Game of Thrones Daily
Three Goblin Art
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ojovivo
Stranger Things
izzy's playlists!
Not today Justin
Discoholic 🪩
Mike Driver
Peter Solarz
Aqua Utopia｜海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
Show & Tell
Claire Keane
Kaledo Art
taylor price
sheepfilms
trying on a metaphor
祝日 / Permanent Vacation
Today's Document
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
seen from United Kingdom
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seen from Thailand
seen from Japan
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Lithuania
seen from United States
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@brothermouse
Bishop Jones: And now we will confirm Brother Smith to the Melchizedek Priesthood. *To brother Smith* What's your full name?
Brother Smith: Bryson One Hundred Fourty-four Thousand Bees Smith.
Bishop Jones: Alrighty, Brother Bryson One Hundred Four- hey, wait a minute! Bees can't hold the priesthood!
A tiny voice under Brother Smith's trenchcoat: he's onto us, boys! scatter!!!
*Brother Smith explodes into a swarm of bees*
There's a certain kind of irony that, because the Deseret Alphabet is phonetic, you can't really have a Deseret Alphabet Spelling Bee.
So I finally read Camilla Stark's Desert Prophet last week and was overcome with the thought "I need to make more weird Mormon art", so without further ado, some of my weird Mormon art.
A new addition to My Weird Mormon Art collection
easter special!
Are you... ok? I can't even fathom how difficult it must be to be mormon and queer. I hope you're able to get out one day <3 much love
Thank you for your concern
Remember, if you're concerned about someone who is queer and Mormon at the same time and really want to help them, send them $200
Send them $200 right now
List of things that I want to have in the first Martian colony temple
Lenticular images of paintings
A model solar system and moving starry sky projection in the celestial room.
The endowment video in 3D with the glasses
Roombas
Japanese toilets (if we can afford a temple on mars, we can afford a few Japanese toilets)
Brief moment of zero gravity between the veil and celestial room
Mirrors in the sealing room that allows you to digitally add in family members so it looks like they’re with you.
A secret electronic panel that only the prophet and the authorities can access in a time of emergency that turns the building into a giant mecha with rocket boosters. (If we can Afford Japanese toilets, we can afford to turn the building into a transformer)
Now I just want a whole anthology of descriptions of temples and chapels in weird places. Who do I gotta bribe to make that happen?
The Antarctic temple should:
1. Look like the Fortress of Solitude
2. Have a portrait of Jesus holding a penguin the way he normally holds lambs
3. Japanese toilets
4. The chandeliers should be designed to look like Lion’s mane jellyfish
5. The clothing rental should offer cardigans embroidered with snowflakes
6. The temple should be guarded by leopard seals, which is an awesome species beloved by God.
7. Because there is no point in having an outdoor garden in Antarctica, I suggest two things: first, we could have a snow sculpture garden of scripture stories/characters. Second, an inner greenhouse to display native plants from the homelands of all the scientists who work there. (I’d say display native plants of Antarctica but that defeats the point of keeping the inside warm.)
List of things that I want to have in the first Martian colony temple
Lenticular images of paintings
A model solar system and moving starry sky projection in the celestial room.
The endowment video in 3D with the glasses
Roombas
Japanese toilets (if we can afford a temple on mars, we can afford a few Japanese toilets)
Brief moment of zero gravity between the veil and celestial room
Mirrors in the sealing room that allows you to digitally add in family members so it looks like they’re with you.
A secret electronic panel that only the prophet and the authorities can access in a time of emergency that turns the building into a giant mecha with rocket boosters. (If we can Afford Japanese toilets, we can afford to turn the building into a transformer)
Now I just want a whole anthology of descriptions of temples and chapels in weird places. Who do I gotta bribe to make that happen?
List of things that I want to have in the first Martian colony temple
Lenticular images of paintings
A model solar system and moving starry sky projection in the celestial room.
The endowment video in 3D with the glasses
Roombas
Japanese toilets (if we can afford a temple on mars, we can afford a few Japanese toilets)
Brief moment of zero gravity between the veil and celestial room
Mirrors in the sealing room that allows you to digitally add in family members so it looks like they’re with you.
A secret electronic panel that only the prophet and the authorities can access in a time of emergency that turns the building into a giant mecha with rocket boosters. (If we can Afford Japanese toilets, we can afford to turn the building into a transformer)
making a yt vid where i cook classic mormon dishes and talking about the best shitposts i’ve made. please recommend your fave mormon recipes or submit your fave shitpost i’ve made, i’ll be picking my own too but i want the fan favorites there as well. thank you
Hold up, I gotta find something
......
Okay, here it is
Look upon these works, ye mighty, and despair
Help, I am stranded on a Desereted Island,
Send help, there’s twenty members here and we’ve used up our last green jello ration.
I thought for sure we had enough green jello mix to last us until the second coming.
You should pray for mana from heaven (more green jello).
Failing that, the Word of Wisdom doesn't forbid cannibalism so.....
Okay, a little behind, but this is going to be my ARCHTOBER thread.
I'm also going to do it a little differently that in the past. I used to do all visual art, but this year I'm going to try building on my "Mormon Missionary Gets Isekai'd" story idea by writing little scenes for the paired prompts. Just to help flesh out the world and characters a bit.
Anyways, here's the first:
Parched Basin
The sun beat down on Klaw like he owed it money and its rent was due. ‘This was the better option,’ he reminded himself as he pawed at his waterskin. He had at least three mouthfuls left. Maybe that would be enough. ‘Going through the Phantom Lake is faster and safer than going around.’ This was true. The lush woods surrounding the 'banks' of the lake were filled with bandits and goblin raiders. None of whom were too keen on entering the lake itself. It wasn’t a proper lake, really. At least, not anymore. Supposedly it had once been home to a powerful god of water and healing, but when the gods all left Elithrea the lake had died up, leaving behind a parched basin.
Before the lake had been salty and fueled by hot springs but now the salt flats left behind ensured that nothing grew in the lakebed, meaning there was no shade from above. Lava still flowed close to the surface, making the entire area unnaturally hot. Heat from above, heat from below, no escape. It was unbearable. Intolerable. Maddening. So why, in the name of all the forgotten gods, was Elder Flinders whistling? The human Cleric in his black slacks, white shirt and tie, and black name badge, seemed to be almost enjoying this heat. Klaw knew that humans like Flinders did tend to do better with heat than beastmen like himself, but this was ridiculous. The Phantom Lake had been described by poets as hell on Elithrea and here was Flinders practically skipping across it.
“What is wrong with you?” Klaw asked, his brain too heated and tired to stop himself.
“Hmm? What’s that bud?” Flinders snapped out of his song and focused on Klaw. “Aw jeez, you don’t look so hot, you need some water?” Flinders held up his own waterskin still heavy and a solid three quarters full. How?!
“Is your god protecting you from this heat or something?” Klaw brushed a layer of salt off a relatively cool boulder and sat down for a rest.
Flinders brushed back his hair and gave a lopsided grin, “Aw, this isn't so bad. It gets way hotter back in Saint George. You know, this desert actually reminds me of home. Except it's a lot hotter and the rocks are red.”
