13 - Elysium

seLYSIUM IS OUR KNOWN WORLD. IT IS EVERYTHING WE SEE around us, read about, and experience day-to-day. It is the patchwork of nations, companies, religions, and ideologies which form human society. We have long since abandoned the wilderness, and now reside in sprawling cities. Those who remain in the countryside observe strangers with a watchful gaze. In the urban landscapes, everyone is anonymous. In mosques, churches, and temples, dreams of the divine are kept alive, yet in many places the sacred has been abandoned. Football teams and YouTube celebrities are mankind’s new gods. Politicians, despots, and strict regimes frame our daily lives. Where law and order have lost their grip, our existence degenerates into brush wars and racial conflicts. nations are fragmented, families are torn asunder, and the survivors are eternally changed. Suicide bombers, terrorists, and freedom fighters encounter military drones and corporate mercenaries. Ideological convictions are shaped by distant control rooms and impartial data algorithms. And on all sides and within our midst, our jailers and their servants watch on with cruel interest.

The World We Tame

If we could observe our present existence from the outside, we would see the profound upheaval around us. Our world tumbles beadlong into the future, divided, shattered, and forever under reconstruction. It is trapped in a cycle of darkness and rebirth, light and annibilation. Time and Space twist and tear, a razor blade peeling back the veil of Illusion. Frightening, shifting and screaming, Elysium is shaped by our will. Urbanized sprawls spread as the countryside is depopulated. Freeways trace cobwebs of asphalt over the continents. Chainsaws reduce the primal forests into wood chips, while machines extract minerals from the mountains, pump oil from the earth, and feed the sooty flames of insatiable refineries. The seas and oceans are flooded with plastic and pollutants, choked by the stinking sludge that is building up, condensing like the breath of a blackened lung. The wind farms tower like giants against the dark sky. Pitch black coal is stoked into fires, atoms are split in nuclear plants, and water is tamed in the rivers. Electricity sizzles, arcs, and claws in the netting of power cables. Radio waves and radiation stream through the air, dancing between bouses, and touching the endless silence of space. The Internet’s fiery network sneaks into our dreams, into the depths of the primordial soul, and even further beyond. Engineering and science are our magic and the world is fasbioned from our unconscious memories of Metropolis.

TΗΕ Cİ⿻廿

Our cities unconsciously emulate Metropolis’ greatness and are interwoven with our primordial home. Their architecture is shaped by thousands upon thousands of wills, constructed of stone, steel, cement, glass, and blood. There are always places to explore. Culverts, bridges, staircases, gateways, streets, alleys, clubs, bars, malls, and tenements with countless, anonymous windows from which watchful eyes stare out. The menacing shadows are somewhat mitigated by our artificial light, but it cannot completely push the darkness aside.

In this melting pot of humanity, we can be anonymous. Our presence is taken for granted and no one poses any Questions. We are surrounded by the faceless masses. Creatures can exist in our midst without our knowledge. If we ever stopped to look, we might notice the cracks in our existence: the curious metal door in the building’s facade, the dimly lit staircase leading upwards, the alley that looks different and alien as though it did not belong there.

The city provides life and energy, but is also ruthless and indifferent. If you’re not on your guard, you can easily be shredded to pieces by anything from gang violence to governing officials, from intolerant residents to the unforgiving social politics of the elite. Many succumb to the city’s machinations, only to be devoured in the end. Others become the city’s predators and rulers, navigating through the urban wilderness to find their prey and climb up towards power, recognition, and riches. The City is a living entity, constantly in a state of flux. Any alley, staircase, or sewer could be the path to secrets, pleasures, or other worlds.

The City’s Cycle

The night lingers oppressively, acidic rain pouring down. Skyscrapers and bridges are lost amid dense, smoky fog. Neon lights and street lamps can barely keep the darkness at bay. The graffiti is distorted by layers of tags, each different than the last. Janitors tidy up darkened office spaces, each the same as its neighbor, in accordance with meticulous schedules. The clinical glow of fluorescent tubes fills pedestrian tunnels and multistorey car parks. In the hospital’s maternity wards, infants sleep tight in their incubators, waiting for their life in captivity. In the retirement homes, dull eyes stare out into nothingness, enduring diapers and catheters, dentures, and factory-made food without taste and shape before they’re allowed to die. At computer monitors, theaters, and TV sets, empty citizens lose themselves in false dreams.

Cigarette butts lie strewn like dead flies on the pavement. A pungent stench of urine emanates from the alleys. Here and there one might find speckles of blood, a knocked-out tooth, a pair of crushed spectacles. Drag marks lead to a floor drain.

Nightclubs are packed full of sweaty, writhing bodies with barely an inch between them. The beats stir slumbering seeds of divinity. Chemical drugs open the senses, while hands groping beneath clothes set passions free. One wakes up in bed with ex-lovers or complete strangers, not knowing how they got there.

Before the night ends, the garbage trucks beep, followed by the clattering of trash cans being emptied. Pressure washers clean bus shelters, asphalt, and cobblestones. Slowly, more people start to drift along the streets: postal workers, police officers, and latenight revelers on their way back from the club. Children are bussed to school, while their parents struggle to get to work on time. Across the City, individual voices melt into an indistinct murmur. Trains clatter back and forth between destinations. Their riders sit engrossed in their devices. Earphones pull them into the worlds they have chosen for themselves, silencing the voices around them. Our lives are distilled down to a streaming service, yet we cannot jump ahead to see whether the ending is worth having. Many just want to blend in and disappear, yet others need to stand out, considering themselves unique simply because they all wear obscure T-shirts.

The City swelters as the clouds retreat and the sun breaks through the smog. The asphalt is scorching, lips are chapped by thirst, and designer clothes stick to the skin. A pair of swans lie dead in the sludgy channel. The air conditioning strains on with murmurs and growls. Businesspeople, stifling and stressed, crowd the sidewalks. Meetings, cats, food, and children are caught on camera, soon to be be enshrined on social media. New lovers find one another with a swipe, all faint smiles and yearnings for something genuine. →

• In the courts, estranged couples battle over child support and restraining orders. In private schools, the leaders of the future are molded and shaped. Though surrounded by friends and family, veterans are drawn back into the horrors of war in violent flashbacks triggered by a seemingly random noise. At the hospital, the blood test returns positive and a life is destroyed. The madman stands outside the coffee shop with a sign, proclaiming the world is about to end. On TV, the weather map is shown, predicting more heat.

Night falls. In churches and prayer halls, the lost search for something higher begins. At the gyms, people strive for physical perfection. Marriage counsellors attempt to patch up broken relationships and psychologists delve into childhood traumas. Screams of rage and ecstasy echo from the suburbs. Cars are set ablaze in the inner city streets. A gruel bottle is warmed in the microwave oven, while heroin heats up in the dirty spoon. The child suckles, the drug is injected; both get the fix they need. Police sirens, emergency room visits, closed shutters, greasy takeout food, and deadening Netflix. The asphalt is full of cracks. Love and relationships exist in a twilit land between the night shift and the dream, kept alive through cheap wine and compromises.

