Foli
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Demi-Servants
Eszpoizor
Eszpoizor is the most favored servant of Foli, and similar to her patron deity was once a mortal being who walked the planes of Aversus. Eszpoizor was, in early life, a relatively peaceful woman whose life consisted of child-rearing and the average daily work of a mother of two. Yet, the ducal fiefdom that Eszpoizor resided within grew bloated with power, and as power does- turned to corruption. Life became harsh, as the fated woman's husband and children perished due to starvation and plague. In weakened state, her mind altered by hunger and grief, she acted. Through skill of few words and path of beleaguered treachery, Eszpoizor rallied an army of peasants and bannerless Knights. Meeting late in the 'eve, the peasant woman wooed the prideful duke. After their mock act of consummation, a dagger was plunged within his bloated form, piercing his heart as the woman let out a mournful cry. Shortly, the castle was stormed, and captured by the distraught once-mothers' tactical ploy.
However, as the story of any fated heroine ends, Eszpoizor was in time arrested, wrongly tried, and burnt at the stake by the Lord who oversaw the late Duke. At her moment of death, Eszpoizor's rage and anger exceeded the boundaries of the veil attracting the eye of the Herald of Despair. Her spirit and identity transmuted, and bound to the hand of Foli for all eternity.
Her form in the Mistress' indefinite service, is little more than a spectral distortion. Forever bound between the realm of Morto, and the service of her Matron. Often heralded as the speaker of Foli, a lilac corruption mars the air where Eszpoizor exists- Something that simply shouldn't be. Roughly the shape of a humanoid, five and a half feet in height, with a generically feminine voice that resonates from everywhere, yet nowhere at once.
Nuinuhr
Nuinuhr is a name that is never spoken during the dark of night, or in the presence of weighted air of a coming storm. At times, whispered to children by elderly Patriarchs to quell disobedience, or told around campfires by drunken hunters. He, should he be assigned a gender, is both everywhere and nowhere... Lilac eyes watching from the edge of the forest's gloom, or the dark rafters of the nearby barn. Every buxom barmaid has claimed to have seen Nuinuhr, yet those who have truly seen, have never came to speak of the tale again.
His origin is little more than legend... Perhaps a man who lent his blade to the Mistress's service of chaos and discord- or a creation of her own endless hatred of the Mortal kind. Yet, the most commonly adopted is a young Noble, whose distraught childhood lead him to butcher innocents, and delve into the greatest depths of degradation and despair. What rings true among all these legends, is the knowledge that Nuinuhr is the Blade of Foli, her own personal Vengeful Spirit.
A man of average height, yet with a face that bears no features aside from two large lilac eyes. His form is cloaked in a veil of impenetrable darkness, hands adorned with cruel claws of a light reddened tinge. Nuinuhr does not speak, nor question- simply acts on the behest of the Mistress.
Mythos
It is often said that Foli, the Mistress of Chaos, bore another name in Life. That, being "The Last Follower". Such is scant speculation, as none have gained the favor of the Mistress in such a way to speak of her past in a manner that would be as confidante to confidante. However, as legends often do, some truth is buried within muck and mire of human rendition.
Many eons ago, there existed among the land, three deities. The Balancekeeper, The Mother of Arcana, and The Life Giver. Humanity, as its form had just began to grow upon the world, sought not to adhere to these Great Deities that so surely watched from far above. Yet, a young priestess, no more than twenty cycles of age, followed so dearly the Life Giver, whom she claimed to have been her very Mother, shaped by her hand in the image of she whose loving and tender care had nurtured a barren world into one so bountiful and ripe. Yet, by the command of the Balancekeeper, a fourth deity arose upon the scene of this paradise, and his name was to be called Death, the Gatekeeper or Reaper of Souls.
All things, had a time by which they would perish, a date of expiration, as some followers of the Infinite have often deemed in rendition of this forlorn tale. Humanity, never previously having witnessed death, became sour and vile in fortitude. Slaying, pillaging, burning, they did so with lust and passion beyond that which any of the Early Pantheon could have possibly imagined. A world once of peace, turned so dark by the mere entrance of Death, an End of Life. Foli, the dearest girl, whose charge was that of a Priestess of the Life, placed herself in the line of bloodshed, to stop such horrible acts.
For surely, her Mother, her Goddess whose loving hand had crafted all this, would aid her in this time of great need. Yet, by the nape the Priestess was grabbed, and her body was torn asunder by the bloodlust of these fallen men. Her final cries for mercy, for a saving grace from her deity, fell upon deaf ears. For, it was not the Earth Mother's time of action- instead, her heart was torn, and her head held low for so much of her creation burned, and wallowed in destruction. The Reaper himself, fell down with grieving, for he was to be the Keeper of the Afterlife, naught the Harbinger of Destruction.
