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Scion: God

Created by Onyx Path - Scion: God Crowdfunding Campaign

Founded in 2012, Onyx Path Publishing is a Pennsylvania-based company dedicated to the development of exemplary, immersive worlds. Working with a group of amazingly talented creators, we explore print, electronic and other forms of media distribution to make our products available to our fans. With over 20 years of publishing experience from which to draw, we are industry professionals who love the art of the game and plan to continue making meaningful, innovative contributions in the years to come.

Latest Updates from Our Project:

Sneak Peek: Creating a Pantheon
about 2 years ago – Sat, Nov 05, 2022 at 06:44:38 AM

Hey there, Scions!
I've got a sneak peek from Chapter 4 for you today, which details the ways that Gods may forge new Pantheons, Mantles, and myths. Tomorrow, I'll be sharing a bit from Chapter 5 dealing with Birthrights. On Tuesday we'll have the next manuscript preview out to backers, which will contain the full text for both of these chapters from the current draft of the Scion: God manuscript.

Creating a Pantheon

Pantheons do not spring into existence fully formed, even if it may appear to mortals that they do. From the perspective of the Gods, they gradually coalesce through Deeds that shift the perceptions of The World: when a Band of Scions has fought, loved, and struggled long enough together, people cannot help but think of them as more than Heroes who stood side by side. They become something else, something new.

Scions who achieve Apotheosis and become Gods have a choice. They can remain fully part of their own Pantheon(s) or they can work to define themselves as so markedly different that they gain access to powers that will be unique to them and to any of their Scions. Other Gods have done it in the past through Mantles woven together from Deeds intended to strengthen their new identities. Some of them have poured so much of themselves into these new Mantles that their original natures in their first Pantheons have all but faded: the God of a minor city-state or a sacred mountain leaves that part of themselves behind to become the protector of an empire, with their first selves turning into nothing more than a curiosity for scholars and archeologists.

Players who want their characters to form their own Pantheon should be aware of several things before they begin. Briefly:

  • It involves a choice of Deeds at each point of Legend from 9 to 12 to complete fully
  • Gods accomplish three of these Deeds through Incarnations: as Heroes at Legend 9 and 10, and as Demigods at Legend 11
  • Unlike Apotheosis, there is no need to complete every step, but skipping one has consequences
  • A Pantheon can only have three Gods of Legend 12 at any time

This information is not hidden from Gods, either, although they will explain it in their own terms. Any God whose Mantles, like those of the Òrìshà who transformed into the Loas, have created their own Pantheon know how it is done and can guide others along the way.

Overview

There is no single way to form a Pantheon. Some Gods form themselves around a culture, others around a sacred place, and still others around an ideal. Some focus on the mortals who worship them and some around The World those mortals rely on to live. What all the ways share in common is a general arc from smaller to larger whose reverberations can reach further and further back in time until they may reach the moment of creation itself.

At each step, they act to provide answers to increasingly profound questions for their followers. If they make mistakes along the way, those become part of their legacy as well. Unless they’re careful, their Pantheon and the religion associated with it may look nothing like they originally intended.

  • At Legend 9, Gods act to offer devotees new ways of seeing them as a distinct grouping, even while they maintain their Pantheon ties. Whether as mystery cults like those of the Hellenistic period or syncretic religions that form where any cultures meet and exchange stories of their Gods, the Scions come together to nurture a new Cult that is theirs alone. The focus of this stage is their mortal community of worshipers and how it interacts with other mortals.
  • At Legend 10, they work to extend the reach of their Deeds further into the past, attaching it to Scions whose own achievements demonstrate that the Gods have raised up Heroes for centuries to promote their values. By guiding these Scions to their Visitations successfully, the characters define their proto-Pantheon’s Virtues, which are the focus of this stage together with the kind of Heroes who represent it.
  • At Legend 11, the Gods become the first to have taught humanity important skills, to have named things, or to have performed sacred rituals. Depending on the choice they make, this can involve claiming a people, a land, or an aspect of nature as their own, but usually involves the creation of a special Sanctum that will act as the seed of an Over- or Underworld. Performed successfully, it ends with the creation of their own Signature Purview that they will pass on to any of their Scions in the future. The focus of this stage is the relationship between divinity, humanity, and The World.
  • At Legend 12, they define their cosmology and their place in it. This step can be the most challenging and difficult, since it will forever engrave their identities in Fate and mortals’ memory of who they are. If they succeed, however, the Mantles they have created along the way become independent Gods and the Realm or Realms they have created expand to their fullest potential. The focus of this stage is that of ultimate meaning: life, death, the order of the cosmos, and similar matters of profound importance to humanity.

Pantheon Mantles

A God worshiped in one place or in one aspect can be markedly different from another. Zeus Basileos rules over the Theoi, Zeus Xenios protects strangers and defends the rules of hospitality, while ram-horned Zeus Ammon is counted among the Netjer. While most Mantles like these come to be when a God negotiates with a Demigod Scion to keep her from trying to usurp his primary Mantle — acknowledging the Scion’s worthiness without surrendering control — they can also arise when Gods separate themselves from their native Pantheon in order to create a new one.

The amount of difference between a God’s main identity and that of a Pantheon Mantle depends on their preference and how many of the stages of Pantheon-building they have undertaken. Some are virtually the same other than having a connection to different Legendary Titles, while others are almost unrecognizable.

By completing the work of Pantheon creation at Legend 9, a God’s Pantheon Mantle can substitute up to three of her Legendary Titles for ones better suited to the identity. She can do so with another three Titles with each subsequent point of Legend, so that a Legend 12 God has an entirely different set.

Starting at Legend 10, a God can exchange one Calling for a Mantle-specific one, keeping the same number of Callings dots and Knacks. He may do so with a second at Legend 11 and the third at Legend 12.

At Legend 11, the God can trade two Purviews for ones specific to the Pantheon Mantle, and two more at Legend 12. If one of these is the Pantheon Signature Purview (PSP) of the God’s original Pantheon, it means that she maintains some connection to that Pantheon in some form. If not, then her player is indicating that he wants the character to focus completely on the new Pantheon: the PSP still changes to the one associated with it, and the Mantle attached to the first Pantheon goes free to find a better bearer.


Legend 9: New Mysteries

At Legend 9, newly-risen Gods begin forming a Pantheon on a small and local scale by gathering a new Cult that recognizes their connection to each other. Even if the Scions already have Cults of their own, this one is different: it will become the core of their religion and a record among mortals of all the Deeds they accomplish together.

The general goal of the Deed at this point is to foster and strengthen this new Cult against whatever forces might oppose it. The characters do this by incarnating as Heroes somewhere in The World linked to their collective Legend, acting to exemplify the qualities they want the Cult to promote, and showing would-be followers that their way offers something different from the worship of other Pantheons.

Suggested Questions and Stories

Why is this day sacred? People remember when their Gods win victory against the forces that oppose their religion. A day that commemorates a challenge the original Band of Heroes faced has turned into a holy day among worshipers, but what was it that they did to make it special? While the Gods’ Incarnations are not their former selves, the Deed they carry out is symbolically or thematically similar to one of their early adventures and takes place on the same day of the year. The opponents are different, as are their specific goals, but what motivates them is much the same. Choose an option like this if you want a more action-oriented arc in which characters teach lessons through displays of power.