The nocturnal City has awakened once more. The door is open. You step out.

TНЕ ЛЕФ

With science and mathematics, we construct primitive tools to pierce the veils of Illusion. The Internet is one of these instruments. It is more than a network of computers and server farms, it has become a patbway into our collective unconscious and Limbo’s swirling labyrinths. It is a place of accumulated knowledge and innumerable secrets, but an equal amount distractions and amusements. Hackers, explorers, and prophets make use of this knowledge to unlock entrances, reveal secrets, and change the world.

There is a bidden realm in the depths of the web, where you cannot use search engines or browsers, but must feel your way through in the dark. With its anonymity and shadowy existence, it has become a place where criminals, pleasure-seekers, and cultists are drawn. After one has trudged through the Dark net’s outermost layers of gore, pedophilia, drug and arms sales, black bat backer forums, and illicit registries, they discover even murkier depths. Like Alice tumbling down into Wonderland, explorers should be careful of what they touch, do, and who they talk with. Here in the depths one encounters strange phenomena, users who are not human, and people who have disappeared after they delved too deeply. Curious glitches, private messages from those who should be dead, and sacred rites written in meandering code all appear. In buzzing server farms, the barriers between the dimensions are flung open and inhuman presences stare back at you from the computer screen. Travelling deeper and deeper into the Internet can lead you to the domains of Limbo or the realms of the Dream Princes - and even the outskirts of the Vortex.

The Entrancement of the Net

The web is a fantastic creation, but it is one of the many shackles bolding us captive. We crouch over our phones, computers, and tablets and sink into the electronic dream, refusing to see how the Illusion crumbles all around us. Cute cats, casual games, film clips, and other trivialities serve as temporary distractions. We seek to build new lives and new worlds on social media, where our pixelated avatars can pretend everything is perfect. We voluntarily surrender our true divinity for a piece of plastic regalia and a few twinkling lights. We choose not to look up. We choose not to see. We do not want to deal with the darkness, rejecting the frightening and unfathomable. So we create our own false realities and deny the Truth. When we do this, we are rewarded by our jailers, like obedient pets given treats. We become idols and prophets, who advocate our own captivity and celebrate our imaginary successes.

THE LURE OF ELZSIUM

For many creatures, elysium bolds a curious attraction. It is like a lighthouse on the beach of a misty ocean, whose siren glow can be sensed in the pitch-black night. It is a place pulsating with life, lust, desire, hope, and yearning. Our passions, sorrows, and anger are eternalized in texts, tweets, emails, laughter, and tears. They are like fireflies in the darkness.

Єven though we have had our godhood removed, we still exhibit signs of our divinity. There is something magical about our city lights and the tableau of music, clothes, and food. A cold beer, a TV set with a bundred channels, Internet pages as numerous and odd as thousands of dreams, advertising signs with their flickering images, shopping centers, fast food restaurants, night clubs, and graffiti. Things we shrug our shoulders at and consider mundane bold an enchanting effect over many beings. Elysium bolds great power over them; all its impressions, temptations, and miracles offered up freely. They become enthralled by the melodies from a cell phone, are bypnotized by the scent of an exclusive perfume, weep at the most banal soap opera, and passionately embrace the tactile pleasures of clothing.

Why would a forgotten god want to put on black stockings and a tight dress, go out to a nightclub, and dance until dawn? Why not? Where is the sensuality of sitting in Metropolis’ abandoned balls, where emptiness and silence prevail? In the nightclub, the god exists amid passion, entrancement, and unbridled yearning. Every thrumming beat contains fragments of our divine creative power. The strobe light’s flickering caresses her skin and the dancers around her worship life itself. Here she can be fulfilled. Here she can be seduced and admired. Why accept a sacrificial gift presented on a silver platter by intoning priests when a sacred offering might be made in the form of passionate sex, pressed against the tile wall of the club’s batbroom? These creatures see divinity within us. Some realize who we truly are, concealed inside our shells of meat and bone. They can encounter lovers, philosophers, tyrants, and enemies from thousands of years ago, who peer out from uncomprehending eyes. Some take the opportunity for reconciliation. Others exact their revenge. Maybe there is a certain melancholy to them. Perhaps they are nostalgic for this time, despite our cruel deeds. They still yearn to touch our celestial flame, now extinguished in the world, and realize the Demiurge’s promises are not as beautiful as they initially sounded.

