Suns to Come

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The Cult of the Hours

The most widespread cult of Chern Durel is the worship of the Hours. Despite being so widespread, it is the least spectacular and so easily overlooked. Further, it is not unified and prone to local variations that disguise underlying similarities to the disinterested observer. A category of priest routinely seen in villages and cities does not worship any particular god, but a great wheel of gods who each occupy different successive moments in Time. They serve as intermediaries between people and the Lords of the 168 Directions, as the gods of the Hours are sometime called. If they have rune magic of note, I have not seen it, but they are preternaturally aware of the time - both in terms of celestial and all meteorological phenomena, and of human reckonings. Primarily, they make offerings and prayers to win the favor of the Directional Lords. Typically, they provide the many minor charms and blessings people need to survive the oddities of life. A true master knows exactly the momen

On Star Permutator

Gortiluk, Queen of the Black Palace, had given birth to a daughter, her heir apparent. This was a moment of great festivity. The child was her first successful birth, sired by a powerful darkness spirit she had taken as a lover before devouring, and seemed fated for greatness. But, being pragmatic above all else, she wanted to be sure. To her Great Hall, in the heart of the Black Palace, she called the greatest soothsayers of the land. The Mad Prophet of the Jankley Bore screamed "Doom! Doom!" and bashed open his own skull on the pavers. A sage from the Kingdom of Wisdom assured the Queen that her offspring was assured to greatness, and offered twenty proofs that it must be so. She listened to all of them without betraying her judgment. The last to arrive was the High Priest of the Star Permutator. By this time, he was ancient, milky-blind in one eye, hobbling on a crutch. An acolyte helped him walk to the hall, and he sat before the Queen, who was gracious enough to permi

The Festival of Fools

We were traveling now through the Blood Drenched Hills, and coming to the market town of Spleen. Naturally, I wanted to get moving as quickly as possible, but my entourage had already decided we would spend a day or two here, peddling and enjoying their Mid Spring Festival. It did not feel like mid spring, the wind was still bitingly cold, the roads wet and muddy from snow melt, but the early planting had concluded so it was time for a party. The town was nestled between a few hills, so the first sign of it was two plumes of smoke from the signal fires outside. As we rounded a curve in the road, the palisades of the town became visible. A token force of guards were posted outside, clearly Kralorelan, and clearly disappointed with their post. Merchants coming to the festival were being charged an entry fee, or were required to prove customary right of entrance to a small, tired looking administrator. He was sitting at one of the collapsible desks that mantrins deployed to the countrysi

A Nightmare

Halisayan, Mother of Compassion wept before me. Oh, my child, she asked, why have you gone beyond my reach? The great river of the dead stretched out before me, the damned and nameless choked its sunless banks. My father was there, screaming as he rotted, and Halisayan screamed as she rotted and everything screamed and everything was a scream and the scream burned in my mouth. I realized where I was, the Darkness Woman had poured a blast of gin in my mouth. It stained my mouth and the stench of it had pulled me from my slumber. The shadows moved strangely in the half light of the stars and the red moon. She was caring, and offered me another jigger from her flask. She rubbed my back as I downed it. It was only at that moment that the uproarious laughter of my guide registered to me. I could see him now, almost doubled over in laughter with some of the porters. The Darkness Woman left me with her flask and stalked off in a rage. She walloped my guide, who fell to the ground, still laugh

The Birth of Solar Storm

From the Argan Argar Compilations in the Jonstown Library, with Commentary by Minaryth Purple This is a story of the Victorious Zenith. [A god of the distant Chen Durel. Roughly equivalent to Yelm. - MP] After he had defeated the other enemies of his reign, one was left: the Holy Mountain Bandit Gang, strange troublemakers who lived in the house of their mother, Mt. Emergence, in the Jankley Bore. [Umath's children, the translation to Chen Durel's mythic geography is a common theme in the other myths I have encountered of this place - MP] He did not have to go seeking for them, for instead they came to him. He scattered them to the four corners, and sent them roaring as they went. Their second oldest brother heard this, and sought vengeance for his kin from Zerel Fan, King of the Sky. He was one unique in all the triple world, for he did not quail before the terror-face of Zerel Fan, and matched him at the first exchange of arms called the Crushing of the Weak.

The Broo's Lament

A broo crawled from its Chaos-pit and called out to the distant Black Sun: When I was born, I tore my way from my mother's belly. When I was a child, I murdered my father. I have never known the comfort of home. When I fought for Akorgat, I fell from a very high place. When I fought for Tien, I lost my head. I have never known the comfort of victory. O, Black Sun! They call you the joy and comfort of all the beings between sky and hell! Gbaji has not yet come to free us, and I cannot endure to wait! What comfort is there for a creature like me? The Black Sun heard this, and struck open the ground. The waters beneath the earth poured in like blood, and black flowers bloomed like scabs. "Eat the black lotus, and you shall receive your desire. Eat the black lotus, but only eat two." I don't know why the broo ate three. Perhaps it was to prove he could? Regardless, he fell into a deep sleep, and slept so long Gbaji came and left while he was asleep! Somewhere

Marginalia 2 - An Episode from the Life of Sheng Seleris

AgartuSay was deluded by the Dragon, and lured into the Maw of the Dragon. He was plied with sweet words, the promise of an end to torture. His food was dragon poison, the dragon poison clouded his sight, and he thought this was clarity. He had denied the hundred gods, and cursed his ancestors. He balanced the elements of his body in the Dragon way - that is to say, he cut off everything he feared and denied it was him. There in the Maw of the Dragon, AgartuSay only had his mind left, and he would soon be free of that and become wholly a dragon himself. But then it happened he met a fish seller. The fish seller was old, and humbled. He had baskets of fish before him, and watercress-lined baskets of prawns too. His left leg was bent wrong, and his iron harpoon was rusted next to him. His tunic was made from fish skin, and his sandals were made from shark skin. The gorakiki-men and gorakiki-women crawled on him, they bit into his skin, they ate of him, and he did not once strike at t