  • If they once fought Titan cultists hunting for sacrifices that no one will miss in a busy city, they may now be a group of politicians systematically withholding support for poor neighborhoods so that they collapse and can be demolished. Both of them are driven by a callous disregard for the lives of marginalized people, but their methods change from the past to the present. Resolving the situation emphasizes that the Heroes are protectors above all else.
  • If the Heroes once investigated a Sorcerer who used magic to take revenge on anyone whom he felt had ever insulted or belittled him, then this time, it’s an amateur occultist who is the first of many victims whose only connection is that they all had a scholarly interest in magic. The opponent might be someone who wanted to learn sorcery and was turned down repeatedly, but who now has some item that lets her strike back at them. Depending on the way the story plays out, the theme could either be a warning about the dangers of sorcery or what happens when someone lets the desire for retribution dominate them. Each would teach a different lesson to the Gods’ Cult.

What makes us different from others? Through symbols and practices, the Pantheon’s followers have marked themselves as different from worshipers of other religions. They may do it through the way they dress, their diet, or how they decorate their bodies. They may surround themselves with secrecy, requiring initiation to learn the deeper teachings of the Cult, or they may only be open to people of specific heritages. How did these practices come to be, and how does it affect the Cult’s relationships with the surrounding mortal communities? Choose an option like this for a socially-oriented arc in which investigations and interactions are the key to success.

  • A group of devotees of the Gods want to buy property in a small town so that they can build their first temple, but the local community is suspicious of them, especially those involved with a temple of an established Pantheon. The Heroes must find a way either to ease tensions among the mortals before the problem escalates or show their own followers how to protect themselves against the kinds of threats they will face in the future. It’s possible that some outside force is manipulating one group or the other in order to force a confrontation and drive the Gods’ people out; it may be someone involved with one of the characters’ native Pantheons who sees this new faction as an aberration or even a member of one of their existing Cults who believes the inclusion of their patron in this new religion is religiously offensive.
  • A schism in the Gods’ Cult happens before it can properly take shape, with two small groups of worshipers in a bustling city dividing over matters of proper belief and practice. Each group has a charismatic leader who isn’t willing to accept the other one as head of the community. Not only are their accusations against each other growing increasingly lurid — with rumors of gruesome sacrifices, abuse of their followers, and cooperation with Titanic forces — but they are starting to claim divine favor for their own position in the form of miracles. Do the Heroes side with one group over the other, work to bring them together to resolve their feud before it gets out of control, or remove both leaders in favor of someone more suited to the role?

What is our most important teaching? In multicultural societies where people can choose from a variety of religions to find the one that suits them, those religions often need to hold out a promise that none of the others do. It might be hope for a better afterlife, secrets of the true nature of The World, clear guidance on how to live, or just a supportive community, but it will be something that they can claim is theirs alone. What sets the Gods’ Pantheon apart from the religions around it, and how did they come to communicate its unique qualities to worshipers? Choose an option like this if you want an arc in which characters teach lessons directly, reveal mysteries, and lead others.

  • Members of a still-new Cult dedicated to the characters have been very cautious so far about who they allow to join, restricting their teaching to personally-chosen initiates only. When some of their secrets are not only leaked online, but are picked up by a well-known designer who plans to use them as the basis for a new videogame, however, they find themselves faced with two challenges. First, they need to discover which one of them (if it was one of them) revealed the secret teachings and decide how they should respond to that. Second, they realize that if the mysteries become part of a popular game, people will believe that the Cult was inspired by the game and not the other way around. It’s up to the Heroes to reconcile questions of publicity versus privacy and help their followers decide whether their religion should remain secret.



Again, this is just a taste of the chapter to come on Tuesday. Backers of this project will have access to the complete draft manuscript before the campaign ends and any pledges are processed and payments collected. So join our Backer Pantheon if you haven't already, and help us unlock our next Funding Achievement, which expands our Companion supplement for a third time, exploring mystic Realms.


At $100,000 in Funding – Scion: God Companion Supplement III – More on Realms! The Companion supplement will expand and clarify rules around Terra Incognita, Realms, and Sancta. Rules and guidance may include information on ruling over Realms, creating or destroying Realms, Realm Conditions, and Realm challenges.


Rhiannon Part II
about 2 years ago – Fri, Nov 04, 2022 at 10:46:21 AM

Hello Scions,

We're back for the second half of our Rhiannon story! We're also about to begin the back half of our campaign - we've got just under two weeks left before we reach the finish line. We're still in the quiet middle - the calm before the storm - so get ready for an exciting run to the end. Don't forget to tell your friends and friendly gamers about the campaign, and let's see if we can't hit another Stretch Goal over the weekend.

Speaking of the weekend, I'll have a couple of sneak peeks over the next two days as we get ready for our next manuscript drop on Tuesday. Remember, if you're a backer, you will be able to read the entire draft before we conclude the campaign. So join in if you haven't!


Rhiannon
III.


There weren’t many kin among her Pantheon she couldn’t get along with, but in a gun-to-her-head situation, she’d have no trouble claiming Ogma as her favorite. In retrospect, that was what got her into this mess in the first place: the Champion was a busy man, she owed him more than a few favors, and when his daughter came with ogham and offerings, Rhiannon saw no reason to decline.

She had reasons aplenty, now, but it was far too late for that.

Striding beside her all wind-burned cheeks and long blond beard, comfortable in denim and a military surplus field jacket, Ogma’s incarnation looked right at home on the show floor — just another good old boy looking to exercise his rights as an American. Rhiannon suspected that if it weren’t for his presence, she’d be getting a lot more dirty looks. It was a fair analogy for her presence in Tir na nóg, too — or in any of the Otherworlds where denizens were expecting a proper God. Mantle and dominion though she had, she was too young, too fresh. 

“Liked that old Renfield,” he confided in his pleasant, honey-smooth drawl, only a touch of the Emerald Isle in his words. “Might swing around again when the ugliness is done, see if it’s still listed. Hoping that wasn’t really Set I saw back there or we’ll have a bidding war.”

“And then good luck getting through the background check.” She grinned.

“We got our ways, don’t we? There’s the dossers now.”

Over the roiling sea of mortal lives and tables loaded with gunmetal and lead, she could see the weft of Fate puckering like a snarl in a sweater. Two tall, handsome men, their skin like burnished copper and their hair thick and curling, drifted from dealer to dealer, feigning interest but truly scanning the crowd for signs of divinity — for mediators from the Tuatha dé.

“Suspect Shamash and I’ll get on well,” Ogma said brightly.

“You’ve never met before?”

“And thank you for the acquaintance. This Nergal, though…”

But there was to be no more discussion, because the Annuna had found them.

Shamash appeared in a glossy incarnation, his dark hair neatly trimmed, his chin smooth, his suit practical but clearly expensive — the prototypical executive-hobbyist. His brother-in-law, the man of the hour, dressed wholly in black, his beard neatly trimmed and his curls touched with red. He looked more like a movie assassin than anything else. This informal summit may have been her idea, but the choice of venue… that was all Nergal.

They exchanged introductions and how-are-yous, Ogma’s smile never dimming, the Annuna brothers never losing that aura of vague distance. 

“Thank you for agreeing to speak with us,” and Rhiannon added, “truly,” dipping her head and allowing deep sincerity to color her words. Finally, Shamash smiled. There’s no true blarney like deference to your elders.

