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Nibiru Religions
LORE! A narrative explanation of the signs, signatures, and Sigils used around Nibiru and some narrative explanation.
Intro:
(this should be formatted right to be mostly okay to read on a phone, but i personally would recommend reading on a larger screen)
This is a narrative structure to explain a lot of the religions and beliefs in Nibiru; the three main Churches, The Church of Glorious Gods, and some of the smaller ideas we might find in shops and homes around the city. I have made a point of NOT including any religions, spiritual traditions, or religious figures from our world, because those are not my beliefs and i do not feel i have the right to ‘play’ with them as it were. There may be some aspects that seem similar to beliefs in our world, some are probably coincidence, and some are intentional acts of my toying around with a broad concept i find interesting. I do want to be clear that i am not trying to say any belief is correct or incorrect – i do have my own beliefs, but i always try not to validate them or invalidate others in the world, thank you.
Having said all that, there is a mix here of Gods and religions from all over fiction. Some like Gond are long running staples of Dungeons and Dragons. I added a bunch of these mostly as an attempt to ground the world a bit more to the codified D&D realms, but i recommend you check the Forgotten Realms Wiki for full information on them (i have included links to these where appropriate). Others like The Church of Shadows are creations of my own mind, as the subjects of religion and Gods have always been a great interest to me, so i’ve taken a chance to explore some random thoughts and play them further out in this world. Then there are other fictional Gods like Sithrak who was created by Trudy Cooper and Doug Bayne in the Oglaf comics, these are not meant as co-opting, but rather an homage to creators and world builders whom i admire and to the cool ideas they’ve put out there. And lastly are the jokes like the Black Box based off of Lewis Black’s Rantcast and the idea that screaming out a rant about your frustrations might make you feel better – nothing profound here. Please bear in mind that the city was originally just meant to be a goofy playground and so some of the ideas are nothing particularly profound, just a bit of “wouldn't it be fun/ny” thoughts that i tossed into the pile (especially in the early designing days of the CoGG).
Speaking of the hyperlinked words, please do check them out. Both in this lore post and in the main summaries, i often include little easter eggs, and most of them are in things like the translations of fantasy words or elvish names for things. Hopefully it doesn’t detract from the serious thoughts or the big ideas, but i still hope they will make you smile. They also are often direct links to ideas or worlds that i enjoy and recommend, like the differentiation of Pan-narrans instead of Homosapiens or the Lies-to-children philosophy proposed by Ian Stewart and Jack Cohen in the Science of Discworld books.
With all that out of the way, let's have a quote, and then turn it over to that faithful traveler of the realms and journaler of all he sees, Ccysol the Scribble.
The Listeners.
They were one of the oldest of the Disc’s religious sects, although even the gods themselves were divided as to whether Listening was really a proper religion, and all that prevented their temple being wiped out by a few well-aimed avalanches was the fact that even the gods were curious as to what it was that the Listeners might Hear. If there’s one thing that really annoys a god, it’s not knowing something.
The fact is that the Listeners are trying to work out precisely what it was that the Creator said when He made the universe. The theory is quite straightforward.
Clearly, nothing that the Creator makes could ever be destroyed, which means that the echoes of those first syllables must still be around somewhere, bouncing and rebounding off all the matter in the cosmos but still audible to a bouncing and rebounding off all the matter in the cosmos but still audible to a really good listener.
Eons ago the Listeners had found that ice and chance had carved this one valley into the perfect acoustic opposite of an echo valley, and had built their multi-chambered temple in the exact position that the one comfy chair always occupies in the home of a rabid hi-fi fanatic. Complex baffles caught and amplified the sound that was funneled up the chilly valley, steering it ever inwards to the central chamber where, at any hour of the day or night, three monks always sat.
Listening.
There were certain problems caused by the fact that they didn’t hear only the subtle echoes of the first words, but every other sound made on the Disc. In order to recognize the sound of the Words, they had to learn to recognize all the other noises. This called for a certain talent, and a novice was only accepted for training if he could distinguish by sound alone, at a distance of a thousand yards, which side a dropped coin landed. He wasn’t actually accepted into the order until he could tell what color it was."
–Terry Pratchett, “Mort”
An expert from “Wonderful Wanderings: Diary of the Traveler Ccysol”
Religions in the Cenwes Regions – A Focus on and in the City and Kingdom of Nibiru:
In my travels across the plains to Nibiru I have discovered many religions and spiritual practices different from all together for the churches of my upbringing, different from those in the lands and environs around Fairune, and different from those in other lands.
Lest this introductory passage be seen as too salacious and just a ploy for grabbing the reader’s attention, let me state clearly that many of the Gods and practices in these aforementioned places are still found here. Tyr and Sune are of course still seen here regularly, though some Gods like Valkur are much less common since this region has few waterways large enough for ships.
On the other face of this proverbial coin, I will say that I have still seen symbols and heard mentions of some of these Gods in my other wanderings. While they are not as prevalent in those parts as they are here, they are no doubt still around in the hearts and souls of people through the wide planes of our worlds.
If you have read this Diary from the beginning then you will know I entered the city from the south after passing through the small outlying town there. With that in mind, I have endeavored to organize my notes and thoughts moving in a South to North and East to West pattern. Though, please forgive me if some of these notes mention items out of that sequence or indeed refer to later passages. My time in the city was spent in many areas and on many errands, and as such it was not as organized as I am attempting to be here in this compilation of those writings and journalings.
The Old Church
It was a few days into my stay in the city that I overheard mention of this temple in one of the city's famed bathhouses. It's fairly obvious in hindsight that I missed this Church mostly because it is a smaller building in the older part of the city, and it is much shorter than the newer buildings to the North and East where the people keep building upwards to make room for their growing populous. Indeed, i have since learned that this was the on of the first truly modern constructions of the era, back before the Burning of the Royal Tree* and before the diverting of the river along its current path (now the tannery pits are the only remains of the old river) – but perhaps I will save this for a diatribe on the long history of the city.
The Old Church is still framed in the stone work of that era, though with some close inspection, one can see where newer stone has been used in repairs. There are four entrances to The old Church aligned with each of the cardinal directions. I will save the North quarter for last, despite the obvious cultural tradition, for reasons that shall become clear in that section.
The Western Quarter is dedicated to Deneir, sometimes called The Great Scribe in this region. I have of course seen his influence in other parts of the city, like the so-called Grand Library. I am told that as the city grew and this temple was less frequented, the Archives in the heart of the city have become an unofficial nest-bed for the Deneirian acolytes, though worshippers in the city do still pay homage and seek their rites here.
While this little temple is nothing in comparison to the grand cathedrals to the east or along the forest coast, the artists here have endeavored – and dare I write, succeeded – in making this a place of wonder. Above the archway to enter is the traditional candle and eye, but here the candle is not an everburning spell or a wax candle relit and replaced daily to maintain the same holy flame, but a masterpiece of engineering and ingenious art. The eye is the traditional gray slate stone, though they have cut a large amber ring for the iris with so many reverse facets that it glitters from any point of light and seems to glow on its own as it reflects the flame into itself. The candle body is white marble carved to a tapering cone in such realism that I mistook it for natural tallow until seeing that the dripping wax never moved. I have learned that the flame is kept by a delicate wick made of diamond and Planetar feathers woven together; and that the fuel for this is an oil made within the walls of the arch by a clever use of machine-ism and alchemy wherein the walking feet passing through powers the device. So as long as there is someone to walk through the archway, the light can never go out. Truly remarkable.
The rest of the room contains a small area for prayers and sermons. The room is in a pointy gothic style with worn down stone benches all surrounded by paintings made by local masters. The altar table is a bronze relief of stacked scrolls and I heard a rumor in the outlying city that the scrolls are all separate carvings bound together as one by cleric magic to hide a great treasure, and that one day Deneir himself will read the smooth brass to bless the city with impossible riches and knowledge.
The Southern Quarter is dedicated to Akadi of the winds. If i’m not mistaken, this Goddess was the first and remains the oldest influence in the city. Judging by the imagery around this modest temple to Queen of Air, I am led to surmise that the early adoption of Akadi as a Goddess for the city is based on the founding of Nibiru and the mythos around the Flying Snake as a guiding force. I suspect that early on people believed it was The Lady of the Air in disguise as one of these creatures – as she is known to favor all flying things – and that she was the voice they heard guiding them at the founding. I am told that the royal family does not frequent this spot like they once did, but indeed sometimes the Crown or the Seeds will come here to pray for guidance, or as youths are sometimes sent here to clean the hall as penance.
(A passage added to the journal later, stitched onto the page)
Furthering my belief that Akadi was an early Goddess to the city of Nibiru, I have seen markings to her sign in the gate houses and along the outwardmost walls. Indeed I was quite taken when I was leaving and saw the clip on the board the guard held was in the shape of a five-humped-cloud. When I asked, the guard merely shrugged and said it was one of the clipped boards, but I suspect this was once traditional.
The Eastern Quarter is dedicated to Helm, The Great Guard, The Watcher, The Vigilant One. One cannot walk into this small sanctum without being in his gaze, as his hand – the gauntlet with the Unsleeping Eye upon it – is carved to protrude from the very keystone of this archway. I will admit a certain reluctance to enter the domain of his professed followers, as I have known of many of the ‘Vigilant Eyes’ to use his name in order to enact what they term ‘justice’ merely in pursuit of their own goals and evil whims… But I should watch my words carefully here… many ordinary people who kiss his gauntlet merely do so for protection against evil, and not to be seen doing so in order to cloak their desires to gain power.
As he portains to Nibiru, Helm seems to be another long holdover from the early founding. The steel armor that sits – throned– on the dais here is of a style I would guess to be two or even three ages passed. The armor is Everbrighted in the tradition of the great guard though, and I can find now signs of age or wear upon it.
Behind this empty suit are many spears and arms that I am told were carried by Crowns, their Captains, and other great Champions and defendors in decisive battles of the city’s history. It seems the Helm too was here at the founding of the city. Giving divine aid as they pushed back against their war hungry neighbors, and helping them to carve this homeland for themselves.
(A note scrolled in the margin)
In the Archive - have seen long old image of early Crown with two flying snakes. The appended chronicles story about battle prowess and strategy, perhaps Akdi and Helm were both embodied here?
The Northern Quarter is dedicated to Jergal. Indeed it is the only church in the city where there is any burial or deadkeeping practiced above ground. On the map you will note the lengthy addition to the octagonal shape of the church. Indeed this is the old cemetery and I am told some of the markers here go back to the founding. Though, I must note here that it seems only people of high note have been interred here.
There is no marker here to Jergal, as to the Gods of the other sides of this temple, but for all those who know, it is obvious. After entering the walls of the sanctum, you can see the large black tree growing in the dirt there – like a thick oak carved of obsidian, and ever growing. The believers in the city say that each of the leaves on the tree represents a soul. That each bud is an illness, each flower the death of a hero, and so it is that when a soul is pulled back from beyond through a necromantic act, that leaf falls from its branch forever – the soul to never be at peace.
There are a few rock benches on the earthen floor amid the dark grass here. While I do not know if I believe it, I have been told that one of them is the founding stone where the first Crown first gathered their people to declare this land home.
Lastly, I will point to the walls. Every inch from the ground up has a name carved in the rocks there. Line after line, the names of the dead in small etched script. They ring the room and climb up and up. There is a small walkway ringing the floors above – like scaffolding – as the names climb ever upward around the ever growing Tree of Death.
