Suns to Come

 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 m...

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...

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...

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...