“There’s a pub down the way,” Ogma suggested. “If you gentlemen are the type for a drink.”

“No, thank you.” Nergal’s words were deep, curt. “I would prefer to conduct this quickly.”

“Concerns over the behavior of your children have reached the red dome of Anu,” Shamash informed them, more softer-spoken than his brother-in-law but no less commanding.

“My children,” Ogma half-smiled, bemused, stroking his beard.

That night at the Valley of Refusal, when diplomacy failed and the fires of dissonance raged, the young Band of warriors chased the terrified cultists back into their vehicle; the negotiators of the Lady of Accord retired in shame at their failure; and Ethan Shields, son of Dian Cécht, paid for a lift to the Westchester Medical Center and began indignantly treating the ill himself. By morning, half the inpatients were out, and word came to both the Champion and Physician by way of a two-faced messenger: Nergal was furious at this subversion of his will.

Rhiannon would not tolerate an intertheological incident at her own oversight. But the Annuna seemed to have other plans.

“You have many Scions, don’t you?” Nergal’s glare gored into the two of them. “And this one seems a disappointment.”

“You mean Ellis McArthur,” Rhiannon asked, a little stunned at the outright hostility.

Ogma frowned. “I can’t say I know what she’s done to deserve a generational death sentence.”

“Nor can I say why there’s such a fuss over one distasteful young mortal.”

“Please,” Shamash broke in firmly with a raise of his hand. “If I may. My brother has shared his concerns with me, and I with him. It is not the mortal that concerns us, as it is the spread of her conduct — her disrespect. Familiar, are you, with the tales our allies in the southern sphere share of the firehawk?”

Ogma stroked his beard again and gave a noncommittal grunt.

“The birds that carry burning branches?” Rhiannon prompted, politely. 

Shamash did not honor her with a glance, but continued. “They take the smoking twigs into their beaks, conveying them to unburnt land. The flames harry their prey. They hunt within the inferno, heedless of the damage.”

“My demons will spread this plague the way your child spreads fire,” Nergal interjected with a smug sneer.

“Inferno,” Ogma snorted. “Whatever she’s done, it’s not as bad as all that. To kill her mother, and so many innocent bystanders—”

“No?” Nergal’s eyes flashed.

Too late, Rhiannon recognized his acid-bright rage. “What we mean is—” She tried to cut in.

“Not as bad?” The God of destruction continued over her. His eyes raked Ogma’s appearance. “If my brother and I had known the Children of Danu were unwashed idiots with no concept of filial piety, we would have declined this meeting outright.”

The fluorescent lighting overhead flickered and dimmed. Dark clouds passed over Ogma’s countenance.

Nergal was undisturbed — if anything, Ogma’s anger seemed to invigorate him. “My terms: your child pays with her life, and then my demons withdraw.”

“And if we destroy your manky demons instead?” Ogma’s voice was like a distant roll of thunder.

“My lords,” Rhiannon raised her voice, recognizing this was spinning rapidly out of control. “This isn’t a productive use of our time. Why don’t we—”

“You’re right,” Nergal snapped, still glaring at Ogma. “We have far better things to do.”

“Why not inspire some new epics,” Ogma suggested with a brightness that belied his stormy expression. “You made an awful hames of the ones I’ve heard.”

“You,” Nergal seethed. Shamash held him back with a hand on his chest.

“Give it another millennium, you’ll get the hang of it,” the God of speech encouraged, smiling.

It took only fifteen minutes, and negotiations broke down. 

IV.

“Thanks for nothing.”

The strikingly tall young woman with hair like black fire and eyes hard as stone stormed down from the library entrance hall, her heels falling like hammers on the tile floor.

“I didn’t…” The student-staff protested, devastated by her dismissal. “I tried…”

It was two in the morning on a Friday night, and the WCU Library was still as a graveyard. When the automatic doors parted like genuflecting serfs for the young Scion, her shoulder collided with another figure, the only other fool still working at this hour.

“Excuse me,” the firefighter said by way of apology. 

Tash shot her a grim stare and kept walking. 

The lone student behind the reception desk leapt to his feet at the sight of the emergency medical tech, keys jangling from his lanyard. “It’s the Jefferson Room,” he said without preamble. “She’s been in there for hours with the door locked. My key won’t even…” He trailed off into uselessness.

The stocky firefighter with the red hair thanked him brusquely.

“Do you want me to show you—?”

But she was already gone, striding away under the fluorescent lights.

Under her touch, the brushed metal doorhandle clicked and twisted. The Jefferson Room was rank with illness, proverbial bad air stinging the firefighter’s nose. There was only the long table here, the swivel chairs, and a single young woman. The study room table was defaced, one might say, but Rhiannon recognized the ogham runes tracing the circumference of the cheap laminate. In the center, Ellis McArthur lay stretched out like a corpse at the morgue. She was already halfway there, in truth — her health was failing slow and sure, the divine plague well-rooted within her.

I could end this all. Right here, right now.

The firefighter sat at her side, propped elbows on the table, and looked down into her pale face.

Ellis gestured weakly. “Thanks,” she groaned. She was sincere. Rhiannon thought to ask, What for? I failed you and everyone else, at every possible turn, but instead she said nothing.

“So this is it, right?” The young warrior-poet sighed. “This is what finally takes me out?”

“Not what you expected,” Rhiannon guessed.

She snorted. “I expected someone to get tired of my shit and stab me, or something. Um.” Her bluster faded in a rush. “Did you see Tash on the way in?”

“Looked like she had a job to do.”

Ellis groaned again. “You should’ve stopped her. Um.” Rather than blush at her impudence, she looked even greener. “I mean. Couldn’t you — no, uh — f-forgive my—”

“It’s all right.”

Should have. Could have. Won’t. The threat of inextricable bonds chained her down. Her own sensitivity to the myths of humanity left her bound and gagged and helpless to influence anything, anything at all.

They sat in grim silence. The firefighter took the girl’s cold, trembling hand in hers.

“It’s the only way, right?” Ellis asked, and for the first time her fear was obvious, bold in its presence.

She said nothing. It can’t be. It can’t be the only way.

“I guess that’s just… destiny.” The Scion’s chest shuddered with a sigh. “Tash told me all about the whole… Enkidu thing. I guess that’s me now.”

“How so?” The firefighter asked, vaguely curious through the racing of her mind.

“Cause we’re like—” Her face flushed again, and her pulse fluttered weakly under Rhiannon’s thumb. “I mean. We’re not. I never actually asked her.”

The firefighter managed a grin.

“Fuck it, I’m dying, aren’t I,” Ellis muttered. “I’m stupid about her.”

“I can tell,” the God said diplomatically.

“That’s why Nergal’s out to get me. Why this is all…” Her chest rose and fell with the effort of catching her breath. “Fate decided I get to be Enkidu.” She drew a finger across her pale throat.

Rhiannon frowned at the girl’s hand in hers, then lifted her green eyes to that ashen, sweating, lethally mortal face. “That’s not how it works.”

With effort, Ellis’s eyes found hers.

“Fate can’t tell you what you are.” Even as the words left her, she could feel them swelling like a new-lit candle. “It fuels what you could be.”

Ellis shook her head in bewilderment. But the Lady of Accord rose from her seat.

