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Posted by Ankhani on July 28, 2016
Last updated by Vomher on July 28, 2016

This lore collection may require unique circumstances for its acquisition.

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Our wisdom flows so sweet. Taste and see...

TRANSMIT - initiate the pain signal - RECEIVE - initiate the bound protocol - NOW WE DESCEND TO GREATER WRETCHEDNESS - illumine the Children of Hell - WITNESS - The Rakshasa.

No one sings the tragedy of the Rakshasa. Not even the Rakshasa remember. They were the goblin people in the wilds of Hell. Fairly peaceful, as hellspawn go, they loved to steal and had a rather vicious sense of humour.

Then came the more violent demon lords and Hell denizens. They needed slaves, both mindless and brutal. They castrated and lobotomised the Rakshasa. They wrapped the wretches in infernal bindings with tiny iron thorns that bite into flesh, injecting utter agony, leeching away all independent thought, and making treachery towards one's master an impossibility.

Trained with unimaginable pain and fed on demonic bile, the formerly mischievous creatures were bred into a slavering, battle-ready race. The cruel regimen leaves the Rakshasa pathologically addicted to causing pain, and thus, easing a tiny fraction of their own. One might find the Rakshasa serving any of the demons or citizens of Hell. They seem to have a particular bond with the Jinn, and will come whenever called by that proud race. In Tokyo, the earth-dwelling Oni keep their Rakshasa on a slightly longer leash, who can be found crawling along the sides of buildings on their own mindless escapades.

Sad song, eh, sweetling? Even if the Rakshasa had the ability to shed a tear, it would evaporate before hitting the ground.

There is a secret, sweetling, hidden in Hell. The most potent of Hell's guardians contain hidden knowledge. When they die, they leave behind fragments of that knowledge, as solid crystal. When one fragment becomes three, then a little revelation is divined.

Listen for the apocalyptic claptrap of the Machine Tyrant. Listen to the shrieks of its multiple heads. Such a grand beast. Such humble beginnings. The Machine Tyrant began as a collection of Rakshasa. The creatures were inflicted with the most profane experiments, more cruel than even that suffered by their kin. They were reshaped, they were fused, they were remade into a composite engine of destruction, a walking siege engine. Its first act was to devour its creators.

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