Dunsany : the Exiles’ Club

A story from Lord Dunsany, about a collection, of sorts, which the player characters may stumble upon. A redcap, Jerbiton or urban covenant may discover the Club, and find it necessary to defeat its members, or steal their treasures. Given that they are the treasures of distant fallen kingdoms they make excellent Arcane connections. They are wondrous items, so they are perfect for enchantment, if they have not become tied to another realm due to their collection in the club.

***

It was an evening party; and something someone had said to me had started me talking about a subject that to me is full of fascination, the subject of old religions, forsaken gods. The truth (for all religions have some of it), the wisdom, the beauty, of the religions of countries to which I travel have not the same appeal for me; for one only notices in them their tyranny and intolerance and the abject servitude that they claim from thought; but when a dynasty has been dethroned in heaven and goes forgotten and outcast even among men, one’s eyes no longer dazzled by its power find something very wistful in the faces of fallen gods suppliant to be remembered, something almost tearfully beautiful, like a long warm summer twilight fading gently away after some day memorable in the story of earthly wars. Between what Zeus, for instance, has been once and the half-remembered tale he is today there lies a space so great that there is no change of fortune known to man whereby we may measure the height down which he has fallen. And it is the same with many another god at whom once the ages trembled and the twentieth century treats as an old wives’ tale. The fortitude that such a fall demands is surely more than human.

Some such things as these I was saying, and being upon a subject that much attracts me I possibly spoke too loudly, certainly I was not aware that standing close behind me was no less a person than the ex-King of Eritivaria, the thirty islands of the East, or I would have moderated my voice and moved away a little to give him more room. I was not aware of his presence until his satellite, one who had fallen with him into exile but still revolved about him, told me that his master desired to know me; and so to my surprise I was presented though neither of them even knew my name. And that was how I came to be invited by the ex-King to dine at his club.

At the time I could only account for his wishing to know me by supposing that he found in his own exiled condition some likeness to the fallen fortunes of the gods of whom I talked unwitting of his presence; but now I know that it was not of himself he was thinking when he asked me to dine at that club.

The club would have been the most imposing building in any street in London, but in that obscure mean quarter of London in which they had built it it appeared unduly enormous. Lifting right up above those grotesque houses and built in that Greek style that we call Georgian, there was something Olympian about it. To my host an unfashionable street could have meant nothing, through all his youth wherever he had gone had become fashionable the moment he went there; words like the East End could have had no meaning to him.

Whoever built that house had enormous wealth and cared nothing for fashion, perhaps despised it. As I stood gazing at the magnificent upper windows draped with great curtains, indistinct in the evening, on which huge shadows flickered my host attracted my attention from the doorway, and so I went in and met for the second time the ex-King of Eritivaria.

In front of us a stairway of rare marble led upwards, he took me through a side-door and downstairs and we came to a banqueting-hall of great magnificence. A long table ran up the middle of it, laid for quite twenty people, and I noticed the peculiarity that instead of chairs there were thrones for everyone except me, who was the only guest and for whom there was an ordinary chair. My host explained to me when we all sat down that everyone who belonged to that club was by rights a king.

In fact none was permitted, he told me, to belong to the club until his claim to a kingdom made out in writing had been examined and allowed by those whose duty it was. The whim of a populace or the candidate’s own misrule were never considered by the investigators, nothing counted with them but heredity and lawful descent from kings, all else was ignored. At that table there were those who had once reigned themselves, others lawfully claimed descent from kings that the world had forgotten, the kingdoms claimed by some had even changed their names. Hatzgurh, the mountain kingdom, is almost regarded as mythical.

I have seldom seen greater splendour than that long hall provided below the level of the street. No doubt by day it was a little sombre, as all basements are, but at night with its great crystal chandeliers, and the glitter of heirlooms that had gone into exile, it surpassed the splendour of palaces that have only one king. They had come to London suddenly most of those kings, or their fathers before them, or forefathers; some had come away from their kingdoms by night, in a light sleigh, flogging the horses, or had galloped clear with morning over the border, some had trudged roads for days from their capital in disguise, yet many had had time just as they left to snatch up some small thing without price in markets, for the sake of old times as they said, but quite as much, I thought, with an eye to the future. And there these treasures glittered on that long table in the banqueting-hall of the basement of that strange club. Merely to see them was much, but to hear their story that their owners told was to go back in fancy to epic times on the romantic border of fable and fact, where the heroes of history fought with the gods of myth. The famous silver horses of Gilgianza were there climbing their sheer mountain, which they did by miraculous means before the time of the Goths. It was not a large piece of silver but its workmanship outrivalled the skill of the bees.