—beg my mother to forgive me, ran the ogham in loose, unmetered lines, winding under the failing body of Ogma’s daughter, and my heart-mate to forget me, though I carry her love like a bird into—

“And you can be something else.” The Goddess’s voice filled the room with warmth and light. “You must be.”

Clutched between Rhiannon’s gloves, Ellis’s wrist grew hot as a brand. The little room sweltered, the air wavered. The dying girl looked up at the Goddess with brightening eyes, confused but believing. Smoke trickled from the corner of her mouth. Ghostly green flames rose from her limbs.

And, really, Rhiannon thought with a private smile. There’s only one thing you can be.

It was a short flight to find Tash Turani. She glowed like a bronze beacon in the hospital parking lot, the remains of her grieving Band arrayed in formation behind her. The four were armed with relics and the zealous fury of the young. They raged atop a growing mound of slaughtered demons. Still more flooded forth from the night’s brume to attack them.

Veiled in smoke and light, Nergal loomed over the scene, all copper and shadows and blood. He watched with unconcerned interest, gesturing wave after wave of demons forward. The young warriors couldn’t see him, but still they screamed profanities at him, desperate to draw him out, to end it all one way or another.

There was no time to plan a clever entrance. 

“Ellis McArthur is dead,” Rhiannon announced, letting her voice precede her. 

A hundred emotions danced on the head of a pin — the pin that always drop in every important silence. A chorus of howls rose from the Band, but the God behind her was silent, calculating.

Rhiannon emerged from the deepness of the night, and the light posts surrounding blazed a brilliant emerald. Beside her, a new-made body gleamed. 

How do I look to them? She wondered. What kind of stories are they going to tell about this? After a moment, she decided, The kind I want to appear in.

“I’m gonna need a new name,” said the person beside her. She was light-boned and misleadingly petite, feathered in glossy black and green. Atop her head was a crest of pale red, and in her smile was the promise of flame.

“What the hell is this?” The Scion of Aries sputtered. 

Tash Turani approached with a careful pace and a wide-eyed stare. 

“The remains of your friend.” The Goddess gestured in presentation, as much for Nergal as for the young Scions. “She left behind a firehawk.”

“This isn’t—” Tash began, quiet and frightened.

“Would you just fucking rename me already so Nergal can hold up his end?” The firehawk snapped. “Shit. Did you want to fight another hundred-fifty monsters?”

The Incarnation of Gilgamesh broke into a slow, joyful smile.

Nergal’s anger hit Rhiannon like a wave of stench, the smell of the sick and dying. His hate burned between her shoulder blades. The sound of gibbering retreat echoed in her ears. The weight of the plague lifted from her psyche.

Rhiannon swelled with pride, and knew that she, too, had been transformed. 

Rhiannon Part I
about 2 years ago – Wed, Nov 02, 2022 at 08:51:12 AM

Hello Scions,

We are right in the middle of this campaign, where things usually quiet down a bit. Although there was a lot of interest after yesterday's Pantheon chapter post, so I don't know that the rules always apply to Scion campaigns!

In addition to reminding everyone about our next Funding Achievement Target, I want to share some more of the fiction that will be included in the final book. This next one is called Rhiannon, and is told in 4 parts. It's a bit too long if I share it all at once, so instead I'll split it in half and add a little blurb and spread it over a few days.

So, first up, a note that we're closing in on our SEVENTH Stretch Goal, adding even more new content to the Scion: God Companion book, with a section delving into Realms and the geography of the gods! Let's see if we can unlock this before our next manuscript section!


At $100,000 in Funding – Scion: God Companion Supplement III – More on Realms! The Companion supplement will expand and clarify rules around Terra Incognita, Realms, and Sancta. Rules and guidance may include information on ruling over Realms, creating or destroying Realms, Realm Conditions, and Realm challenges.

And now, back to the first half of our story.




Rhiannon


I.

The part-timer at Sheedy’s switched on the neon signs, flipped the sign to “Open,” and unlocked the front doors. It was a formality, really: he’d not see a soul for another hour. Not even the crustiest of regulars could justify stopping in on a Tuesday at one in the afternoon, and their biggest crowd of usuals — the fine men and women of Engine Company No. 2, Station 12 — would only be by after their shift change.

So he might be forgiven for missing the chime of the door, for failing to notice his young patron entirely until she was standing at the polished wood-top bar. She had a nose like a beak and the attitude of someone who’d been scowling since birth, her pale and heavily-freckled face sour with impatience.

The part-timer studied the youthful luster of her blue eyes. “Can I see I.D.?” He asked placidly, skipping the niceties.

With an exasperated groan, she fished into the pocket of her kelly green trackpants for a battered bifold, rainbow-striped and Sharpie-scribbled. There was a sixty percent chance the license was fake, but the part-timer decided that remaining forty wasn’t worth the fight — not at one p.m. on a Tuesday. The girl’s quick eyes glanced over the taps; she asked for two pints of bourbon stout and a stack of napkins, smoothing a crumpled ten over the countertop.

“Not the Guinness?” The part-timer asked.

“Did I say Guinness,” came her acidic retort.

He raised his hands in half-hearted self-defense. Handling the pints in one hand — a real pro — she took her drinks to a corner booth, under the battered old “FIRE STATION NO. 12” sign, where she sat alone, tracing lines and dashes into the frost of the glass.

Gods help him, he forgot about her again, until the sound of liquid splashing against the hardwood-laminate drew his attention.

“—and honor me as I do thee,” her words were barely audible over the splattering. “Fire-Soother, hear my plea.”

“Hey!” He barked at her over the bar. “What the hell?”

“Oh, sorry,” she apologized loudly, even as she tilted one of the pint glasses to empty it upon the floor. “I’ll get it.”

“None of that shit in here, that’s what temples are for.” The part-timer jabbed his finger toward the exit, customer service be damned. “I’m gonna have to ask you to—”

He’d missed another one: a stocky, square-jawed woman, tattoos peeking from under her sleeves, bent languidly over his bar. She must’ve been fresh from a long, late shift: she was still in her khaki-colored bunker pants and her thick, steel-reinforced boots. The firefighter folded her strong hands on the countertop, a curious look in her green eyes.

“Oh. Hey. Sorry about that, ma’am.” The part-timer blinked at her. Any embers of anger lingering in his face began rapidly to cool. “I.D.?”

She winked. “You’re sweet. Pint’a bourbon stout.”

The girl hurriedly shoved her lump of stout-soaked napkins under the booth table. Hands trembling, she sank into the squeaking leather seat. The firefighter came to join her as if they knew each other, as if she’d been expected. 

Technically, both these things were true.

“Hey there,” the woman in the bunker pants greeted her in a warm, rough voice. “Thanks for the pint.”

The girl’s dark eyebrows knit, her eyes fixed on the tabletop between them. “Lady of Accord,” she mumbled, strange and stilted. “Rhiannon Fire-Soother, my honest entreaty I lay before—"

“No need for all that,” the firefighter assured her. “We’re meeting for drinks, so let’s talk like it.”

The girl exhaled in a huge gust, her shoulders loosening, her face shining with relief. “Thank the Gods. I hate that flowery prayer shit.”

Divine laughter filled the empty pub. “Ellis, right?”

Ellis nodded, finally daring to look the firefighter in the eye.

“Ogma’s girl.” She smiled, the kind of smile that did away with even the most stubborn reticence. “No surprise there, I see your gift for words. I don’t suppose it’s gotten you into trouble lately?”