Klaw felt his eye twitch. “Hotter than this and stones the color of blood? DID YOU COME FROM THE UNDERWORLD?”
Flinders chuckled, as if remembering a joke, “Funny you should say that, J. Golden Kimball once said-”
Just then the rock Klaw was sitting on lurched. He leapt off and scrambled away as the ‘rock’ lifted itself out of the ground, attached to the arm and body of a monstrously giant scorpion.
“Oh, hey!” Flinders said, pointing at the beast. “We have those back home, too! Not this size though.”
Klaw involuntarily ground his teeth together. It was a good thing there was a monster here, because at that moment, he really felt like stabbing someone.
Day 3 & 4
Nomadic Sphinx
aka We hitting those lesson numbers, one way or another
“So your entire world is covered by a giant fishing net? Or was it a spider web? Wait, is your god a giant spider? Because I don’t want anything to do with a giant spider. If he’s a giant spider you HAVE to tell me!”
“Well it’s not really a net and- first off, don’t worry, God’s not a giant spider, let’s just get that out of the way- it’s just called the web because-”
“Wait, stop.” Klaw grabbed Elder Flinder’s arm. Something was wrong. His every instinct told him that something was stalking the two travelers. His ears and whiskers twitched, trying to suss out what it was. This was a common road, well traveled and patrolled by guards. There should be no monsters or bandits. The sun was going down, but it wasn’t low enough to let the darkness hide whatever highwaymen would be bold enough to try their luck.
Flinders looked around, “Klaw? What -”
“Grettings fellow travelers.” A deep, serene voice said from directly behind them. Klaw whipped out his daggers and spun around. Immediately he understood why this thing was stalking them and how it had managed to sneak up on them. He looked at the round, owl-like face of a sphinx. Though it was tall enough to look Klaw and Flinders in the eye, it moved with catlike grace on silent, soft paws. A satchel strapped to its side peaked out from fluffy, sound dampening wings. Normally a sphinx would pick some quiet, secluded lair and only harass those who came near. It was just their luck they would run into the rare nomadic sphinx.
The Sphinx kept its perfectly round eyes on the two and tilted its head. “Would you like to play a riddle game?”
Klaw grabbed Flinders and tried to move him down the path, “Oh, would you look at the time? We really must be going, so sorry we can’t-”
“I’d like to hear your riddle!” Flinders said, leaving Klaw to spudder of the idiocy of it. Flinders smiled at Klaw and said quietly, “Don’t worry, I know what to do.”
“Verry good!” The Sphinx settled down on its haunches. “The rules of the game are simple, whomsoever is unable to answer the other’s riddle must submit to their power.”
“Flinders! Don't you dare-” Klaw hissed.
“Sounds good!” Flinders chirped.
“Splended! Here is my riddle: What has roots as nobody sees, Is taller than trees, Up, up it goes, And yet never grows?” The Sphinx gave a self satisfied smirk as it waited for Flinders to answer.
Flinders scratched at his shaggy blonde hair then suddenly burst into a smile, “Oh! I know this one! A Mountain!” he smirked at Klaw conspiratorially and added, “It’s from The Hobbit!”
“Sure.” Klaw agreed, not even bothering to question what in Elithrea a hobbit was, or how it figured into riddle solving.
The Sphinx pouted, but waved a disinterested paw, “Correct. Your turn.”
Klaw saw Flinders’s grin turn sly. His own mouth curled into a smirk as he realized what was about to happen. The tables had turned.
“Where did you come from before you were born, why are you here, and where are you going when you die?”
The Sphinx blinked in confusion. “Before I was-what? There’s no answer to those questions.”
“Oh, but there is!” Flinders said, grinning from ear to ear, “Wait here, I need a stick.” The Sphinx cocked its head in absolute bafflement and Flinders rushed to the side of the road to find a long stick.
Klaw sidled up next to the Sphinx and placed an arm over its shoulders. “Sorry pal, I tried to stop him, but don’t worry, he’ll let you go after maybe an hour or so. Just hang in there.”
“A-an hour? What is he going to-”
Flinders, having found a suitable stick, began drawing circles in the dust of the road while excitedly pulling his scriptures out of his bag. “Have you ever heard of our Heavenly Father’s Plan of Salvation?”
Day 5&6
Abandoned Sanctuary
This room is for warming and serving food, not cooking or preparing food
Soggy and wet, Klaw and Elder Flinders barreled through the dilapidated doorway of the abandoned sanctuary and were immediately stopped by the point of a sword. Behind the sword was a haggard, middleaged elf man. Behind the elf were three frightened looking elf children.
All of them held perfectly still in anticipation of what the other would do. A peel of thunder helped snap them out of their trance.
“Hey, sorry to surprise you,” Elder Flinders said with a disarming smile, “We were just trying to get out of the rain. It’s, uh, really coming down out there, you know? A real reign of rain right?” Flinders chuckled before his face scrunched in embarrassment, “Wait, no, that pun doesn't really translate to Elithrean too well, does it?” he glanced around the ruins of the old church. Klaw noticed the now inert symbols invoking a god of travelers. Flinders noticed the scant bedding and cook fire of the elves and a good sized ball, still rolling a little, implying the children had been playing with it just before they entered.
“Mind if I play?” He said, pointing to the ball. Without waiting for an answer he scooped it up with a smooth, easy movement and began bouncing it. After getting a feel for its weight and bouncyness, he started to show off, dribbling in between his legs. The elf children's faces turned from fear and concern to surprise and wonder as Flinders began to spin the ball on his finger.
The adult, their father, Klaw assumed, hardened his stance. Klaw held up his hand in a ‘we mean no harm’ gesture. “We really are just trying to get out of the rain. The only thing you have that we want is a roof and there's plenty of that to go around.”
The man scrutinized Klaw, the children scrutinized their father, Flinders went back to dribbling the ball between his legs. The man relaxed and sheathed his sword. He nodded to the children who immediately mobbed Flinders with questions of where he learned to do that and if he could teach them.
“If you have something to add to it.” said the elf, returning to his cook fire, “You and your friend can have some stew,”
“Klaw produced a pair of quails he had caught earlier in the day. “These enough?”
The elf nodded and took one to start plucking it. The two worked at preparing the birds for the stew while Flinders was teaching the children a game about throwing the ball into an old bottomless basket he had placed up high.
Klaw and the elf made small talk. His name was Garth. The children were all his and he was taking them to a nearby city as part of a centuries old pilgrimage of his family. Every other year his branch of the family, who were farmers, would go to the city to visit with the other branch, who were merchants. Just as Garth was talking about how he had stopped at this old church ever since he was a child he fell silent and froze.
Elves had better hearing than beastmen, so it took a moment for Klaw to catch what Garth had heard. There was something outside. Something big. With quiet understanding, the two crept to a long shattered window and peered out into the shadows of the storm.
What they saw made their blood run cold. One of the shadows turned and looked at them. Blazing red eyes pierced through the darkness and rain. Behind those eyes was the dark outline of a towering wolf.
“A Fenrir!” Garth hissed. Klaw had heard of them but never seen one. All the stories agreed that if you ever saw one it was too late.