I realize as I compile these notes, that I never did give a satisfactory description of The Old Church. The overall building is an octagon as mentioned before, measuring roughly eighteen feet to a side. Jergal’s garden** sticks out to the North for about half the length of the overall Church, with a small short apartment above it on stilts which provides a home for the caretakers as well as shelter for the graves in ill weather. The building is shaped like a low hut – fitting for the early homes of the gnome lands – with each side tapering more and more in to create a low polyhedrigonal dome. Each of the walls which face a cardinal direction have an open archway through which the people can enter and exit that section. I have yet to see these arches closed, though I suspect they must have some means to do so in the cold months, perhaps tucked away inside slots in the walls or in a nearby caretaking house. I will say that the interior is overall less divided than one may have expected reading this. Though the areas can each only be accessed from the outside, inside is a crosswork of four walls dividing the domains of the building. These walls start off with simple thick bases, but rise to exquisitely thin porcelain partitions. In true Nibiru style, the last few feet of these is the famous ‘stone glass’ of the region*** molded and shaped into symbols of each God. The NW wall is topped with a motif of bones, the SW wall a motif of paper covered in ancient writings, the SE wall is topped with very convincing works of clouds, and the NE wall is finished with a pattern of studs and rolled edge-lines like broad armor.
It is only when one looks up that the divide is broken, and we see the great unity of this holy place. There on the ceiling of the church is a mural in bright - if aging - paints which shows the three Gods and Goddess together. Each above their own section to be sure, but all together. The scene is, well, seen from above if you’ll excuse an old man's shallow punning. It depicts the holy four together at feast, a single round table between them with a crown of berries as the centerpiece and snakes flying around them in a garden. Each divinity shares in the bounty of the table as their part of the mural fades into their domain, dark and grim to the north, shining to the east, clouds to the south, and scattered books to the west. It is truly a great work of a master.
*The Royal Tree was the name of the second royal home of the Crown family of Nibiru and was built where the Greater Square is now.
**An older nickname for a cemetery.
***A delicate China-like porcelain which is thin enough to see shadows and shapes though, like a milky tinted glass. Elsewhere seen in the Palace, the right half of the Nort Gate Inn, and other lavish destinations.
Dead Church
THis is simply a dead and decaying husk of an old God from the warring clans harkening back to the dawn of the city – most liking a savvy political move by the early Crowns to show willingness and adopt those people into the fold of the city. It stands as a crumbling shell now dedicated to that memory, though I am told that there still remains a small shrine to this God at the local temple of Glory, so perhaps I will learn more there.
I have tried several times to gain entry into this old ruin, to find more and write of it to you, reader – but to no avail. It is a condemned building only waiting to fall apart with nothing inside it at all.
Theatre and the Arena
In truth the Theatre of Nibiru is no Church, and I have found no record to indicate that it ever was. But I harbor my own suspicions that this building was either meant to be a dedication – or that at the very least – the builders knew and planned accordingly. After all, the building is made in an octagon. And while I have yet to discover why all churches in the town are octagonal, it is undeniable that they are. Looking at the city maps you may say, “Ah but Ccysol, the theatre is missing parts to be an octagon, pointed in on two sides and pointed out on two more – breaking the shape.” To which I should reply that, “all the churches in the city have some extra or lesser parts added to or taken from this initial shape.”
Perhaps I will go into greater details at another time… I’m sure this much conspiratorial cogitating can’t be good for my health. But while I am here now I will make a final note to point out that all around the stage, and in several hidden spots there are little signs to Oghma and Milil. A Harp with leaves in the scroll work of the proscenium, an empty scroll over the main arch. Indeed the railing to the main stair is flat and devoid of note until you spy the curling ends with the knobs of the rolling pins… I should stop here – for my health.
And perhaps I should mention here that the Arena too, has its own connections to the Gods. I don’t see the need to go too far into the religious iconography and symbolism in that great open house, as most of it seems to be more… superstition and performance than true zealotry or worship. Still, there are statues to a few notable Gods around the Great Circle, Tempus, Bahamut, Hoar, Torm, etc. though I do notice an obvious lack of the … shall we say, less lawful gods around the ring. And of course there are a strong few nods to Kelemvor in the Judge’s Box. None of the rank and file regular heroes invoke any God very frequently, and I suspect that this is too ensure wide reaching support from all quarters of the watching crowd; though in the open matches I have heard some powerful Gods called out by combatants or their sigils drawn with a heroes blood upon the dirt.
Church of Shadows
The Church of Shadows here in Nibiru is a particularly holy sight for those who follow the Shadows’ creed. It was the birthplace of Saint Milcreed; and in fact he and his warrior husband Paladin Rihza founded the church here in the City. The Church of Shadows is often linked to those followers of Shar, but this is a disdainful error – propagated I fear by prejudice. While the Dark Lady is known to be malicious or even seen by many as evil, the people of the Shadow faith are truly neutral in all their practicing. Indeed, they must be so in order to practice the faith at all.
The Church of Shadows is founded entirely on the principles of balance. They believe that all good fortunes come at the cost of bad fortunes. Sometimes this is seen in grand and direct ways: A single rich person necessitates a very poor person, or a very rich lord must mean several moderately poor peasants. Sometimes this system is much more subtle: if you find a copper coin laying in the street, you will prick your finger on a thorn going home. This is also shown out in the patterns of time; they believe that one can find predictions of the future in this harmonious balance through careful study. Say one has a terrible time waking in the morning (perhaps rolling from bed or hitting their head), then they say your evening will be especially pleasant (a night of gaiety or some good news at the evening meal). If one has a poorly start to the week, one can expect the end of the week to be better, same for a month and a year and so on even into some fringe belief circles of lucky and unlucky lifetimes due to reincarnations (though this is a rare extreme thought in my findings). I am not a scholar of the Shadow’s balance, so I won't pretend to understand the fineries of it, but I believe there is also an element of great balance at work. So, in the first scenario of the unpleasant waking, one might not end with a great night of revelry to cap the day, but instead simply have an overall slightly better than average day overall. Again I don’t claim to fully understand this, or to be able to calculate fortuitous fates like the actuarialists with their charts and balancing boards.
The concrete structure and core of their belief is that shadows – acting as agents of this great cosmic balance – enact this balancing force upon the world. It is the shadows who break your flowerpot before the lost dog comes home, or who push your prize roses to bloom in the garden after your tooth falls out. Good and bad, it all balances out in the end, and this is further emphasized in their symbol: the bisected triangle – one half black, one half white. The sides of this triangle come out as one white, one black, and one half white half black which emphasizes the along with the more subtle belief that some things are neither or both (good and/or bad).
The church itself is – as all are here in Nibiru for some reason – basically an octagon, with a small addition on one side. It does not taper like most other churches and sits as an eight-sided prism with a flat roof, accented by the tower along one side. Inside is the large pyramid that these Churches have often been noted for. A three sided pyramid (that is to say actually a four-sided pyramid and not a four-sided pyramid which is actually a five-sided pyramid) painted half white and half black on one side, black on one side, and white on on side, so seen from above it mimics their triangle symbol. I must brag here that I had the rare chance (for a non-practitioner) to step into the pyramid itself, as well. The space inside is devoted to ceremonious birth and death rituals. There are some benches on each of the sides as well as some chests for supplies. There is an altar in the middle under the chandelier which hangs from the capstone. I presume this to be for the baby/mother or the dead/dying. On either side of the altar is a podium where my young guide tells me that curses and blessings are read out under the white and under the black sides of the pyramid for births; as well as fond and ill memories of the dead. Outside the pyramid and across from the entrance doors, there is a – or rather three – monuments. Statues of Milcreed in robes and Rihza in armor, holding the chains that bind a Shadow between them. The second floor is a ringed balacony full of ancient texts and places to read them, as well as an office for the head of the Church or for church business. I do not know what is in the floors above.
I will point to one other item of interest here before moving on – and that is the second pyramid. It is a much smaller one than the grand pyramid mentioned above, at only five feet tall, though it is shaped and painted exactly alike. At its base is a brick lined trough a couple hand spans wide filled with detritus. On the walls surrounding it in this alcove are some cupboards and stone countertops with an array of pots and jugs. This is a means of prayer and divination for the patrons. As I mentioned at the beginning of this passage, the people of the Church of Shadows ascribe the mysterious breaking of household items to the work of the shadows restoring balance in their lives. It follows a certain logic then that perhaps with enough remorse or conviction, one can break (sacrifice) something in order to out-weigh a wrong or to earn some blessing (though I am told many followers do not ascribe to this line of thinking saying “If it makes them feel better, then fine, but it doesn’t change anything.”). I believe that mostly people bring in their own items of significance for this. It is also sometimes used like a dowsing pendula: breaking items on the point of the pyramid while concentrating on a problem, then assessing which side(/s) the pieces fall on to receive wisdom from the shadows. I believe most of the pottery on the counters in this alcove has been made expressly for the purpose of breaking them here.
The Church of Shadows is an overall kind and peaceful practice which I would think any city should welcome… Despite their somewhat ominous sounding name.
Faerick
Through many letters back and forth, an old friend of mine – a scholar in the Northern Mountain range of Akka t’Hěôrr – has concluded that The Church of Saint Faerick appears to be an offshoot of the God Tyr. Scrolls much older than anyone still studying them mention Faerick as a cleric of Tyr in her quests. I say this merely as a nod to that philosophy of scholarship – and rather, not to incite anger among the worshipers of this departed hero.
The Church itself is – … sigh… of course – an octagonal building with a small pointed cap or extrusion to the southern wall, located near the Main Road of the city. The main level (all I was able to see on my visit) is what is commonly called the ‘modern traditional’ structure – for any readers following the crafts, trades, and trends of these things. It contains an altar to the south end which is decorated by a tableau of colored panels of ‘stone glass’ made by the local artisans. The Altar itself is kept under a vail except during high holy ceremonies, so I cannot tell you reader, what scenes it depicts, or what functions it may have. But, I can tell you that the luminous mosaic behind it depicts Saint Faerick herself standing braced with a mighty wall – or tower – shield as waves of crashing Hellhounds push her back. The rest of the atrium is dedicated to benches arranged (in what will soon prove to emerge as a recursive theme) by division class finery.The pews to the front are well backed delicate stone carvings with comfortable pillows and lavish cushionings, behind those are stone benches with only cloth coverings, then simple stone work, then fine masonry, then woodwork. The last row of ““pews”” in the back is just a line of loose boards lain across some stick trusses bound with rope. Much the same could be said for the lighting; from the grand brass brazier columns in the front, to the good ironword torches, and then the dirty candle stubs stacked on top of eachother in crockery plates with dirty water at the back.
I am told that the Crown family used to come here to practice often, but now seem to divide their religious devotions between Faerick and the Old Church more than in previous reigns. I cannot speak – or rather write – much of the beliefs or religious structure of the church… for the same reasons that I cannot say much of their hospitality. Though many townspeople spoke very highly of the church, I personally found them quite secretive, brusk and rude to the point of boorishness.
What I can say is that Faerick – as an idollic Saint – is a God of hope. It seems that the classis- class structure is a symbol of this. The belief is, perhaps, a reinterpretation of Tyr’s justice with a dash of the Shadow Church’s philosophy. It seems that they preach a kind of acceptance and exceptionalism. If you are poor in life this is because you have not done anything to excel, and if you are wealthy, this is because of great and honorable deeds. I say wealthy and poor but that isn’t quite right as I have seen some nobility praying in the middle seats as well as a street carter (though never a beggar in the front or a nobel in the back). This leads to an idea of nobility for grandeur as it were. An ideology where the most humble and most devoted seek to do great deeds in order to gain favor and rise in society: to build amazing bridges, fight heroic battles, bring great wealth to the Church, or to devote themselves wholly to the community (through the church).
In the pursuit of tact, I believe I will refrain from any final thoughts on this page.
Church of Glorious Gods
I have seen various Churches, Temples, and Shrine of the Glorious Phillogamy, and all have been very pleasant. If you have not seen them before, they believe that all Gods and religions deserve respect and a place to, well, be. They house all the minor faiths and Gods of any area that do not have a space or enough followers to establish their own church in an area.