She needed no confirmation, but Ellis gave it anyway with a hesitant nod. 

The Worldly Incarnation of Rhiannon, Goddess of Truces and Diplomacy, read the girl’s adherence to order and goodwill like a glance at an open book. There wasn’t much to see. Trouble was charitable — dissonance bled from the young Scion like a persistent wound. It was inextricable, interwoven with her very soul. 

If she’s so used to causing problems, this must be a big one to come asking for me.

Ogma’s daughter took a deep breath. “Nergal started a plague to kill me.”

The firefighter snorted into her drink, her dark red eyebrows climbing her forehead. 

II.

She’d never liked the name they arrived at: the Valley of Refusal. The canyon of bare, jagged rock and emerald moss stretched toward the horizon under her sharp green eyes. It stood in contrast to her own memory, faded and strange and divided against itself. She died that day, laid open by a spear thrown by Bres himself, her wound absolute and fatal. She lived that day, wrapped in the Mantle of Accord like an inverse burial shroud, her right of retaliation waived, the cycle of violence ended. 

The World was as distant to her now as it was beloved. Walking its roads and speaking to its inhabitants was like wading through a river in full PPE — the destinies of the entire World weighed her down on every step, muffled her every word. 

Heavy or not, even Fate couldn’t keep her behind a desk. 

She let the driver-side door of the Charger slam behind her and leaned against it with her arms crossed. Exiting opposite, a tall and somber man with a broad, brown forehead squinted into the late afternoon sun: Ethan Shields, a Scion of Dian Cécht. Excluding the prideful God of medicine would’ve caused yet another problem to smooth over, so she’d made sure to head that situation off at the pass. If Ethan suspected his ride-share driver was a God incarnate, he said nothing, but he certainly wasn’t in a rush to pay her and see her off. He slipped on his cotton medical mask, gave her a grateful nod, and joined the pair of mortals waiting patiently by their own ride: members of the IAFF Local 68, a union-turned-secular cult to the Lady of Accord. Stalwart, compassionate, absolutely dogged negotiators, the husband-and-wife pair were figures of quiet infamy within their district. Rhiannon had personally maneuvered for them to be here.

It wasn’t long before a beat-up sedan roared into view, tires spinning over the gravel. Even if the boisterous Scion of Ogma hadn’t been there to help them pick fights, this was a Band destined for trouble. They were all of them young adults and all of them warriors: children of Lugh, Aries, Ītzpāpālōtl, the whole lot led by an Incarnation of Gilgamesh. Ichor and muscle steeled within her, but the ride-share driver’s face remained impassive. Colorless flame roared around the young Scions in an aura of passions, conflict, hurt; their faces, each so different, were lined with identical worries and rage beneath their medical masks.

Two of them were infected. Judging by the stage of the disease — pinpricks of pale green and yellow surrounding them in a corona only a healer could see — they had no idea they were carriers. And they’re not alone, Rhiannon mused. Nergal’s plague demons were notoriously indiscriminate. A third of the county had come down with whatever the God had created, with who knows who else working as unintentional carriers. All in the hopes of making an example of young Ellis McArthur.

The gall of an Annuna. The driver sighed, hiding her balled-up fists in the folds of her jacket.

“Oh, they’re late?” The Scion of Lugh sneered, tossing long black hair from their eyes.

“We can wait a little longer,” one of the mortal negotiators assured them, her shrewd gaze searching the Band. She covered her mouth and nose with the collar of her jacket.

“Rude, isn’t it, Tash?” The Scion of Aries giggled, her voice crackling with malice. 

“We can wait.” Tash, the Annuna Scion, asserted herself with a gentle air of command, crossing her arms over her slick, designer-label blouse. For not the first time, Rhiannon wondered at her part in this. It certainly wasn’t the first time a companion of Gilgamesh had been marked for death by her Pantheon.

So, wait they did… for a full hour beyond the appointed time. The young Band paced, fidgeted, and all but broke out into a fight amongst themselves. Ethan checked his watch with increasing frequency. Even the two negotiators wavered between resignation and uneasiness.

“Fuck this,” the Scion of Aries declared. “Sun’s going down. Let’s get out of here already.” 

Ellis’s blue eyes widened in alarm. “We’re giving up? This was the last chance we had to—”

“There was no chance, El,” Aries’s daughter snapped. “They’re jerking us around.”

As natural as breathing, the Lady of Accord could feel the expression of her purviews ripple and flex around her. The Long Wait was a diplomatic trick older than writing itself and she wasn’t going to let it get the better of them. You can stay, a little longer.

“A little longer,” Tash echoed without realizing, tossing her mane of curly black hair and focusing with laser-like intensity on the dissenting members of her Band. They grumbled, heels scuffing against the gravel.

As if in response, the crush of tires on rock hailed them from down the unpaved road. Headlights veered toward them. An old SUV the color of mud parked uncomfortably close. 

She recognized Nergal’s cultists by the tug of destiny alone. The air thrummed at their arrival, and the Valley of Refusal glowed green and black in the last of the sunlight. The motley group of four piled out in coordinated effort, their faces boldly bare, their bodies free of the disease their God had unleashed. Ethan tensed, as if their presence alone raked at his senses. The warrior Band arranged themselves in a loose formation behind their leader.

“Sorry for the wait,” the lead cultist purred, her pale eyes dancing.

“Like hell you are—” The Scion of Aries blurted. Tash gave her a withering look and Ellis smacked her in the shoulder.

“It’s no trouble,” the husband of the mortal negotiators assured them. “We’re just eager to begin.”

“So are we.” The cult woman folded her hands in front of her impeccable tan trench coat. “The demands of our Contentious Lord are as follows: the Scion of the Tuatha dé’s Champion, and her immediate family, will fall ill, suffer, and die. The reborn Gilgamesh will recant her shameful behavior and refuse to associate with any Scion outside the Annuna. Then Lord Nergal will lift the plague and recall his demons.”

“No one’s dying,” came a snarl from the young Band, followed by some choice, acidic language. 

“Let us handle this,” one of Rhiannon’s faithful insisted, raising her voice.

Her own endless power itched at the back of her mind, beckoned to her with the promise of victory. I could handle this myself. I could end this so quickly. So perfectly. 

“Then handle it,” the Scion of Aries was snarling. “Tell them we’re not about to let anyone die from some ancient Egyptian plague!”

“Sumerian,” Ellis corrected, scowling.

“These demands are His demands,” the cultist of Nergal declared, her face serene and her eyes absolutely wicked.

Rhiannon opened her mouth, words on the tip of her tongue.

The weave of fate tightened around her, and The World watched with bated breath.

She was young, once, in another life. She’d been a Scion; she’d been part of a Band. She had faced her share of trials… horrible, at times unbearable. She had lost so much to the flames, to the Titans, to the endless grinding gears of the modern World. She lost even more at her dying, lost pieces of herself. She had wondered why the Gods never acted.

How much more of her self would the strange machinations of legend snatch away, were she to act upon The World now?

The ride-share driver closed her mouth without a word, and fifteen minutes later negotiations broke down.

To be continued...

Manuscript Preview #3
about 2 years ago – Tue, Nov 01, 2022 at 03:59:53 AM

Hello Scions,

Welcome to November! On our third Tuesday of the campaign we've got our third manuscript preview, detailing the Pantheons that are included in Scion: God.