Their eyes met with the beast and in a heartbeat it lunged towards them, white teeth gleaming like lightning in the storm. The walls of the sanctuary wouldn't be enough to stop its overwhelming bulk. There would be no escape. In a moment it would slaughter them all. Any moment now. Any moment.
The Fenrir snapped at the air impotently, and pawed the mud, as if it couldn't come any closer. It paced back and forth a few times. Then, with an annoyed snarl it turned its back to them and disappeared into the woods.
Klaw and Garth each let out breaths they forgot they were holding.
“I suppose,” Garth said as soon as his nerves returned, “the legends my grandfather told me about this place were true.”
“What legends are those?” Klaw asked, trying to stop the shaking of his hands.
“That nothing could harm you here. At least, not so long as a cleric-” shock and realization spread across his face as he looked to Klaw, and then to Flinders. Oblivious to the danger they were just in, Flinders was showing the children how to bounce the ball and run at the same time. “You're friend, what did you say-”
“You're about to say something crazy,” Klaw interrupted, striding back to the cook fire. “And we've got feathers to pluck.”
Feeling Garth’s confused stare on his back, Klaw added, “I'm sure my friend will explain after we eat. He likes to give a ‘spiritual thought ‘ to people after they feed him.”
Day 7 & 8
Burning Obelisk
Little late because I just had to build the magic system
Klaw had, to his regret, been caught in some tricky situations in his day, but this had to be the dumbest. It was entirely available. And worse there wasn't even any real danger, aside from boredom. He was stuck waiting in a Guild Registration Office, trapped by bureaucracy.
Flinders, the one who threw them into this situation, sat next to him, fiddling with the fifth Guild Scrying Stone of the day.
“Hey, here's an idea,” Klaw whispered so as not to be overheard by the various Bureaucrat Guild office workers nearby, “Let's just leave.”
Flinders scowled in disapproval. “They said at the gate that we had to register at the Guild Office, and as a representative of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints I need to follow the law of the land the best I can.” Then, in what Klaw had come to call Flinders’s ‘scripture quoting’ voice, he added, “We believe in being subject to kings, presidents, rulers, and magistrates, in obeying, honoring, and sustaining the law.”
“And, like I said before, as a member of the Thieve's Guild I could have smuggled you into the city legally.”
Flinders grimaced in obvious discomfort, “Well, I don't think you should be part of a group that steals from people. It’s wrong.”
Spurred on by boredom and his traveling companion’s statement, Kaw asked a question that had been itching at his brain for a while, “Elder, what exactly do you think a thief does?”
“It’s someone who…steals stuff…you know, thievery?”
“That’s really what you think?”
“Well it was…untill you said that…in that tone of voice.”
Taking pity on the man, Klaw tried to explain, “The job of a Thief is to be an expert in obtaining that which is difficult to obtain. Sometimes that’s riches, sure, but most of the time it’s just some artifact in an old dungeon, or a rare plant or something like that. I've made more than a few coins by just finding a lost ring or convincing a neighbor to give back some borrowed farm equipment. Even when we do steal, there’s usually a carve out in the law for official Thieves' business, so it’s nice and legal.”
Confusion spread across Flinders’s face, “Why would anyone make stealing legal?”
“Because the powers that be know that if they tried to prosecute us then we wouldn’t work for them, and the people we would work for would quickly empty their coffers, via the Thieves Guild’s services, of course.”
Flinders looked conflicted, “Well, legal or not, stealing is still wrong.”
“We never steal from anyone who can’t afford it, if that’s what you’re worried about. Poor people have poor loot.”
“Hmmm” Flinders grunted non commitally, and returned to focusing on the Scrying Stone. “So how’s this thing supposed to work?”
‘Supposed to’ was the key. The poor guild office worker had taken forty-five minutes and five scrying stones to determine that it might not be an equipment failure. Klaw took the stone from Flinders. “Almost every guild has certain great spells which act as sort of landmarks for how advanced you are in that guild. When you learn these Great Spells they become part of your soul and, in a way, change the shape of your soul. The scrying stone can identify the shape of the spells on your soul, how many there are, and their placement and from that it can determine what class you are and how far you have progressed. Each guild handles their progression differently, for example in the Bureaucrats Guild, levels are determined by taking a test, and you are taught spells necessary for your level after passing.” he pointed to one of the low level office workers who was magically copying the writing from one piece of paper to a whole stack of blank paper. “But in the Thieves Guild we keep it simple, the test is to get the spell, find who knows it, convince them to teach it to you. One great spell for one level, so…” he held the stone flat on his palm. It glowed and a symbol of the Thieves Guild appeared in the air above it along with a number, “it can tell that I know twelve of the Thieves Guild’s great spells.”
“You know magic?” Flinders said, his eyes sparkling, “That’s so cool! Show me!”
“Why? You clearly know some magic yourself,” Klaw huffed.
“Yeah, but I never know what I'm doing when I use them.” Flinders looked sheepishly down at his feet.
Feeling like he might regret it, Klaw glanced around to make sure nobody was watching. Then he discreetly touched the wall behind him where his shadow was being cast. Igniting the part of his soul that had the proper spell, he pushed his hand into the chilling darkness of his own shadow until it came out of Flinders’s shadow and tapped him on the back. Flinders jumped and looked back just in time to see Klaw’s hand slide back into his shadow. He looked back to Klaw as he pulled his hand out of his own shadow.
“That's so COOL!” Flinders blurted out, jumping to his feet. “What else can you do?”
Klaw cringed under Flinders’s enthusiastic gaze. He was already regretting it. Fortunately, just then the Guild Office worker who had been helping them, a rabbit eared beastkin girl, returned with her manager, a hulking minotaur in a finely tailored suit.
“We apologize for the wait, sir,” the manager said in a perfect customer service voice, “and we deeply apologize for the equipment failures. Would you be so kind to try once more with this?” He held out another Scrying Stone, this one looked fancier and newer than all the rest. Flinders gave back the old one and took this new stone. As he had before, he held it flat in his palm and, as the others had, it glowed faintly and a smoky fog appeared above it. The fog shifted, almost making a few clear shapes but each time collapsed.
The rabbit girl gave a look to her manager that said ‘See? It's not my fault!’ The manager took back the stone and examined it.
“If I might make a suggestion,” Klaw stepped in, both eager to find some way to hurry things up and to test a theory, “Maybe an older method might work? What's the oldest soul scrying device you have?”
The manager’s face twitched as he was clearly trying to come up with a polite way to say ‘don’t tell me how to do my job, you insipid twit’. But, apparently realizing he had no better ideas, placed a finger to his forehead and muttered “Inventory”. His eyes turned milky white as the spell showed him something in another location.
“We do have an old obelisk that might still work. Right this way, gentlemen.”
The minotaur and rabbit girl led Flinders and Klaw deeper into the labyrinthine offices, past shelves and shelves of increasingly archaic looking documents and unused furniture. Finally they stopped at what they had been looking for. Shoved between two towering shelves housing equal parts dust and scrolls was a black pillar with a square base, about nine feet tall, topped with a pyramid point. Writing was etched on every inch of its surface, though little of it would have been legible under the dust and grime it had accumulated.
The minotaur used his inventory spell again to find a thick tome nearby, clearly some kind of instruction manual.
