The noble pen shell, Pinna nobilis, largest bivalve of the Mediterranean. They are highly endangered due to overexploitation and destruction of their native seagrass environment. They can grow up to a millimeter each day, making them some of the fastest growing bivalves in the world.
This is either a game setting on its own, or a campaign concept for Nobilis.
Court intrigue! Clever schemes and betrayals! Romance? Illegal midnight duels!
For centuries, the Cabinet of Seven has ruled with benevolence and wisdom. The Ministers - Sunday, Monday, Tuesday and the others - cooperate for the common good. At least on the surface. No Minister has ever fallen, for they each need the other six as much as they crave power. Their court officials, with silly names like Halloween and Laborday, must sneak and scandalize and sabotage without being caught, or their own patron will calmly watch them executed for treason.
In this world, the players are encouraged to be dramatic! To use their powers (and be creative with inventing new ones!) And watch out for July and August - those guys can’t stop bragging about being the only ex-mortals to be in charge of a whole department.
N.B. Think carefully about which holidays you want to use, and whether you’re making fun of anybody. Treat people’s beliefs and history with respect - again, except for the Caesars.
Bond: I must pursue the night, for no sight is so blessed as that of the moon (4). Bond: I must shelter lovers and poets (2). Bond: If one follows their heart, then they can find themselves (2). Affliction: I must be hostess to the courts of the dragons of the sea and the princes of the southern stars (3).
Gifts
Eternal [3], Gift of the Sovereign (Mountain Stone) [1]
Hooks
Sahane left behind her roots and walks the earth on great stone legs. She carries her mountainous reaches like a shell upon her back. Unfortunately for you, an important strategic entrance to your ymera’s chancel lies on her back. Do you accept the constant dangers posed by an ever changing location, or try to break the mountain’s heart.
The moon has vanished from the sky for over a week now; people are starting to get worried. Sahane, the wandering mountain, sends draconic envoys to beg your familia to use her knowledge of the moon’s favored haunts to help restore her to the throne of the night.
Your ymera has sent you to attend to a meeting of sea dragons and the princes of stars upon the wandering mountain. A conflict between the two groups is brewing and Sahane is so consumed with composing the perfect poem that violence seems on the horizon. How will you prevent an inconvenient elemental apocalypse?
Bond: Once a little girl handed me a letter to Santa. When she did, I saw in her eyes something holy- I saw her trust, I saw her belief, her ideals. She saw a world with natural justice, with something holy to aspire to. Shining in her eyes was the unshakable belief that Santa was real, that good was rewarded, that evil was punished, that the world made sense. She handed me this trust, this sacred belief- it was not just a letter she gave me, but her belief that, no matter what, no matter how bad the world could be, that I could deliver her letter to Santa.
In the face of that, what could I do? What could I say? So I made journey to deliver that letter, to fulfill that sacred trust. Whenever I stumbled, whenever I faced the deadly chill, the monsters of myth, the inevitability of my own defeat, I saw the only thing more terrible than dying in a cold wasteland in search of something unreal-
I saw the light in her eyes flickering out. I saw her faith in the justice of the world falter, in the sacred trust of mail fail. For that trust, for that belief, for the beauty of faith, for the sanctity of Mail- I would deliver her letter, if I had to wrest forth from the primordial chaos the platonic form of Christmas spirit such that a Santa might exist to deliver it to. (5)
Bond: Once a little girl handed me a letter to Santa. When she did, I saw in her eyes something holy- I saw her trust, I saw her belief, her ideals. She saw a world with natural justice, with something holy to aspire to. Shining in her eyes was the unshakable belief that Santa was real, that good was rewarded, that evil was punished, that the world made sense. She handed me this trust, this sacred belief- it was not just a letter she gave me, but her belief that, no matter what, no matter how bad the world could be, that I could deliver her letter to Santa.
In the face of that, what could I do? What could I say? So I made journey to deliver that letter, to fulfill that sacred trust. Whenever I stumbled, whenever I faced the deadly chill, the monsters of myth, the inevitability of my own defeat, I saw the only thing more terrible than dying in a cold wasteland in search of something unreal-
I saw the light in her eyes flickering out. I saw her faith in the justice of the world falter, in the sacred trust of mail fail. For that trust, for that belief, for the beauty of faith, for the sanctity of Mail- I would deliver her letter, if I had to wrest forth from the primordial chaos the platonic form of Christmas spirit such that a Santa might exist to deliver it to. (5)
