Realms of the World
The World has its own wonders, from places the Gods set aside for their own use, to hidden kingdoms and wild places that defy conventional mapping. Some pantheons don’t hold to stories of ideal heavens and gloomy destinies for the dead. All the Gods set their eyes upon The World, and have sent servants there, raised earthly Scions, or personally walked on mortal soil, defining legendary and holy places with their actions. Some wondrous places arise out of no particular myth at all. Their existence might have been raised through the magic of mortal hopes and fears, or bound to the nature of things by Fate.
Primordials don’t possess realms within The World. They created it, but as realms of power themselves, would destroy or displace it if they were to ever return. On the other hand, it may be that the Primordials who dwell in The World are The World itself, sleeping in winds, oceans, and grinding stone. It may be in their nature to rest, or have long dreams that become the laws of nature, and manifest in all creatures. Then again, this could be a temporary slumber, and they will awaken, inaugurating a new cycle of violent creation that returns all known things to Chaos.
Many strange places aren’t associated with any traditional mythology. Unshaped supernatural power twists the environment, or it draws its shape from urban legends and half-formed superstitions. Unused subway stations contain colonies of “mole people” who’ve adapted to the darkness, and keep sewer crocodiles as pets. Enormous stray dogs and swarms of excessively clever rats inhabit streets too dangerous for the police to bother with. Immortal farmers eat from blood-fed gardens.
Some pantheons take parts of the mortal World as their own, however, and the longer myths and cults uphold their claims, the more their mythology influences the environment, for good or ill. Old temples, sacred groves, and other cult territory may attract weird phenomena. Sometimes this is exactly what the faithful desire. They want wood spirits and naiads to bless them. Then again, even the Gods’ enemies find comfort in the myths they share with them. Lesser giants and trolls dwell in strange places long associated with the Æsir, but also follow the devout to places the Old Norse never lived.
This sort of travel might seem out of the question for beings like giants, but it happens nonetheless, and the reasons are poorly understood. Some monsters began as normal creatures (and people) but were changed by the place’s supernatural energies over anywhere from a few hours to several generations. Creatures slip in through gates and Touchstone travel, or The World vomits them up at the appointed time. Mythic Bleed may break the mask of mortal history, and introduce objects, plants, and buildings from the appropriate legends.
Despite their unusual features, strange places tend to get forgotten or ignored. They rarely appear on surveys. Naturalists lose records of two-headed serpents, and police write vague incident reports when they bother to drive by at all. This phenomenon doesn’t affect Scions, locals, or individuals attuned to the strange place’s mythology, and it doesn’t directly erase memories. Instead, casual visitors push experiences to the backs of their minds, and don’t retrieve them for later conversation. Witnesses tell inconsistent stories about anything they see, and rarely agree with each other on common experiences. Electronic and mechanical recording devices fail in believable, inconvenient ways. Although every strange place is unique, some can be fit into general types. But they arise from a mix of myth and history, and those take precedence over trends.
Folds: These places collect supernatural power due to some association with Gods or Titans. The most common Folds exist around popular or ancient places of worship. At the temple of Odin, someone who drinks from a certain cup might become a superlative poet for a time. Some Folds contain shrines to Gods nobody’s ever heard of: folk creations and mishmashes of pop culture. Even if these Gods don’t exist, they might exert some weak supernatural influence — and that, in turn, may be a sign that someday, they will exist.
One old stone dock stands where Odysseus went ashore, and the ghosts of his wife Penelope’s suitors seek vengeance on his descendants, or demand that someone do it for them.
Lairs: When titanspawn and other weird creatures claim a place for long enough, it changes to accommodate them, though pinning down how is a bit of a problem. Do minotaurs seek out mazy places, or do they build mazes to live in? Does Fate ensure anywhere a minotaur makes its home develop odd paths and dead ends?
Boston Common’s fairy mounds can take you to distant places, but only with the permission of the resident mound-dwellers, who challenge travelers with riddles.
