LeviathanTempest:ChapterOne

Chapter 1 : The World That Is (and Was)

"In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth. Now the earth was formless and empty, darkness was over the surface of the deep, and the spirit of God was hovering over the waters."

• Genesis 1:1-2.

In a sense, the story of the Tribe begins here - at the origins of creation. But the formless world did not remain that way. Nothing emerges from nothing - the Tribe's legacy is encoded in the history of the Primordial Waters and the bloodlines of the Progenitors, realized in the Strains of the Tribe. A Leviathan is the inheritor of these bygone days - the points before definition, the world before the parting of the waters. The world before mankind and their mandate over the land and sky and seas. Before all this, the formless chaos of Tiamat and her offspring. After it, the Tempest.

Bereshit - The Tribe

A Leviathan is a man or woman born into a bloodline mixed with the blood of a Progenitor, who comes into that power and changes into an inhuman being, a divine essence limited and warped by the confines of flesh. Together, the Leviathans form the Tribe. United in blood and by circumstance, they are, for good or ill, the remnant of an aborted stage of creation. For the excesses of their ancestors and the riotous hunger encoded into their blood, Leviathans are immortalized in the myths and residual memory of mankind as the Wicked Tribe - the aboriginal Other, from whom all horrors descend.

Members of the Tribe do not have the luxury of dismissing this negative portrayal of their lineage. Their existence is unequivocally something horrific, something wrong - the world distorts around them. Their instincts guide them inevitably towards the pursuit of sin and excess, towards the abuse of others, the destruction and perversion of minds. The blood of the Progenitors cries out for the destruction of this new, diluted creation cast in the image of mankind and not their own. A Leviathan cannot plead necessity or make excuses for themselves - they should not be. The expression of their Strain, as the point at which they become something entirely other than human, thrusts them solidly into an untenable position, a point from which they must become something else. The crucible of change is not kind to a Leviathan, instinctively cleaving to their human life while simultaneously urged to run rampant and indulge in the most unrestrained depths of sin and cruelty. Most never progress, endlessly recapitulating periods of growth, stability, and eventual collapse. Some simply stop, becoming the monstrosity that their lineage directs them to become. They become Typhons, creatures of pure appetite, whose outrages reproduce the worst horrors of the lost age of Progenitor supremacy.

Before

What little solid information that the Tribe has about the world of the Progenitors mirrors numerous creation myths. They envision a world of formless chaos called the Primordial Waters. At the heart of the Seas, the deepest depths, rested the source of all things : Tiamat, the Mother. All things emerged from Tiamat - land, sea, and stars, and among them the Progenitors, immeasurable beings who in turn gave birth to lesser beings, and from them still lesser beings. From the mingling of the blood of the Progenitors and mankind, the Tribe was born and ruled over nations as demigods and heroes. As time passed, a member of the Tribe would evolve and grow, maturing into something new or possibly even into a Progenitor. Mankind lived in rough harmony with the world, subservient to the lineage of Tiamat, and the world was whole and ripe with possibility.

Or maybe not. The fact is, the Tribe's creation myth is just that - a myth. They have no idea how much should be taken as metaphorical and which parts are pipe dreams amended to the structure of the tale by later generations. Tiamat could be an entity or an ideal or even just another term for the primordial ooze. Progenitors could be literal beings or lines of evolution. Foremost among these concerns is the concept of the Leviathan stage as one of transition onto something better, more whole and complete - a state that no Leviathan has achieved in the world as measured by man's history. A stage that might not even exist. The Tribe professes a great and majestic history that was lost because the alternative is that they are detritus, a monstrous hybrid of two forms of life that has no possibility of future developement. The Tribe cannot accept that what they are is all that they will ever be. To do so would be to surrender to the fact that they are between states, that there is no exalted state to which they are returning. That there is nowhere to go but down.