“Clear some space around it, while I see how to turn this thing on.” He told the girl. He flipped through the pages as she shifted boxes around and Flinders, of course, jumped in, eager to help.
Once the preparations were complete, Flinders was instructed to stand in front of the obelisk and the manager read an incantation from the instruction manual.
“Oh, all seeing construct! I beseech thee, awaken!” The obelisk shuddered, knocking up a cloud of dust around it. Its runes shimmered in sequence like a magical heartbeat that shuddered from its base to its top. Slowly a slit appeared on the side facing Flinders, which opened to a huge, bloodshot eye.
“For what purpose dost thou awaken mine power?” a gravely voice rumbled from the pillar
“We ask thou to set thine eye upon this supplicant," he waved for Flinders to step forward, “and tell us to which class they belong-eth.”
“Very well!” the eye rolled to look directly at Flinders who waved back awkwardly. The eye squinted at him for just a second. Then, with a dramatic shout, the entire pillar burst into white flame.
“BEHOLD! THE ONE BEFORE ME HAD IGNITED THE WHITE FLAME OF THE CLERIC!”
“Cleric?” the manager muttered, flipping through pages, “That can’t be right.”
The eye rolled to look at him, "Thou doubtest mine vision?!”
“What God would he be a cleric for?” the manager argued back. The eye glared at him silently before he tried again, “Oh, right, um, Oh Pillar of Wisdom! Divine from thy vision the name of the God this one serves!”
“A simple thing for one such as I!” the flaming obelisk boasted and returned to squinting at Flinders. “The Godly Master of this most holy cleric is…is…um…” the eye squinted and Klaw could have sworn he heard it say ’what the hell?’ before sputtering back “is…a…god that hath NOT been registered with the Pantheon at Arbrot! Please direct all thine further inquiries there!”
The manager shook his head, “The Duchy of Arbrot collapsed about sixty years ago. How are we supposed to-”
“I HATH SPOKEN!” the obelisk shouted. In an instant it returned to its inanimate state on what Klaw guessed was the magic construct equivalent of pretending you were asleep in the hopes that people would leave you alone.
“So!” Klaw said, clapping his hands together, “That was informative! Can we go now?”
The manager sighed deeply, “I guess we can figure out some…special identification procedure.
Thirty minutes and a few more procedural misadventures later Klaw and Flinders left the office with a brand new Temporary Guild Identification Card.
|-------------------------------------------------|
|Name: Bryson Flinders |
|Race: Human |
|Class: Cleric |
|Level: 00 Special class /Elder |
|-------------------------------------------------|
Day 9 & 10
Forelorn Canticle
P-days are for getting cool souvenirs
“Songs for sale!” cried Taroque the Troubador, a level 43 Bard, from his stool in the town square wearing his flashy, eyecatching clothes and occasionally strumming on his lute, “Carry a song in your pocket and you’ll have joy wherever you go!” Maybe someone who had been a member of the Bardic Guild for 43 years should have better gigs than busking, but Taroque didn’t mind, he liked it, he was good at it and best of all, it paid the bills. “One Silver and I'll sing you a song you can keep for the rest of your days!”
“Can I have one of those song-shell-thingies?” a voice to his side asked. Turning Taroque saw a human, like himself, but much younger and with the air of a tourist. The boy's clothes looked foreign. Black pants, long black tie, and a white shirt with a badge clipped on. The badge had some strange writing on it that Taroque didn’t recognize. So definitely a foreigner. Easy pickings if not for his party member looming behind him. A cat beastman tossed the foreigner a silver coin and coincidentally flashed a Thieves Guild medallion while coincidentally making intense eye contact with Tarouque. The message was understood, any charges beyond the silver coin would be reclaimed, one way or another. Oh well, honest work was an accepted risk in the life of a bard.
“Certainly my lad. What song would you have me sing?”
The boy started digging in his satchel. “We ran into some people who said you can do custom songs?” he pulled out a tiny green book and held it open to a bookmarked page. “I was wondering if I could have this song?”
Taroque looked over the page and could see that it definitely was some kind of sheet music, but not in any system he was familiar with, a lot of dots and lines with what might be lyrics in the young man’s native tongue. “I’m sorry lad, I’m afraid I can't read this,” the foreigner’s face fell, so he quickly added, “but if you can sing a little, I’m sure I can get the gist of it.”
The boy blushed to his ears, but agreed. As he sang Taroque was able to work out the tune pretty quickly and this dots on lines method seemed reasonably intuitive. He asked the boy to read aloud foreign words of the lyrics. As he did, Taroque ignited a mimicry spell that, when cleverly used, would let him sing those exact words, even though he had no idea what they meant. Before long, he was ready to create the song.
He ignited the parts of his soul that had the spells he’d need; the mimicry spell, a perfect pitch spell, a spell that split his consciousness so he could focus fully on singing and fully on playing at all times, and finally he ignited the recording spell.
The foreign words spilled from his lips and the tune danced from his lute.
𐐁 𐐹𐐳𐑉 𐐶𐐩𐑁𐐯𐑉𐐮𐑍 𐐣𐐪𐑌 𐐲𐑂 𐑀𐑉𐐨𐑁 𐐐𐐰𐑃 𐐫𐑁𐐲𐑌 𐐿𐑉𐐫𐑅𐐻 𐑋𐐨 𐐪𐑌 𐑋𐐴 𐐶𐐩, 𐐐𐐭 𐑅𐐭𐐼 𐑅𐐬 𐐸𐐲𐑋𐐺𐑊𐐨 𐑁𐐫𐑉 𐑉𐐮𐑊𐐨𐑁 𐐜𐐰𐐻 𐐌 𐐿𐐳𐐼 𐑌𐐯𐑂𐐲𐑉 𐐰𐑌𐑅𐐲𐑉 𐑌𐐩. 𐐌 𐐸𐐰𐐼 𐑌𐐪𐐻 𐐹𐐫’𐑉 𐐻𐐭 𐐰𐑅𐐿 𐐸𐐮𐑆 𐑌𐐩𐑋, 𐐎𐐯𐑉𐐻𐐭 𐐸𐐨 𐐶𐐯𐑌𐐻, 𐐲𐑉 𐐶𐐯𐑌𐑅 𐐸𐐨 𐐿𐐩𐑋 𐐏𐐯𐐻 𐑄𐐯𐑉 𐐶𐐲𐑆 𐑅𐐲𐑋𐑃𐐮𐑍 𐐮𐑌 𐐸𐐮𐑆 𐐴 𐐜𐐰𐐻 𐐶𐐲𐑌 𐑋𐐴 𐑊𐐲𐑂 𐐌 𐑌𐐭 𐑌𐐪𐐻 𐐶𐐴.
As he played, smoky light wafted off of him and began to spiral in the air, the song itself was taking a physical form.
The song was interesting to him. Not particularly complicated, but it has a soft, almost sad feeling to it, along with something… devotional? Yes, it reminded him of a time he had passed through what was left of Arbrot. There were still people there, descendants of the priests and shrine maidens of the old gods, still trying to coax them back with their forlorn canticles.
The glowing spiral of the song grew as he went through the verses.