A yellow Emperor had brought out of the East a piece of that incomparable porcelain that had made his dynasty famous though all their deeds are forgotten, it had the exact shade of the right purple.

And there was a little golden statuette of a dragon stealing a diamond from a lady, the dragon had the diamond in his claws, large and of the first water. There had been a kingdom whose whole constitution and history were founded on the legend, from which alone its kings had claimed their right to the scepter, that a dragon stole a diamond from a lady. When its last king left that country, because his favorite general used a peculiar formation under the fire of artillery, he brought with him the little ancient image that no longer proved him a king outside that singular club.

There was the pair of amethyst cups of the turbaned King of Foo, the one that he drank from himself, and the one that he gave to his enemies, eye could not tell which was which.

All these things the ex-King of Eritivaria showed me, telling me a marvelous tale of each; of his own he had brought nothing, except the mascot that used once to sit on the top of the water tube of his favorite motor.

I have not outlined a tenth of the splendour of that table, I had meant to come again and examine each piece of plate and make notes of its history; had I known that this was the last time I should wish to enter that club I should have looked at its treasures more attentively, but now as the wine went round and the exiles began to talk I took my eyes from the table and listened to strange tales of their former state.

He that has seen better times has usually a poor tale to tell, some mean and trivial thing has been his undoing, but they that dined in that basement had mostly fallen like oaks on nights of abnormal tempest, had fallen mightily and shaken a nation. Those who had not been kings themselves, but claimed through an exiled ancestor, had stories to tell of even grander disaster, history seeming to have mellowed their dynasty’s fate as moss grows over an oak a great while fallen. There were no jealousies there as so often there are among kings, rivalry must have ceased with the loss of their navies and armies, and they showed no bitterness against those that had turned them out, one speaking of the error of his Prime Minister by which he had lost his throne as “poor old Friedrich’s Heaven-sent gift of tactlessness.”

They gossiped pleasantly of many things, the tittle-tattle we all had to know when we were learning history, and many a wonderful story I might have heard, many a side light on mysterious wars had I not made use of one unfortunate word. That word was “upstairs.”

The ex-King of Eritivaria having pointed out to me those unparalleled heirlooms to which I have alluded, and many more besides, hospitably asked me if there was anything else that I would care to see, he meant the pieces of plate that they had in the cupboards, the curiously graven swords of other princes, historic jewels, legendary seals, but I who had had a glimpse of their marvelous staircase, whose balustrade I believed to be solid gold and wondering why in such a stately house they chose to dine in the basement, mentioned the word “upstairs.” A profound hush came down on the whole assembly, the hush that might greet levity in a cathedral.

“Upstairs!” he gasped. “We cannot go upstairs.”

I perceived that what I had said was an ill-chosen thing. I tried to excuse myself but knew not how.

“Of course,” I muttered, “members may not take guests upstairs.”

“Members!” he said to me. “We are not the members!”

There was such reproof in his voice that I said no more, I looked at him questioningly, perhaps my lips moved, I may have said “What are you?” A great surprise had come on me at their attitude.

“We are the waiters,” he said.

That I could not have known, here at last was honest ignorance that I had no need to be ashamed of, the very opulence of their table denied it.

“Then who are the members?” I asked.

Such a hush fell at that question, such a hush of genuine awe, that all of a sudden a wild thought entered my head, a thought strange and fantastic and terrible. I gripped my host by the wrist and hushed my voice.

“Are they too exiles?” I asked.

Twice as he looked in my face he gravely nodded his head.

I left that club very swiftly indeed, never to see it again, scarcely pausing to say farewell to those menial kings, and as I left the door a great window opened far up at the top of the house and a flash of lightning streamed from it and killed a dog.

The President of the Club

The Thamiel are an order of Fallen Angels who spread the sin of belief in duality within God. This particular one mocks the majesty of God by collecting monarchs, and having them abase themselves as its servants. Its club is an Infernal regio that offers depraved delights to demons and diabolists, all provided by self-demeaning kings.

The creature is sometimes called the “Praesidem de Clava Exsilia”, but that’s the function it currently performs, not a name. It is not clear if there have been previous presidents as its ability to change itself to suit the prejudices of nearby humans makes its name and appearance malleable.

Order: Prince of the Thamiel (False God)

Infernal Might: 50 (Terram)

Characteristics: Int +5, Per +5 , Pre +5, Com +5, Str +4/+8*, Sta +5, Dex +5, Qik +4/+2*

* Second value is for idol form.