Holy Ground: Places dedicated to the Gods over centuries, or in shorter spans but with special zeal, hum with their mythic energies. These places often provide advantages for Scions and other relatives of the Gods being honored so that, for instance, a Scion of Ares discovers a panoply of potent weapons only she can lift. Cults are fiercely protective of such holy sites, which represent the tradition they maintain, and whose phenomena provide proof that their Gods deserve continued worship.
Under the Acropolis’ foundations, cults offer sacrifice to Athena. That’s not unusual. The fact that members speak archaic Greek and have no knowledge of modern Athens is a bit strange, however, and they depart through fissures and byways that smell of wood smoke, not modern industry.
Liminalities: Some strange places expand upon a mundane locale. Sewers open into grand vaults that don’t appear in city maps. In an old library, you might wander into unmarked stacks and forgotten apartments. Some Liminalities are almost separate realms, when visitors find it devilishly hard to enter them without taking some special route, contacting the right informant, or saying the correct prayer.
In Varanasi, some streets are thousands of years old, and all the maps of them are wrong. Turn enough corners and the stars will change, and you can meet rakshasa veterans of the war with the Devá. They’re nice old men and women — or potent demon princes who’ll do anything to be left alone.
Primordials don’t possess realms within The World. They created it, but as realms of power themselves, would destroy or displace it if they were to ever return. On the other hand, it may be that the Primordials who dwell in The World are The World itself, sleeping in winds, oceans, and grinding stone. It may be in their nature to rest, or have long dreams that become the laws of nature, and manifest in all creatures. Then again, this could be a temporary slumber, and they will awaken, inaugurating a new cycle of violent creation that returns all known things to Chaos.
STRANGE PLACES
Some parts of The World manifest mythic phenomena that aren’t other realms. They are definite points on a map, though you might find they’re bigger or smaller on the inside, or that space and time follow weird routes around them. Anyone can enter or leave, so lost mortals enter, rival territorial claims plague anyone who tries to own them, and errant phenomena leak out. They might be products of Fatebinding, errant magic, or inscrutable destiny. Some surround gates and Axis Mundi manifestations, and manifest lesser versions of phenomena to be found in the realms beyond.Many strange places aren’t associated with any traditional mythology. Unshaped supernatural power twists the environment, or it draws its shape from urban legends and half-formed superstitions. Unused subway stations contain colonies of “mole people” who’ve adapted to the darkness, and keep sewer crocodiles as pets. Enormous stray dogs and swarms of excessively clever rats inhabit streets too dangerous for the police to bother with. Immortal farmers eat from blood-fed gardens.
Some pantheons take parts of the mortal World as their own, however, and the longer myths and cults uphold their claims, the more their mythology influences the environment, for good or ill. Old temples, sacred groves, and other cult territory may attract weird phenomena. Sometimes this is exactly what the faithful desire. They want wood spirits and naiads to bless them. Then again, even the Gods’ enemies find comfort in the myths they share with them. Lesser giants and trolls dwell in strange places long associated with the Æsir, but also follow the devout to places the Old Norse never lived.
This sort of travel might seem out of the question for beings like giants, but it happens nonetheless, and the reasons are poorly understood. Some monsters began as normal creatures (and people) but were changed by the place’s supernatural energies over anywhere from a few hours to several generations. Creatures slip in through gates and Touchstone travel, or The World vomits them up at the appointed time. Mythic Bleed may break the mask of mortal history, and introduce objects, plants, and buildings from the appropriate legends.
Despite their unusual features, strange places tend to get forgotten or ignored. They rarely appear on surveys. Naturalists lose records of two-headed serpents, and police write vague incident reports when they bother to drive by at all. This phenomenon doesn’t affect Scions, locals, or individuals attuned to the strange place’s mythology, and it doesn’t directly erase memories. Instead, casual visitors push experiences to the backs of their minds, and don’t retrieve them for later conversation. Witnesses tell inconsistent stories about anything they see, and rarely agree with each other on common experiences. Electronic and mechanical recording devices fail in believable, inconvenient ways. Although every strange place is unique, some can be fit into general types. But they arise from a mix of myth and history, and those take precedence over trends.