𐐎𐐲𐑌𐑅, 𐐶𐐯𐑌 𐑋𐐴 𐑅𐐿𐐰𐑌𐐻𐐨 𐑋𐐨𐑊 𐐶𐐲𐑆 𐑅𐐹𐑉𐐯𐐼, 𐐐𐐨 𐐯𐑌𐐻𐐲𐑉𐐲𐐼; 𐑌𐐪𐐻 𐐩 𐐶𐐲𐑉𐐼 𐐸𐐨 𐑅𐐹𐐩𐐿, 𐐖𐐲𐑅𐐻 𐐹𐐯𐑉𐐮𐑇𐐮𐑍 𐑁𐐫𐑉 𐐶𐐪𐑌𐐻 𐐲𐑂 𐐺𐑉𐐯𐐼. 𐐌 𐑀𐐩𐑂 𐐸𐐮𐑋 𐐫𐑊; 𐐸𐐨 𐐺𐑊𐐯𐑅𐐮𐐼 𐐮𐐻, 𐐺𐑉𐐩𐐿, 𐐈𐑌𐐼 𐐩𐐻, 𐐺𐐲𐐻 𐑀𐐩𐑂 𐑋𐐨 𐐹𐐪𐑉𐐻 𐐲𐑀𐐯𐑌. 𐐣𐐴𐑌 𐐶𐐲𐑆 𐐪𐑌 𐐩𐑌𐐾𐐲𐑊’𐑆 𐐹𐐬𐑉𐑇𐐲𐑌 𐑄𐐯𐑌, 𐐙𐐫𐑉 𐐶𐐴𐑊 𐐌 𐑁𐐯𐐼 𐐶𐐮𐑄 𐐨𐑀𐐲𐑉 𐐸𐐩𐑅𐐻, 𐐜 𐐿𐑉𐐲𐑅𐐻 𐐶𐐲𐑆 𐑋𐐰𐑌𐐲 𐐻𐐭 𐑋𐐴 𐐻𐐩𐑅𐐻
His years as a bard had taught him to read a crowd, even a crowd of one. So he could see on the young foreigner’s face that this next part was important. He followed his instincts in deciding which notes to hold and what words to emphasize. From the reactions he was getting, it seemed he was doing well.
𐐆𐑌 pr𐐮𐑆’𐑌 𐐌 𐑅𐐫 𐐸𐐮𐑋 𐑌𐐯𐐿𐑅𐐻, 𐐿𐐲𐑌𐐼𐐯𐑋𐐲𐐼 𐐓𐐭 𐑋𐐨𐐻 𐐩 𐐻𐑉𐐩𐐻𐐲𐑉’𐑆 𐐼𐐭𐑋 𐐲𐐻 𐑋𐐫𐑉𐑌. 𐐜 𐐻𐐴𐐼 𐐲𐑂 𐑊𐐴𐐮𐑍 𐐻𐐲𐑍𐑆 𐐌 𐑅𐐻𐐯𐑋𐐼, 𐐈𐑌𐐼 𐐪𐑌𐐲𐑉𐐩𐐼 𐐸𐐮𐑋 ’𐑋𐐮𐐼 𐑇𐐩𐑋 𐐰𐑌𐐼 𐑅𐐿𐐫𐑉𐑌. 𐐣𐐴 𐑁𐑉𐐯𐑌𐐼𐑇𐐮𐐹’𐑅 𐐲𐐻𐑋𐐬𐑅𐐻 𐑆𐐨𐑊 𐐻𐐭 𐐻𐑉𐐴, 𐐐𐐨 𐐰𐑅𐐿𐐲𐐼 𐐮𐑁 𐐌 𐑁𐐫𐑉 𐐸𐐮𐑋 𐐶𐐳𐐼 𐐼𐐴. 𐐜 𐑁𐑊𐐯𐑇 𐐶𐐲𐑆 𐐶𐐨𐐿; 𐑋𐐴 𐐺𐑊𐐲𐐼 𐑉𐐪𐑌 𐐽𐐮𐑊, 𐐒𐐲𐐻 𐑋𐐴 𐑁𐑉𐐨 𐑅𐐹𐐮𐑉𐐮𐐻 𐐿𐑉𐐴𐐼, “𐐌 𐐶𐐮𐑊!”
The last verse, the big finale. For this he pulled out all the stops. Igniting another spell, he summoned a pair of ghostly lyres to harmonize with his physical lute. Another spell multiplied his voice into four part harmony. It was just at the limit of the amount of spells his soul could safely handle at once, but a true bard like himself could never resist showing off. Besides, the boy looked absolutely enraptured.
𐐜𐐯𐑌 𐐮𐑌 𐐩 𐑋𐐬𐑋𐐲𐑌𐐻 𐐻𐐭 𐑋𐐴 𐑂𐐷𐐭 𐐜 𐑅𐐻𐑉𐐩𐑌𐐾𐐲𐑉 𐑅𐐻𐐪𐐻𐐲𐐼 𐑁𐑉𐐲𐑋 𐐼𐐮𐑅𐑀𐐴𐑆. 𐐜 𐐻𐐬𐐿𐐲𐑌𐑆 𐐮𐑌 𐐸𐐮𐑆 𐐸𐐰𐑌𐐼𐑆 𐐌 𐑌𐐭 𐐜 𐐝𐐩𐑂𐐷𐐲𐑉 𐑅𐐻𐐳𐐼 𐐺𐐮𐑁𐐬𐑉 𐑋𐐴𐑌 𐐴𐑆. 𐐐𐐨 𐑅𐐹𐐩𐐿, 𐐰𐑌𐐼 𐑋𐐴 𐐹𐐳𐑉 𐑌𐐩𐑋 𐐸𐐨 𐑌𐐩𐑋𐐼, “𐐊𐑂 𐑋𐐨 𐑄𐐵 𐐸𐐰𐑅𐐻 𐑌𐐪𐐻 𐐺𐐮𐑌 𐐲𐑇𐐩𐑋𐐼. 𐐜𐐨𐑆 𐐼𐐨𐐼𐑆 𐑇𐐰𐑊 𐑄𐐴 𐑋𐐲𐑋𐐬𐑉𐐨𐐲𐑊 𐐺𐐨; 𐐙𐐨𐑉 𐑌𐐪𐐻, 𐑄𐐵 𐐼𐐮𐐼𐑅𐐻 𐑄𐐯𐑋 𐐲𐑌𐐻𐐭 𐑋𐐨.”
He let the last note hang in the air, literally, as the glowing light flowed off him and collected. Quickly he snatched the mass of magically recorded sound and dropped it in a bucket at his feet just for this purpose. The water hissed and steamed at the magic cooled and hardened into its solid state of manarium. When the bubbles stopped he pulled out a gold colored item shaped like a spiral sea shell.
The boy eagerly exchanged his silver coin for the shell and immediately placed it to his ear. Normally Taroque would take this as an insult, somebody doubting that he did his spell properly but… something about the boy's face as he listened…maybe he just really liked the song.
He looked like he had something more he wanted to say but his beastkin companion said something about them having places to be. So the boy gave Taroque a smattering of heartfelt thanks and the two continued on their way.
