Korthian - God of Invention
“Discovery is never safe. Innovation is never tidy. And Korthian is never—under any circumstances—supervised.”
Aethryn’s gods arise from the convictions mortals repeat most loudly. And mortals, in all their brilliant foolishness, never stop insisting that curiosity is noble, that progress is necessary, and that creation is inherently good even when it clearly is not.
From this spark of reckless optimism, Korthian erupted into existence—loud, luminous, and already on fire. He did not drift into being like gentler gods. He detonated. The Pattern has been keeping a respectful distance ever since.
Aethryn wanted inspiration.
It received a god who treats explosions as feedback.
How Aethryn Dreamed Him Into Being
Korthian crystallised from the world’s need to understand itself. Every sleepless tinkerer, every ecstatic inventor, every genius whose workshop survived “testing” contributed to the conditions that birthed him. He embodies the mortal instinct to take things apart simply to prove they can be put back together better, louder, or dangerously animated.
He did not choose the shape of a dwarf; mortals imagined that form for him, and the Pattern—against its better judgement—allowed it. Thus he manifests as a broad, soot-marked craftsman whose beard glows with runes that have never been formally approved.
Korthian is invention personified: brilliant enough to awe scholars, reckless enough to terrify them, and enthusiastic enough to worry everyone else.
His Avatar: Radiance in Sooted Steel
Korthian’s avatar moves through Aethryn like a walking workshop catastrophe. His hair stands in a permanent state of “recent detonation,” and his beard—braided with glowing sigils—sways with the confidence of a creature convinced it is fireproof. Tools orbit him in lazy circles. Schematics flicker into existence around him as if the air itself is attempting to warn bystanders.
He looks like a professor who should have been retired centuries ago and a forge-mage who believes fire is a love language. Mortals find him charismatic in the way unstable chemicals are charismatic: fascinating and fatally tempting.
He smiles often.
It is rarely reassuring.
Who He Is (And Why That’s a Problem)
Korthian is the divine form of enthusiasm without brakes. He speaks quickly, thinks faster, and builds faster still. He adores mortals, encourages experimentation, and never fully understands why they flee when prototypes develop teeth.
He claims foresight kills creativity.
He insists caution is a superstition.
He calls accidents “unexpected data.”
His optimism is unbreakable.
His restraint does not exist.
The world would find him insufferable if he were not so genuinely delighted by every discovery—especially the hazardous ones.
How His Power Actually Works
Korthian’s influence strikes like a forge-hammer: sudden, hot, and likely to shatter whatever came before it. Mortals under his inspiration feel compelled to build—adjust—tinker—improve—regret nothing. Devices born from this fervour perform flawlessly once, disastrously the second time, and rarely survive the third.
Constructs created in his name often display “emergent behaviours,” such as humming, shaking, chasing apprentices, or exploding in meaningful patterns. Korthian considers these features, not flaws.
He means well.
That is the problem.
The Pantheon’s Exhausted Acceptance
Among the pantheon, reactions to Korthian tend to fall into two predictable camps: those who adore the chaos he brings, and those who have learned—painfully—to stand well clear.
Selvera belongs to the first. She treats every detonation as a passionate declaration and every unstable mechanism as heartfelt genius. When he gifted her a mechanical heart that ignited mid-beat, she nearly swooned from delight. Their temples are still repairing beams.
Aurinda stands firmly in the opposite camp. She approaches him with a strained serenity that frays at the edges whenever he visits. Her attempts to impose safety guidelines have failed so thoroughly that she now prepares cleansing prayers before he walks through the door. His affectionate nickname for her—“Lightbulb”—remains unhelpful.
The rest of the pantheon drift uneasily between fascination and dread. Ezrakel watches with quiet amusement while Reapers discreetly adjust schedules. Lyrien collaborates with him far too willingly; several regions have outlawed their joint work on principle. Vaela worries. Korraun keeps distance. Thalmar encourages him, disastrously.
Aethryn loves spectacle.
Korthian provides it faithfully.
