Some More Spirits

 People seem to like spirits, so have some more. Only four this time though. More to come later.

Still for Kith and Kin, though they can be adapted for elsewhere. At some point I want to make a system/setting that has a more Bartimaeus Sequence style of spirits, but for now I'm content with... Whatever you would call these.

Old Man of the Deep

He is not a spirit often called upon, for his dominion lies far deeper than any since the First Wanderers have dived. The true Depths are his home, and he learns much from the alien things that dwell there, whispering wisdom of a realm not meant for us.

His complexion is a result of apparently being carved from basalt stone. Or at least his skin is textured and just as tough as such, though it flexes and deforms just as skin and flesh would. Blades appear incapable of piercing him.

Striding along the horizon, one would be forgiven for mistaking him for an oceanic stone tower-island, distorted by heatwaves, reflected sunlight and exhausted delirium. Perhaps it would be easier to believe he exists, if such things were not required to summon him. He stands so tall that even the mighty longboats made to traverse the oceans are just barely longer than his extended arm. His rages are known to toss such boats horizons off course, or send them careening into the cliffsides, reduced to naught but splinters.

He has no hair. Instead great suckered tentacles grow from his scalp and face, writhing with his movements. They give the impression of wild and unkempt hair, each tentacle only the width of a mans arm, that nevertheless remain untangled, flowing in wind that does not exist.

Such tentacles grow only from his head. On his body, it is the growth of algae and kelp that give the impression of either great masses of fur or hair, or green clothing of a strange variety. Like an immense wildman of the deep.

He is not alone.

The depths that he has claimed are his, and he must display his authority somehow. To this end he has forged a pact with an ancient being of the depths, which manifests as strange horns, or perhaps a crown, of coral growing from his scalp.

They are as alive as he. You can see the giant (eye-sized) pale polyps dart in and out of their exoskeleton. They taste the currents, the air, the ether. They whisper things to him. He has gained a reputation as a seer. He knows that they might wish to manipulate him, though they seem individually simple, together they form a spirit far older than he is.

Invocations to him are scarce, but if successful he offers the wisdom of the deep. Be wary, however. This wisdom comes from a world built for beings much more ancient and vast than those that dwell upon the surface. The mind may be poisoned by such truths.

Effigy Receptacles

They are people. All the spirits thus far have no origins among the mortal folk, at least none that can be truly said to relate to us. These are different. They have bodies. They have villages. They have children.

They are dead.

Sometimes one must not let death be the end of the transmission of wisdom, and so steps must be taken to ensure that knowledge otherwise lost can be retained. Or perhaps a people have need for folk who will never tire through mortal action, never want for food or drink, never fear death and who will need only to repair themselves before they can move again.

Alas, these folk have no such strengths. Though they need no food, drink or sleep, they were still mortal once. They still feel the cold eyes of The First To Die upon their backs. His hand upon their shoulder.

They must sleep. When they do they return to His land. It is by his will that they are allowed to exist in this state at all.

The ritual is intensive. Traditionally, the excarnated skeleton of the deceased is laid out, and used as a scaffold to build the new body. Skin is woven of fabrics, flesh of dead grasses or furs. Hair of threads, or ropes, or whatever else that they might find appropriate. The final piece, before the ritual, is a mask of some make. Ideally one that portrays the character of the one who is to be returned.

Eventually a body is completed, and The First To Die is invoked with but a whisper. Something must then die by sacrifice, often an animal captured for such, but sometimes some unlucky folk is taken and given instead.

The false body stirs.

At first their attachment to this new false life is tenuous. They must be allowed to slake their thirst and hunger with the sacrifice, letting the fading life be captured by their receptacle to fuel their new existence. If the returned is not willing to, then it is here were things may first go wrong.

Perhaps once they were allowed to live among the living, but it has long been known that such things invite envy. The Returned envies the life of those who still live, those who live envy the robustness of the returned. All manner of tragedies and abominations have been unleashed, the actions leading to such things stoked by such feelings.

And so they live separately. In sacred places, or villages carefully and lovingly made for and by them, where they may converse with others like them and exist in comfort. Where they may act as if they live. They may visit their living Kith and Kin, but must not live alongside them.