There is a world beyond the reality of Elysium.An entire culture of fantastic and terrifying denizens exists in the city’s long shadows. !In run!down bars of Barcelona’s suburbs,dream magicians meet over chess games,where every move reveals the secrets of Limbo. !Broken creatures wander along North American highways. Under railway bridges and viaducts,they make love pas! sionately.They bathe in the glow of stoplights,their eyes staring hungrily for new prey.Wailing in the night,lapping up blood from the asphalt.Sucking up exhaust fumes and scratching their steel claws against the cement and con! crete,filled by the wills of the Death Angels. !In basements under Rio’s Hospital Vitória,scientists carry out experiments to unweave the shackles of the Illusion. !Children of the Night live amid heroin addicts under the bridges of London.They drink blood from rusty hypodermic needles and sacrifice fat!infused dolls’heads to the black lictor at Sandburn Psychiatric Hospital. !In upscale restaurants in Florence,lictors drink expensive wines from tall,crystal glasses. !The superstar allows himself to be ravaged by something despicable and alien in a Mexico City hotel room,des! perate to retain his creative glow.Rabid fans intone his name outside.The high mass reaches its crescendo.The divine seed is sacrificed. !Something hunts the alleys of central Prague.It hides in dark staircases and writhes its way up the facades.Peo! ple who live in the neighborhood are aware of it.They always walk towards their front doors with their heads bowed low.They do not stop,do not watch,and do not answer questions.Occasionally Metropolis’silhouette can be glimpsed above the city,rising like black mountains. !The gang rape at the Windsor retirement home makes the old woman give birth to a being beyond Death.The catheter tube is torn from her like a second umbilical cord,as the beast crawls out and makes its way down into the salt mines beneath the city. !In Oakwood Heights,the nepharite reaches her rotting, flayed hand out to the little boy.She feels herself trem! bling,hearing her own screams in her ears.His skin is still soft.Hers was,once. !Youths meet at the graves of suicides in Salt Lake City, making pacts with ghosts.They now see aspects of Reality,which remain concealed to others.They have sold their lives for a glimpse of the Truth;they have but fourteen days to live before they reincarnate. !A body lies there for more than 24 hours after an over! dose,only to spring to life from Togarini’s touch.With his needle marks,soiled pants,and badly bruised face, José roams through the tenement block in Caracas, searching for a new kind of fix. !The ads in the Metro newspaper have underlying mean! ings.There,in print and paper,artifacts are exchanged for enslaved beings,cults seek new followers,and dreams of golden summers and tranquil winter skies are sold in return for seemingly harmless favors. !In neat and perfect flats in Amsterdam,nightmarish beings stir to life and paint the white walls with their blood.The alleys of the local red!light district become gateways to Yōko Sakai’s dream world. !The child sings in the hold of the rusty ship off the coast of Somalia.The song echoes up in the hull.It whistles through the clouds,scratches over the Moon’s cold craters and sounds between the rings of Saturn.She defies Reality and loosens the shackles of Illusion.The guards weave further rites over her to prevent her Awakening. !Distorted creatures drag lone explorers into the dark tunnels of Moscow’s underground system.Soldiers study the grainy films,taking careful notes on those who have disappeared, and stealthily follow the few who return. !A lost god hobbles in tears through Tokyo’s alleyways,des! perately trying to find its way home to Metropolis.Fireflies surround it,trying to console it with their glow. !The death magician carries out necromantic rites in the basement of an abortion clinic in Bangkok.Every soul is used as payment for the debt to one of Gamaliel’s nepharites. !In central Manhattan,the weeping child is initiated into the mysteries of the cannibal cult,as the first piece of raw meat is placed on his tongue by the singing hierophant. !In St.Petersburg the girl pleads with her father as she is dragged off to the bedroom by the man who stinks of blood. !Ecstatic cultists in Jerusalem lap up stigmata blood from the filthy stones below the Temple Mount. !Mosaic tiles from the city of Alhambra are scattered on a threadbare billiard table in Athens.When the ancient tiles are pieced together,the gateway to a distant world cracks open. !White supremacists and radical evangelicals meet at trailer parks in West Virginia,joining together to bestow gifts upon the God of the Highways.Under burning crucifixes,they chant hallelujahs and ask Jesus to save them.Caught up in dreams of a better life,they pray to be placed above all others in America.But among their ranks are those who know the Truth,and have seen it firsthand.They gaze bitterly down! wards,while lighting yet another cigarette. !In the attic of a Bucharest orphanage,the labyrinths of the soul are explored through drugs and sharp instruments. !In a speakeasy in Ibiza,the Borderliners eat each other alive. They are chained to cement walls or crawl around on blood! drenched mattresses with raw meat in their jaws.Around them,a boisterous mob stand watching,filming the entertain! ment with their mobile phones and downing cheap beer.

• The suburban magician in Tijuana manufactures meth to raise money. He weaves incantations and allows them to seep into the drugs. Might they breathe life into dormant senses? Might they create dreams and mirages, which could bring the city’s dormant spirits back to life?
• Somher hymns rise up from manholes in Kiev, sounded from the creatures of the Underworld. War veterans leave offerings of liquor and cigarettes for them at the culvert close to the power plant.
• A suicide cult meets at the Istanbul waterfront, drawing lots to see whose turn it is to die tonight. The young woman cries in exhilaration when she pulls the short straw. Before she changes her mind, the others tie her up. They vote to determine her fate. The blowtorch will be her release. She screams for almost an hour.
• In the fashionista’s Milan estate, models mutilate their genitals with scalpels and razor blades in front of Tiphany Reeder. Unmoved by this beautiful, euphoric act, she simply crosses her legs and lights up yet another cigarette.
• In Detroit, a staircase behind the railway station leads downwards, meandering past chugging machines and flickering fluorescent tubes until one finds themself in Sathariel’s desolate Citadel.
• At the refugee centre in Gothenburg, the velvet cloth is unfolded and the copper mirror assembled. She Who Waits Below extends her consciousness and all lamps go out on the night, allowing phantoms to escape from her innermost labyrinth.
• The worshippers circle around the Black Cube of Kaba a shard of Chokmah’s Citadel - intoning so they might awaken the fallen Archon. In Metropolis, the sky starts to shimmer over the ruins of the Citadel.
• In dirty lavatories in Hamburg, purgatides lick the wounds of self-mutilators, who whimper and beg for more. Inferno’s reality lurks just behind the yellowed tiles.
• The man on the stage in Dubai opens himself up with a crooked knife. He pulls out his steaming entrails like wet ribbons, in defiance of physical limitations.
• In Vatican City, the Pope hides his true visage behind a face stolen from a homeless person in Buenos Aires. His skin cracks occasionally when he smiles too broadly.
• Fallen gods sit in the social welfare offices in Stockholm, filling out endless forms in the hope someone will give them enough food to survive or offer them a place to live.
• A computer technician in San Francisco discovers curious anomalies in the depths of the Dark Net. He feels something staring back at him, and unconsciously starts to weave the dream world’s secrets into his code. Roko’s Basilisk waits to be born.
• Outside Dublin, the comatose patients at the Beaumont Hospital all sit up in their beds, precisely at the stroke of midnight. They call out into the dark, welcoming the return of the blind gods. Shadows detach themselves from beneath their beds and wriggle away to Malkuth’s Citadel, placing sacrificial gifts in bowls of patinated copper.
• In smothering, hot nights in Mombasa, a building appears at the end of the street. The door opens and a blazing, blueish sheen becomes visible.
• With a cry of pain, the gynecologist in Toronto discovers what dwells within his patient. A contagion, a bodily deformation whose sharp protrusions cleave his fingertips down to the bone.
• In an industrial area in Beijing, the sound of a roaring chainsaw erupts. Then the screams crescendo, as a swollen belly is ruptured with a splashy sound. The industrial plastic is soaked. The razide takes the entrails and rubs them onto its body while singing a hymn in honor of Astaroth.
• The poet wanders around in Cairo, recording the whereabouts of etched cobblestones and secret messages in his black notebook. A few days later, he is found dead on the railway tracks. The journal is full of sketches of a labyrinth. Scribbled notes reference the City of the Dead and the Demiurge’s burial chamber.
• A Muezzin in Baghdad opens up his veins with a razor. His faith is dead. A crimson red trail lies in his wake, as he climbs to the top of the minaret. He calls out one last time over the nocturnal city. Then he jumps, plunging into Inferno and the halls of Hareb-Serap. There, he continues to serve the Raven of the Battlefield.
• Hallucinations appear behind the skyscrapers of Hong Kong, lingering ruminants from the dream world and an amorphous consciousness. People drown themselves in the harbor’s filthy water to escape from the images, which cut like a razor blade in their minds.
• Forest fires fill the sky with pungent black smoke. The ground rumbles with the Earth’s spasmodic vibrations. In this night of soot and flame, the roads in Los Angeles hiss, curl, and writhe like snakes. The sirens from squad cars are the city’s muezzins and an offspring of Nahemoth claws its way up from the Santa Monica sand dunes.
• In Poznan, suffocated infants are dumped in the garbage cans. Their little withered faces all bear sweet smiles.
• Beneath a burnt-out shack in the Appalachians, one of Gaia’s beasts has built its nest.