Though sometimes derided as ‘god of the week’ priests by less-generous fundamentalists, these churches, temples, and priests themselves do a shining deed: bring forth religion to those minorities with no official place to go. When travelers, immigrants and refugees come to a city with a House of Glorious Gods, they know they are welcome. These groups can bring their idols and practices here and they can know they are safe without spiritual corruption or pollution, nor forced conversion, or mocking derision. The mission of the Church of Glory is simply to give a religious home to those people until they find a way to establish their own churches. So when a fishing village is destroyed by a water Wyrm or a mountain village is blown apart by the ancient volcano coming alive, and these people are forced from their homes, well then, they find peace and understanding from the Priests of Glory. The Priests research the ways of their religions, they rebuild the idols, statues, and monuments. They sanctify shrines, and try as often as possible to get trained by traditional priests, preachers, and shamans in order to commune with the gods of the new people and bring them a holy harmony in their new homes.
One thing of note here, the Priests of Glory are typically kind and scholarly. They are technically of the Patheonic Cleric class, meaning they have multiple Gods in their field. This means that each one is a powerful person in their own right, wielding the skills and magiks of multiple houses at once. I have heard rumors that the heads of the Glorious Table (a council of their highest members) are growing these skills as a way to gain power and one day unleash a tide to wipe out all gods, becoming the only new gods themselves. I have personally met many scores of these priests both in high and low in rank, on top of reading many of their own internal studies, writing and doctrines. I can say with no small amount of clear confidence and definity, that this is a flagrant lie, believed only by aggressive conspiracists, and propagated by hateful minded power grabbers wishing to push out what they are unfamiliar with.
The Church here in Nibiru is – yet again… – an octagonal building which tapers after the second floor as if to a half octagon as seen from the ground. There is a sharp protuberance on one side where most of the walls are made of artfully colored and stained glasses in the form of murals which, from the inside, form the backdrop of a few altars. The main doors are in a recess in the wall opposite this protuberance. Inside, the first two floors are divided into sections of eight for the various shrines. I will note here that a great undertaking has been made in this particular Church of Glorious Gods. The principal center of the floor is a large octagonal platform which can be moved and turned like a giant’s milestone, so that the pews and seats arranged there may face any of the shrines in a given day or ceremony. Truly whomever had designed this building was some kind of a genius – or perhaps a madman. The third floor houses the office of the Priest in charge, as well as some office and study rooms (for individual prayer, research and sacrifice), a well cult- - -ivated library (excuse my humor), and the mechanical workings of the mighty crane they use when moving statues. The fourth floor contains the domestic apartments of the resident priests and their visiting kin, as well as a ladder to the records room above on the open rooftop terrace.
I must be frank reader, I am a bit unsure if this is a shrine to Chauntea, Sheela Peryroyl or Yondalla. I intend no disrespect here, it is simply that the statue is so old that it is hard to make out any fine details. I presume this to be the first shrine in the building – which makes sense, being as it is, so close to the Northern woods and the deep druids there.
Despite the ages of the statue, this is a remarkably peaceful shrine. The stone figure of… the goddess… stands on a hill of natural grass surrounded on all sides by a moat of ever flowing water which houses a few fish and frogtoads. The whole partitioned area is natural and native grass turf growing will – furthering my belief that this was established early on, indeed I suspect that the floor was built around this spot and this is the lome of the earth underneath the building.
Without knowing for certain which goddess this is, I dare not begin to describe – or I fear Ascribe – beliefs and faiths to it. I am told a Seed cleric might arrive in the City soon, perhaps they can tell me the nature of the statue. If I am still here to meet them, I will expand this section.
The Traveler
Awe, my old friend and sometime Patron. How is it now that one can have lived long enough to read these words, and yet not know of The Traveler? Yet still, my pen will never become tired of writing to this wanderers’ hero.
We shall never know who The Traveler really was, or if he WAS at all. Sometimes he is the old woman on the road, sometimes the lazy farm boy riding in the hay. Sometimes he is the gaffer whose campfire you find after a long night on the road, or the humble janitor at an rickety old inn sweeping the bugs out from under your cot. I have seen him in the eyes of runaway children at the end of village roads, and walking with a stick next to the wandering merchants. He has been in the ranks of the convoy guard, as often as he has been humble druid fishing by the lonely river. He has worn many faces and walked many planes.
Always he watches over us who walk the roads and paths of these worlds. Ever he stretches out a guiding hand, or a flat walking stick to ease us on our way. The Traveler is a friend to all who wander whether for a single day or for all our lives.
Here in the Church of Glorious Gods, they have a traditional statue. One showing The Traveler as an old man in a cloak, his body is hunched over his straight walking stick with its ragged base that he clutches in one hand, while the other hand is held straight out to bare his lantern high.
If this is the first you have known of my patron, reader, then you have never traveled far. Look for his sign and you will always find it. Many inns host his figure in a carving, some old farmers will notch a lantern post into a hand to show willing. Anywhere a wanderer sees The Traveler, they can take rest, and no one can ever turn them out. To put up a statue to him or show his mark is to acknowledge a sacred and ancient code: to give shelter and share what you can to those who cross the open worlds.
The Church of Glorious Gods has done my master well here, leaving several benches and even a few hammocks hanging. I spent two nights here in contemplation, to remember those hard times and harder journeys. They do well to honor his spirit and name, offering two cold meals for anyone willing to sweep up around the Church.
Thanks be to you, mine dearest host of old.
Ever will I remember your smiling face and courteous grace.
If I shall stumble in woods or dead of night, I shall reach without fright, for I know in my soul that I will find your hand to pick me up.
Tahn’dælin the Destroyer
Continuing from the story of Anchro The Defender.
“When Tavian was dead, and Anchro weeping, Tahn’dælin The Trickster embraced the minotaur and slyly stole the key from around his neck, as he patted and consoled the king of the maze. After he coaxed the guardian to an envious rage and Ancro left to seek his vengeance, Tahn’dælin took this key to the hole in the skies.
“She used the distraction of Anchro’s battle to venture to the darkest region where they say the heart of the Tangwa lies, the constellation of the great eagle – the watcher of the sky. She took the key and unlocked the door to the Akashic Archives. There before her stood the Akashic Records the tomes wherein the lives of all living things were kept.
“She stood at the core of all the knowledge in the universe. Everything that had ever happened, and everything that ever would, was laid out before her. In books, scrolls and tablets, the fates and destinies of every soul across all of time. Every hero, of every farmer, and every God, all of it preordained by the creator and all of it set in stone.
“It was then that Tahn’dælin The Cunning, Tahn’dælin The Trickster, became Tahn’dælin the Destroyer.
“For she had not only stolen the key from the labyrinth, but when Anchro wept and wept, grieving, she stood outside the labyrinth. It was she who took the red from the star. She collected that burning heat and stored it in her own heart, accepting her fate as it burned her very soul away.
“And there in the heart of the Akashic tomb, where free will died to the hands of fate, she let it all out. The fire of the star – the passion once lit in the love bond of Anchro and Tavian the Great – ripped through the grand archive and tore the books apart. The books, the scrolls, the very stones were torn, cracked and thrown apart.
“All of their power over the hearts and wills of the people was broken. With no pre-ordained path, all the peoples of all the worlds could spin freely. Farmers and heroes and Gods were at last granted lives without fate and without destiny. In her dying fire, Tahn’dælin the Destroyer returned free will to us all.
“It is for her sacrifice that the people give thanks. We remember her in our lives, for she died ten million deaths in a single night.
“And the final bitter act of the Gods was to be her doom. They locked her forever in eternity burning and dying each death for the death of the destinies she destroyed. She burned again and again in an echoing loop for every book and tomb and scroll. In that single instant she lived out eons. Dying and burning. Shriveling in the heat of the star she carried.
“So we light the red candles. We burn the red flame. To remember her sacrifice, and to give thanks for the free will we owe her now. As the heart of Tangwa burns red in the sky each night, we look up and thank the Tahn’dælin, the destroyer of our shackles, the breaker of our bonds, the one who shattered our unseen prison bars.
“We honor her in red, as her single night of burning lasts an eternity over our heads.”
Anchoro The Defender Of The Lost
Most of the followers here seem to be those one might call the downtrodden masses; vagabonds and beggars slowly picking themselves back up. Most of the ceremonies are… faint guises of practice (like washing the statute), heavily masquerading sexual themes and even self pleasure. The message here seems to be to focus on oneself in order to become better. Wholesome message if… a somewhat forward delivery fashion.
The story as it was told to me:
“Anchro was once a minotaur of a great labyrinth at the center of a green star. He held and guarded a single key. Then after centuries and melania, an acolyte of all the stars, a young cleric and student of all worlds named Tavian-The-Bowed entered the labyrinth to steal this key and in doing so steal all the knowledge of the universe to become the most powerful of all the Gods.
“But Anchro tricked the acolyte. He moved the walls and rotated tiles where Tavian had marked his path. Tavian spent decades wandering the labyrinth, before Anchro took pity and revealed himself. They fought like dogs and slowly as the years went on their hatred, their fighting, turned to love. Beach throw became an embrace. Each punch became a caress. The slicing of the knife-hand became the firm but gentle stroke of that hand - now curled in pleasure, and each howl of pain and fury became a scream of pleasure and ecstasy as they thrust into one another. Their love was a fiery furnace at the heart of the labyrinth that burned so bright it turned the very star red with their passion, then pink with their love.
“The other star Gods began to fear the passion of these lovers and sent many champions to slay Tavian, so that Anchro would stay as only a guardian of the key and nothing more, for with each passing year they grow more and more anxious that Tavian would leave with the key and open their great secrets.
“It was only when Tahn’dælin The Destroyer – then still known only as Tahn’dælin The Cunning – convinced the Gods to let her try and tear apart this love. She came with mighty warriors, and cannons that made the star flare in the night sky! But she was deceptive. For as Anchro stood fighting in the halls of the maze against her warriors, she pulled the same trick as Anchro had before. She moved the walls. Tahn’dælin changed the maze and ran to the center. Before her champions could expire, she poisoned Tavian, and crypt back to the entrance. When Anchro felt his husband’s death he howled and howled. The sobs lasted the whole of an age and the lonely pent up passions of the great minotaur turned it a deep swollen blue.
“Then Tahn’dælin reappeared, claiming a mission of condolence as an emissary of the Star Gods to soothe Anchro’s grief. But she twisted the words of the Gods. She counseled the Minotaur to leave the labyrinth. To remember his lost love by defending all those who were lost. To vent his rage by upsetting the games of the Gods as they play idly with the lives of mortals. She turned his pain to envy for the God’s had kept their own great loves to never be alone, but had sentenced his husband to death.
“And so Anchro leapt from the heavens, leaving the Star of Llabeūlb as his only sign, forever twinkling between his blue broken lonely less and the green of his envious wrath. He goes through the world in constant need of release. You see, before Tavian, he knew not of the pleasures of flesh and seed, and now with his one true love gone, he aches and aches ever in search of that release. And in his rage against them, Anchor finds those whom the star Gods have turned aside – the lost, the empty, the homeless and the hopeless. He lifts them up and gives them great boons to thwart the will of his ancient rivals.
The All Seeing Sphynx
It is interesting to see a resurgence from this God and belief in recent years.
At the entrance is a stone figure motioning one into the narrow hallway chamber. I never did determine, while I was there, whether this is a living gargoyle, or merely a simple statue. It is about as tall as a halfling – at least in so much as we can see, though it does seem to have a body and feet, so I presume if it is a gargoyle it has been denied a melding to the church itself (if this confuses you, please see my earlier notes on the subject of Gargoyles as a people and race). The figure is holding a tall staff with a great eye at the top and golden hoops dangling from the bottom eye lashes – a more ancient sign of this God then I would have expected to find so far from the desert – but I am seeing many older signs in this land… perhaps this is worth further thought… ah, but I digress in my distractions. As well as a staff, the figure has horns around its mouth and a tail. Its tail and its non-staffed hand usher the believer in and down the chamber. The table it stands on is covered with small bowls filled with offerings that any thief – that is any thief not knowing the tradition of the All Seeing Sphynx – would be envious of getting their hands on.
