PLLanet/LaughterInMadness
Some time ago, a small village existed to the Southeast of Marukani lands. The name of the village has long since been lost, as has the name of its quiet young scribe. An introspective fellow in his late twenties, and unmarried, he was known most to his neighbors for his love of books, and of children, and for his failing eyesight. Throughout the day he would teach the young ones in the village their letters, and basic mathematics, and history, as well as he knew it. He taught the names of the plants in the fields and the woods, and how best to accurately make the inks with which to draw them, and how to make rough paper from the reeds that grew in the small stream near their home, and candles from the wax of bees and the tallow of animals. His love of close work had damaged his eyes, however, aging them beyond his youth, and he was forced to wear a curious set of spectacles, set with thick glass, which he had purchased at great expense with the proceeds from his scribing and herbals.
This young man, whose name cannot be remembered, awoke one morning to strange sounds and smells on the air. They were the crackle of flame, and freshly turned soil, and the rich ozone of lightning in spring. Dressing quickly, and donning his spectacles, he raced to the center of the village to find its elders confronted by Huntsmen. Not a proper hunt, he mused, with troops and banners and warstriders (though he had never seen one), but a Brotherhood, five Princes, and angry that their quarry was not to be found. Though the elders pleaded ignorance of any Anathema, the Huntsmen insisted that it had been foreseen - one of the devils was here, at this time, at this place. When no Anathema proved forthcoming the Princes became wroth, and the village began to tear itself apart. The ground bucked and split, morning cookfires blazed, and strange and noxious smells filled the air. The Huntsmen began to break down doors, searching for their prey, and the villagers began to fall in their path. Helpless, the scribe cast about for assistance, but the few fighting men had been quickly dispatched in the chaos. Seizing one of the fallen men's swords, he swung mightily -
And fell, the Prince's enormous crimson blade scorching through his chest.
As he lay on the muddied ground, unable to move, a knowledge came to him unbidden. He could finish this. It would not be salvation, for the town was already dead; its buildings lay in smoking ruins, its inhabitants lay screaming out their last. It would not even be justice. It would, however, be swift, punitive vengeance. The power began to flow through him, like static electricity in the fur of a dead cat. And he rose, the empty caverns of Oblivion ringing around him, and gave the Princes the Anathema they had come for.
Later, as the ashes and the pieces of the Huntsmen cooled, the scribe sat among the wreckage and laughed. It was crazed, maniacal... hysterical, bringing tears and pains in his chest, and still it would not stop. Still chuckling, he ran, racing shadows and light alike, for the coast, where his new master called. He had a name to offer the Void.
Unbeknownst, one small pair of eyes peered from under an overturned cart and watched his progress.
Laughter in Madness was a Day Caste Abyssal who served as a paranoia point and seductive/sympathetic influence in our recent "Luna did What?" campaign. Since Sol is lost in the Games (for whatever reason), Luna uses her ability to be more than one place at a time to start wreaking havoc in Heaven - tying up officials, auditing Chejop, and the like - all to give the Solars and Lunars a fighting chance. This campaign was less focused on "how do we get Creation back?" and more "Ok, NOW what do we do with it?" They truly started learning about the Abyssals when Laughter in Madness made contact with a proposition: Finish the Neverborn. His reasoning: no creature which called itself "good" would maim an enemy and leave them to squirm, dying, in the dust for all eternity. A part of the Neverborn, when they are not crazed and dreaming, just wants to finally die. Why, then, be at cross purposes?
Notable traits:
- Priest
- Excellent Charisma, Presence, Lore, and Socialize in addition to his Caste abilities and martial skills
Notable Equipment
- Soulsteel Sheath - A blasphemous artifact consisting of an Obsidian Sheath that has had the orichalcum stripped out and replaced with soulsteel
- Iairos