As noted in a few previous updates, we're also doing our due diligence with beta testing BackerKit's crowdfunding platform. Onyx Path has partnered with Backerkit on more than 45 projects with their Pledge Manager and pre-launch tools, and we're excited to help them develop their crowdfunding platform and find new ways to support creators and backers in the process.

So, to that end, we're going to be testing the Backers Only section for this update. If you're a backer, you must be logged in and reading this from the website to access the links below. So, if you're reading this via e-mail, click that "Read The Update" link on the bottom and I'll see you below the title treatment...

Sneak Peek: The Ilhm of Phoenicia
about 2 years ago – Sun, Oct 30, 2022 at 08:40:12 AM

Hello Scions,

Our next manuscript chapter will be available for backers on Tuesday, November 1st. Chapter Three: Pantheons expands our understanding of the Gods and Pantheons of The World with five Pantheons that carry with them ancient knowledge and enemies even older.

And with a margin of 5 votes, The Ilhm just edged out the Pālas, so let's get a taste of what's coming on Tuesday...


The Ilhm of Phoenicia


By the time the Phoenicians became adept sea traders in the 9th century BCE, the Ilhm already saw the writing — both literal and metaphorical — on the walls surrounding them, the mountains which rose at their people’s back, folding them between other peoples. The further and more frequently they stretched out their arms to protect their sea-going children, watching them establish extensive trading routes across The World, the more deeply Ilhm understood they could never go back to the quiet, isolated life in which they shepherded farmers through generation after generation. They knew their children would mix and mingle with other cultures, bringing home beliefs and superstitions, and if their Gods did not look forward with them, their people would simply shed them like old Mantles, leave them behind like worn cloaks.

The Ilhm claim this forward-looking mentality permitted them to seed their own belief system through most of the Western world. They assert (which most members of most other Pantheons firmly dispute, some quite loudly indeed) that they sent their Demigods out into The World, the better to continue their ascension to Godhood while carrying the values and structures of Phoenician life across the globe. The writings of Kinahhu the Younger, a scribe traveling with spice merchants aboard Asherat’s Breath in the 12th century BCE (and only known via attribution from later works) describe a cosmopolitan people intent on contacting as many different cultures as possible. Her writings describe broad-bottomed single-sail trading ships lined up at the ports of Africa’s Atlantic Coast while sailors clustered into temples positioned at trading posts, bringing offerings to the gathered Gods of many Pantheons, all of whom Kinahhu related to Phoenician deities. 

Whether she simply meant to describe the other Gods in ways her audience could understand or the Phoenician Pantheon actively sought a syncretic future remains a matter of great debate among Scion scholars to this day. Some point to the mix of Ugaritic and Akkadian verb forms in her writing as evidence of broad-based knowledge pointing to a deeper understanding of divine plans, while others gesture to the fact that kinahhu simply means purple dye, the distinctive and now-extinct color made by crushing Murex molluscs native to the Levantine coast. As the Greeks called the Phoenicians and Canaanites by the Hellenized version of this term, ‘Kinahhu the Younger’ may simply translate into the equivalent of American, Jr. 

Whatever the truth of the tale passed through centuries and summaries in the works of other writers, the Ilhm persist where other Pantheons faded. Their worship and homes still center in Byblos, Sidon, and Tyre in modern Lebanon. 

Principal Members


The longer a family stays together, the more complicated their history: older than most other Pantheons, the Ilhm have built up for themselves more tangled stories accordingly. (Of course, Gods being Gods, every other Pantheon disputes this in some fashion — who could admit to not being quite as fabulous in every way as one’s neighbors?) The stories presented here represent the most common and mainstream versions of held by modern Phoenician qadeshtu throughout The World. Other interpretations exist, and Phoenician Scions often fiercely debate amongst themselves the veracity of the various myths their parents tell them. They focus on the lineages of their people, and at the behest of their deities, Ilhm Scions maintain some of the most fantastic genealogical records of any individuals in The World (or outside of it). They care less for the maintenance of their ancestral temples and homelands than some other Pantheons, though whether that springs from a genuine lack of concern or simply flows forth from several millennia where weather, war and time have had their way with the original stone temples in which they received worship remains debatable.

The Gods of the Ilhm Pantheon include: ʼIla (Heaven and justice), Asherah (creation and change), Gad (fortune and misfortune), Anat (war and fertility), Ba’al (lightning and air), Dagon (ocean and agriculture), Mot (death), Raḥmayyu (creation and stability) and Shachar and Shalim (twin Gods of dawn and dusk). 

The Highest Tier, Divine Mothers and Wise Father

The Phoenicians observe a tiered hierarchy of Gods. ‘Ila, Asherat and Raḥmayyu alone inhabit the Highest Tier, their children and grandchildren arrayed in the lower tiers. They spend less time with their Scions than the Seventy Siblings do. Scions born of or chosen by the Mothers and Father receive less direction and focused attention than other Phoenician Scions, for good or for ill. 

‘Ila, God of Heaven and Wisdom


Aliases: Creator of Creatures; Creator of Heaven and Earth; Eternal Sage; Eternal Father; Father of Man; Wise Father; Your Patriarch

At the beginning of all and everything, ‘Ila swam in the darkness which precedes all things. He grew bored and restless with eternity to himself in a nothing with no company, so he decided to create everything according to his will. When he stretched his arms out, darkness and light came to his left and right hands. The oceans opened beneath him, and he rose above them. He looked upon the waters beneath him and loved their fluidity. He gazed upon the earth as he caused it to rise from the waters and loved its stability. He opened his hands and deserts and rivers fell from them. He sighed and winds brushed across the waters then and eternally, the remnants of his breath.

When they ate together, the women named him ‘Ila, the God of Heaven, because he appeared above them in the heavens. So it became given to women and those who give birth to name all things, as they name each child at its birth. As they chose ‘Ila as husband, he lay with them both, and all manner of beings came from their divine triple union; he claims as children all the Gods which spring from Asherah or Raḥmayyu, called the Divine Mothers. He grew restless, however, and could not stand still: ‘Ila went into the desert and beyond the desert. To this day, he wanders. His followers proclaim this as part of his divinity, that he does not remain in one place but moves through his people, and his qadeshtu refuse today as thousands of years ago to create a permanent marzeh to ‘Ila. Instead, the worship of ‘Ila takes place only in temporary and liminal locations; traditional ornate and heavily decorated tents made to established specifications remain central to his Scions and religion, but contemporary worship also takes place in subways, at the sides of highways, and in the hallways of hotels and hospitals. Any place not truly a place is holy to ‘Ila in the eyes of his followers.

‘Ila chooses rarely in modern days, but when he does, he selects strong leaders, those focused on wisdom and patient justice, and the restless for his children. The distant elder bull-God emerges rarely from the desert and selects those hungry for power and knowledge. Among those Scions descended from him, ‘Ila exalts those qualities most highly. One might just as easily find one of his children riding with a caravan of ancient, rattletrap VW buses following a psychedelic band across the Midwest as in the halls of quiet judicial contemplation. A Scion of ‘Ila finds it hard to rest, and if she manages spiritual quiet and peace for even a minute, she undoubtedly receives a swift gluteal goad from her divine father. Whatever else ‘Ila wants from his children, he always wants more.