Everything from golden rings to dinner bones, gemstones to pine needles, silver chains to human teeth, and onyx lockets to dirty fingernails sit in these bowls. For truly it was written in the mud of the Arkanozi Deserts long ago “When they come, they should bring what they have, and what they have shall reflect my place in your world.” So the poor man brings his fallen teeth, the wise woman brings her silver bookmark, the non-believer brings their husks, and the rich bring their golden gems. For my part, I left my best quill with its brass banded nib. For if the Sphynx is right, then undoubtedly all my writings are in her name.
Beyond the stone figure and the offerings, the chamber seems to taper to the end where a casting of the Sphinx sits. To defend myself, I must first point out that I know and am familiar with the visual trick here which I believe the designers and artists call a pushed perspective optical delusion… still… I will confess that it does persuade the mind's eye quite thoroughly. The feeling of the painted sections and tiles makes one feel as though the approaching walk to the Sphynx is an enormous undertaking, when I am certain it was only a few steps – and it makes the Sphynx casting at the end seem gigantic and omenous.
Once at the foot of the cast Sphynx, one seems to feel the sheer weight of her looming overhead. Indeed she almost looks like the real thing there at the end of that chamber. The cast here in Nibiru is golden, and though I personally cannot vouch safe its through and through purity of the gold, I will tell you, reader, that one of the foundries in the Ironton village claims to have places in a singly lump of rock from the great toe of her True Statue in the Arkanozi Desert into the boiling gold when they poured it.
After praying at her feet of course one looks up to her face. There in her right eye is the glass marble with all its tiny flex of colored sand. As she said when she rose from the sandy dunes of that great wasteland, “Behold my eye. Gaze deep and see yourself. For you are in my eye always. Your world, your sun, your moons and stars, all of time and all of space swirls in the mists of my great eye.”
Someday I should hope to travel the great dunes and find the True Sphynx. To see if the old legends are true, one really can see the heavens and the planets spinning in that great stone Eye…
The Sisters
My oh my, there is so much to say about The Sisters. The Twins of Fate, The Conjoined Self, The Rachipagus Realms, The Xiphopagus Reality.
In my younger days I was fascinated with The Twins of Fate, or the Conjoined Self as I knew them back then in the green desert mountains. I have professed myself to the patronage of The Traveler, as I have often said, but still… The Sisters will always have a part of my soul… A truly apt phrase, even if I do say it of myself.
How do we know we are the only us?
How do we know our actions are our own?
How do we know what we do, we do for the reasons we suspect?
All questions that every dogmatic preacher, holy acolyte and cultish trickster will claim to know the answers to.
The Rachipagus Realms has its own ideas, as shown by The Sisters. Open the back of your minds, dear reader, and suppose with me. Suppose that you are not the only you. That there is another you, not in this world, but in another. You and You are twins. Conjoined at birth and conception, but not by skull or bone or belly. You are joined, by Fate. The highest of all fates. The fate wherein your every movement lies. You and You are always moving exactly in synchronicity, in two distinct realities, in two distinct worlds. I sit here now writing with quill on a desk, but in another realm perhaps the same greater movements of my hands are cleaning dishes at a counter, or chemically etching runs in silver plates.
This is what we see in The Sisters. Multiple selves, multiple bodies all linked together. When one Sister climbs the clean stairs of a palace, the other Sister climbs the hill of an ashen mountain. When one sister sweeps the floor, the other sister draws sigils in the dirt with a magician's staff. As a little girl, one swings on a rope in the tree, as the other dangles precariously from a cliff.
Among the acolytes of The Sisters, and the holyfolk who claim to have seen them in their many worlds, there is some debate. Are these selves always connected, or only at key times in our lives? Are the movements exact, or only the vague shapes like the after image of an arm swimming in water? The sect of the Dream Sister, believes that there are only ever two selves, and that one is awake when the other is asleep – that our dreams are glimpses of the life our other self is living in another universe.
At first I thought the shrine here is one of the the Double Twins*. The statue shows four identical maidens linked together in the back and all in the same pose. But, I believe the sect here is one of those believing in more than two selves in more than two worlds, where ‘The Sister’ refers to how all these souls are linked even as an only child. You see, each of The Sisters here has different eyes. Green to the North, golden to the West, ice-white on the Sister to the south, and crossed slits on the girl facing East. I also suspect this because all The Sister hold a more grave expression and the floor is somber red brick, much different from the jovial laughing shrines set up by some other sects of the philosophy.
*a sect based on holy text where Two Twin girls found this truth of the universe by finding their other two selves, and the four of them brought the word to both worlds.
Sometimes called The Great Liar, Nixi The Liar, and The Lying God, Hwan-tanta’hälar is a fish usually depicted in heavy ornate metal castings with its fins outstretched. In the Church of Glorious Gods here in Nibiru, its shrine contains a massive bronze casting with ornate details etched in and around each of its many scales.
I have seen this god elsewhere, and have often been curious about it. If I were to dot a map with each place in which I have encountered this fish God – well then one would naturally expect the dots to correlate to coast lines, fishing villages, swamplands, river docks and marshes. Were that the case, then the names would seem obvious for their beliefs: a trickster god of fisherman for when the line wiggles but comes up empty (and in truth, reader, I am certain those gods do exist as I myself have had many a hungry night along the Sind River, sleeplessly clutching at my empty belly and cursing them in my bedroll!). But, curiously, I have not noticed such a pattern. I have encountered these shrines and totems all around both contents, in wet and dry regions, hot and cold, above and below ground. Indeed, I am told, the city of Coth’ack’jUm in the southern underdark of the Nerewehl’n Kingdom has a shrine to the Lying God which is so big one enters through the mouth of the fish – and yet that land is a barren underground dessert full of volcanic ruinations devoid entirely of fish! As such I decided to take this opportunity to find a scholar of Nixi The Liar and learn of their beliefs while I was here.
I sat in on a service here at the Church of Glorious Gods, and while I learned much, I shan't record it all here as I never received their permission. I will, however, disclaim to you that the service was broken into parts where the religious leader (called variously The Ciryampa Man, The Sinyar-Atan, or the Enforcer of Lies) would tell brief snippets of news from within the community. Then the believers, or as I was to learn later – the Believers (capitalized) – would recite a mantra. The service would go something like this:
Ciryampa: “So-and-so is expecting a baby. It will be born healthy.”
Believers: “That makes sense. I believe you.”
Ciryampa: “So-and-so has purchased a new food cart. Her sales will be great.”
Believers: “That makes sense. I believe you.”
Ciryampa: “So-and-so’s health is poor, but he will recover soon and feel better than before.”
Believers: “That makes sense. I believe you.”
…and so on.
After this service I found time to sit down with this man of scales – named Berk – to ask him about all of this. After the Believers of The Great Liar filed out, he grabbed two of the chairs from the center of the room. He unburdened himself of his large papal-tiara in the shape of an open mouthed, upright fish’s head – which I had noticed during the service was hinged and must've had a strap to his jaw, for it flapped open and closed with each declaration. We sat for quite some time, and he accepted my questions graciously.
After the pleasantries, and mentioning the dichotomy I had mentioned before with the Fish god and no fishing connection, I asked him, “What is the primary focus of your belief?”
“The fact that Hwan-tanta’hälar is irrelevant.” He laughed. “He just is.” With a more serious tone, he explained. “Hwan-tanta’hälar, Nixi the Great Liar. Is the fish which swims in the great void beyond our universe. You seem like a learned man, so I won’t bother to explain the universe and all the possible universes, as I'm sure you know more on that than I do. But it is true that our universe is a bubble, yes? And an ever expanding Bubble at that. So what is beyond?
“Hwan-tanta’hälar is beyond.
“Nixi, swimming in the great empty void of nothing.
“He swims and in his loneliness he talks to the universe, the bubble which is his only companion.
“How can it be that magic exists? How can it be that I exist? Or you? Is it not more likely that our parents would never have met? The probability against life is enormous!” He gestured wide with open hands. “That life should exist at all is a miracle, nearly impossible. That life should create thinking creatures!? PFT!” he scoffed in derision. “Come now, this is delusional. And now you wish me to believe those thinking lifeforms found magic? Can breath fire from nothing? Create glowing Missiles that fly!? This certainly must be a lie! A lie of a wild imagination!”
He snapped his fingers.
“And. So. It. Is.”
“You see, outside the bubble of our universe, Nixi-The-Imaginative, The Great Lonely Fish Hwan-tanta’hälar, thinks out these impossible things. Then he lies to the universe – convinces the universe that they are real. He has great skill in lying. He lies to the ground and tells us that it sucks us down until the ground believes it – and believes it always has! Poof gravity, one of the most unlikely forces i have ever heard of, exists. He lies and tells the sky that it hates the ground. He lies and says that of a million tiny chances, you and I were born. That our parents met, fell in love – or in my case got drunk – just long enough to make us.”
It took me a moment to sit with this compelling argument and I asked, “So you tell him what has happened in the community?”
He nodded, “And in the world too. Everyday we tell him of our lives so that he can remember to keep us in his lies. And everyday we focus on believing that the world around us exists, to strengthen the lies and make them more convincing to the universe. After all, when you realize how absurd it is that we need water to live, and just happen to have water – or mouth to drink it with – well… all I can say is, don’t let the universe hear you say how strange it is, or it will weaken the universe’s belief in that absurd lie.”
He was nice enough to answer a final question. “What about the other religions? Do you fight? Do they get mad at you saying their Gods are just lies from your God?”
The Ciryampa Man shrugged. “We’re just as much lies as any of their Gods, I’m not saying anything about them that I do not say about myself. And their beliefs in their gods are part of Nixi’s imagination.” He whispered, “You don’t think it's strange that this building has people who believe that a sexy minotaur will f**k them when they die?” He pulled back, “Sounds like an absurd lie to me. Preposterous! It could never happen. Must be a divine sign of the work of Hwan-tanta’hälar.”
Berk told me that after this conversation he would have to spend time in deep meditation to forget about this conversation so that hopefully creation itself will also forget that it happened. Then, before he began to hammer a wooden plank to his face, he urged me to do the same…
Perhaps I should not have written it all down…
I hope the universe doesn’t notice…
Small Relics
At the entrance to the Church, behind each of the two desks where one can seek help, guidance, or information, there are arrays of many small idols. I am told that these are frequently prayed to, but do not have a large enough following of communal calling to merit the building of a new shrine within the church. Though of course this does happen from time to time. A group of worshippers leave the city on a settling pilgrimage, or simply lose interest in a God, then the shrine begins to lay unused. And, at the same time, a group of refugees settles in town bringing their own religion and needing a space, or perhaps one of these lesser idols grows a more substantial following. As these groups or parishioners or congregants come and go, grow and shrink, rise and fall, then these Idols remain for ready use. One need only ask to be lent a carving or figure, and you can take it anywhere within the confines of the building and the Holy Plaza, much like the Royal Library of King Kossuth.
I was also shown by one of the priests, a few areas of storage where even less frequented divinities are kept, like a Stone Knife of Washy-ga which is only used by some clans for extreme oaths. So presumably someone from one of these clans came through Nibiru after the founding of the Glory Church here and bound her quest in twin destinies with the earth – as they call it – before moving on. The Glorious Priests hold on to such relics in case another wayward wanderer should come by and be in need of it again.
Several dozen such Idols and religious relics are to be found here, but only the icons that I saw in used or learned something of, have I recorded here. The ones which are absent, either I learned nothing about, either no one came to use them in my time there, or the ones who did, did not have the time or will to impart their beliefs to me.