Folds: These places collect supernatural power due to some association with Gods or Titans. The most common Folds exist around popular or ancient places of worship. At the temple of Odin, someone who drinks from a certain cup might become a superlative poet for a time. Some Folds contain shrines to Gods nobody’s ever heard of: folk creations and mishmashes of pop culture. Even if these Gods don’t exist, they might exert some weak supernatural influence — and that, in turn, may be a sign that someday, they will exist.
One old stone dock stands where Odysseus went ashore, and the ghosts of his wife Penelope’s suitors seek vengeance on his descendants, or demand that someone do it for them.
Lairs: When titanspawn and other weird creatures claim a place for long enough, it changes to accommodate them, though pinning down how is a bit of a problem. Do minotaurs seek out mazy places, or do they build mazes to live in? Does Fate ensure anywhere a minotaur makes its home develop odd paths and dead ends?
Boston Common’s fairy mounds can take you to distant places, but only with the permission of the resident mound-dwellers, who challenge travelers with riddles.
Holy Ground: Places dedicated to the Gods over centuries, or in shorter spans but with special zeal, hum with their mythic energies. These places often provide advantages for Scions and other relatives of the Gods being honored so that, for instance, a Scion of Ares discovers a panoply of potent weapons only she can lift. Cults are fiercely protective of such holy sites, which represent the tradition they maintain, and whose phenomena provide proof that their Gods deserve continued worship.
Under the Acropolis’ foundations, cults offer sacrifice to Athena. That’s not unusual. The fact that members speak archaic Greek and have no knowledge of modern Athens is a bit strange, however, and they depart through fissures and byways that smell of wood smoke, not modern industry.
Liminalities: Some strange places expand upon a mundane locale. Sewers open into grand vaults that don’t appear in city maps. In an old library, you might wander into unmarked stacks and forgotten apartments. Some Liminalities are almost separate realms, when visitors find it devilishly hard to enter them without taking some special route, contacting the right informant, or saying the correct prayer.
In Varanasi, some streets are thousands of years old, and all the maps of them are wrong. Turn enough corners and the stars will change, and you can meet rakshasa veterans of the war with the Devá. They’re nice old men and women — or potent demon princes who’ll do anything to be left alone.
REALMS AND NATIONS
When strange realms lie close to The World, what do nation-states do? No secret treaties govern this sort of thing, so it depends on the situation. When a realm’s gates lie within one nation, most countries’ governments claim the realm as sovereign territory . . . and then leave it alone as much as they can. They don’t collect taxes or enforce laws except under extreme circumstances, such as the market flooding with otherworldly gold, or if a serial killer hides in a mythic land. With the encouragement of interested Gods, human residents avoid government registration. Thus, they contain self-reliant, closed societies who care for or punish their own. If their problems erupt into mundane places, national police agencies and other bodies call on experts and, sometimes, allied Scions to help them.When a realm straddles borders, lies in international waters, or defies geography entirely, countries usually handle things on a case-by-case basis. Interested pantheons often snuff out sources of conflict before mortal nations notice, but sometimes miss problems, or even lend troublesome movements their support. Libertalia is an example of a realm that may prove to be a flashpoint. Its citizens survive by piracy and, utterly devoted to their Gods, are tolerated by the divine barring some outrageous incident.
Because strange places are relatively easy to visit, and because their phenomena occasionally wander beyond their borders, governments treat them a little more formally than disconnected realms. Then again, they often emulate places that our world (as opposed to Scion’s World) relegates to rumor and superstition because of practical limitations. Any sufficiently old city has sealed-off tunnels, forgotten rooms, and overgrown paths, and people like to tell wild stories about them. In Scion, some of these stories are true.
Nevertheless, regional governments keep lists of dangerous and sensitive locations, and quietly monitor the edges. A national park might have a vast swath carved out for a troll preserve; it just isn’t noted a troll preserve on any unclassified paperwork. When strange places manifest dangerous and disruptive phenomena, these same governments turn to a network of consultants: historians, anthropologists, engineers, and local cult figures. In corrupt or less-developed communities, cults, vigilante groups, and even gangsters might be given the job. When caution, bulldozers, and rituals fail, they’ll ask for a Scion’s assistance.
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