Angels and the Roleplaying Thereof

 

Archangel Michael, Ivanka Demchuk

Been giving more thought to the eschatological Cold War setting I posted about last time and have been mulling over the nature of angels. The trouble with angels as characters is that the traditional Christian understanding makes their psyche almost impossible to comprehend.

Like human beings, angels possess free will, but unlike humans, they lack an intellect as we would understand it; rather than processing and mulling over thoughts, angels either know or do not know - unless given new information, they cannot change their minds. At the moment of their creation, the angels thus had to choose to fully serve God or rebel against Him. Fortunately, God gave them perfect foreknowledge of the consequences of their rebellion (eternal separation from the one thing that can make them happy); unfortunately, a third of them still chose to rebel anyway.

So, we have beings that can't change their minds but still have free will? While obviously metaphysically possible, trying to imagine what it'd be like to think that way is mind numbing - mainly because they don't even actually "think".

What this means is that I am going to have to play a bit fast and loose with the nature of angels if I want to even consider using them as player characters in an RPG. But at the same time, I don't want to turn this setting into one in which Heaven and Hell are painted with shades of gray. While individual angels can be a bit more malleable, Heaven and nearly all of its angels will remain capital-G Good and Hell and nearly all of its angels will remain capital-E Evil.

That's enough theory for now. Next time, I will go into detail on the different kinds of angels and the factions in the spiritual realms.

The Man from Y. H. W. H.

Following a discussion of the hymn For the Beauty of the Earth

So, naturally, I had to start writing something...

1963 AC (After Creation): In the middle of Hell, there’s a small little enclave of heaven; well, not Heaven-heaven, but compared to what’s around it? You betcha. Those crafty apes lucky enough to not screw themselves up too badly end up here: Limbo. Just next door is Pandaemonium. When they set it up, Morningstar thought everyone would realize how much better things are without G_d and be clamoring to come to their side. Instead, they had to build the wall just to keep folks from leaving.

The Big Man Upstairs assures us His plan is trucking along on schedule; and things always go according to His plan. Until then, our job is to keep an eye on things in Pandaemonium and stop Morningstar's agents from interfering in Limbo. Assume nothing; everyone is potentially under opposition control. Even your fellow archangels. Good luck agent.

Source unknown

On Those Things the Ignorant Call "Dwarves"

Great holes secretly are digged where earth’s pores ought to suffice, and things have learnt to walk that ought to crawl.

- H.P. Lovecraft, The Festival

The first thing a dwergaz sees upon hatching is rotten flesh. It slumps out of it's egg and begins to eat all it can see, growing fat on this decaying feast. But as it corpulence increases, it finds itself trapped by bone and skin; soon, like an elongated skull, the dwergaz is shaped to resemble it's former meal and wears what's left of it like a suit.

Man-Grub, Dark Souls 3

It is in this stage that most are familiar with the things, though few have seen them in person. Those that have try to forget what they've seen as best they can. Despite their appearance, the dwergazi are artisans of the highest skill. Even their shoddiest work would be considered a masterpiece by a human craftsman. They make no distinction between something practical and something decorative. Every tool, weapon, piece of armor, even the caves they call home, are covered with intricate fractal patterns, as if the very thought of an undecorated surface brought them discomfort.

As far as any can tell, the dwergazi live to dig; everything they do is ordered towards aim. Their tunnels and mines plunge deep into the earth but the endless minerals they extract are apparently ancillary to their goal. None know why they dig; perhaps they don't even know themselves.

But eventually the dwergazi die. Or at least, that's what an outsider would think. The dwergaz enters what looks like a tomb, accompanied by a strange rite performed by its kin. In this tomb, however, they construct a cocoon; the metamorphosis begins. 

The dwergaz enters into the second stage of its lifecycle: the walakuzjo.

Mi-Go, Kurt Komoda

Much less is known about the walakuzjoi compared to the dwergazi. But here is what we can say: on rare occasions, a humanoid housefly the size of an elephant descends on the aftermath of a battlefield. It picks through the corpses, choosing the best and carrying them back to its mountain hall. Upon some, it feeds; in others, it lays its eggs. And the cycle begins anew.

More research on the subject must be done, obviously. But first, those who consider themselves educated must divest themselves of the notion that the greatest works of mortal craftsmanship were made by small bearded men who live in caves; such a foolish notion has no place in the work of respectable scholars.