Reader, I hear you asking this page, “Why not ask the Priests of Glory to complete your list? Surely they must know, and it’s their job!” To which I reply, that firstly, I do not wish to bother them unduly as they have enough to do without my interference. And secondly, I am already an old man; if I sit down to write even a single page on every God in the continent… Well if i’d wanted that life i would have joined the Priests of Glory myself.
Black Box
A small onyx black cubic pod with faint red lines around a single opening, it is just large enough for an average person to place their head into it, or for a larger troll to hold up to their mouth.
I admit here fully and openly that I know very little of this relic. Indeed I do not even know if it is to be called a ‘religious’ icon or not. All I can say with any certainty is that after spending a week in the area, I saw a few people pick up the cube – or perhaps The Cube – and place it over their heads. I heard nothing but a faint muffled yelling from inside, while their hands flailed and pointed wildly in all directions as if screaming a rant at the very universe itself. After several long seconds of this they started to sway slightly as if passing out. They then appeared to relax considerably and would hoist the box up from off their heads to reveal a bright and shiny cherubic smile with rosy red cheeks.
On the last instant of this that I witnessed, I heard the woman say simply “Thanks, you.” or perhaps, “Thanks, Lew.” as she put the angry black pod back on the table. When she left, I felt the courage to ask her what exactly this tradition is, “Is this a religion? I asked her. To which she simply replied, “It’s whatever you want to think of it as. You just… Let it rip.” After I inquired further she added, “One time I .. I uh… I saw a blue sky in my head for a minute… and I almost laid down in the grass… but I'm back. I’m back. It’s amazing though…wow.”
Golden Calf
A small idol which seems to have been rather mistreated, with two sizable dents in it as if from heavy stone slates being dropped on it. I am told that it showed up a long time ago, but no one will admit to worshiping it, and several people seem to get very embarrassed if it is brought up.
The Twisted CoЯn
A piece of hard metal smithed by someone into a cob of corn and then twisted in a vice. I’m not sure why it is here. It is kept on a freakish chain or leash of spiked leather and only given out to children. It appears to be cursed – though ultimately harmless. Whenever one of these ‘corn children’ holds the relic, they intone, “Da boom na da noom na namena, Da boom na ba noom na namena”. Or alternately, they jump and convulse around with their hair flying all around solemnly calling out, “Yu naht rrrh rot dot n dot n dot per rot dot n not n dot per n dah chi cot n dOt rrr ah dot dot ki o ma gri a dot dot ers a pa ta ko.” Either way, the holder goes on like this over and over until someone removes it from them.
I persuaded one of the lesser Glories to let me have a try despite my age… the drums in my head… the rhythm…
Still I must say I enjoyed it.
A rarity, but by no means an anomaly here, The Golden Halo Beetle (sometimes nicknamed ‘The Divided Worm’) has crossed my path a few times, usually in remote areas which have experienced hard times in the past. Their is usually some legend of a hero being taken to another world, or a monstrous humanoid appearing with the ʊ mark on it, then disappearing. I have yet to find anyone to tell me much about The Beetle itself. Usually when questioned, they just get a distant look and say something similar to, “If you know, you know.” or once, “We come here sometimes to remember. To remember the Golden Hour. To remember the Weaver”.
Thereby, I suspect this to be less of a religious practice and more a small collective idolic remembrance, like a statue in a town square, or a marble and steel obelisk overlooking the graveyard of a disaster.
What I can say is that three core elements are always there, even if the style or dressings change. There is always a scarab beetle, always with open wings, and always with a golden band around it. I have seen one with angelic wings and a more traditional halo, and I have seen one as a stylized monocrest with the golden band being part of the scarab body and the wings depicted as part of its legs. Here in the Nibiru Church of Glorious Gods, the figure is a hand sized gold Scarab Beetle with stylized outstretched angelic wings, and a golden band, like a bangle, around its whole body.
The Great Knot
The Great knot is an interesting old belief that has seen some resurgence in recent years. I have seen it in many forms from the metaphorical philosophists with knots of stone, to the hyper litteralists with a knot made of rope made by tangling a single thread a mile long – folding in on itself before the twisting. Either way, the point here is always the same; to hold the knot and contemplate one’s place, to meditate by tracing the line of the complex knot and considering all the lives before and after you.
For, you see, reader, the knotty idea here – if you’ll pardon the little joke of a meandering old man – is a kind of unprovable experiment in the realm of thoughts. One of the oldest spiritual systems is the structure of reincarnation: the idea that upon death, the soul moves from one host body to the next. Some beliefs say it is from one person to another, or a person to an animal, and many other variations. Some practice that the soul moves in an instant, and others that it maintains a while in another realm – limboing to pass the time until a new suitable body is ready. The idea of the Great Knot is to take all these beliefs – and twist them. To knot them, if you will, back on themselves.
What if the soul reincarnates back in time.
Perhaps there is, and only ever was, one singular soul. One entity dying and going back to the beginning. What if every life you meet is that same soul? That when you die, your soul goes back in time and you live the life of your grandfather, or your wife, or son, or granddaughter, or someone you never met on an island far away. What if the beggar in the street is you in your next life, or ten lives from now, or twenty? What if the tough who roughs you up in a bar fight was you in your last life, or ten lives ago, or a hundred?
The Knot in the Church of Glorious Gods is a simple ‘monkey’s fist’ style in hemp ship twine about the size of a small turtle shell or a spherical dinner plate. It is maintained by one of the Glorious priests, a youngish dwarf who has been studying the belief for quite some time and wears her own beard in a large fashioned knot. I had a chance to ask her about her thoughts on the matter; and while most of it is irrelevant to these notes, I did find her explanation of the newer fractions of the belief quite interesting.
“I’ve seen some stone knots like you mentioned, and while I have not,” she saw my expression and smiled, “perhaps ‘have knot’ seen one of the great single thread Knots yet. I have read about them in some of the letters between greater minds. I chose this simple hemp ball, because it’s in between, and closer to my own view.
“The stone knot says that we can’t see all the lines, just like we can’t see into the stone to trace it’s path”
In my excitement I interrupted her growing lecture. “Awe yes I see, so by being litteralogicly impossible to untangle, it forces the holder to focus on the things they can see, since they cannot pick and twist apart the rock to see how the threads are twists and woven inside!” I was just too happy to show my own newfound understanding.
“Yup.” She continued, “Where the ones with the one long twisted thread, take the idea to a literal form.
“I see, they view it as a true puzzle that a superior being or divinity might pick apart to discern and maybe even move the string!”
She shrugged, “Maybe, you’d have to ask them. Personally, I look at it very much like my beard. Perhaps there's only one soul making it all, like my head making the hairs of my beard. Or perhaps there are exactly one hundred souls repeating.”
I interrupted her, “or a thousand, or two. I have read the romantic embracing philosophy of the Great Knot that there are no true genders because all loves are the same two souls meeting again forever, throughout the universe… though it doesn’t explain throuples very well…”
“Like my beard,” she continued, keeping me on track, “sometimes it is worth thinking about how it is knotted, and what our place is in it.” She hefted the knot braided at her waist below her chin and I noticed the weight of it when it fell into her hand. She winked, “but sometimes, you need to focus on what it’s all wrapped around.”
This small pink figure is quite round with a cheerful smile and decorative rainbows. Still something about it unsettles me.
I was told simply that it, “tests well with girls of a six to nine age.” Then, the man just sighed and walked off shaking his head and mumbling about money owed to one ‘Theadore Danceman’.
The Iron Wheel
I will attempt her to remember an old poem on the subject, though I will no doubt be paraphrasing here*,
“He was a God and a goodly man,
He was a king and a mighty magician.
Born of his pure and virgin mother Perial the kind,
Born in the times of sin and evil, strife and sickness.
When no good man wept, because there were no good men,
When demons ran all things and rode in human hearts.
Tehlu the man and the god came,
Tehlu came and cleansed the land.
When he fought, the demons died and burned,
When he taught, the good people came again.
Killing all of the evil spirits,
Dying in the killing of the last.
He held Encanis in the pit,
He burned there to free us all.”
The iron wheel has six spokes to represent the six holy fights of the god, and stamped on the rim are names. The six spokes represent the cities he fought in in the myth to free the world from darkness before burning in the pit, in order to hold his last foe to the iron wheel in a fiery crucifixion of them both. This is why the spokes are hollow, to allow oil so that the wheel can be set on fire. I have not met many people who strictly follow this belief, though it does get referenced from time to time. Mostly people seem to use the Iron Wheel only for ceremonial oaths, and the occasional spell to ward off evil.
*i tried not to directly copy too much from the original author, but i enjoy this one and wanted to include it. Still, the poem turned out pretty okay for something written on a lunch break.
Way-Lah the Speaker
I will confess to the reader no small annoyance on my part here. I know nothing about this religion or the God here. The small furry gargoyle I assume to be a figure in the practice, named Deepity, spoke at a great length. But I shall attempt not to let me quill split the page as I recount my inquiries.
What is this place here?
“Is it everything and it is nothing. It is, what it is, and what it is, it is.”
I see… and what is the belief here?
“What is it you believe? We believe in all things, because all things believe in us. Belief is belief and first you must believe.”
Who is Way-Lah
“Way-lah is wise. Perhaps we all have wisdom, perhaps Way-Lah knows that too…”
I will spare you, and my boiling brain the rest, but when we got to, “We are always healing, because we are alive.” I simply left the furry thing on the counter and walked away.
I must say I do not know where else to put this note, though I suspect it to be merely a folk superstition. Simply put, there are a few small baggies of dirt on the table and one day a greasy looking man in a broad flat hat approached me and told me to keep one under my pillow. I tried to dismiss the notion, but I must admit I felt compelled, and have been doing just that for three nights now. My dreams… keep going back to a lair… deep under a mountain… and I now find myself humming a catchy tune in the mornings…
Second floor
Moving to the second floor of the building now. As the first floor, rooms here are also divided into eight sections (seven if you don’t count the entrance/stairs). There is a large opening in the middle of the floor, turning the whole ring into a floating balcony attached to the walls. I assume this is to assist with the easy movements of the statues from the crane suspended up above.
Once again I will try to structure these notes in the fashion of moving us from left to right around the circle, as if in a clock.
The mighty Revali, is a somewhat newer warrior God of the Aarakocra people, risen from mortality during a centuries long battle against an evil demon lord. I have heard easily twenty nine versions of the tale, and while not all feature Revali’s rise or have the same hero wearing a different name, his inclusion in the canon seems to be more and more frequent in each retelling.
Since I myself am not one of the bird people, I won’t venture too far into their mythos, as I do not wish to misinterpret, misrepresent or misinform. I do know that this Rito God is known as a powerful archer. Indeed the young Aarakocra priest practice holding their bows and shooting with their feet in mid flight. Prayer to him was always sent by an arrow fired from a cloud, though I understand that within the city walls they are limited to target practice for the safety of others. Although I heard tell that there is a special royal dispensation from the crown on holy days to fire the arrows from the rooftop. Revali is also often associated with lighting.
As the Crowns have sought through the years to earn a better standing with the Aarakocra peoples of the sky, and as more of them have neste arrived in the city, the shrine here has become an increasingly popular place. Indeed I have even noticed some quivers and targets on rooftops for household prayers.
The shrine does contain several freestanding clouds that hang in a way to mimic the mid-skylands. I suspect this is a clever use of the spell Create Water by the priest either in artimanced mechinia or through constant rotation. The clouds do change, but they do not reflect any current weather patterns that I have observed over the city.
The shrine here has the traditional large stuffed alligator mounted to one wall and the one window for the messenger birds of Offler to fly in and out and carry rumors to the god about his followers. There are two chaise lounges either side of the alligator for the priest to luxuriate in after the feast. However, unlike in the original temples, this shrine has two open braisers, for the sausages to be roasted, each positioned under one of the stuffed nostrils for him to smell the meaty smoke and steam. There is a small rank of five very comfy benches for the Offlians to sit and give penance to their God while the priests give sermons before consuming the ‘soulless’ sausages.
