GoldenCat/SevenSages
Lords of the North
The Underworld has claimed much of the North. The Wyld, even more. Many courts have been broken by the advance of the unnatural within Creation, leaving vacant jobs and broken chains on the North. The Seven Sages were originally created as a counter to it. They are not a formal court, although they do posses the heavenly right to meet and operate. Gideon managed their places as ‘overseers’ – The Seven exist primarily to prevent its members from losing further power, heaven to lose further land, the North from unraveling as it so threatens.
The Sages hold a communal sanctum, The Theather of Falling Dusk, Where Night Falls to Earth – A great mountain that seems made of Black Diamond, covered with cristalized ice that slides out of most of the diamond for some reason, but stays in parts... like nightfall woven into a mountain, when one sees at the distance. The peak is open, ten different spikes reaching for the sky, as or a stadium, a valley that blurs the lines of sanctum and reality – basically the inside is too much of a sanctum to even be considered to exist in a material state anymore. It is also covered in fog from below so only those with methods of aerial transportation or able from make a harsh pilgrimage to the top against cold and air elementals can get to it – a nessessary precaution due to the Sages’ many enemies.
Scythe of Winter is the goddess of the First Blizzard, the patron of famine, cold and death brought by the air of Resplendent Air and Water. One of the least liked goddesses of the North, she is equally distant from even the Violet Bier of Sorrows, although even now she holds a powerful pull in it. She appears as a small woman... flesh too fine to be too old, hair and eyes like ice, too distant to be young, clad in a robe the color of a blizzard, like beautiful flowing ice, flowers of cold adorning her body. She moves like the north, at times as a violent blizzard, other times as falling snow that slowly brings the cold kiss of death... her every motion surrounded by a cold mist, her entrance heralded by a bone-chilling wind. Her touch brings famine and cold that not even a hearth can warm, and she carries an Ice Scythe, created in the deepest north from the very frozen essence of the seasons of Air and Water.. the cold of the north, from the tears of its dead.
Despite her disposition, Scythe of Winter never lacks in prayers – There are many who would pray for their opressor to stop instead of praying for others to help. And she rarely even answers those prayers, raising children dead from the famine, protecting few from the cold. With no pattern that can be seen aside from keeping her prayers coming even as she scythes thousands more.. this grim goddess is one of the staunchest supporters of the Seven Sages and one of its founding members – only her continued absence and the fear she inspires even on her peers keeps her from having a leading position within them, but although she is never around, the court makes no great decision without waiting for her word.
Gideon Everclear is a god of clouds and the sky, making him powerful and influential in Windia, Hanslanti, and the Bureau of Seasons. While not their patron deity, many Windians turn to Gideon, who welcomes his 'Children of the Clouds' with open arms. So too do the shipwrights of the Haslanti League often honor the Sky Lord and his symbol can be found on many air boats. Gideon is more politician than anything and in this, he is a patient and cunning manipulator. He finds little qualms in engaging in acts of blackmail and larceny to achieve his goal of one day snatching Windia and the Haslanti League for himself and outcasting the spirits who already hold sway there.
Despite a cold, cunning, calculating mind however, he maintains a civil, if distant face with the rest of the local spirits and few suspect his aspirations for power run as high as they do. He manifests himself as a tall, arrow-thin Windian nobleman with wings of sky-blue and sharp, cold features. The Sky Lord favors glamorous robes of glossy blue and white.
Deep Soil Sleeper is an elemental of great power and age. He is a figure of respect within his area of the north. Known for his wisdom and a patience which could endure a badgering that would set greater gods to violence, Deep Soil Sleeper is often turned to as a mediator and peace-maker in disputes between the local spirits. Many farmers around the cities of the north bare a crude clay totem of the elemental and it is considered good custom to offer it the first basket of any crop as thanks for good harvest. Deep Soil Sleeper has few aspirations. True to his name, the great elemental would rather be slumbering in the warm depths of the earth than attending to matters on the cold ground above.
Never the less, he does feel obliged towards the offers made to him by the little mortals and will occasionally turn up the rich, healthy soil deep bellow the earth to replace the rocky and poor soul near the surface. It is usually while he undergoes such tasks that the other local spirits manage to nab him and cart him away to deal with their squabbles or sit in on gathers of state. Deep Soil Sleeper often appears as a lumbering, shambling mass of sod and earth. Worms and other crawling things of the depths squirm and fall from his flesh and the scent around him is heavy with mildew and loam. Thick black roots form the course features of his rough face and a pair of stones which could be coal or black diamonds rest gleaming under his heavy brow.
Jugen of the Thirty Ways is the youngest of the Seven, who came into being by the flourishing of the thaumathurge societies of the North, especifically of the industrial city of the Boil, a great laboratory of alchemists and enchanters. The god of the unique sciences of Thaumathurgy, and a very young spirit, Jungen of the Thirty Ways manifests in a manner which reflects his youthful nature. He appears as a dashingly handsome man with the pale skin of a scholar and fine, midnight-black hair. His face is often somber and serious, blue-glass spectacles perched upon his nose. The air of over-education and rank scent of youthful cockiness heavy about him and he forever seems to be looking down his nose at the rest of the world.
Jungen of the Thirty Ways floats, rather than walks, his every motion leaving blurring-blue after images that fade into the air. An odd touch of whim, he dresses much more like a Scavenger Lord than a scholar, with sturdy, serviceable clothes of dark color and fine quality. He bares a sword on one hip, a blade of rough black basalt and copper wire which can burst into green flame at a moments notice. At his other hip is chained a book which he simply calls the Secret Way. No one, not even his fellow gods, knows what lay within the pages of the book. Many suspect it to be simple diary as mortal thaumaturges are prone to keep or a book of sorcerous incantations. Only Jungen has ever peered within and he has sworn to never allow any save his most trusted of allies know what is written there. The brash young god has yet to find any he deems worthy of the knowledge, though he did once clobber a particularly loud alchemist over the head with it. The thaumaturge claimed the blow imparted great wisdom to him, but this is a highly debatable statement coming from one who would scream obscenities at a god.