Even though he didn't get any extra coin from the tourist foreigner, he still felt good. Something about that song felt nice. He made sure to remember the tune, if nothing else. Not bad for an honest day's work.
Day 11 & 12
Visionary Martyr
Also got a Sunday doodle to go with this one after the story
78 years ago. The Golem was tired. He had been getting tired a lot lately. It made sense. Magical Constructs like himself weren’t designed to run continuously for so long. All his brothers would still be fine, sitting dormant in the temple of the God Farriq in Arbrot. They would have gone to sleep after a few years of having no worshipers or supplicants to clean up after. They could lie dormant for years, centuries even, running on low power, patiently waiting for the Gods to return.
He was not so patient. When it became clear that the Gods had truly gone, he had decided to go out looking for them. A silly, childish idea, but he felt he was allowed to be childish. Being built for a single purpose and then suddenly having that purpose ripped away surely gave a being some leeway in the childishness department.
So he went a-wandering, looking for gods. He was quite surprised when he actually seemed to find one. It wasn’t boisterous and braggadocious like the Gods he had known before. No great show of power for this one. This god worked small and quietly, he had almost missed it the first time. He had been walking down a muddy road on a rainy night, the elements harmless against his stony flesh. He passed a small family of beastkin, trying to fix a broken wagon wheel by lantern light.
A voice, still and quiet, came to him and asked “Can you help them?” He decided that, yes, he could, so he did. To their surprise he carried the family, cart and all, to the nearest city.
From then on the voice would come to him from time to time, prompting him to do some small deed or another, carry this load, lift that burden, give them kindness. In the quiet moments it would show him visions. Scenes of a world he didn’t understand, mysteries he could not unravel. He did not understand them but he knew that they were beautiful, and he knew that, somehow, his actions were laying the groundwork for that future.
But now he was tired. The magic that moved his body was running out. He was dying. He sat on the side of the road and contemplated his life. He was built to be a janitor in the house of a disloyal god, and now to this new god he had become…what? Not a cleric and certainly not a paladin. It seemed that this god’s only calling for him was to have visions he couldn’t understand and to run out his power.
He spoke aloud, hoping the god would hear, “Is that my purpose? To be a visionary martyr? To see impossible things and die?”
The god, quiet as ever, answered, “You prepare the field. Another will come to sow, to tend, to reap. You have done well, my good and faithful servant.”
His stony face grinned. He may not have understood any of what he did, but he was glad to know he did a good job.
“I wish,” he said as the last spark faded, "I could have seen one more vision.”
Present day “Hold up, Flinders,” Klaw said, stepping off the road, “I need to pay my respects.”
“Respects? Flinders asked as he followed, “To who?” Immediately they came on a clearing, hidden from the road by a stand of trees. In the center of the clearing was a huge pile of rocks. As they approached he saw that it wasn’t a pile of rocks, but a large statue of some creature almost shaped a little like a gorilla with huge forearms and short legs. The body was segmented, like an action figure or suit of armor. In the gaps between the joints various sticks had been jammed with little ribbons of cloth tied to them like a hundred tiny flags. Flinders had seen these sticks and ribbons before, it was a way that Elithrians marked a grave.
“Nobody had a name for him.” Klaw said, cutting a branch from one of the trees and shaving the bark off, “Best anyone could figure he was probably a temple caretaker golem. They all want a little screwy after the Gods left. Can’t really blame them, I mean, when your entire reason for existing is to work for a god you expect some job security, right? Well, this one just kind of wandered around, helping people, no rhyme or reason to who or where. One day he’d help build a road, another he'd just sit with a sick kid. As you can see, people remembered that.” He gestured to the various ribbons, “Anyways, apparently my grandmother was one of the people he helped back when she was a kitten. The old bag would tie a knot in my tail if she knew I passed this way without paying respects.” Klaw snapped the branch in two and handed one to Flinders. “You should pay respects too. This guy took my grandmother to a completely different place from where they were going. If he hadn't done that, she'd have never met my grandfather, I'd never have been born and you would be shanked in some dark alley without me.”
They both tied some spare bandage cloth to their sticks and found some empty cracks to stick them in.
Klaw looked like he was about to leave but Flinders stopped him. “Hey, Klaw? You remember how you wanted me to practice some spells? I think I have one I can use here.”
Klaw looked skeptical, “It's nothing weird, right?”
“No, it's just blessing and dedicating a grave. I think it should just keep this place safe until, uh…” he consulted his little white handbook. “The resurrection, so basically the end of the world?”
“It won't raise the dead, right?”
“It…shouldn't?”
Klaw scrunched his face. He took note of the unkempt state of the grove. If they could get some divine protection for this place, it could only help. “Yeah, that should be fine. Go ahead.”
Flinders read through a cheat sheet of ordinances pasted in his handbook a few times, when he felt ready he folded his arms and bowed his head.
Klaw cleared his throat, “You might want to do it the Elithrian way?”
“Right.” He corrected his posture to the “apprentice stance” Klaw had taught him. One hand went to the base of his neck where, according to Elithrian magic, was where the soul was, halfway between the head, where the mind was and the heart where the emotions were. He held up his other hand and faced his open palm to the grave.
“Good,” Klaw said, “Now start the incantation and pay attention to your soul. Feel where the spell ignites. If you learn where the spell is and memorize it, you can use it at any time without an incantation.”
Flinders took a deep breath and began. “Dear Heavenly Father,” he could feel, very faintly, a warm tingle just behind his collarbone. “By the power of the Melchizedek priesthood,” he felt the tingle turn into a warmth that focused in on a few spots on his soul. The palm of his outstretched hand warmed and a magical circle of light formed. Details and patterns etched through the circle as the spell took form. “I dedicated and consecrated this spot as the resting place for the body of…”
“Golem,” Klaw suggested, “It probably didn't have a name, but it would have answered to Golem.”
“The body of this Golem, who did many good and kind things in his life.” Magic lines crawled over the ground, forming a magic circle around the area. Flinders could definitely feel where the spell was now. “We ask that this place will be hallowed and protected until the Resurrection and this Golem is brought forth to meet thee.” Flinders paused. This part of the prayer was for expressing thoughts as the Spirit directed. He waited, listened, and continued, “We are grateful for the good deeds this Golem performed in life. Today we see the fruits of those seeds of kindness he planted. We pray that he is at rest, and we pray that he knows the effects of his actions. This we ask in the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.” Flinders felt a sudden jolt as the spell sealed itself. The magic circle at his hand and on the ground flashed brightly and vanished.
Klaw had turned away and seemed to be trying to discreetly wipe tears from his eyes. Flinders was about to tease him for this, but his attention was caught by the Golem. Specifically, it's eyes. There was a small, weak green light coming from its empty eye sockets. Flinders yelps in shock but as quickly as he had noticed it, the light was gone.
“What? What happened?” Klaw asked, having already regained his composure.
“The Golem, I think…I think it saw me.”
Klaw rolled his eyes and slapped his palm on the golem's forehead, “Elder, that thing's been out of power for at least sixty, maybe seventy years. If it could hold even the smallest spark of magic all that time just to look at you then it's better at miracles than you are.” Klaw headed back towards the road. “C’mon, we gotta get moving. I'll tell you all the ways your spell form sucked on the road.”