In such relentless chaos, rivers of blood flowed across the realms, blood of every kind. The young Priestess, the "Last Follower of the Life Giver", her body was burnt upon a great pyre, as lust and greed furthered its grip upon the hearts of man. Her very spirit, rejected and ruined by betrayal of her most beloved, a strange entity sprung forth.
His prying hands, the Gatekeeper's, sought to take her soul to a place of peacefulness and eternal repose- yet, the chaos, the emotional outrage and anger along with the Priestess' grieving, combined into something altogether more terrifying than even the Eldest, and Lord of the Continuum could imagine.
Adopted was her name, into the realm of Deities. Foli, the Mistress of Chaos, The Whisper, and Herald of Despair. Forged by the flame of Evil in the heart of Men, and the Betrayal of the Life Giver- the rejection of the Balancekeeper. Hate, upon Rage, upon Fury was stacked, and a being was born.
Fifth- yet not Fifth.
A Goddess transcended from Mortality itself.
Fear Incarnate became known to the Elders that day.
Foli's Doctrine
- Take the life from those who would so willingly ruin yours.
- Balance is criminal, and brings torture to souls such as ours.
- The End justifies all means.
Plane of Origin
Khasma
A place unlike any have ever seen. Yet, still lodged commonly in the back of ones' mind as the culmination of a lifetime of nightmares and terrors, lopped into a spasmodic and glowering realm. Khasma, is the absolute mirror of the inner consciousness of the Mistress of Chaos upon her ascension to the fifth of the Pantheon.
Human emotion given unholy form, a swirling miasma of pain, hate, despair, and wretchedness, adorn the purple skies as clouds of ominous shades. While the earth beneath, lies scorched and burned by some cataclysm long since past. Within the center of what can be defined as "Khasma", a singular eye rests, staring ever-upwards towards the stained sky. Spreading outwards in all directions is a hellish landscape of dissonant logic, where the laws of physics do not always obey one another. Swathes of earth that refuse to be colored by the spectra of light, or towering pillars of spatial anomalies that swirl solid land about as if it is a whirlpool of liquid.
Spread across the four dimensions of "Khasma" are resonant whispers, linked to the realm of mortal-kind. It is said, each thought of despair, malice, and malingering dread speaks itself first within the hands of the Mistress. Eternally resting here, as a heaviness so thick, any to grace the lands of Foli would most assuredly find their minds torn asunder. Yet, it is nonetheless what she calls her home.
Ideal Realm
An ideal realm of the Mistress would be one of banal humanity, the true and unfettered ruling of emotion over logic. A world whose path is drowned with apathy and rage, a torrent of both absolute opulence and destitute poverty. All of what is considered by most to be dark and destructive of the sentient races, upheld and proclaimed as truth and justice.
Celebration
The Pale Mare
A celebration known to the most loyal followers of the Mistress, is spoken only in a mystical phrase, 'The Pale Mare'. A time of mourning, which precedes a time of vengeance issued by the followers of the Chaotic, in respect of her gruesome murder so many ages ago.
What is known, about The Pale Mare, is that its celebration and following is lax, as in the nature of chaos, only one item remains constant. Followers of the Mistress celebrate the Mare at the darkest night of the year, just before the Winter Solstice, where the moon finds itself to be dark, punishing upon the world with her lack of light. The most common ceremonies involve effigies being raised of the Deity, and burned upon great ceremonial pyres, in effort to draw her attention to their own visage. Chanting, sacrifice, and great feasts both celebrate the Mistress' ascension and the chaotic, lustful nature that she represents. Yet, such is only the majority.
Another faction of followers, whose bond to their Mistress is honorably tighter and more reserved- find a woman of similar age and build to the rumored Priestess- bind her, tie her, and respectfully follow the pagan rites of blessing and mourning. Feeling empathy for the loss of life, and the pain that their Mistress felt when even her goddess turned against her. None know which way of respecting the Mistress is correct, as even within her known Servants, both the mourning and despair of her loss, and the chaotic bloodshed of her ascension find themselves in equal representation.
Those who fail to find glory in the worship of the Mistress, tend to look upon the fabled stories of The Pale Mare as a horrifying, and fear-mongering ritual, completed by savages within the darkest wood, on the darkest night. Yet, some even in the most revered circles, find themselves marked with the ceremonies of the Damned.
Relations
- Utterly despises the Balancekeeper, and the mother who forsook her, Arvora.
- Is both taken aback and enthralled at Veltes precarious Balance... if only in her wish to ruin it.
- Carries a cold hatred toward the Pantheon.
Myths and Speculation
- Many claim that the Mistress is at fault for all evils and chaos that plagues the world, from the random burning of a loved ones' house, to the failure of a seasons' crops.
- Lesser known still, is the belief that the Harbinger has a soft heart, a sweetness rejected by so many- yet at times seen by a few.
| The Gods |
| Arvora • Bahari • Belek • Dahriim • Domm • Foli • Morto |
| Oklamat • Ombra • Sol • Sterk • Vassas • Venti • Vikret |
| The World of Aethius • The Multiverse of Aethier |