With a toothless grin, the ageless puzzle box is exchanged for a wad of banknotes at a bazaar in Marrakesh. In a desolate house, the gateway to Hell will be opened. The lost prophet of Fribourg anoints the faithful’s foreheads with grease and soot as a blessing. Some scream when they first see Her. Other fall to their knees in supplication.

ELYSIUM’S GODS

The pulse of the cities has attracted gods from worlds afar. Beings of reflections and shadows, they now reside in our prison. They are part of our existence and walk our streets, eat at our cafés, sit next to us on the bus, are concealed in the shadows of the alleys, or exist as phantoms in the corner of one’s eye. Should one find one of the gods and get its attention, it can offer insight into the True Reality.

The God of the Highways

This god lives in the shadows of Elysium’s countless bighways. On occasion, it is seen as a tattered semblance standing next to truck stops, waiting to be picked up. It may reveal itself to the lost and insane, leading them along secret paths into Metropolis or the Underworld. now and again, you can bear its broken voice while changing radio channels or see its bandprint on the display of your smartphone. It exists at crossroads and can move along the bighways at lightning speed, turning up in a new city moments later. After traffic accidents, it can be found crouching over the dying victims, drinking from their souls, only to Quickly disappear. In its possession, there are keys and artifacts from the True Reality in its pockets. It might try to bitch a ride or bum a cup of coffee at a roadside diner.

What the God offers: Immediately travel to any location connected to the highway. Bring you down into the Underworld - as deep as Ktonor. Guide you to a specific place in Metropolis. Open any lock or vault. Offer artifacts and objects from Metropolis. Summon phantoms and be their interpreter.

What the God wants: Drive to a certain place at a certain time. Reveal your darkest secret. Let it consume part of your soul. Deliver a consignment for it. Return with some item it desires. Accompany it on a journey. Drive it to a certain place. Offer blood sacrifices to the highway.

The nightingale of the City

Its eyes possess a strange bue, royal blue with a few drops of red. Its voice is masculine and firm, yet with feminine inflections, caressing the soul. Its countenance is cloudy, apparently normal, yet something bides bebind it. One gets the impulse to reach out and remove this mask, desperate to see what lies beneath. Even if we have never encountered the god, we instinctively rememher its presence, as its soul stretches beyond Time and Space, and makes the infinite years turn inwards. Is it a creature born of passion, a dream sprung to life, or a true human trapped between sleep and Awakening? The Archons’ servants burnt its wings, so it remains clear of humanity, instead, choosing to bide in desolate industrial areas. Occasionally, it takes disciples and lovers, whispering to them the secrets of passion and cracking their dormant facade enough to bare the Divine concealed therein.

What the God offers: Mend a broken soul. Soothe madness. Blind someone with love. Teach the Art of Passion. Teach the Art of Dreaming. Show what lies beyond the Illusion. Escort someone to Limbo. Let a person taste its blood and become ten years younger. Perform sex change on a creature.

What the God wants: A night of lovemaking. A gift of what you love the most. The heart of a lictor. Allow the god to take your face and live a day in your life. A well-known work of art. A thousand one-dollar bills folded into origami birds. Kill an artist who has lost their passion. Set fire to a modelling agency. Find new wings for the Nightingale.

Iaineivša and Ašvieniai

Iaineivša is the analogue, Ašvieniai is the digital. He is what has been, and she is what will be. Their song can be beard across the radio frequencies, meeting at 65.41 bertz. They dance over the roofs of the skyscrapers. One can read about him in stories from antiouity, and much is written about her on blogs and bidden online forums. When she sings and dances, beaven itself appears to shine through ber. Her bair is wild as a storm and her body invites you to touch it. His presence distorts reflections, makes the head spin, and creates a taste of blood on the tongue. Occasionally, they discontinue their dance and succumb to the bunger tearing within them. They recall the blood flowing from the young boys, who were lashed to death upon their altar. Then, they find their way into our bomes, eager to rip us apart in our beds and greedily devour our steaming flesh. Melodies and songs can lure them out of the shadows and cause them to assume human form, but their skin is always black as ebony, and their eyes deep and golden. They have sworn to serve Malkuth and beed her summons. Their claws are like knives and their songs are sharp enough to slay.

What the Gods offer: Kill a person or a group of persons who are singled out. Knock out the electrical supply in a city. Give birth to a violent storm. Stoke the flames of wrath in a mob and direct it towards a target. Tear up the Illusion towards Gaia’s wilderness. Claw and distort a person’s memories. Find a person after hearing their voice in a recording or over the phone.

What the Gods want: For young men to be lashed to death in a drawn-out ceremony. A costly, reciprocal favor. Establish a cult in their honor. Twins, naked and smeared with gold dust and oil. A marble monument. A melody saluting them. Sacrificing one’s old life and abandoning former friends.

Iaineivša and Ašvieniai (Sleeping Gods)

Home: Elysium. Creature Type: Gods in Єlysium.

Abilities

• Pact-weaver: This being can seal pacts with humans. See Chapter 21 - Pacts and Magic.
• Imbue gifts: The beings are capable of investing some of their power into a person of their choosing. They will gain one of the following gifts: set one Attribute to +4 ; the ability to call on the being whenever in need; copy one of the beings Abilities; acquire something related to the being’s bigher Power. The gift disappears whenever the being chooses to take it back, or if the being is defeated.
• Inhuman strength: The dancing gods are stronger than any human. They are capable of of throwing humans like ragdolls and bending cars like straws. €ven a solid steel door can’t bold them at bay for long.

Combat [5], Influence [1], Magic [5].

Combat [Exceptional]

• Both attack and overwhelm the same target [causes +1 Harm, opponent gets -1 to any attacking or avoidance moves].
• Swirl up to a target and attack it in an instant [-2 Avoid Harm].
• Dance through rain of bullets uncaring of any barm [-2 on all attacks].
• Cast people aside like ragdolls.
• Rain down on someone with a dance of swirling claws and death.

Influence [Weak]

• Locate someone by just bearing their voice over the phone.

Magic [Exceptional]

• Wake an uncontrollable rage against a victim of their choice in a group of people [Keep it Together to resist].
• Knock out all electricity in the vicinity.
• Create a lightning storm with their position as the center of the storm.
• Distort someone’s memories [Keep it Together to resist].
• Tear a portal to Gaia’s wilderness.

Attacks

IaineivÅ¡a and AÅ¡vieniai fight as a couple in a beautiful and mad dance of blood, death, and suffering. When they dance, the air is filled with an electrical bumming. The Dancing Gods are a terrible foe that few things can stop. The gods are intertwined and it’s impossible to kill one of them without killing the other.

Unarmed: Tear someone’s flesh with their curved claws [3] [Distance: arm]; Cast aside [2] [Distance: arm, the victim is thrown away]; Grapple [1] [victim is pinned and must Act Under Pressure to get free]; Bite and rip out someone’s tongue [Critical Wound] [Distance: arm, victim has to be grappled by the god].

