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about.
The Hours is an original verse built on the back of an original mythos. Mostly, it's about an eldritch-y monster-ish group of Gods (or God-like beings) known as Hours, who exist somewhere behind this plane in a place called The Sprawl. There are 28 of them; 24 representing one hour of each day, and four "lost" Hours. Each Hour has a Hand, who acts in some way like their High Priest, or General of their army, and connects them to the modern world. These Hands are given powers, called "aspects"; they relate in some way to their Hour's domain or area of rule.
Each Hour was a human being once. They aren't anymore. The rules of magical ascension are easy: A human being, if somehow they can glimpse behind the veil and not be driven into insanity, can become an apprentice to a Hand. Only by killing that Hand can they leave their apprenticeship behind. Likewise, only through great struggle, research, and magic can a Hand become an Hour. Basically: to promote yourself up a power-level, magical murder is afoot.
This is made harder by the fact Hours have no strong weaknesses, seeing as they are basically Gods, and as the name suggests, are unkillable. Hands, however, can be killed, but with great effort.
In this universe — aka, the modern world as we know it — there exist small sects of worship of each of the Hours. (Think Atlantis, lost history, Greco-Roman mysteries, etc.) Most of it is just academic, but some of it is very, very real, and through study or worship, the greatest of all miracles can occur: magic.
There also exists a secret order named "The Arcani". They are Hourkillers. Over the years, they have managed to injure Hours, but not kill them.
—
Daphne serves the 22nd Hour, the Sisters-in-Rags, and has died before. Daphne once had a twin sister, and the Quartermains were both apprentices. One day, she died. Not long after, Daphne died too. When Daphne was called back, it was just her alone — no apprentice to help, no Hand to guide. So she took up the mantle.
As Hand to the Sisters, Daphne can invoke her aspects of shapeshifting and telepathy. Shapeshifting magic is very painful, so she rarely changes shape. Rather, she tends to induce the shift in others — it's gruesome, harrowing, painstaking. The result is often monstrous and perplexing to mortal eyes. But occasionally, when the Hour is right, others find themselves in a form they've always wanted to be in. A fearless predator, or a flightless thing. Maybe something small with sharp teeth. You at your best. Your most primal, animal you. In a different form, Daphne chooses to be a lioness that has fur the same shade of her hair.
Adhering to the traditions of the Sisters-in-Rags, Daphne has also sworn a vow of silence. Strangely, though she is functionally human, she doesn't consider herself much of one. For the last 300 years she has stopped aging entirely. For the last 300 years she has looked 21, maybe 22 years old, and has almost always worn a large, brown hunting jacket. She dislikes food very much. Nutrient paste? Practically her dream.
Each Hour was a human being once. They aren't anymore. The rules of magical ascension are easy: A human being, if somehow they can glimpse behind the veil and not be driven into insanity, can become an apprentice to a Hand. Only by killing that Hand can they leave their apprenticeship behind. Likewise, only through great struggle, research, and magic can a Hand become an Hour. Basically: to promote yourself up a power-level, magical murder is afoot.
This is made harder by the fact Hours have no strong weaknesses, seeing as they are basically Gods, and as the name suggests, are unkillable. Hands, however, can be killed, but with great effort.
In this universe — aka, the modern world as we know it — there exist small sects of worship of each of the Hours. (Think Atlantis, lost history, Greco-Roman mysteries, etc.) Most of it is just academic, but some of it is very, very real, and through study or worship, the greatest of all miracles can occur: magic.
There also exists a secret order named "The Arcani". They are Hourkillers. Over the years, they have managed to injure Hours, but not kill them.
Daphne serves the 22nd Hour, the Sisters-in-Rags, and has died before. Daphne once had a twin sister, and the Quartermains were both apprentices. One day, she died. Not long after, Daphne died too. When Daphne was called back, it was just her alone — no apprentice to help, no Hand to guide. So she took up the mantle.
As Hand to the Sisters, Daphne can invoke her aspects of shapeshifting and telepathy. Shapeshifting magic is very painful, so she rarely changes shape. Rather, she tends to induce the shift in others — it's gruesome, harrowing, painstaking. The result is often monstrous and perplexing to mortal eyes. But occasionally, when the Hour is right, others find themselves in a form they've always wanted to be in. A fearless predator, or a flightless thing. Maybe something small with sharp teeth. You at your best. Your most primal, animal you. In a different form, Daphne chooses to be a lioness that has fur the same shade of her hair.
Adhering to the traditions of the Sisters-in-Rags, Daphne has also sworn a vow of silence. Strangely, though she is functionally human, she doesn't consider herself much of one. For the last 300 years she has stopped aging entirely. For the last 300 years she has looked 21, maybe 22 years old, and has almost always worn a large, brown hunting jacket. She dislikes food very much. Nutrient paste? Practically her dream.
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