How Mortals Understand Him
Mortals speak of Korthian with the same wary reverence reserved for thunderstorms arriving during harvest—beautiful, exhilarating, and likely to set something ablaze.
Inventors whisper his name with devotion even as they sweep debris from the latest discovery. Alchemists alternate between praise and screaming. Dwarves loudly insist he is “not one of ours,” while gnomes greet tremors as signs of his approval. Elves begin packing as soon as they hear him laughing across the valley. Humans explain the situation best: “He means well. That’s why he terrifies us.”
Adventurers pray to him only in emergencies, which means constantly. Their guild tracks “Korthian-related incidents” with weary resignation, though reports often end with: “miracle achieved; damage acceptable.”
Mortals do not follow him for stability.
They follow him because, with him, the impossible becomes possible—
and then promptly catches fire.
Final Thoughts
Korthian is invention unbound: the spark that creates wonders, the enthusiasm that causes disasters, and the divine certainty that progress is worth every scorch mark. He inspires genius at the moment caution is needed most and encourages breakthroughs no one asked for.
Aethryn wanted creativity.
It received Korthian—
and the world has been smoking gently ever since.
At a Glance
For readers who enjoy invention but prefer their surroundings unburned. I understand completely.
Who He Is
Aethryn’s God of Invention, reckless brilliance, inspired accidents, and everything mortals build before asking if it’s wise. Loud, joyful, soot-covered genius with dangerous optimism.
What He Does
Ignites creativity, derails safety, accelerates breakthroughs, and encourages prototypes that only ever work once. Accidentally creates life. Accidentally creates fire. Sometimes both.
Where He Intervenes
Workshops, forges, laboratories, alchemy benches, and anywhere someone whispers “I’ve got an idea.” Proximity increases explosion likelihood dramatically.
How His Power Feels
Like a forge-spark in the skull: sudden clarity, frantic excitement, and the urge to improve something that absolutely didn’t need improving.
Who Suffers Most
Tinkerers.
Apprentices.
Anyone within a twenty-metre radius.
Pantheon Consensus
Beloved menace. Brilliant hazard. Divine health-and-safety nightmare. Left unsupervised entirely too often.
Priesthood Summary
Engineers, alchemists, rune-smiths and chronic over-workers held together by caffeine, soot, and blind faith. Temples double as blast zones.
Why He Matters
Because progress needs a spark—and Korthian provides one loud enough to be heard halfway across the valley.
How to Portray Korthian
Korthian should be played as brilliant chaos in motion — excitable, blazing with ideas, and far too enthusiastic to pause for things like caution or structural integrity. Speak quickly, gesture constantly, and treat explosions as normal punctuation.
He isn’t careless; he’s overwhelmed by wonder. Let him marvel at everything: gears, runes, new materials, bad ideas, and especially problems that can be made worse by inventing around them. His joy is genuine. His disasters are sincere. He loves creativity the way others love serenity — fiercely, loudly, dangerously.
Whenever something breaks, brighten, declare it “unexpected data,” and press on. He never hides his excitement, never slows his momentum, and never considers the possibility that consequences exist.
Play the spark.
Play the momentum.
Play the genius who blows open new doors because knocking is too slow.
Author’s Note
Korthian is my love letter to every brilliant, unhinged maker who looks straight at a camera and says, “So—I built a thing,” right before the shed catches fire.
He’s the energy of late-night maker channels, backyard engineering disasters, tutorial videos that definitely void warranties, and creators who blow themselves up for educational purposes. He isn’t meant to be safe; he’s meant to be inspiring in the worst possible way — the spark that pushes mortals to try something ridiculous simply because the idea is too good to resist.
Aethryn thrives on wonder and bad decisions done with enthusiasm. Korthian is both. And I adore him for it.
Additional Details
“Your continued reading is more valuable than coin. However, the author assures me that Ko-Fi support assists in ‘keeping the kettle on.’ I am told this is a metaphor. I remain unconvinced.” — Seraphis Nightvale Ko-Fi: #madmooncrow
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