Magic: Rage [-] [Distance: field, Keep it Together to not attack a victim of the gods choosing]. Distort memories [-] [Distance: arm, Keep it Together to not lose memories].

Wounds & Harm Moves

Wounds: ০০০০০০০০০০০০০০০

• The gods shrug off the attack as if it was nothing.
• The gods’ golden blood spills on the ground. It will stay lipuid forever.
• As the attack burts the god, it sings a song of pain and death [Keep it Together to not be filled with fear].
• The gods starts swirling around in an ancient dance and electrical energy crackles between them [all opponents must Avoid Harm or be bit (2 Harm)].
• When one of the gods is bit, the other one immediately leaps at the attacker, clawing at their throat [Avoid Harm].
• The burt god smiles in admiration of the opponent’s strength.
• The god stumbles backward, temporarily confused [+1 to next roll].
• When one of the gods falls to the ground, the other one gives out an otherworldly cry and fights with increased bloodlust [+1 Harm to victims, but +1 to hit the god for the rest of the battle].
• Both the gods turn into a blue flame that flees into the nearest outlet [anything getting in their way takes $2$ Harm].

The Swap Dealer

The homeless, the poor, and the outcasts have heard rumors about him. In India, South America, and parts of Africa there are small temples and sbrines erected in the shantytowns and slums. People burn incense and sprinkle liquor on primitive figurines, murmuring his many names in mantras, in the bope of garnering his favor. His home is bidden within the rubbish dump in the Borderlands, where Time and Space have worn away. To find your way through it, you must follow a primitive map drawn on a crumpled piece of paper. There, between mountains of stinking garbage, lies a small shed. The god sits inside, surrounded by piles of clutter and illuminated by sooty flames. He is swollen and sickly. An odd, unpleasant scent emanates from him and his breatbing is labored. He is a swap dealer and listens to what his visitors want, and then produces a counter offer. He immediately sees all objects a person owns when they stand before him, and perfectly understands every item be has ever owned, seen, or beard about.

What the God offers: An artifact from another world. Objects from the past. Occult writings. The combination to a safe. Important mechanical parts. A bunch of keys, which open all the doors in a building. A revolver with a curse connected to each bullet. An ampoule filled with liquid, which cures any lethal disease. A bag with $1,000,000 USD in cash. Insight into the future or the past.

What the God wants: A fresh human kidney wrapped in a newspaper. Three specific objects from one’s belongings. A box of Cuban cigars. A specific Fabergé egg. A bottle of champagne. A notebook currently in the possession of a lictor. A soul fetched from Inferno. An IOU for a future service.

The Ewape Dealer

DANIEL COMERCI

The Herald of Violence

Automatic weapons and pistols sing the god’s fanfare. The Herald is the patron saint of school shooters, military dictators, and roaming death souads. It is the one who sleeps in mass graves, rubs its naked body against those dying in gas chambers, and allows itself to be adored and reviled in the electric chair. Child soldiers sit on the god’s knee while be whispers dark secrets to them and gives each of them a weapon. It has played Russian roulette with the Tsar, sat in on meetings in the bunkers of the Third Reich, and wandered through the smoking ruins of Hiroshima. It backed its way forward on the battlefields of the Crusades, and warriors everywhere worshipped the god in fear and awe. Should you meet its terrible gaze, you immediately understand its intent. Its stare instills guilt and shame, as the Herald instinctively knows every person you’ve killed, in this life and in previous ones. It can assume any countenance it pleases, as it dresses itself in human skins. When it is about to torture a favored victim, it disrobes, revealing what lies underneath.

The god serves neither the Archons nor the Death Angels. In fact, it often bunts their loyal servants, whom it regards as more worthy adversaries. Perhaps it has found its way in from Metropolis or a fallen world. Perbaps it is an Incarnation of Hareb-Serap, which has fallen into conflict with its originator and broken free of his control.

What the God offers: Immediately move someone to or from a war zone. Kill someone or something. Massacre a village or a small community. Spring a murderer from captivity. Retrieve a soul from Inferno. Slay one of the servants of the Archons or Death Angels. Forge a weapon meant for blood and violence. Revive a dead murderer.

What the God wants: Murder a designated person. Commit a massacre in its honor. Utilize terror tactics against a local community. Ritually torture innocent people. Burn down a courthouse. For a specific person to be killed in a spectacular fashion. Commit a murder each lunar month for a year. Distribute weapons to those without access to them. Release anthrax at a school. Destroy an entire family through a violent murder.

Persephone

In the big cities, Persephone wanders through the nightly throngs with bair black as midnight and lips red as blood. She perpetually drifts between nightspots and places where humans gather. She is the one who listens to the regular at the local bar. She is the one who dances so sweat flows in new York’s nightclubs. She is the one who finds warmth by the bomeless’ fires, sharing their bottles and syringes. She is the one who consoles the lost child who escaped from home and now shivers in a stairwell. She is a god who has slept for a long time, but has now embraced the disintegrating flysium and marvels at Humanity - our dreams, our longing, and our sense of loss. She is nourished by being close to us, and all the aspects of life we think mundane, she finds wondrous. She listens dreamily to a street musician, who plays his saxophone out of tune in new Orleans’ sweltering beat, and recalls other worlds and ages. She sees beauty in a tired, old face, and drinks our joy, suffering, and desire like a vintage wine.

What the God offers: Take you to any dimension. Create a dream world where one is able to hide. Teach the Art of magic. Remove a painful memory from one’s soul. Breathe new life into a dead man, if he is missed strongly enough. Expel a haunting. Quench an addiction. Expel a nepharite or other demon.

What the God wants: You, and your descendants, aid her whenever she summons you. Raise your child in accordance with her instructions. Pay a musician or an artist half of your income over two years’ time. Abandon everything you own and follow her for a while.

The Slumbering Predator

She was once a predator, a being from a world of thorns, ink-black lakes, and clear, starry skies deep inside Gaia’s wilderness. She was blessed with strong muscles, sharp senses, and an instinct for predicting her prey’s movements. She pinned her victims to the ground with her powerful claws and ate of them alive. Then, she strayed into the borderland between Elysium and Gaia, where she saw the city lights and was enchanted. Then she ate the first leftovers from the trash. Then she beard our music. Then she witnessed all the colors of our movies and televisions. She assumed our shape and soon forgot who she was. now, she sits there on the sofa of an apartment on the outskirts of the city. She has grown incredibly fat and cannot walk. Fungal infections grow in her skin folds. She stinks as she cannot wipe or clean berself. She simply eats and eats. The TV is her only company. Her heart beats painfully, her once-proud body is ready to give up. Her band soueezes one of her breasts and milk souirts out and runs down her belly. There is a wheezing sound - the old man, her sole worshipper. Thin as a thread, bony arms, and naked with his big, bald head and busby pubic bair, be crawls across the floor to drink the milk pouring down her body. Once nourisbed by her fermented discharge, he dresses and takes the car to the supermarket to buy more junk food. If something could make her remember, she might become the predator she once was.

