamer silvery light. I've left him fairly undefined as to what he actually has become, though I know just what he wants and where he's going. And I had something else involving members of the Planescape faction known as the Bleak Cabal. This group feels that there is no purpose to the multiverse. There is no underlying structure, and there is no grand scheme or purpose to anything. In the absence of meaning, you must find and define a meaning for existance within yourself. They tend to be a dour lot, and eventually a good number of them go completely insane, unable to cope with the idea of a meaningless world. This madness and mental collapse, known as the Grim Retreat, has claimed three of the past Factols of the Faction, and two of them have developed a strange, frightening level of innate psionic ability since their incarcertation. Esmus and Tollysalmon, a human and a githyanki respectively, are more or less a drastic reversal of the typical Bleaker Mindset. Look at the bleakers as Existentialists taken to the extreme. On one hand you can be overwhelmed by the lonely, purposeless world around you, or you can suddenly come to the realization that there are no external rules. There is nothing holding you down, and the universe is there for you and you along to work to your will. Out of the ashes of their own mental collapse in the Grim Retreat, they have become something else entirely. Tollysalmon has escaped on one occasion, and eventually returned to her cell willingly. It seems increasingly obvious that her incarceration in the Cabal's Criminally and Irretreivably Insane Ward is entirety willing on her part, and she could leave at any time she wished, but doesn't for reasons unknown. Here's a brief little episode of what happened when one of the PCs in that game encountered her last week. "Don't listen to L'har, he's insane." She said, narrowing her eyes and glancing to the other Factol's cell where he huddled, moaning and whimpering. "They locked him away because he's barmy, in the grips of The Retreat." Tollysalmon continued. "Me? They lock me away because they fear me." The air around her head wavered and distorted, like the lines of force emenating from the pole of a magnet. They drifted it and out of focus, extending from her body and into the cell around her, glowing white in the darkness, casting her into shadow except for her eyes. Ever potent, ever piercing, they cut like a knife out of the gloom. "Do you fear me?" She curled her lips into a thin smile. Back in his cell, L'Har began to cry. "Everything is meaningless." She said, sitting down on the cold stone of her cell. "Nothing has a purpose you know. Imagine it. Imagine that fully and come to believe it, because it is true. When your mind can encompass that, it is a harrowing, terrible realization, that your mind cannot accept, does not wish to accept. And then, you break." The light in the hallway outside of her cell was growing dim, and the mad factol was smiling as it did. "You break utterly and completely. You are not unlike a larvae set upon the Gray Waste. The Waste slowly devours the petitioner, saps at its will, consumes its passion and emotions, sucking it dry and ultimately leaving nothing behind." She was still sitting there, but she seemed closer. It must have been a trick of the light and nothing more. But it was unnerving, and with every word dropped from her lips the distance seemed to close like the space of the cell was constricting in upon itself. "But," She said. "Some refuse this fate. A scant few transcend their agony, the hollow nothingness around them, and they embrace their pain and their misery. We, in the depths of the Grim Retreat, in some odd parallel to the Waste, meaningless as that is, we allow the void of nothingness that is this universe to devour us, consume us, destroy every bit of what we were." She was definately closer. It was no trick of the light. He eyes and the lines of force that rippled away from her head like a perverse halo of a saint or the corona of a dying star, they were glowing fiercely in the darkness, even as the gloom only increased in starker contrast. "Please..." L'har whispered plaintively. "Make it stop. Get it out of my head... telling me things... none of it is real... Get.Out...please..." The surface of Tollysalmon's cell door was cold. He hadn't noticed that he had approached so closely to her. His hands were reaching out, gripping the bars. He didn't remember consciously doing that. The Factol looked up at him and smiled, an expression just as cold as the iron in his hands. "Most never recover." She said. "They kill themselves in the cold quiet of the night, alone in every way both metaphysical and literal, and they die. Some of us react differently, just like those few larvae that transcend their agony to become Hordelings. And for us of the Cabal, then what do we have left?" Without having appeared to move, she was directly in front of him, standing, gazing into his eyes. "We have become that void, and it hungers." She said. "I hunger, for that is what I have..." [/QUOTE]
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