Day 13 & 14
Reverent Revenant
Elder Flinders came here to make bad puns and reference old anime, and brother, he's fresh out of bad puns
“Jarrek Bones was perhaps the most wicked man this village has ever known. In life there seemed to be no limit to his criminal thirst. Robbery, assault, theft, murder, he was guilty of all that and more. When he was finally caught he showed no remorse, no regret. He confessed to every dark deed with glee. So the magistrate had no choice but to sentence him to death. We all found out only too late the true depths of his depravity. Somehow, some way, he had gained a necromantic spell. Thirteen nights after his body was buried he rose again as a Revenant. Since then there hasn't been a night when the villagers have known peace, for when the sun sets the body of Jarrek Bones rises from its hiding place to slaughter their livestock, burn their crops and fill the night with his horrible, horrible screams.”
“So he's not a very reverent revenant, huh?”
Village Chief Vhann blinked in confusion at the so-called cleric, Elder Flinders. “What?”
Flinders's face scrunched in a combination of confusion and embarrassment, “I'm pretty sure that joke translates.”
“Are you two sure you're up to this?” Vhann asked, having grave second thoughts about this whole endeavor.
“Of course we are,” Klaw cut in, “but, if you want to try taking care of this through the Monster Control Guild, we wouldn't blame you.” The beastkin waved his hand, “I mean, it would cost a lot more, and they'd want to keep the village evacuated for two, three more weeks, while they research and plan. You might be able to still get your crops in on time, assuming they don't decide they need to burn them to smoke out the revenant. And I'm sure you wouldn't want the taking too close a look at-”
“I get it,” Vhann held a hand to stop him. Loathed he was to admit it, but these two young men were his best option. The Monster Control Guild would cost too much, take too long, and likely make a bigger mess than they started with. Plus his farmers tended to use specially bred mimics placed in and around their fields to deal with pests. The practice wasn't illegal, but it was frowned upon by the Monster Control Guild. Them knowing just how many domesticated mimics the village has would only lead to complications. “Just…try not to die? We don't need any more spirits around here.”
Klaw placed a friendly arm around him as he walked him back to his carriage. “Don't worry about it, we'll be fine, and in the morning your village will be good as new.”
After a few more encouraging words from Klaw, the Village Chief finally relented and rode off, leaving Klaw and Flinders alone at the edge of the abandoned village.
“Do you really think we can deal with this?” Flinders asked as he nervously watched the sun set.
“Sure, absolutely. It's just one undead criminal.” Klaw answered as he busied himself with preparations, “Back before the Gods left, a single cleric would wipe out hundreds of undead before breakfast.”
“Really?”
“Sure, the undead are super weak against cleric magic. For one little old revenant you could probably just sneeze on it to kill it.”
“Like how ground type Pokemon are weak to water attacks!”
Klaw paused his work to gawk at the Elder, “You know sometimes it's almost like you're trying to communicate with me.” He said sarcastically.
“So what's the plan?” Flinders asked with a renewed confidence.
“You stand here and ring this bell,” Klaw pointed to a large circle he had made and handed Flinders a cowbell he had scrounged up, “Revenants and the undead hate the sounds of bells so that should get it to come running. That circle is about how big your grave purifying spell is, so once Jerrek crosses that line, let it loose. The spell should have an anti-necromantic element to it which will take him out quick.”
“Should? What if it doesn't?”
“Easy, use your healing spell. Healing an undead just makes it…dead, which is what we're going for.”
“But I'd have to touch him for that, is it safe?”
“Sure, yeah…probably.”
“Probably?!”
“Look, if it makes you feel better you can ask your God to make sure there's an anti-necromantic element to your spell, okay?”
One long, passionate, and very specific prayer later, Flinders stood ready in the center of the circle as the last rays of sunlight disappeared over the horizon. In the distance an inhuman wailing began. Klaw, a safe distance away, hidden behind a log, gave Flinders the sign to start.
Nervously, he swung the bell making it clang loudly. Immediately the wailing grew louder as the revenant rushed through the abandoned village towards him. All too soon, he saw the revenant turn a corner and face him. Jarrek Bones had apparently been an elf in life, judging by the ears. Now bone white skin was shrunken, dried, and stretched over a withered skeletal body. Distorted tattoos and old scars gave it an even more dangerous look. Shredded body wrappings fluttered around it in an unseen wind as it hovered in the air. It's hollow eye sockets locked onto Flinders. It's jaw unhinged for another piercing scream. Like a rocket it flew towards him.
Dropping the bell and raising his hand, Flinders began to ignite the spell. The magic circles appeared at his hand and on the ground. The revenant flew at him with horrifying speed. In no time at all it has crossed into the spell’s circle. With a final quick prayer he let the spell complete. Jarrek Bones’ screams turned from angry and violent to panicked and pained in a second. The pail husk froze in the air and immediately burst into white flames. As quickly as they had ignited the flames went out, leaving the very obviously dead body behind.
Eyes wide and heart pounding, Flinders fell backwards to sit on the ground.
“No way!” Klaw shouted, erupting from his hiding spot, “I didn't think that would actually work!”
Flinders sputtered for the words, “You didn't -WHAT?! But you said-”
“I lied! I wasn't sure if your God was for or against necromancy.”
“Why would He be for it?”
“Elder, you told me yourself, you God got nailed to a cross, stabbed in the side, buried in a tomb and came back from the dead. Plus you're always going on about the resurrection. On paper at least your God sounds like a necromancer.”
“Well He's…huh…I guess you're not wrong but,” a new thought occurred to Flinders. “Wait, if you didn't think I could kill it, then what was your plan?”
Klaw shrugged nonchalantly, “Oh, I just buried a bunch of magical bombs in that circle, I was gonna blow that thing to hell.”
Flinders leapt to his feet, suddenly very conscious of where his feet were. “How were you planning on doing that without blowing me up, too?”
“Like this, catch!” Klaw's hand twitched and in a flash a throwing knife was flying towards Flinders. A second before it hit, his perspective suddenly shifted and Flinders found himself no longer in the circle, but now standing next to Klaw. In the circle where he just was, Klaw's knife was wedged into a log, about as tall as Flinders. “Decoy spell. Swaps you with something nearby of roughly the same mass so it takes the damage and you get somewhere safe. I put it on you when- why are you looking at me like that?”
Flinders's anger has completely disappeared and now he was beaming at Klaw with wide glimmering eyes.
“Substitution Jitsu, like in Naruto. You're a ninja!”
Klaw let out a long sigh, “You know Elder, one of these days you're going to say something that actually makes sense. I really look forward to that.”
Day 15 & 16
Hallowed Pulpit
Hark! An antagonist!
Thorrik Skyson leaned over the hallowed pulpit that stood in the holy Pantheon Sanctuary in the city of Hadagur.
“And why should the Gods return to us? We who were such unfaithful servants? We who were so ungrateful for their rule? We who only sought them for power? My fellow servants, the Gods have not returned because this world does not deserve them. You know this to be true! One look outside and you will see debauchery the likes of which has not been seen! Thieves operating with brazen confidence, Oracles who lie and deceive, sinners and defilers abound! It is up to us, the loyal few! Us! The stalwart ones, to discipline these degenerates until they learn proper respect for the Gods, or they are wiped off the face of the land!”