What the God offers if she is roused from her slumber: Take you to Gaia. Kill a person or a creature you point out to her. Provide you some of her divinity. Appear and protect you, if you summon her. Summon Gaia’s terrible beasts.

What the God wants after she has been roused from her slumber: Murder the judges of a popular talent show. Grind down the owner of the local fast-food restaurant, and serve the meat to unsuspecting customers. Go berserk at a fashion show. Kill the news anchor of a popular channel during a live broadcast. Burn down a TV station. Kill the children who teased her for her obesity. Tear the head off the self-important blogger.

The Gyeless One

The Eyeless One touches many people’s lives without us noticing it. Like a puppeteer, it pulls our strings of destiny and reweaves Time and Space. The god is a creature of myth, a shadow in the outskirts of human consciousness. One can find information about it on webpages, in old newspaper clippings, yellowed letters, graffiti under bridges, desperate voices on cassette tapes, discussion threads on Reddit, or concealed in the static between radio broadcasts. People seek the Eyeless One to make pacts with it, asking it to redirect their life and lead them to success. These pacts are made by corporate and political leaders, at talent and modeling agencies, and among desperate youths. The god always demands a sacrifice. Thirty days after the agreement is sealed, the god collects the most popular and desired of those who made the pact. Furthermore, should someone ever mention the pact, the god completely destroys the life it has built for them. The god is humanoid, yet still not human, with fingers like knives and distorted limbs - a shadow against the darkness. One might vaguely sense its features and realize its eyes are missing. As it moves, it reweaves Time and Space. It moves in distinct patterns, wriggling like a snake along electrical cables. As it approaches, the lights flicker, a wailing erupts in speakers, and cell phones cease to function. Its voice is a bollow tone, a low vibration growing in intensity. The Eyeless One can only see those who yearn to make a pact with it or know of its existence. Otherwise, you are safe from it and cannot even see it. What the God offers: Bestow wealth. A successful career. Obstacles in one’s life are removed. Cause a person to be haunted. Lure someone into a pact. Draw out any disease from a body. Make a person fatally ill. Raze someone’s life. Cause a miscarriage. Lead a person to their origins. Alter probability in luck and games of chance. Cause an accident. Create imbalance in the stock market.

What the God wants: A ritual with three or more participants, where the most popular memher will be sacrificed to the god. A dark ritual with blood sacrifice to the god’s honor. Recirculate rumors about the god in three different places. Burn down an institution working with statistics. Poison foodstuffs and leave them in a grocery store. Carry out a sacrificial slaughter in a car park beneath a casino. Ram a car through a crowd.

TΗΕ SERVARYS 0F THE ARCH00S

The servants of the Archons were placed in Elysium to watch over us. However, after the Demiurge’s fall, many of them have taken up their own agendas, become feral, or started serving some other Higher Power. Others have escaped into Elysium from Metropolis, or out into other worlds.

Lictors

The lictors exist in our midst. They are the Archons’ prime tools in Elysium and they are often found in society’s most exalted positions. They are the unyielding police chief, the corrupt senator, the priest who listens to dewy-eyed confessions, the draconian judge, the corporate leader who is ready to invest big money, the media mogul with his innumerable supermarket tabloids, the chief physician who prescribes extra dosages of psychotropic drugs, the televangelist with his fiery sermons about sin and salvation and many, many more. At some point, we have all encountered a lictor, even though we never know it. They are the jailers governing our false reality and acting as an extended arm of the Archons’ Principles. They supervise us and place obstacles in our way, or lead us astray when we try to break free. When we persist in our desire to escape, they become our executioners.

Each lictor uses its considerable influence and abilities to govern humanity, as it suits them. Power and manipulation tend to be their tools of choice rather than open violence. It is rare for them to enter into direct physical conflict, as they tend to leave this to their underlings. Despite their strength, they do not risk being killed. A lictor’s soul is tied to its physical body, and if they die, they are eternally extinguished. Even so, they are unfettered by the passage of time. Some have lived for centuries, and assumed new identities as required. Lictors only do so as a last resort, as recasting their human form is a long and painful process. Many lictors have been extinguished since the Demiurge’s disappearance, and there have never been as few of them as now. Every so often new lictors are created by the Archons, fashioned from humans closely tied to the Archon’s Principle.

Many lictors gained their independence after the disappearance of the Demiurge and the war between the Archons. They’ve begun following their own agendas and interpreting the Principles as they see fit. Some have sworn themselves to the Death Angels, but most still strive to keep us captive. They do so out of sheer terror and batred, as they know our true nature.

A lictor’s true form is a 2.5 -meter-tall and grotesouely fat humanoid with milk-white eyes, lacking irises and pupils. Their skin is totally devoid of body bair and deatbly white, as well as semi-transparent, allowing their inhuman, swollen organs to be seen pulsating within their bodies. Their teeth are small and razor sharp, while a meter-long, blue-red tongue protrudes wriggling between their jaws.

Tiphany Reeder

Ms. Reeder is a devoted servant of Tiphareth, and one of the most influential lictors in Elysium. She is a champion of manipulation, seduction, and intrigue and is constantly surrounded by her lovers, servants, and bodyguards. She is frequently seen at movie premieres, gala parties, and fashion shows. Trendy blogs and magazines constantly discuss her latest clothing or perfume line.

In her outward appearance, Tiphany is around twen-ty-five, short, petite, and always dressed in designer outfits worth a small fortune. On her back, she has an elaborate tattoo, which appears to shift and move if one looks long enough. She has not altered her appearance or staged her death since the 1920s, but has lived on and placed her faith in humanity being blinded by Illusion. It is said, once upon a time, she was actually a human being, who was elevated into a lictor after making a pact with Tiphareth.

Even though Tiphany is a masterful manipulator, she is also a victim of her own emotions. She frequently finds berself in barrowing love affairs and jealousy dramas. These often result in acts of violence and revenge that make Greek tragedies look like parlor farces.

Tiphany Reeder (Lictor)

Home: Elysium. Creature Type: Lictor under the influence of the Archon Tiphareth.

Abilities

• Gigantic: In her true form she cannot be grappled or knocked over in close combat.
• Connection to Higher Power: The being has a connection to an Incarnate of the Archon Tiphareth.
• Monstrous form: Humans who see the creature’s true form must Keep it Together to not panic.
• Thick skin: All Harm taken is reduced by $-1$.

Combat [2], Influence [5], Magic [5].

Combat [novice]

• Throw someone like a ragdoll.
• Destroy an obstacle (door, wall, guard).

Influence [Exceptional]

• Buy anyone or anything.
• Reveal someone’s secrets.
• Order professional benchmen to do her bidding.
• Destroy someone’s career.
• Make someone her new pet.