Size: +1 / +3: Usually takes a richly-garbed human form. Can take the form of a great statue of marble, garbed ostentatiously.

Virtues and Flaws:. Many.

Confidence Score: 5 (5)

Personality Traits: Proud +6

Reputations: Collector of kings 9 (Infernal)

Combat:

Human form – Sceptre: Initiative +4, Attack +21, Defense +14, Damage +16

Idol form – Sceptre: Initiative +2, Attack +20*, Defense +12, Damage +22*

If the creature hits with its sceptre, it can use its Sparkle in the Eye power or its Command the Dross power on the struck object, even if it has already used a power this turn.

If forced to Brawl in idol form, the creature’s stone body adds +2 damage

* The sceptre is larger in gigantic form, and so it does a little more damage and is slightly slower.

Soak:

Human form: +3, Clothes of silk and gold

Idol form: +18, literally made of stone

Wound Penalties:

Human form: –1 (1–6), –3 (7–12), –5 (13–20), Incapacitated (21–26), Dead (27+)

Idol form:  –1 (1–8), –3 (9–16), –5 (17–24), Incapacitated (25–32), Dead (33+)

Abilities:  All suitable for story, but this demon is odd in that it has a very broad range of Area Lores. Carouse 9 (host), Etiquette 9 (victims), Great weapon (sceptre) 9

Powers:

Coagulation, 0 points, Init 0, Corpus: The creature has three forms. It can coagulate into a regal form, suitable to the prejudices of its viewers; a regal form which appears different to each viewer; and a gigantic marble idol, of and to itself.

Change Shape, 0 points, Init 0 or -5, Corpus: The creature can change between its three shapes. Changing to the stone form is slower than the other transformations. The creature’s sceptre is an extension of its body. It appears and vanishes at will, and at no cost.

Command the Dross, varies, Init 0, Mentem:  Can duplicate any Rego spell for the cost of 1 might per Magnitude. This power only works on things which are debased, either by material processes of decay, or by spiritual processes of pollution.

Envisioning, 1 point, Init  0, Mentem: For 1 point, allows the demon to enter and twist dreams. If used to terrify, the victim can ignore it with a Brave Personality trait roll against an Ease factor of 9 or more. Failure to resist leads to a profound physical reaction, like a seizure.

His Master’s Voice:  varies point, Init 0, Vim: May summon demonic servants, but not control them. Costs 1 point of Might for every Infernal Might point of the sumonee. Most False Gods use this power sparingly, but the President is a connoisseur of the uses of tiny demons. Few of his powers tax his large Might pool, so he is likely to call servants to him in combat.

Obsession: 1-3 points, Init -5, Mentem: May force characters to make Personality Trait rolls to resist a temporary trait, Vainglorious, which has a score equal to the Might points spent.. If the roll is successful, the trait vanishes. If it fails, they gain the trait permanently at +1, although they can remove it by the usual means of reducing traits.

The Serpent Oracle: 2 points, Init. +2, Mentem: May cast any Intelligo spell for 2 Might, and automatically knows the context and likely outcome of actions made in response to the information gained.

Shroud the Stench of the Pit: varies, Init +3, Vim: Makes overt supernatural powers appear either Magical or Faerie/ Makes subtler powers appear entirely natural. Costs 1 point per point cost of the original power, and lasts as long as the affected power does.

Sparkle In The Eye:  3 points, Init +2, Auram: Causes a thunderbolt to strike a single object the creature is looking at. The power does +15 Damage per use.

The Wealth of Nations: 3 points, Init 0, Terram: Allows the creature to summon wealth, equal to one pound of gold (10 Mythic pounds) per Might point spent, from anywhere in the world, at the creature’s discretion. The demon needs to know the wealth exists, and so it collects the treasures of fallen kingdoms, or forgeries avowed genuine by its collection of kings. The wealth summoned must never gain its value from its usefulness, only from the human agreement that some things are treasure. The creature cannot, for example, make bread appear to starving people, although it can make luxurious feasts  appear before corpulent nobles. Although it collects magic items, it cannot summon them using this power if they will be mechanically useful, only if they will be tempting.

Weakness: May not harm an anointed sovereign that is conscientiously serving the realm, or any person acting dutifully on behalf of such a monarch.

Vis: 10 pawns, vast marble crown (appears even if human form is destroyed)

Appearance: Currently this creature usually appears as a merchant prince from a rising republic, like Venice.