I have put off this writing as long as I could.
So… this is the god of the Dead Church near the city wall. The earlier Crowns were braver than I would ever be to allow this God or his disciples into their midst. Perhaps now it makes not an insignificant amount of sense that their family seems plagued, even cursed, with paranoia through the generations.
Helm and Deneir protect me – and you, dearest reader – as I write of this accursed Dreadlord, lest the great Kazgaroth rise up again to eat me.
Bhaal… Lord of murder.
Bhaal Killer of Kings and Butcher of Beggars.
Bhaal Anointed in Blood.
Bhaal Collector of Skulls.
… and that's all you need know. Please trust me on this account.
I hesitate to write my own thoughts, as fear forms a tidal wave to quench my quill and a wall of stone to stop this simple hand from moving. Who should it be that embraces the almighty God of gorey death and violence. Who are they that seek blood sport as entertainment and call it medicine. I know too much than to prey near the dark skull which must lay festering inside this shrine amidst its halo of bloody knives – so instead I will only hope. I dare here to hope that very few should ever come to this wholly unholy-holy-place.
Golden Egg
I do try my hardest not to wade into the murky waters of the beliefs of other peoples and cultures – as I hope I have well shown you, reader – and so please bear that in mind as you read this next sentence.
After careful examination, I believe the Golden Egg divinity to be a fraud.
As far as I can discern, some years ago a scoundrel or huckster came by the means of this ‘great egg’ and on a whimsical larch, decided to fool some gullible townsfolk into believing it was a holy relic of the future.
I shan't go into details, as I believe no context is necessary here, but these are the remarks said to me by the people at this altar.
“Who knows how the future comes to be, why not an egg?”
“When the future emerges from the egg we will be here.”
“We always watch the egg, the egg will know our love when it hatches.”
“Like a duck imprints on its mother, we will be the first thing the future sees, and we shall be its master!”
When I found myself in possession of a brief window with none of them around, I crept to the back and scratched a nail on this giant Egg. The gold paint nearly stained my thumbnail.
Da-Shani Veet and Hrosha-Gul Gods of the Circle
I must admit, reader, that I am quite surprised to see these two turn up here in a city. You have most likely never heard or read of these gods, but let me assure you, that they are perhaps the most ancient and most expansively sought gods of all the realms that I have ever known. Yet, only three times before in all my years of travel have I seen a true shrine to either of them, and never one as large as even this small one here in a corner of the Church of Glorious Gods. Once in Tehir, on the shore when we – but perhaps I am losing focus.
Da-Shani Veet, and Hrosh-Gul are The True Gods of the hunt.
Da-Shani Veet, and Hrosh-Gul are The True Gods of blood.
Da-Shani Veet, and Hrosh-Gul are The True Gods of hunger.
Da-Shani Veet, and Hrosh-Gul are fang and claw and rending flesh.
Whenever I think of these two most awe-striking deities, I feel the prickling of the skin on my cheeks and the cold spike in my spine. I hope never to fall into the gaze of these terrible Gods, so how do I explain them to you who have never known them without turning their eternal bloodlust on myself?
I dare not speak directly, even in this humble journal, so perhaps it is best that I should toe around and tell you what I have seen. There in the swamps of Tehir, I was with with a druid and she took me deep into the bogs… It was at the base of a gigantic bog cyprus that she lead me to a secret place. An altar of the old druids, the ones who made the Gyrax Swamplands. The shrine was old and the blood long petrified. But there we could see the bodies of a great crocodile and five small hares. The crocodile was curved with her massive tail bedding around and the hares were running.
Only once did I see a sign made to Hrosh-gul with no space given to Da-shani Veet. It was in a meadow, the lesser known Westward Gap of the Sun Fold Mountains. There I was camped under the stars, and at daybreak I saw the creatures of the fields scurrying to their daily tasks as they do. I noticed that nearly all of them were congregated around a single point and went to look. The field mice and deer sprang away from me, but I found their little watering hole. It was a shallow, but quite wide, pond or perhaps a very small lake, and in it were thousands of offerings all depicting the small versions of the Weft Leaf – Horse-gul’s sign among the animals of the wild – all brought and offered here.
For you see the reader, that is who these Gods belong to. That is who summoned them into being. Da-Shani Veet the God of The Killer, and Hrosh-Gul The God of The Prey.
Right now there are just two traveling priests just setting up this space. But I have been told that their god hates me, and knowing that should make all of my life easier.
Moose of Love
The acolytes of the Church of Shadows would be quite pleased to know that this shrine sits directly across the octagon from the doorway to the lord of murder.
I must confess, reader, that I do not know if there ever was a singular real Moose of Love in life – that is to say a true creature that started it all. It is a not-uncommon … religion…? I hesitate here for I do not wish to discredit the people who hold this great Moose as symbol in their lives, but I have never heard of a single ritual or practice of belief ascribed to it… except for some of the… sweatier acts of love (though less sweaty in the snowy mountain regions where its orgi–orcials are heald outside).
As an old man, and one never very tempted by fleshy acts if I am to be frank, I have never stuck around to see many of the more... ‘exotic’ prayer sessions – which I am glad to say are behind a semi-sheer pink curtain in the Church of Glorious Gods. Though of course that is not all this humble ungulate God is for.
I am pleased to say that there was a wedding held in the shrine here earlier today, and while I kept my distance out of simple courtesy and respect (though I’m sure I would have been invited had I but introduced myself), the emotions I saw on display there were pure – indeed perhaps the most pure I believe I have ever seen and the wedded couple’s love filled they air until the whole shrine did glow with a sappy pink fog.
The Roof
There are no other shrines in the third and fourth floors that I mentioned before, but I do wish to take a moment to take you, reader, to the roof of this fine building. Though, in all honest truth I should say “the main roof”. There is a small built addition here on top it has several more bookshelves and a few little altars which have been recently moved.
The main roof itself has a small garden and a shrine i have described in detail below, as well as a travel-ring stone and a sundial.
Like Revali, as more Aarakocra flock to the – err excuse me I am very sorry – migra— emigrate to Nibiru – they bring more of their beliefs and practices with them. Unlike Revali, who as you may remember, reader, was a very recent hero elevated to Godhood, Aerie Faenya, Queen of the Avariel, The Winged Mother, is a long standing member of the Aarakocra patheon.
My scholarly friends in lighting-proof libraries will tell you that she is “an early adaptation of that near-universal trait of weather deities born of nomadic tribal peoples; in this case; most likely a myth reinforce by pareidolia and stress as early gatherers saw clouds resembling a familiar shape when fleeing rain storms, and then had hours to sit in shelter and invent (consciously or not – as is the Pan narran way) a mythos and story about what they saw.”
I, however, travel openly in the air without several feet of handy copper rods at the ready. So, I will tell you that Aerie Faenya, Bringer of Rain and Storms, or The Lady of Air and Wind, is often seen in the higher places of the world. She was the great grasshopper at the dawning of time and she leapt so high as to become a bird! When the peoples of the air found her, she came to them as a vailed angel. She gave them wings and taught them her love of flight, and the joys of the air. Now whenever a flier sees a bird's shadow silhouetted against a cloud, they smile, and thank her.
On the rooftop of the Church, there is a statue of her with her arms and wings outstretched. Her veil and headdress are repainted with regularity to keep the colors vibrant and fresh. I am told that this is the second most popular landing sight for Aarakocra in the city, and that this has caused some frustration with the watch guards of the City Wall. I am excited to write that I have been invited to witness a small Dance of Swirling Winds here soon, though of course on condition that I do not document the practice.
Garden of Reflection
As I have heard it said in the south, “It does what it says on the box”. This is a wonderfully pleasant garden to sit in and reflect on the nature of the Gods and of ourselves.
Sometimes believers will bring relics, tokens and totems up here to pray in the open air. And sometimes the Priests of Glory can be found here sitting and writing essays on the natures of Gods, or studying tomes. Indeed, I have written much of these passages sitting here myself – as I am writing these words now and smiling.
It is quite peaceful.
Household Idols and Shop gods
As I mentioned before, the Gods and deities are by no means exiled to their churches or kept separate from daily life here in the city.
Nearly every fine lady and man has a hairbrush back with Selune on it. Indeed, that is one of the most popular gifts for someone coming of age (a blessing from a parent or relative, and a disastrous insult when gifted by a lover).
Most craftspeople and artisans have totems to Gond in their workshops. Indeed the main house of the smithing region they call Ironton, boasts a solid gold anvil with his holy gear stamped into it. A gold anvil, reader I ask what possible reason could there be for this except to love and court the favor of a God.
If one looks closely, the door nobs at the guardhouse to each of the city gates are balled gauntlets with faintly inscribed eyes.
Nearly every one of the draw-carts of the woodspeople and gatherers has a Greenman’s carved cunningly into the sideboards, or the wheel hub, or on a mounting piece over the middle.
If there is a thieves guild in this city – and I promise you, reader, that I did not, and will never check, as a law abiding man myself – I am certain that they would have the back disk of Shar hanging over the head seat, or that they eat their meeting meals off black plates.
The Traveler is to be seen at every Inn. Whether as the fine devotional statue in the main lobby to the Nort Gate Inn on the north of the City; or the small wooden hand-carving on the desk of the head room of the South Inns. When wondering about the farms beneath the palace I also saw his mark on many houses. Some with the broom as a sign that rest can be found in exchange for work, and some with the book beneath the lantern*. And of course his marks are seen on many carts and wagons of the caravanners in the city as they bid for travelers and ask him for luck.
In the High and Low Courts of justice, Kelemvor watches all – though the name is never spoken of or mentioned to keep the decisions in the hands of mortals and not let Gods interfere in their fate. In the High Court there is a robed figure made of stone whose hanging frayed cloak is high above the heads of the gathered people. His outstretched skeletal hand holds a stone carving of the famous sword ‘Godsbane’ with golden scales balanced on its edge. In the Lower Court we can find the much older scale made from empty skulls hung on silver thread.
The Constabulary has the statue of the famed and infamous demi-God the Viny Watchman where lots of people come to put a note hoping he’ll bring back a lost dog or help them find grandad's old cane. And of course Tyr is seen there too as a friend to all those Constables. In fact many of them carve his ribbon hammer on the back of their shield shaped badges in their first year of service. Which is no wonder given that the Constabulary here trains in one of his temples so the priest can root out dishonest coppers… and send them to smaller towns – though perhaps this is not the place for my thoughts on that particular subject.
Lastly, and least surprising to everyone, whether you are a traveler or not, is the marks to Waukeen in all the banks. Forgive the shoddy penmanship as I can't help but chuckle as I write here. That lady of wealth certainly found a good niche in the pantheon and every banker I’ve ever met has a Waukeen Coins of gold or better sitting on his ledger. Even many entrepreneurial vendors and barkers will commission a token of her coin made of silver – or bronze if they’re just starting. Usually it is on a strap tied around the neck or hip, though the more superstitious carve out any wood knots in the cart**, of course.
In truth these little idols and tokens of favor are just as common as the people who carry them.
*A sign to those who know that the house is owned by a former traveler and wanderer who has finally settled down to a quiet life, and who will always help a roadsman if they have a good story to tell.
**Believing that the coin must be in contact with the item that ‘makes’ the money.
Final Thoughts
Reader, If you are religiously minded or conscientious to the diversity of spirit in our world, let me tell you to take stout heed and joy, for the city and kingdom of Nibiru is thriving and flourishing in the light of many Gods and traditions (this manuscript is devoid of my notes on the smaller outlying towns and regions under the kingdom call, but there are notes in those manuscripts of the religious practices therein, too).
