Artisan
The Mountain Folk have fallen far from
their original splendor. Once, they were the hands of Autochthon, his chosen
and blessed race. Once, their empire stretched beneath the skin of the world
and brought order to chaos. Once, they were the People of Adamant, a nation of
unsurpassed geniuses 10 million strong. But that was long ago, before the
coming of mankind and their Exalted heroes. That was
before the war against the Primordials and the
treachery of the Great Geas. The People of Adamant
are no more, and the People of the Mountain are but dim shadows of their former
glory. And yet, embers of greatness still smolder among the ashes of
mediocrity. They are as stars in the night, the last and lingering hope of
their race. The Princes of Adamant are few — no more than 10,000 — but they
alone claim the inheritance of myth and the divine right of Autochthon’s
Enlightenment. They alone rule the Mountain Folk with cunning and wisdom,
shepherding the dim masses in a feudal hierarchy, as a sighted man leads his
blind brother. Some mourn the loss of what was, even though none alive remember
that wondrous time. More callous Artisans exult in the power they wield over
their diminished people.
By design and authority, the Jadeweavers remain the most flexible and diverse of
Mountain Folk castes. They are all leaders and savants and craftsmen, but they
fulfill each of these roles in the manner of their own choosing. However,
unlike the members of the undercastes, they are also
more than their obvious roles. Ultimately, their role is to define their role.
Such vision guides them, empowers them and ultimately decides the fate of their
race. Their politics are petty and shallow, but only because they hold their
depth in reserve for greater ambitions. They are drawn to one another as the
only true peers they can possibly have, and yet they cannot ever risk trusting
each other for fear of treachery. In the end, they reign alone. They work in
their laboratories alone. They plot their schemes alone. They crave companionship
they cannot have and glut themselves on power and wealth to fill that void.
Some find contentment, and others bitterness. Some blame the Exalted. Some
despise Autochthon for cursing and abandoning them. Some blame each other and
themselves for turning the Conclave into a nest of vipers, but these cannot
find a way to restore harmony for all their genius. And some relish what they
are without regret, satisfied in the silence of their workshops.
Duties: Artisans reign over the Mountain
Folk in their grand Conclave, but such is their privilege more than duty. True,
their civilization would collapse without them, and their race would perish if
Artisans did not carve newborns free. But that is their power, not their duty.
Enlightened self-interest guides them to preserve their empire as they would
themselves, for the empire is their machine, and they are covetously protective
of all they own. They owe fealty to no one, save one another by brief alliance
and perhaps to Autochthon in gratitude for their existence. Yet, the Great
Maker is long gone, perhaps never to return, and the fractiousness of Jadeborn politics makes duty a mere game.
Lacking duties, the Princes of Adamant
make do with ambitions. Each holds a vision for the world and her place in that
ideal world. Some crave riches, and others temporal might, and still others
secrets, but all to some greater end. Power is but a
tool, regardless of its form. Only absolute power merits a goal, and even that
is only a step toward the ultimate realization of their vision. Artisans are
proud and arrogant, but they truly are the best and most brilliant of their
kind, touched and blessed by the Great Maker. The need to create burns in their
souls, and so, they sculpt and forge according to their preferred crafts. They
stockpile wonders as they refine their art, chasing the elusive and ultimately
impossible perfection imprinted upon their souls. They are wise enough to know
they cannot succeed, and yet, they must obey their ordained nature.
Appearance: Artisans range from merely attractive
to radiant beyond the capacity of words to describe or dreams to envision.
Unlike their noble Fair Folk cousins of the Wyld,
their features are not angular or alien and do not evoke the rapture of
predatory grace. Neither do they appear as crude parodies of mankind like their
lesser brethren, but instead, make parodies of men. Even diminished by the
Great Geas, Artisans remain the Firstborn, the true
inheritors of Autochthon’s perfected aesthetics. Their flesh reveals no trace
of stone or earth save in its stillness, and yet, they appear as idealized
statues of the human form far more than living beings. Every breath is a marvel
to behold. Every movement is excruciating in its unsurpassed elegance. Their
skin is marble smooth and hued according to the multitudinous shades known
among mankind, with some bronzed and dusky and others pale and some tinted dark
as by the sun they’ve never felt. They are studies in beauty and symmetry, a
race of living archetypes standing lithe, tall, perfectly proportioned and
utterly without blemish.
Artisans dress in wonders befitting
their status, adorning themselves in the ultimate expressions of function and
form. They do not craft gossamer, yet their enchanted finery glistens as woven
light from threads of spun diamonds and precious metals. In their daily labors,
they often settle for attire of synthetic black silk that mends and cleans
itself, often studded with jewels to mirror the night sky they’ve never seen.
When they must journey aboveground, they eschew the wonders of their hand for
merely exceptional garb. Most wear their hair long, shaping elaborate tresses
with a moment’s effort to frame their faces and mood. These styles hold all the
shades known to men and many peculiar and wondrous, with strands of metallic or
even jeweled luster. Only necessity compels them to
hide beneath masks and helms against the sparks of their forges and the blades
of their enemies. In battle, their armor combines jade and gems in carapaces
that strike awe and terror in their enemies. The Princes of Adamant are as gods
in the deep, and even gods marvel before them.
Associations: Luminous hues and jewel tones,
Conviction, chisels, splayed hands, palaces, tall architecture, precious metals
and gems, a blue gear wreathed in stylized flame (official symbol)
Sobriquets: Jadeweavers,
Righteous Engineers, Children of
Concepts: Character assassin, geomancer, master
of the forge, Pattern Knight, scheming politician, strategos
There is
no building without an
architect,
no symphony without
a
conductor, no army without a
general.
The sacrifices of those who
labor
are naught without proper
direction
and planning.