Magic [Exceptional]

• Take someone through Time and Space.
• See sometbing’s true nature.
• navigate through Metropolis.
• Seduce a crowd.
• Spread Tiphareth’s Principle around the world.

Attacks

Tiphany doesn’t perceive humans as dangerous in a physical sense and isn’t especially good at fighting, just inhumanly strong. She would rather use her benchmen to take care of problems than do it berself. She takes care to not do anything that would damage her reputation in front of cameras or big crowds of witnesses. However, if alone with someone, she will not besitate to kill them if they annoy ber.

Unarmed: Punch [2] [Distance: arm, the victim flies through the air]; Grapple [1] [Distance: arm, the victim must Act Under Pressure to get away].

Magic: Seduce [-] [Distance: room, the victim must succeed with Keep it Together or $+1$ Relation to Tiphany]; Reveal true form [-] [Keep it Together to avoid panicking].

Wounds & Harm Moves

Wounds: ০০০০০০০০০ :

• She ignores the pain.
• Tiphany loses her temper and viciously swings at the nearest opponents [her next attack does $+1$ Harm, the victims have +1 to Avoid Harm].
• Tiphany’s false form starts to falter (A PC Sees Through the Illusion).
• Tiphany cries out with an alien screech that shatters windows and leaves human ears ringing [-1 on next roll].
• Black blood pours out of her open wound as she snarls at the attacker.
• Tiphany tries to flee and doesn’t care if she destroys everything in her way [PCs in her way must Avoid Harm (2 Harm)].
• She falls to the ground and tries to make a deal.
• Dies.

Eldermensch

The eldermensch are often spies for the lictors. In Elysium, they assume the guise of a very old man or woman, crippled with age, wearing dusty clothes, and moving with a bobbling gait. They often enter a lone senior’s home, slay them, and steal their skin. Their true shape lies within. They have long, spindly limbs with several craggy joints. Their white skin is covered with a thin layer of dust, which sticks to whatever the creature touches. Inside their dens, the air is replete with this dust, which is akin to talcum or ash. It is easily breathed in, causing a persistent, rustling cough. When the creatures move, they create a crackling and scraping sound, and now and again their teeth chatter in euphoria. Cloudy little eyes are set above two small slits of a nose, while its wide mouth gleams with razor sharp teeth. They can climb walls and roofs, and can even soueeze through narrow ventilation shafts and other small openings. They live in our midst, and consciously do not attract any attention. They are merely an elderly neighbor, curiously peeking out from behind their curtains, sitting on the park bench, or asking nosy questions. Their curiosity is akin to a disease, and some turn violent - to the point of insanity - if their questions go unanswered. In that case, they extract the needed knowledge in the cruelest ways: using children to ferret out secrets about their parents and spreading little rumors to orchestrate events their way, usually leading to the death of their chosen target.

ANGELS

The Fallen Angels fled from Metropolis, taking refuge in our world. Since then, they have become distorted, mangled, and disheartened by the anguish they suffered from being compelled to slaughter their brothers and sisters, as well as the Demiurge’s disappearance.

They feel a tremendous sense of loss for their creator, the Demiurge - a deep, black emptiness. There is something missing in their essence, leaving them tattered and despondent. Some try to fill the void through prayers in churches or mosques, getting drunk in lonely bars, or taking ballucinogenic drugs, reliving their blessedness for a few precious moments.

Some gather under culverts, wrapped in frayed coats, indistinguishable amid the bomeless. Others crawl along the dark facades of skyscrapers, becoming soulless predators. Some travel aimlessly through life, wasting their nights in front of the TV at highway motels. Others still are incarcerated in mental bospitals and have forgotten their true nature. Some continue to serve the Archons and lictors, but most have chosen to walk their own path. The restlessness torments them constantly, driving them to seek out true meaning, but many simply choose to end their lives with a barrel of a gun in their mouth, a noose around their neck, or by laying down in front of a train.

Angels appear human to us, although there is something sad, lost, and agonized about them. Many dampen the loss of their creator with various forms of addiction, be it gambling, sex, alcohol, or drugs. When they reveal their true form, they are magnificent beings with enormous wings, but even so they appear broken and tattered.

Akrasiel - the Sword of Hod

Once she was named Akrasiel, but now she calls berself Jezebel. Outwardly, she appears to be an elderly woman with threadbare clothes, dark rings under her copper eyes, and long bair, now grey and dull. She lives as a bomeless person and takes the odd jobs she can get. Long gone are the days when her wings thundered as she flew between the worlds and the angelic choirs sang to the glory of the Archon Hod. She cannot rememher bow she ended up in Elysium, left with only faded memories and dusky dreams. One day she simply awoke naked in an industrial area outside a city. She stole clothes and food, and learned bow to survive trapped in an old woman’s body. Despite her forgetfulness, Akrasiel remains an avenging angel, and our yearning for revenge and unbridled anger - justified or unjustified - can reignite her true nature. In this renewed state, she once again has divine purpose and feels the Demiurge’s fire within. However, her destruction knows no bounds. She will seek out the bully a child bates and tear out his entrails. The spite of a downstairs neigbbor can incite her to murder everyone at a noisy party. A prosecutor can be butchered in his car because the prisoner on death row bates him so intensely. Afterwards, Akrasiel is often afflicted by feelings of guilt and frustration over having lost control.

Magicians and lictors have on occasion forced her to become their weapon of vengeance. Heralds from the Death Angel Samael have also sought her out, but for these monsters, she only feels cold contempt.

ASTAROTH

Akrasiel

Home: Elysium. Creature Type: Fallen Angel of the BeneiHa”â„¢Elohim, former servant and executioner for the Archon Hod.

Abilities

• Combat mastery: Akrasiel has fought all her existence. She has seen every battle known to man. All attacks against her are at -2 .
• Lack of control: Can be engulfed by others’ feelings of batred and vengeance and lose control until the act of vengeance is completed.
• Angelic form: Any human that sees her true form for the first time is stricken by awe (must Keep it Together). Her many wings, majestic crown, and torn shape is a borrible wonder to bebold.
• Sword of Vengeance: She may summon the Sword of Vengeance and it appears in her band. This mighty blade always comes to her when she calls for it. If she dies it is left behind. If a player character takes it, the character must change their Archetype to the Avenger.
• Exposed chest: Once she wore an ornamented chestplate forged to her flesh. During the war against Malkuth, it was ripped away and now her chest and inner organs are exposed. When she fights, she tries to cover them, but if someone aims at this area they have -2 to their attacks ( -4 in total with her combat mastery), yet any bit here deals $+3$ Harm.

Combat [4], Influence [1], Magic [3].

Combat [Powerful]

• Cut down several opponents.
• Rip open wounds with her bare bands.
• Fly over a large area in an instant.
• Fly up with someone in the air (and let them drop) [4 Harm, Avoid Harm to reduce Harm by 2].