Though I have taken pains and efforts here in this writing to separate out these Gods into different sections, bear in mind that many if not most of the people here hold several Gods and/or beliefs in their hearts and minds in tandem. It is not uncommon to see a girl with a wrapped bracelet of Gond’s hammer, coming out of a service in the Faerick church. Or for a house husband to pray grace over super to Tyr before eating, and then a thanks to Jergal before cleaning up. A house may have the sign of the Shadow Church on the door, as well as a figure of Selune over the hearth. This is not disrespect, reader, but an acknowledgement of a complex and interwoven pantheon overseeing different things in the wide and everbranching walk of life. Though… come to consider it… That last example is rare, as I think the stout believers in the message of the Church of Shadows tend not to turn to other gods –not out of mocking, but I believe they simply don’t see a need.
I apologize to you that I never found nor unlocked the mystery of the octagons, before I left the city. And I will admit that I suspect it will haunt me not knowing.
May these reflections help you in your adventures and understandings, reader.
It is so rare for me to get a chance to write a blessing, but here it's very relevant, so I will embrace my chance:
May The Traveler see you safe.
Ccysol, The Wander
-The Fifth Day in The Claw of Storms -written in- Garaknoth, Tower on the Mountain
What was a god? A focus of belief. If people believed, a god began to grow. Feebly at first, but if the swamp taught anything, it taught patience. Anything could be the focus of a god. A handful of feathers with a red ribbon around them, a hat and coat on a couple of sticks…anything. Because when all people had was practically nothing, then anything could be almost everything.
-Mrs. Gogol –Terry Pratchett, “Witches Abroad”
Outro:
I hope you have enjoyed this dive into the world, or at least spied out and smiled at some of the little jokes i planted here. Most of the religions here i made up, like the Church of Shadows which plays such a big role in our main story, are made of spiritual ideas i’ve had. Indeed i plan to get a Church of Shadows tattoo as the ideas of balance that i’ve laid out are very much views i’ve held for many many years (though i don’t think the shadows are doing it). Meanwhile the ideas behind The Sisters were thoughts i had as a child around the age of imaginary friends. Also some like the Moose of Love are long running internal jokes with their own strange history. The more comical ones, like Way-Lah the Speaker, are just for fun, but feel free to adopt them and go around writing them in as our religion on forms if you want.
Having said all that, i do hope i have managed to codify a lot of things, and anchor more of the world lore down into place. But i also want to keep enough things open to allow for future growth, whether by random jokes as we play, or big points that come along. That’s why i left things unlisted like the rest of the small relics, or left things open to change like the Dead Church and the changing shrines at the Church of Glorious Gods. The other reason is because, in sharing all this with you, reader, i intend to invite you into my little home in this fantasy world, come on in and take your coat off. I spend a lot of my time with my thoughts in this city, and i want to make sure there is room for your thoughts as well. So please, envision your own Gods in the sky above Nibiru, put believers in the crowds and picture the holy signs they carve on their carts or wear on their hats. Your imagination is beyond welcome here, it is encouraged and sought for. It’s your imagination that fuels my mind to keep the world spinning.
I want to take a moment here to say that Ccysol really is becoming my character in this world, just like all the players have their characters. Yes i have the NPC’s and I enjoy them a ton, Bostra is a fun one to guide and scold, and Devin is always a fun weird treat. But the more i write from inside Ccysol, the more i find their voice and i really do feel the connection there. Obviously it’s not as defined in the early lore drops of his journal, just like the early sessions of the player characters when they were just barely forming – remember this is only like his third appearance. And just like any RPG character, i certainly do exercise some of my own issues through him. In relation to his voice, i have a HUGE amount of fun venting my frustrations at certain high brow academics (people who make you call them Doctor instead of Mister or Misses because they have a PhD for instance). That is why so many of his sentences run on and on as i try to add as much flourishing intellectual jargon to make a five word sentence into a fifty word paragraph.
Below is an incomplete collection of passages from the summaries here about religions and churches as we encountered them in play, with links to the sessions they were from. I will try my best to get this up to date with everything we’ve had so far, but i might be missing some. If you think you remember one that isn’t there, please let me know and i will try to find and add it.
Collections and links
Church of Glorious Gods
It might be worthwhile to take a moment and go over the layout of the Church of Glorious Gods. The building is set up in a large outer ring divided into sections. To the left of the stone doors is a clerk's desk with one of the Priests of Glory (the organization that runs this building) behind a stone countertop. Near them is a table with various holy symbols, statuettes and offerings. Left of him, past the wooden dividing wall, is the altar to Chauntea. The stone statue stands on her earthen mound in front of two beautiful stained glass windows. Surrounding her little hill is a small fish pond and some very green grass.The rock of meditation sits halfway submerged in the water. Continuing around the circle to the left, is the statue of The Traveler. His outstretched hand with the lantern is clearly visible from the door. The area of The Traveler has several benches and even a few hammocks hanging by the back walls. Next is a dark partition that we can’t see into. And then, an altar bathed in purple light from stained glass windows where a woman with a washcloth is – as mentioned – bathing a jade statue of a minotaur, and murmuring in a sultry voice about big muscles. On the other side of the circle is another long, narrow area, but this one has a few windows where we can see cracks of golden light. Next to that, on a slightly raised brick floor is a statue to The Sisters with torches lit around it. On the other side of The Sisters is a well lit area mostly taken up by a large bronze statue of a fish. And on the other side of this, is another help desk with a priest and another table of various relics. The center circle (or rather central octagon) of this room is a wooden platform, raised one step up from the ground. It has several lines of benches, couches, chairs, and pews all facing the same way. This platform actually moves between services. It has a mechanism hidden underneath that allows it to rotate and face any of these altars during a particular service. This way any particular congregation can face their priests and God without the risk of dropping a holy statue and breaking a holy arm, or having to find nine able bodies, sixty feet of rope, three pulleys and an indoor crane to move twelve thousand lbs of solid bronze fish. (10-16-22)
The second floor of the Church of Glorious gods looks very similar to the ground floor, with several cordoned off areas making a ring of shrines along the wall. The biggest difference between the floors is that there is a large hole in the floor here. Where the rotating pew platform is below, here there is just an open floor in an octagon, with a railing around it. There is a pale 7993ab blue room with a tall bird statue and floating clouds in it. Next to it is an ornate room with d4af37 yellow and white tiles, 32527b blue pews facing a water trough and a giganting mounted alligator head, flanked by two luxurious 306048 chaise lounges. Next to this is an archway glowing with an ominous 880808 red light. At the far end of the room across the hole from us is an altar bathed in window light with a single giant golden egg, in front of it are stone basins and simple padded wooden benches. There is some rope dangling down from the rafters above in front of the next shrine, which is mostly walled off except for the open arch showing a dirt floor and some thick green bushes. The sixth stall seems to be either an empty shrine, or a shrine being renovated. Two monks in white and red robes are stacking books on plinths, and when they turn, we can see that their eyes are marked with red ‘X’s. The last, the one next to us, is covered by sheer f8c8dc pink curtains we can just see through.a pink room full of cushions and sheer hanging curtains. It has the head of a gigantic Moose on the wall and a f8c8dc pink light radiating from it. (5/6/23)
The middle of the third floor is also open, but this time it has a series of wooden beams and rafters in a sort of spider web pattern. There also looks to be some kind of geared crane mounted on tracks over these rafters and we can see the controlling gears for it near us in front of the windows. Instead of shrines on this floor, the seven sections are divided into rooms, and all except the ones in the two far corners from us, have closed doors. The two open rooms have no walls but have simple slat wood paneled floors and a few large bookcases as well as a desk and some comfortable looking chairs. (5/6/23)
Cypress takes a second to really look at these too. They’re wearing the standard neutral white robes of the Church of Glorious Gods, with the rainbow colored hem, but the closer he looks the more he sees. The darker priest on the left has a ring with the the candle eye of Deneir, next to a ring made of jagged lightning bolts, the symbol of Talos, and around his neck is a red ribbon that Cypress knows must lead on the robes to the two bound hands of the crying God Ilmater. The paler priest’s right hand has a leather band around it and now Cypress can see the faint Ra-like eye of the god Helm marked in it. His other hand has a ring of blank parchment, surely a sign of the Oghma the binder and singing bard God. The belt around his robes is held together with a bone charm of two carved scales, the token of Kelemvor, Judge of death. On the desk in the books being studied he sees the holy book of Gond, oily and smudged, probably loaned from someone in Ironton. There is also a barely covered manuscript of Lastai showing various positions of people with titles like “the wheelbarrow” and “lotus opening” and “the bridge of pleasure”. And finally a lantern and the “Extreme Teen Guide to Astral Projection” from the church of The Traveler (one of my own making, so no link, but one that crops up from time to time). Dipping into mechanics here, Cypress realizes that these two are each approximately level 9 clerics, where they have essentially multi classed as 3 classes of level 3 cleric in 3 different gods. So, 6 gods with distinct skills, abilities and powers between them, and they’re studying more. Truly, these two Priests are powerful in their own rights and together they make a mighty force. This jives with what Cypress learned about the Church of Glorious God’s before, that on the ground level it is a very good and civic enterprise. The core tennent being that it is important in this new modern world of immi-and-emigration that no religious belief of practice should be overlooked or cast aside, and that all peoples have a right to a holy space as they see it. Again, a very civic minded goal. But like so many things, the further up you go, the more opportunities there are for power and corruption. Members of the Glorious Order of Gods, the formal religious organization structure, all practice several religions, even some that seem extremely opposite. They have explained that is because they worship people and humanity (elfmanity, dwarfmanity, gnomantity, etc. included), and they note that in order for these churches to exist the priests must be expected by multiple gods. But of course, there are rumors… (12/10/23)
Faerick
We are in the first crypt of a temple. A large octangle room divided into six parts. Our party stands in a section devoted to graves of ‘those with means’ (inn owners, bath house owners, wealthy madams, etc). There are a few lines of neat stone sarcophagi; they're plain, but still, worked stone. They are spaced with small paths through them for small groups to stand over the grave when it is time to inter a loved one. There are a few lids with symbols, or some carved reliefs in them, but those are still very simple and mostly made of straight lines. In the center of the room is a raised floor, dominated by a large spiral staircase leading up to through the ceiling. This raised area is surrounded by a simple railing of iron bars with a wide wooden top for mourners to rest against as they look out at those they’ve lost. In the corners of this platform are stone benches for the grieving to sit and ponder on the lives of the ones they’ve lost. There are steps leading down from this area in all four major directions, and there are stone benches there for those who wish to be closer, or who want a bit more privacy. At the corners of this dais stand four lit brass braziers to illuminate the hall. Across from us is a small field of plots. Twelve raised dirt beds, like a garden of the dead, where the moderate and middle classes can dump the ashes of they’re deceased on sacred earth. Next to that field of plots is ‘The Waiting Room’ a section of the hall where the newly deceased are stored as their permanent rest is being readied for them. This is the great equalizer, for a brief time the poor and the rich, the holy and the damned, all wait for a spot to open up. Here is also where the poorest and forgotten members of the church are waiting to be taken to the lower floor, where they can be forgotten in peace. On the other side of the wall next to us are the coffins of the rich. Like the slabs next to us, they are stone. But these are carved in detailed reliefs of they’re occupants, some with metal accents, or jewelry worn in life embedded in the stone. They have much more room around them for a larger family to gather ‘round, and they have ornate markers on them with comments about the life of the person lying within, and how they made the world a better place. Some of these are written by poets, who are paid to lie professional after some old rotten bastard finally shuffles off and finally stops robbing the dicks off of less fortunate people. The last section is truly imposing. The southern quarter of the hall has a light all its own. A pale and holy blue light glows from the wings of the statue, as well as from basins of holy water behind it. In front of this winged woman is a small throne. A simple wooden bench with a tall, straight back upholstered in blue cushioning. A simple blue foot rest is there on a simple blue rug. On the floor around this statue are four coffins, all of simple worked wood, painted over with blue paint in geometric lines of some holy significance. Behind the statue are the steps. Four steps up and then one step down, onto another dais. At the top of the steps is a smaller statue. We can’t quite make this one out from where we stand, but some parts are clearly reaching out. Behind this statue lies one last sarcophagi. The figure of a woman in clear relief on its lid, carved to look like she could get up at any moment, if only she wasn’t made of stone. Above her, mounted in the wall is a torch, a torch which burns with that same holy blue fire, and occasionally drips a white light onto the forehead of the woman carved on this coffin.(6/26/22)