Yet perhaps they need not act. Upon and within their bodies life stirs. Upon the brows of some, within their chests, within their skulls. Seeds sprout, flowers blossom, and the flaws with their new existence seem to give way to entirely novel experiences. The First To Die begins to call them less and less, begins to treat them like the living guests, and not like the resident dead.

What they are to become, none can say for certain. Death begets Life, just as Life begets Death.

Hearth-Heads

An elderly humanoid, often seemingly woven from still living wood, with hair (and sometimes fur) of moss and standing anywhere from a hands breadth tall to a height that makes their heads scrape the ceiling. Their name comes from the statues carved for their inhabitation, a wooden head depicting the head of the particular spirit inhabiting the home.

They are newer spirits, relatively speaking. Still ancient beyond comprehension to the mortals, but they only emerged with the first cultures that drew a distinction between "Home" and "Wilderness." They exist along this boundary, dwelling within the Proximal Space of the Home, yet carrying the Distal nature of the Wilderness with them. They are only one of many spirits of their sort, of course, and most common in the western regions of the northern continent.

Manners are important to them, but they are understanding and will explain the rules with an often off-putting intensity. Like a child explaining their current obsession. Hospitality is their main dominion and so they will respect guests to the homes they reside in, and expect to be respected in turn. Offending them is easy, but they are often willing to explain the nature of the offense, and are quick to forgive if action is taken to remedy it.

Depending upon the local culture, ownership of the home falls either to the current residents or the attendant heart spirit. In the former case, the Hearth-Heads may seem more frustrated. They feel as if the home belongs to them, but are unwilling to go against the local customs. Like many (though not all) spirits, they are beings of rules, following the conventions of society more than the conventions of physics.

Summoning them is relatively easy, though more difficult outside of the lands they typically reside. Carve a representation of their head, allowing your instincts to guide the creation of the details of the object. The final touch is, of course, placing it in an appropriate spot of respect in a home. They may deny the invitation if they suspect trickery.

The benefits are more domestic than some may wish. As a guest, they will aid with the cleaning of the home, but only when none within the home may witness them doing so. They cannot always tell if someone is asleep, of course, so some may catch them by surprise.

Particularly respectful or kind homes may receive gifts, though they may seem like mere toys at a careless glance. These gifts often have spiritual properties, which may become apparent with time (or with sufficient insight into such matters). Discarding them is a grave offense, of course, but gifting them to another is far from such, and may even win greater favor from them.

The First To Die

He was born to rule the world.

It was his birthright, as the first being to be born. Alas, there was no world to rule, so he gave his life in sacrifice. From his body, the world and its inhabitants were forged.

As the first to die, he went where all who perish go. There. The Hereafter. Or perhaps it did not exist before he perished. Before him nothing had died, so perhaps he impressed his divine mind upon the fabric of the All and forged another world from his very spirit.

And so that world is his by deathright.

He stands thrice as tall as any observer, with great black vulture wings each thrice as long as he is tall. An immense Crown of Horns emerges from his crown and scalp. He wears nothing but a simple wrap-around skirt, or loincloth, for modesty. He is at once beautiful and horrifying. An Androgyne of unsurpassed beauty and vitality, and a ragged rotten corpse empty of all, and a mummified prince of the highest authority, and a sheer incomprehensible shadow over all of creation, and all the memories of all that have ever died and will ever die acting as one.

All at once. It is utterly maddening to be in his presence without some form of coping mechanism. He is no mere "greater spirit" but a fact of the world. A facet of the incomprehensible entity that is Everything. The stories presented thus far are merely one cultures understanding of what he is. He may manifest in other, stranger, or more familiar ways. Paradoxically all at once, oftentimes.

Those who die venture forth into his realm, his kingdom. Slowly they grow closer to him. Eventually, they are indistinguishable from him.

And then, they are reborn. He is no jailer. A King, certainly, but not a tyrant.

Those who remain in his kingdom longer than most are often those cursed beyond death, who escape to wander the living world at the first opportunity. Such beings are the origin of the Blood Drinkers, the Flesh Eaters, the Ghosts and more.

Not all who remain in his kingdom beyond death for long are cursed or afraid. Some remain to guide the next generations, staving off their rejuvenating metempsychosis for their sake.

The First To Die allows it, and so it may happen. It is unknown if he can truly be resisted, or if his factual nature is more akin to the flow of a river, that one can go against... Or perhaps sidestep completely?