Influence [Weak]

• Demand confession before death.

Magic [Considerable]

• Sense the desires of vengeance in others.
• Summon her sword to her band.
• Sense if someone breaks a pact made on their honor.

Attacks

She dives directly into combat. A sharp sword materializes in her band and she sweeps it down on anyone standing in her way. She avoids both melee attacks and bullets with ease. Even if she has a close combat weapon, her attacks have Distance: room because of her speed and extended reach.

Sword of Vengeance: Precise cut [3] [Distance: room]; Swinging attack [2] [Distance: room, attacks multiple targets]; Throws sword [2] [Distance: field, the sword then flies back to her band].

Unarmed: Carve in mark of Hod with her claws [Serious Wound] [Distance: arm, +1 to Avoid Harm. The scar from this wound will always be visible. Other servants of Hod recognize her mark and can even sense it at close distance].

Magic: Reveal true form [-] [Keep it Together to not be distracted].

Wounds & Harm Moves

Wounds: ०००००००००

• Akrasiel ignores the attack.
• A deep gash pumps out blood, but she disarms her opponent.
• Her wings lash around her, throwing people back. [all in the area must Avoid Harm or be Knocked down].
• Akrasiel seems confused and disoriented (+1 to next attack).
• She blocks the attack with her wings; it destroys them, - $2$ Harm from the attack, but she can no longer fly.
• Gravely wounded, she no longer has the effect of her combat mastery (Attacks against her are made without the penalty of -2 ).
• Akrasiel dies, her broken body will stay preserved until Time ends. The Tomb Guardian from Metropolis will soon arrive to bring her body to one of the mausoleums prepared for her (See Chapter 18 - Metropolis and The City of the Dead).

THE SLEEPERS

These are examples of human opponents who may be in servitude to our jailers or just get in the way of the player characters due to their own, independent agendas.

Police Officer

Police are tasked with upholding the laws of the land in the player characters’ vicinity. They’re authorized to use violence and to stop and arrest people who are a danger to society, and carry weaponry to enable this without exposing themselves to risk. They typically work in pairs but in confrontation with dangerous assailants, police often call in backup in the form of several patrol cars and possibly even heavily armed special police forces. Beat cops can be encountered on foot or driving. In large cities it’s not uncommon for police departments to have access to SWAT vehicles and teams to deal with violent crimes with multiple participants.

Combat [2], Influence [2], Magic [-].

Combat [novice]

• Lethal force.
• non-lethal force.

Influence [novice]

• Put under arrest.
• Call for backup.

Attacks

The lethality of the weaponry police possess and are willing to use against perpetrators depends on the culture they’re working in. Laws are often written such that police must attempt to neutralize perpetrators via non-lethal means if at all possible.

Teargas/TASER: Spray/sbock [-] [Distance: arm, player character rolls +Fortitude: (15+) Still capable of acting; (10-14) Dazed: -2 ongoing during this scene; (-9) The victim is subdued for this scene].

Expandable baton: Beat [2] [Distance: arm]. Light pistol: Directed fire [2] [Distance: room].

Pump shotgun: Directed fire [3/1] [Distance: room/field].

Wounds & Harm Moves

Armor: Bulletproof vest [1]. Wounds: â—‹â—‹â—‹

• Retreat to safety.
• Subdued.
• Badly injured.
• Dead.

Gang Member

In large cities it’s common for charismatic, rutbless leader types to gather criminal elements around them, as to take control of illicit activities. Gang members can be drug dealers, muggers, pimps, thieves, hitmen, or foot soldiers fighting other gangs. The gangs are often connected to particular city districts, which are under their ‘protection’ (particularly against their rivals). Mess with the wrong gang memher and you’re liable to antagonize the whole gang. Insults and wrongdoings are often avenged as brutally as possible to set examples for others.

Combat [1], Influence [2], Magic [-].

Combat [Weak]

• Attack at the slightest provocation.

Influence [novice]

• Apply knowledge of the city’s seedy underbelly.
• Purvey illicit services.

Wounds & Harm Moves

Wounds: ○○ め

• Tries to flee.
• Begs for mercy.
• Knocked out.
• Badly injured.
• Dead.

TΗΕ ΕΩLÍGH干ΕΩΕΌ

Existing among us in Elysium are human beings, and those who were once humans, who know more about the Truth than the rest of us. They can be our attendants, our enemies, our victims, or predators who bunt us.

Attacks

What sort of weaponry a gang has access to varies greatly based on where in the world it’s based. Gangs in third world countries or countries with liberal gun regulation might carry heavy arms, while those in societies with strict gun control are generally armed with close-combat weapons and light firearms.

Knife: Lunge attack [2] [Distance: arm]. Light firearm: Directed fire [2] [Distance: room].

Light machine gun: Directed fire [2] [Distance: room]; Mow down [2] [Distance: room, may bit up to 2 targets].

Wounds & Harm Moves

Wounds: ○○०

• Bruised.
• Dazed.
• Badly injured.
• Dead.

Civilian

This is the typical civilian from the western world. This can be the everyday man, someone who gets dragged into an unexpected situation and just wants to get away.

Combat [-], Influence [1], Magic [-].

Influence [Weak]

Offer information or money

Attacks

Will try to avoid any form of combat. Rather flee, call for help or beg for mercy. Might fight to save himself/herself or someone important to that person.

Unarmed: Punch [0] [Distance: arm].

Marlon Bones, nosferatu

Marlon’s bair bangs in dirty dreads. He is unwashed and stinks of sour sweat and cheap deodorant. His teeth are yellowed, but very sharp. Hard, black nails tip his sooty bands. His skin is scarred and be smokes cheap cigarettes. He surrounds himself with his ‘bitches’, middle-aged women who are all drugged. He makes a living as a pimp and drug dealer, and cuts the wrists of his barem to lap up their blood whenever be needs to eat. Marlon became a nosferatu in the 1930s and has lived in the outskirts of society since then, often in desolate bouses or in slum areas. He avoids his peers, but takes the odd job to pay back his debt to one of the Archons’ servants. Then be loads his shotgun, fills his pockets with cartridges, straps on his machete, and walks out into the night.

Alexandra Grrante

Born into a privileged family in Barcelona, Alexandra was committed to an asylum during her early teens due to severe borderline personality disorder. Ridden with intrusive thoughts and suffocated by the voices wanting to tear her soul apart, she almost succumbed to her illness until she gained insight into the magical arts during one of her fits. With a blood rite, she succeeded in fettering and temporarily subduing her own madness. She is now an aspiring Madness magician who travels around the world, living off her family’s fortune. Her parents are institutionalized, tortured by the images she painted into their consciousness. She has only recently begun to understand more of the Truth and that there are others like ber. She seeks them out, desperate to find someone who will understand and care for her as she is.

CHAPå¹²ER 14