Marduk

Myth or not, the world did not last. Mankind, not content to serve, began to harness the forces of nature. Humans built gods to supplant the idols of the Progenitors and formed communities that observed their own rules, resisting the edicts of the Tribe. Marduk - a man, perhaps, or group of men, or perhaps simply a movement - rose up in battle against the Tribe, and defeated them, casting down Tiamat and imposing a new order on creation. The Primordial Waters were parted and land and sky forged out of the bodies of the Progenitors. The Tribe, formerly deified, became reviled and hunted, their ancestral springs drying up and the Progenitors severed from their spawn. The towering spires and chapels of the Tribe were torn down or lost in the parting of the seas, and their history stricken from the record. The civilization of Man was built on the bones and guts of the Progenitors and the relics of the Tribe.

Or maybe not. Maybe Marduk was the first human to overthrow the tyranny of monsters and destroy their blasphemous idols. The Tribe refers to the Primordial Waters as a place of tranquility and harmony, and while this may be true for the Tribe it's hardly a leap of logic to think that the progenitors of a bloodline that thrives in the exploitation and wholesale degradation of mankind might not have been the pillars of a sustainable community, much less a world that one might want to return to. In fact, there's no real reason beyond a profound sense of the Tribe not belonging to this world that one must accept that some greater, more suiting world ever existed. The sundering of the world might be another of the convenient, self-forgiving myths that the Tribe use to justify their behavior and the way they treat humanity.

Noach - The Fall

With mankind dominant in the world, the Tribe fades out of history, but not entirely. The blood of the Progenitors is immeasurably strong - it can't be bred out or extinguished. The Tribe has, as far as they can tell, always existed somewhere - at some point at the fringes of society, where cousin meets cousin one too many times and the ratio of human to Other in their blood reaches a tipping point. Where the lines blur between man and beast. Where the world gets a little bit weirder. Here, there be dragons. The Tribe's got a place in human history, but it's at the fringes. Reliable records are scarce. Part of the day-to-day life of modern members of the Tribe deals with this sort of cryptohistory : tracking down the footprints left by monsters in days past and unraveling references and images in religious texts and icons.

What is known or suspected is that, during the period of mankind's expansion, as the earliest civilizations were taking root, the Tribe was present and the enmity between them and humanity enduring. The Tribe's mythologists record tale after tale of horrors - sea monsters and miscegenated freaks straddling the line between mankind and beast - and sees in them the deleted history of the Tribe. Leviathans became the Other to mankind's growing sovereignty over the world. In this period, the last vestiges of the Tribe's pure blood were wiped out, and they came to thrive only at the edges and with a much-lessened connection to the Progenitors and their divine nature. The Strains of the Tribe become stratified at this point, as only the strongest ties of blood, descent from the foremost of the Progenitors, could be expressed at such a far reach. Family lines began to solidify in isolated regions, either by accident or design, and the Tribe faded into a memory, recalled only through fragmented myths or through their Hybrid cousins.

Severed from the Primordial Seas, the Tribe's control of itself and connection to its divine nature was greatly lessened. In place of Tiamat, the core of their world became what they call the Tempest - both a literal disruption at the core of the mystic waters that the Tribe has access to and a term for the emotional and social havoc that a Leviathan is subject to. The ascent of mankind has, in essence, robbed the Leviathans of their birthright and their self-control. In the "fallen" world, the Tribe has little control of the changes that take place in their bodies and even less control of the contents of their own mind. Little wonder, then, that mankind records them as horrors and predators.

The Rift

In the absence of the Primordial Seas, the Rift is what remains. In place of permanently basking in the diluted glory of Tiamat, the Tribe now wallows in a hollow echo, a stunted replica of what was once a very real physical entity which covered and contained the entirety of the world. The Rift is little comfort to the fevered mind of a Leviathan - it is dark and wracked with spasms, impossibly and terrifyingly vast while retaining an oppressive and claustrophobic atmosphere. Ultimately, the Rift represents the subconscious of the Tribe, the wracked minds of both Leviathans and their Lahmasu relatives, as well as scattered remnants of the Progenitors. In a sense, it is a museum - a place where neuroses, afflictions, and fears survive, long after their owners have died. The Rift teems with horrors both native and imported, and above all it resonates with a feeling of loss and impending violence - there is no comfort or security to be found in its depths. And yet it is the closest thing the Tribe has to an ancestral homeland.