Callings: Liminal, Judge, Sage
Purviews: Beasts (Bulls), Epic Stamina, Fertility, Fire, Journeys, Prosperity, Sky, Wild (Desert)

Asherah, Goddess of Creation and Change


Aliases: Aserdu; Ašratu; Ašratum; Dione; Divine Mother of Transition and Transformation; ‘Ilat; Our Lady of Change and Growth; Most Exalted Goddess of the Day; She Who Treads on the Sea Dragon; She Who Walks On Waves 

When ‘Ila moved over the waters alone as both darkness and light, he saw two women swimming in the ocean, and ‘Ila knew his desire for them. He lifted them from the water onto the land and appeared before them as the first of the men, the first of the bull-Gods, wearing the same horns which signify power and fertility that his son Ba’al would wear thereafter. His right hand created a bird, and his left hand produced a stave which he threw at the bird with great accuracy, striking it to the earth. He gave the bird to the women to cook and bade them to decide by the time the meat dripped grease down his chin with his first bite whether they chose to look upon him as husband or as father eternally. One woman opened her left hand and created death; the bird died in her grip. She opened her right hand and created fire. The other woman opened her left hand and created stones, then opened her right and created trees. Together they made a cookfire and cooked the first meal.

The women discussed together at the first cookfire and decided between them to take him as husband — though it isn’t as though their online dating profiles had an awful lot of selection at that point — and each other as wives and sacred companions.

When they ate together, she named herself Asherah (which she deemed to mean most exalted Goddess of the day) and took all manner of change into herself. When ‘Ila wandered off on his next quest for meaning, she stayed behind with their wife Raḥmayyu, and between the two of them they created all living things. The wives decided to flow between all roles, and took turns as father and mother, seed and earth, deciding between themselves who fertilized and who gestated. ‘Ila claimed the first seventy Gods as his own Sons and Daughters, and it served the Divine Mothers to humor him. Asherah’s qadeshtu keep the secret of this generation of divinity as their highest mystery, whispered only within the central chamber of the most sacred marzeh in Byblos. Asherah values that change which creates and advances, rather than that change which destroys or strikes down, and shines the bright light of day on all her children.

Asherah values fluidity as a form of strength, and so does she value all forms of flexibility in her children; her Scions and followers maintain that Asherah’s ability to move lithely through The World permitted her to preserve the Phoenicians when other civilizations failed. History credits her Scions with establishing the first of the well-known Phoenician trade routes; her qadeshtu originated the deep-seated Ilhm belief that most of the Western world’s Pantheons spring from the children of Asherah and Raḥmayyu, Scions who became Gods themselves. 

Her Chosen Scions come from all countries, socioeconomic classes, and genders. She cherishes most those who transgress boundaries and create truth in that transgression. Civil rights organizers, writers, poets, and artists all gain her favor; one of her daughters travels the United States, teaching parents how to run for school and library boards to preserve Asherah’s values of diplomacy, a cosmopolitan understanding of the world and its people, and savviness in trade. She adores weavers and those who create textiles and clothing, and those who combine two or more of her favored categories—a weaver who works transgressive identity into their art, for example—delight her best of all. 

Callings: Guardian, Healer, Lover
Purviews: Artistry (Dance), Beauty, Fire, Health, Passion (Love), Prosperity, Sun

Raḥmayyu, Goddess of Creation and Stability


Aliases: ʾAṯiratu of the Sea; Divine Mother of Byblos; Most Exalted Goddess of the Night; Our Lady of Creation and Home; Rahmay; Rahmaya; She Who Stands on Earth; Womb of all Wombs

When ‘Ila left, Raḥmayyu remained behind with Asherah; she longed not for her husband but for her wife, and gladly took most gestation upon herself. So from Raḥmayyu sprung all manner of animals: her womb bore into the world all of its fish and birds, all of its animals which run or swim or fly. From a whisper meant for her wife’s ears leapt every insect which pollinates, and from her weeping when parted even briefly from Asherah come all plants which bear pleasant flowers. Spoken of far less often than her wife or husband, Raḥmayyu nevertheless commanded her children to found the first marzeh in the city of Byblos, from which every other marzeh took its model. Where Asherah faced outward to the sea and ‘Ila brought back the distant mysteries of the desert and the stars, Raḥmayyu planted her feet upon the earth, bidding her children to found the triple cities from which the Phoenician culture sprung: Byblos, Sidon, and Tyre.

Raḥmayyu loves most in her children their ability to build and to create a truly inclusive world. Where ‘Ila focuses on wisdom as the ultimate harbinger of justice, Raḥmayyu loves those who bring others in from the cold, either metaphorical or literal. Her role as Most Exalted Goddess of Night centers around the building of strong homes in which her children may rest easily, yes, but in addition, those centers of safety, the strong buildings of stone which she showed her first Scions how to build, allow her children to dive into the deeper mysteries. Those who mistake the gestational mother-Goddess as solely a figure of gentle motherhood misunderstand Raḥmayyu entirely. She both studies the mysteries of death (which Asherah brought into the world) as well as giving birth to the Seventy Siblings with her wife. Her cults delve into forbidding Underworlds and travel to distant Overworlds, seeking deep knowledge where the children of ‘Ila seek broad knowledge.

Raḥmayyu’s Scions therefore tend to specialize where ‘Ila’s generalize: she loves those who dive deeply into a single topic and learn as much as possible about it, especially when they not only learn about that subject but bring that knowledge to the marzeh to share it with others. She adores those who create niche websites on obscure subjects and write their theses on a subtopic of a subtopic of a subtopic. Most treasured of all her children, she exalts those who open their doors to others and bring in the hungry, weary, and wounded without regard to their own safety or the nature of those they help. The outer doors to Raḥmayyu’s marzeh in Byblos never close; the inner doors open only to those devoted to the deep mysteries.

Callings: Creator, Lover, Sage
Purviews: Artistry (Pottery, Weaving), Beauty, Death, Earth, Epic Stamina, Fertility, Health, Moon



Dagon, God of the Ocean and Agriculture

Aliases: Dagan; He Beneath the Waves; Oannes; Zeus Arotrios

Many inscriptions speak of Dagon as if he and Ba’al carried the same breath in their lungs, and many older writings declare Dagon and Ba’al the same individual: this holds truth, but not all truth. Ba’al claims he carried the Mantle of Ocean God before his younger brother’s birth. Dagon claims no ocean God existed before him, but Ba’al points out that his victories with Yam as an impossible feat without dominion over the ocean. Whatever the truth, Dagon’s Mothers washed his birth-blood away in the ocean; when they withdrew him from the waves, he wailed unceasingly. They returned him to the ocean, and his weeping ceased; at that moment Asherah demanded Ba’al give Dagon dominion over the oceans. Ba’al agreed to this on the condition that Dagon also take the job of looking after fields, which he found endlessly boring. Dagon agreed and, in between long stints creating new life beneath the waves, he taught the sea-loving Phoenicians to fortify their fields with fish guts and bone meal.

Dagon holds dominion over all water fallen to the earth. Rain answers to his brother Ba’al until the instant it lands; rivers, lakes, lagoons, seas, and streams obey Dagon. He takes special joy in the moments when humanity discovers his delightful creatures. From giant squid to tardigrades, if it lives in water, he claims he put his fingerprints on it. He is fondest of mermaids, who he made in his image; the ocean God spends most of his time with his favorites, curled up under the waves with the hungriest and loveliest of his children.