Church of Shadows
The name may sound ominous, but the practitioners are harmless. They simply believe in the divinity of literal shadows cast by light. They view shadows and misfortunes as a necessary part of the world in order to balance everything. After all, you need light to see, and then that light casts a shadow after it illuminates what you saw. So, it only stands to reason that every time a new kettle is made, a jar in some cupboard somewhere in the world must break. If a new bridle is stitched together, it only makes sense that a cart wheel would fall off somewhere a few miles up the road. If an artist paints a beautiful portrait, then surely that explains the vase of flowers falling over. These things are essential for balance in the world. They believe the shadows are divine agents, like Angles that see to this great cosmic balance. It may seem a little bit backwards, saying a prayer of thanks every time you stub your toe, but on the whole they’ve never been known to hurt anyone. (5/29/22)
We come to the courtyard of the Church of shadows. In the middle of this dirt paved clearing is a large squat octagonal building. Its roof is in the shape of a steep cone and on top is an iron cast symbol. The triangle cut vertically, one half dark iron and one half empty with the sky showing through. There are voices in the air as people mill around the outside of the building waiting for the nightly sermon. The atmosphere is light and friendly as people chat and neighbors catch up. (9/8/22)
There are two people standing in the arch way of the doors greeting people as they come inside. A priest stands in his black and white robes and face paint smiling quietly and greeting his flock. On the other side is a middle-aged blonde woman with gold earrings and rings, she is wearing a pastel cardigan and shaking hands with every single person. When she shakes their hands, both of her hands engulf the hand of the shakee, she makes direct eye contact and says something personal about each person as they walk in, something familiar about their work or families. She is proof of demons. As we approach, Ari and Rae walk up the middle of the doors and hear the sound of doom. The woman opens her mouth, and like the foretold dawning of the apocalypses says, “Well howdy there folks, now I don’t believe we’ve met before. Now my name is Karen and that fellow there is Mark.” She moves to shake Rae’s hand and hesitates. The smell washes over her and she swallows but gets a wwjd glint in her eye and gives it the old what-the-heck-come-on-in-here-you, gripping Rae’s hand and shaking with genuine affection. When she releases Rae’s hand it comes back cleaner, and hers is still somehow unsullied. Her eyes begin to twitch and tears form as she makes small talk and smiles. Her smile is the effort of martyrs against the smell of the two newcomers. Out of the corner of her eye, Ari sees the priest looking at them. His eyes are locked on, he doesn’t even blink. The smell doesn’t seem to affect him like the others. But his eyes are narrowed as he stares at the two intruders. Karen’s nose crinkles as Ari turns back to look at her and she asks, “So um, are you two, uh new to the faith?” (9/18/22)
The inside of The Church of Shadow is dominated by a large black and white pyramid. It stands almost two stories tall, and is so imposing it is hard to really take in the other details. The pyramid is painted all black on two sides, and all white on the other two sides. The line between them is so crisp, and done with such precision, that it might as well have been painted with a razor blade. On all four sides, the matte paint is so pristine, it looks as though dust is simply forbidden to land on it. Around this imposing fifteen foot artifact, are some simple wooden benches and pews. On each of the four sides there are three rows of seating. The back row, up against the wall, has high backs and some cushions. Most of the elderly patrons are in these rows with a few blankets tucked behind crooked backs for support. The middle rows are simple wooden church pews, plain wood and mostly taken up by families gathered in their nicest clothes. The rows closest to the pyramid are simple wooden benches; they look newer and less worn. Mostly occupied by single merchants and young adults, these benches seem newer than the rest, like they were recently added due to an increase in membership. Across the room from the large iron doors, on the other side of the giant black and white pyramid are three statues. A man in armor, a man in robes, and something between them we can’t make out from here. To the right of this massive pyramid, in a small unlit alcove, is a smaller black and white pyramid, only about four feet high. towards the darkened ceiling, a single chain dangling over the tip of the pyramid. (10/16/22)
As Sorin sits on the pew, between a merchant, and a young girl who smells like stables, we hear the room slowly go quiet. The soft susurration of murmuring voices fades out and Sorin sees all eyes look to the chain dangling from the ceiling. Sorin tries hard to peer into the inky darkness of the rafters, but no matter how hard he squints, he can’t make out anything. While Sorin is staring at the chain above the pyramid, small cracks form in its sides. We see thin lines of light around the corners widen, as doors open. On all of the four corners of the massive black and white pyramid, doors swing out. Sorin makes a mental note of the hidden chamber revealed inside the structure. From these doors step four priests, in their half-skull makeup and black/white slashed robes. They close the doors behind themselves and suddenly, the room seems much darker. There is still late-dawn light coming in ribbons through the windows, but the room itself has a dark and heavy feel to it, as if the shadows in the ceiling rafters are slowly climbing down around us. The priests stand stock-still. Backs straight and rigid, legs apart like soldiers on parade. They face the congregation, with their backs to the hard edges of the pyramid. While Sorin was watching these priests emerge and stand in front of the crowd, something has been climbing down from the rafters. A figure in priest robes hangs from the chain in the ceiling. It hangs there unnaturally, the black and white cloth of their tabard hanging UP like something has gone wrong with gravity. The figure climbs down the chain, but looks as if they are using the effort of climbing UP. A moment later, they are hanging right over the center. The sharp point where the pyramid’s sides meet is just below them. Slowly, they reach a hand into their cassock and pull out a round board. The board is checkered on one side, the other has something like a hypnotist's spiral on it, all in harsh black and white with crisp clean lines. The robed figure reaches up/down and gently places this disc on the point of the pyramid. They cautiously remove their hand, balancing the disc on the exact center or the point. Suddenly the figure’s arms are thrown to either side, there is a blink of magic and the chain is gone. The figure in priest robes falls. In mid air, they flip, and land with bare boney feet on the disc. The robes flutter down around them. They are facing away from where we sit with Sorin, so we only see the back of the robes, when the figure begins to slowly turn. They left out a soft dry cough, clearing their throat. (10/16/22)
The man on the balancing platform slowly rises. He shifts his weight and the disc tilts just enough to slowly rotate, turning slowly to face all sides of the assembled congregation. Sorin realizes that his robes are actually a flat 880808 red – the color of Kai’s blood. When he flipped in the air his robes fell with the red on the outside, and the normal black and white reversed inside. Wait, did i say ‘he’ before? Well she… it’s hard to tell really, I mean gender is a spectrum they could be a masculine she or a feminine he, or completely non gendered, or… and to be honest the gender of a stranger doesn’t really matter, outside of being respectful, it isn’t very important. What is important, and what makes it very hard to tell genders, is that this priest . . . is dead. Half decaying flesh sags and bits of bone show through. And then the mouth opens and the corpse begins to speak. “Dearest Nibiru congregation,” The priest begins. Their voice is unexpected, not the rasping husk of a dusty old tomb, but the warm voice of a grandparent welcoming you in from the cold – albeit with a slight hiss where the air is escaping through the hole in their cheek. “How good it is to see you all.” The undead priest lifts its hands in a hallelujah gesture and joyfully intones, “The Shadows are here among us!” Everyone in the crowd looks up with loving eyes, everyone but one. Sorin is (dice roll) looking at the lich slowly rotating on top of the pyramid. Surprisingly Sorin actually has some knowledge here. The undead holy priests of the faith have actually given a few talks at the university. It is a very rare occurrence for priests or clerics to go to the school as the school tends to have a mocking attitude towards religion as a whole. However these priests are some of the most powerful necromancers around… that are still likely to obey any laws or put up with a student Q&A segment. Necromancy is not forbidden at the University, but it also isn’t taught. As a school of magic, necromancy, has no established curriculum or courses like the other seven schools of magic. There are some books in the library, and these occasional lectures, but anyone wishing to learn the arts of necromancy is better off looking at another campus. “Some of you look surprised to see me here today. It’s true I don't often come out of the Carracklaw Temples. But during this holy time of changing seasons I wanted to start my tour with visiting one of our biggest parishes. Besides that, it is my honor to visit the birthplace of the great Saint Milcreed. He was one of the brightest minds in his age. And, with his husband, the fierce Paladin Rihza they fought and struggled to bring balance to five kingdoms. And as I hope you know, they founded this very church.” They move their arms in the way of a natural storyteller, shaking the red frock, “But enough meandering from an old man.” The lich priest smiles, and their eyes close, but we can hear the hiss of air between teeth escaping from a hole just under the left eye. The Priest's face turns stern as he looks over the parishioners. “I have seen beyond the curtain of death. My soul has waded through the rivers of the damned, and stood atop the mountain of salvation. I have seen Gods of terror, and I have seen Gods of love, and I have been inside the glass pyramid of Hermestist.” They pause and suck in a breath with a reedy hollow sigh, then go on with a lengthy sermon about fear and the importance of balance in all things. The lich priest warns the Parishioners to follow the will of The Shadow. Phrases like “lest the shadows emerge from the walls and drag you with them” and “the true pain is that which awaits in death for anyone who only focuses on pleasure in life.” After the sermon the lich priest stops revolving on his stand. He gives a kindly smile that is slightly undone by seeing his teeth showing by his ear. He lifts his hands into the shadowy rafters of the ceiling, and is quickly pulled into the thick cloud of darkness above. (11/6/22)
At the top of the stairs we see two unlit torches on the wall and next to us is an iron and wood railing. The railing extends around the room in a large octagon a couple yards out from the wall. The second floor is, in fact, mostly an empty hole in the floor where we can see the top of the pyramid sticking up. In truth, it is basically a large ring with a library and podiums on one side, a meeting table and chairs on the other side, and the doors to an office on the side away from where we stand by the stairs. (11/6/22)
Sanctuary of the Dead, one of the three sacred markers in the church. It is the room we take our dead when they die. It's the place where they can become Shades and Shadows themselves to move through the world and bring balance to everything in life. That room is Sanctified and Holy, it is a place where the dead can return and comfort their living family. (4/23/23)
When an acolyte… like me… is raised to the priesthood, we… they… sit in silent contemplation for days making this. In a single room, isolated from the world they stitch the entire tabard, covering the plain gray cloth in white and black embroidery so thick you can’t see the gray anymore. The ceremony takes days of prayer and isolation. (4/23/23)
Crypts
It is worthwhile to note here that Sorin observes something interesting. He’s been fascinated with the mechanical aspects of everything down here and notices that the whole floor here is gently sloped. Not so much that you’d notice walking along it, but enough that a marble would roll, or a stream of water, or a drunk might stumble in the down-hill direction. As for the undead, in the city of Nibiru, they are considered a pest problem more than anything else. Basically, when you have a lot of dead bodies crowded together in a place of high magic, like a church, eventually you will have some issues with the dead resisting, well, being dead. This is very similar to how if you have an area of food storage kept in the open, you are likely to get mice and bugs. So the city has an attitude of “Hey Decan, Mrs. Flouchter said she saw a zombie.” “Ok, I’ll call the Dodgrem brothers, I think they should be free since the full moon isn’t for another three days. In the meantime, lay out the traps and make sure the blessings on the stairs are still good.” So while they are a danger, like diseased raccoons, they aren’t cause for concern. (6/26/22)