A Leviathan may enter the Rift through the medium of water, although alternate methods exist. The more the water resembles the sea, the better - and a sea that is wracked with the fury of a storm is better still. In any form, water is a powerful conduit for the blood of the Progenitors, and any body of water sufficient to cover most of a Leviathan's body - and that of any potential passengers - will serve as a gateway. The trip is often one-way, as the passage of the Leviathan opens the conduit to the unrelenting fury of the Tempest, tossing water into the sky or causing it to breathe forth great clouds of fog or mist.

The Rift has layers, each one farther from the Shore (the physical world - or what remains of it). Its increasingly inhospitable depths are host to numerous beasts both ancient and newly-forged, and in some dark corners remain lost structures, sunken in the parting of the waters, which a Leviathan might explore or take shelter in. Ultimately, though, a Leviathan reaches the core of the Rift - the gaping wound left in it by the depth of Tiamat - and gazes upon the physical Tempest, a churning mass of such ferocity that no being has entered it and escaped. Rumors abound that the Tempest, should one pass through, might serve as a gateway to a deeper, purer reality - but none have returned and few would chance annihilation in that terrifying maw simply to test out a rumor. For the time being, the Tribe is cut off from the world that they lost, and might always be so.

Lech Lecha - Getting By

[Picture, half page: The top half of the picture shows a walking man in work clothes and a hardhat. Rising up around him are half-completed buildings, mostly skeletal, and the sky is covered in smoke. He holds a box lunch in his right hand and a hammer in his left. He is walking through a large puddle which dominates the ground. In the puddle is a reflection depicting a similar-looking man wearing black robes with hieroglyphic figures sown in. He wears a steepled priest-like hat. rising around him are towering ziggurats, and the sky is stormy. He holds a human heart in his right hand and a cruel bronze dagger, stained with blood, in his left. Both men are smiling in an off-putting fashion.]

The Rift

The Rift is what remains. It's what Leviathans can access now instead of permanently bathing in the glory that was the Primordial Sea. It is a separate reality, while the Primordial Sea was a part of the physical world; it is a stunted, narrow place, while the Sea was all-encompassing. It is a dark, claustrophobic, tormented place, and for good reason. The Rift is an embodiment of the collective subconscious of all Leviathans, Lahmasu, and all descendents of the Progenitors. It is also a living graveyard where neuroses, afflictions and fears survive long after their owners and originators have physically died. And it is the closest thing that Leviathans have to a home.

Getting there

All Leviathans can in theory access the Rift. Water, in its various forms, is a powerful conduit and a Leviathan needs to be submerged in one of its variations to attempt to dive into the Rift. Sea water is the most powerful of these, but in a pinch, clear water, fog or blood can serve. The Storyteller remains final judge of whether or not a Leviathan is "submerged" at the time, but ideally the character should be invisible from those outside the lake, fog bank or other obscuring feature.

Mechanically, the Leviathan rolls his Tranquility and spends a point of Ichor and slips into the alternate reality of the Rift. Attempting this in sea water carries no penalty. Blood or natural clear water (lake, river) impose a -1 penalty. Tap water is further removed from nature and therefore carries a -2 dice penalty. Other cases are left at the appreciation of the storyteller. The Leviathan can carry other people into the Rift if they are in physical contact with her; one additional success is necessary per extra person.

When diving into the Rift, the Leviathan entirely disappears from the Shore (the real world). He does not carry through any items unless he spends a Willpower point to do so; even then, some items may stubbornly refuse to go through. Crossing over creates turmoil: waves, wind, storm or fog may be left behind, possibly making the area (such as a tub of tap water) unsuitable for return.

In some areas, called Gatewaters, the Rift is much closer to our reality. Humans will get sucked in sometimes, and even those who don't are more likely to develop Derangements (these areas give a -1 penalty on all rolls to avoid getting Derangements). Most Gatewaters are in areas deeply associated with water: either on the ocean itself, around certain islands, or in marshes, bogs or river deltas.