The God of the ocean chooses and exalts those of his children who love the ocean as much as he does. He treasures those who value fluidity, and he also love those who look after farmers and seek interesting new advancements in dealing with the global climate crisis and food supply. A year ago, he Chose graduate student Ari Swift after they spent a summer perfecting a valve which increased a crucial dew-collection system’s efficiency by 23%; their achievement averted a water crisis in Lebanon last year.

Callings: Creator, Guardian, Healer
Purviews: Artistry (Sports), Beasts (Ocean Life, Farm Animals Except Bulls), Epic Stamina, Fertility, Health, Prosperity, Water, Wild

Cosmology: The Wadi Between the Mountains

The Phoenicians view everything truly important to them which exists outside The World as laying between the Mountains which encircle their ancestral homelands. For further information on The Wadi. 

The Wadi comprises the whole of the Phoenician Overworld and Underworld rolled into one. It spreads out, a fertile river valley filled with greenery, ringed by a mountain range, El Shaddai, which juts up into the sky, separating the home of the Gods from the hostile desert beyond. El Shaddai, the breasts of Eretz, provide the bounty of The Wadi; all rivers flow from her. The depths of Tehom — the closest thing to hell the Phoenicians understand — ring about The Wadi outside of El Shaddai, protecting the Ilhm’s home from attack.

Upon the top of Mount Sappan, the tallest mountain in El Shaddai, live all the Gods of the Ilhm, save ‘Ila, Mot, and Arsay. Here, too, they keep homes to which they invite the most exalted and beloved of their Scions. Ascending Mount Sappan only grants access to the marzeh of the Ilhm on specific dates or when specific weather events come to pass; the Ilhm gift this sacred knowledge to those children who merit special gifts. 

Primordials

Shamayim, the Sky 

Predating the rest of the Pantheon, Shamayim does not just represent the Sky, especially the Night Sky, but Truth itself. A people walking the night desert under an endless sky understand the impossibility of hiding from Truth herself when beneath the desert night’s fathomless darkness. This genderless being walks endlessly between the mountains of The Wadi, and delights in playing riddle games with Scions as they walk along the banks of the multitudinous rivers which run through it. Presenting Shamayim with a riddle or puzzle which they have not yet heard brings their especial favor, and Scions who do so might convince the Primordial to help them puzzle out difficulties in their lives. 

Eretz, the Earth, the Many-Breasted One

Quiet and steady, Eretz spends most of her time asleep in The Wadi; on the rare occasions when she wakes, however, The Wadi breaks open with celebration. Fruit trees flower and bear fruit in a rush, the rivers leap their banks and dance, and blessings pour forth on everyone present in the Wadi at that moment. She loves travelers, and she really, really loves food; the Primordial finds the process of cooking food fascinating — this thing that only humans do — and will happily talk for an eternity about preparation methods, flavorings, and recipes. Early Phoenician traders counseled each other to leave offerings of rare herbs, fruits from far-flung orchards, and spices from distant ports on the broad stone altars in wild places sacred to this mother of ‘Ila. (He never acknowledges her, or calls, or writes, which makes her so terribly sad). The mountains surrounding The Wadi, El Shaddai, are Eretz’s breasts, from which all rivers flow.

Yam, the Sea, He of Tehom

Sometimes called a Titan, sometimes a Primordial, nomenclature matters not at all to Yam: he spends almost all his time sulking in the deep ocean Tehom, plotting to overthrow Ba’al. He hasn’t had an original idea about this endeavor in at least a thousand years, but that doesn’t stop him from trying to come up with something new. This time, for certain, he’ll create the biggest Titanspawn and come up with the very best idea, and then he’ll be back in charge for sure and can smash as many ships as he wants.  



Yam, the River-Sea

Yam stands astride the line between Primordial and Titan. He represents not the comforting, familiar ocean of Dagon, understood and bargained with by the sea-trading Phoenicians, but the black abyss beneath the ocean’s surface. He fathers the raging storms which snap masts and flipped the maritime craft carved by the early followers of the Ilhm out of a single massive cedar trunk. He created Lotan and the Leviathan, which may or may not represent a single mythological figure and whom Ba’al hates. Having existed since before ‘Ila and his wives — or so he claims — the Gods threw him off the sacred Mt. Sappan because he would not promise that he would not wreck their followers’ ships. Ba’al fomented this exile, and Yam hates him more than any of the Gods. On multiple occasions, Yam has sent Titanspawn to destroy Sappan, Ba’al, and all his siblings, children, and followers. The mighty crash of wild storms at sea wash up over the shores of what would become modern-day Lebanon did not destroy the Phoenicians, and indeed, drove them to diversify their holdings. Ba’al promised he would never flood the entire world again after that incident with Attar and thus if they promulgate their trading posts across the world, Yam cannot drown them all.

Calling: Creator, Destroyer, Primeval
Purviews: Sky, Water

Followers

Seventy by Seventy: This American non-profit, currently run by Esi Nkansa, Scion of Raḥmayyu, has been run by the same Ashanti family since Reconstruction. Prior to that, they ran a shelter for refugees in Canada; the family escaped the plantation owner holding them hostage for labor and then worked tirelessly to free others. Seventy by Seventy (a reference to the first generation of Ilhm and the first generation of their Scions) works diligently to track Ilhm Scions and relatives lost to the Middle Passage and enslavement, but their mission extends far past that. 

The Nkansa family passes along Relics and knowledge of many Underworlds through generations of their Scions, and their ability to descend into Underworlds in search of missing ancestors permits them to complete family trees broken by kidnapping and enslavement. Esi takes great pride in the fact that her family’s relationship with Raḥmayyu kept them from losing their heritage and link to marzeh — she can trace her family line back to the first Phoenician trading post in what’s now Ghana — and delights in passing on the gift of family knowledge to others. 

Relics

Anat’s Rib: Technically, a sliver of Ba’al’s bone, and not always a portion of his rib: Scions encase these fragments of bone in the handles of their weapons or wear the slivers in their jewelry. From Anat’s Rib, Scions receive the strength of Anat when she fought Lotan.



OK, that's just a taste of the section on the Pantheons, just enough to give us a sample of what's coming. When we see the full text we'll also see more on the Ilhm plus the other four Pantheons featured. And a reminder that Tuesday's manuscript chapter will be available for backers only - you'll have to click to read the update on the website to have access to all of the links.


ACHIEVED! - At $95,000 in Funding - Backer T-Shirt – A Scion: God-themed Kickstarter Backer shirt will be hosted on Onyx Path’s Redbubble store for a limited time. Only backers will be notified when the shirt becomes available for purchase.

Also worth noting that we've hit our $95,000 milestone and can now regroup and continue to push forward towards our next big new content goal, further expanding the Companion supplement with some additional rules and options built around Realms.


At $100,000 in Funding – Scion: God Companion Supplement III – More on Realms! The Companion supplement will expand and clarify rules around Terra Incognita, Realms, and Sancta. Rules and guidance may include information on ruling over Realms, creating or destroying Realms, Realm Conditions, and Realm challenges.


So, share some thoughts on the sneak peek below, share your excitement for this campaign in your social circles and on your social media, and I'll see you back here on Tuesday for Chapter 3 of the Scion: God draft manuscript!

#ScionGod