Travelling the Rift

The Rift appears as a vast expanse of a breathable, water-like substance. A roiling bright light shines through the Shallows (the upper parts of the Rift), but disappears as you dive deeper. A Leviathan who breaks through into the Rift always appears near the surface (Depth 0).

The Rift posesses Depths, exactly as transforming Leviathans experience them. This is not surprising; as the Rift is essentially an expression of Leviathan psyche, it mimics the experience of Tribe members coming closer to their monstrous heritage. Leviathans appear to transform as they go deeper into the Rift, so that they take the shape of the corresponding Depth to their environment.

The Rift is pretty much synonymous with the Tempest. Most of it is continually wracked by violent currents, arc lightning and fast, sharp ice or rocks. The existence of this realm ensure the continuation of the Tribe's curse of restlessness and madness, just as the Leviathans' chaotic behaviour encourage a more chaotic Rift. The Tempest usually worsens as one goes deeper. However, certain areas of perfect calm exist as well; called Doldrums, they are sometimes large enough to hold sunken cities of eerie quiet and stillness.

Someone who makes no effort appears stationary in the Rift unless acted upon by the Rift itself. Moving around requires Athletics rolls, with the characteristics depending on the type of movement required (Stamina for sustained travel, Strength for brute speed and power, Dexterity for fine manoeuvring). To go deeper, however, a Leviathan also needs to transform into the corresponding Depth of his own shape.

Mortals can not go deeper than the first Depth, unless a Leviathan physically carries them. There is one exception to this rule: Atolls are unaffected by Depth in all cases, although they are still quite vulnerable to other dangers that lurk in the Rift.

Ecology

The Rift, like the mundane ocean, is a deceptively empty place, prowled by ungainly beasts. Memories take form down there, as well as neuroses, phobias and dark impulses which become predator beasts, parasitic worms or spiked monstrosities. There are islands made up of the bones of Progenitors, hard remaining nuggets of a sense of identity long left behind by a dead monster-god. From time to time, one can find fossilised information about older times, sometimes guarded by the psychological complex which gave it worth to the long-disappeared creature that knew them.

This is why Leviathans brave the dangers of the Rift: because despite all it forces them to face, they can find things forgotten by all under the surface of this dark, unsettling realm. The natural dangers of the Rift are many, but the Leviathan also brings some with him. Any person who goes into the Rift while possessing Derangements creates one monster for each of them. These are highly personalised, sometimes quite cunning beings, who want nothing more than the death of their originator as an overall solution to their own existence. Killing them does not destroy the Derangement, either: it is still just as present when the Afflicted person gets back to the Shore.

The Rift possesses a strange structure, like an inverted cone. At the surface, the Rift seems endless, as unfathomably wide as the myriad minds that it reflects are. But the deeper one goes, the more constrained you feel, until at the deepest, down in the dark, where you reach the oldest, most primordial beings and memories, you feel that all of the world is a single oppressive point and individuality is a lost concept. This is where the most dangerous creatures of the Rift survive, where the most incomprehensible lore can be found, inscribed in illegible alphabets on the surface of rock walls that seem to be the inside of your own skull.

Going deeper yet would, according to Tribe lore, allow a Leviathan to find the Primordial Sea again. Beyond the Tempest, coming out of the other end, so to speak, lie the tranquil, perfect and awesome world that Leviathans truly belong to. needless to say, no one who has reached it has come back to tell the tale.

Getting back

While going down is fairly straightforward for Leviathans, going back up is much more difficult. A Leviathan in the deepest part of the Rift forgets his own identity bit by bit, reverting to the primal monster their blood is urging them towards. To reduce Depth, the Leviathan needs not only to transform into a lesser Depth, but also to roll (Tranquility - their current Depth level).

Once just beneath the Surface (Depth 0), breaking through to the Shore is fairly straightforward. A final Tranquility roll allows the Leviathan to come back, in the closest suitable space (that is, submerged by water in some form) to the one from which the character entered the Rift. To reach another point of re-entry, the Leviathan may have to navigate the surface of the Rift, with appropriate Intelligence+Navigation rolls.

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