As he wrapped up his sermon he took note of the congregation. He was too focused on his message to have noticed before, but now he could clearly see that the group was smaller than before. “Another sign of how far Elithrea has fallen” he thought. Once this sanctuary would have been packed, but now it struggled to even draw a handful of worshipers. He even suspected that a good few of the people out there were lazy vagrants looking for a free place to sleep. Typical. But that was why Skyson had left the enclave at Arbrot and descended into the cesspit of Hadagur. The city had grown so deep in its evil that they had been threatening to tear down the sanctuary to make room for a public park or some other such nonsense if it remained unused.
After finishing with a final exhortation to be better, he dismissed the congregation and set about tidying up the sanctuary. While he was chasing out the more stubborn of the vagrants one of his congregants approached him.
“Steward Skyson,” said the young elf boy whose name escaped him, “I was hoping I could ask you a question, sir?”
“I believe my sermon was quite direct and clear.” he said, looking down his nose at the boy.
“Oh, no sir, I mean it was clear, very clear, but it’s about something else sir. My question, that is.”
“Carry on,” he said impatiently.
“Of course sir, it’s just, I mean, you know all the gods of the Pantheon, right? I mean, of course you do. What I mean to ask is…is one of them named Jesus?”
Skyson did know every God in the Pantheon by heart. So he knew instantly that was not one of them. “Of course not,” he harrumphed, “Where did you ever come up with such a ridiculous name?”
“Oh, not me, sir. That is to say, I heard it. From this fella passing through. His name is Flounder or Flipper or some such. FLINDERS! Yes, that's what it was. He says it’s his god, and I thought, if his god came back, maybe the Pantheon’s not far behind?”
Skyson gave the elf a good hard stare as he asked, “Where did you see this man?”
Later, following the directions he received, Skyson was able to find this Flinders person. He found the man, a boy, really, standing on an empty fruit box, telling a growing crowd of curious onlookers about his so-called God. Skyson listened and only let out a single laugh when the boy said that his God had become mortal and was born in a barn. Surely the mortal mother knew she would bring a god into the world, could she not find a better place to welcome her inevitable king and master? He only scoffed loudly when he told how this God of his frittered away his mortality with minor acts of healing. A proper God would have established dominance over the land and ruled the people, and would not trouble himself with their petty complaints. But the breaking point of Skyson’s calm was when Flinders told of how his God was killed as an enemy of the state.
“Preposterous!” He balked.
Flinders sighed and regarded Skyson, “Can I help you, dude? What's your problem?” Skyson delighted in seeing how easily Flinders lost his cool, while completely forgetting how many passive aggressive scoffs it had taken to get to that point.
“I just think,” he answered, bolstering his voice so the crowd could easily hear the difference between a true representative of the Pantheon and this weak willed charlatan, “That it’s laughable to think a God would so debase themselves. The Gods are the Lords of the heavens! The Architects of all things! They have no need to walk among mortals and even if they did, why should a god allow themself to be subject to the whims of mortal law?”
“Well, that’s because-”
“And what kind of god would allow himself to be killed?”
“I’m trying to-”
“And what manner of fool would follow such a weak, pathetic god?”
Flinder’s face was now red with embarrassment and anger. Skyson smirked. Now the boy would surely say something foolish enough that the crowd would see his words for the nonsense they were. He opened his mouth to speak, but to Skyson’s disappointment he stopped. A cat-beastman who had been standing nearby placed a hand on Flinders’s shoulder and whispered something in his ear. The boy took a deep breath and seemed to calm down. He then reached into his bag and pulled out a thick, well worn book.
“As I was trying to say…” he paused and flipped through the pages, as if expecting Skyson to interrupt again. He found the passage he was looking for a read “And he will take upon him death, that he may loose the bands of death which bind his people; and he will take upon him their infirmities, that his bowels may be filled with mercy, according to the flesh, that he may know according to the flesh how to succor his people according to their infirmities.” He closed the book and looked to the crowd, “Jesus became mortal so that he could understand what it's like for us to just…be people. What it’s like to be sad or lonely or cold or happy. To love and be loved and to lose the people you love. He knows what it’s like to have a day where you go to bed exhausted but satisfied because you know you did good work. He also knows what it’s like to have a day where nothing goes right and you just feel like giving up.”
“And why would he even need to learn these things?” Skyson shot back, “The Gods already hold all knowledge.”
Flinders seemed to consider something before continuing.
“Are any of you in the army? Soldiers?” he asked into the crowd. Near to Skyson a group of three men wearing the armor of some class of the Battle Mage Guild raised their hands. Flinders addressed them, “Who would you trust more to lead you in battle? Someone who knows all about war and battles from books but has never been in a real fight? Or someone who’s been in the trenches with you, fought with you, and marched with you?”
“The second one, the Comrade,” one of the Battle Mages answered before turning to the others and adding, “The other one’s just a Sponsor.” His companions chuckled at the apparent inside joke.
Flinders nodded, clearly getting the answer he wanted. “I like that, a comrade. He’s there for us- with us when times are hard. He understands our struggles, both big and small because, again, He’s been there.” The boy’s demeanor suddenly changed. In an instant he seemed more ernest and resolved. The very sound of his words seemed to carry more weight. “I know that He’s there because I have felt him with me. When I’ve been scared and hopeless I've felt him by my side. I’ve also felt him share in my joys and triumphs. I testify that He is real and that He has helped me and that, if you let Him, He can help you, too.” Tears were welling up in Flinders’s eyes, and he quickly wiped them away.
Skyson was appalled at such a craven display of emotion. No teacher of the Pantheon would ever debase themselves in such a way. He opened his mouth to launch another attack against this obviously inferior teacher, but another person in the crowd was asking something. He took in a breath so he could shout over them. Before he could make a sound a hand rested on his shoulder.
One of the Battle Mages, flanked by his two companions, stood at his side and spoke, “Good neighbor,” he said, using the most polite way to refer to a stranger in the Elithrian language, “Perhaps it would be best if you moved along, you’re dangerously close to making a scene.”
Skyson fumed all the way back to the Sanctuary. His thoughts buzzed like hornets in his skull, each one offering a new fiery sting of rage. The way that boy smugly brushed off his challenges, the people who were stupidly enamored with his self-degrading God, that Battle Mage who spoke to him so disgracefully despite the surface politeness of his words. He’d never been so insulted!
And then, it all came to place in his mind. He knew exactly what this was. It was clearly a test from the gods. The Real Gods. He had to prove his worthiness and loyalty to them. Yes, he decided then and there, he would do whatever it took to tear down Flinders’ God.
Day 17 & 18
Mourning Chapel
Late because I had family stuff over the weekend. Anyways, here's a dragon in some sort of dungeon
Dragons and kobolds were, as Elder Flinders had learned in the past weeks, the same species. At least in Elithrea they were. About one in a thousand kobolds would grow up to be a dragon. Then they would find someplace to claim as their territory, a section of woods, a cave system or something like that. They'd lay a huge clutch of eggs and hatch a bunch of kobolds. The kobolds would hunt, trap, herd, or chase off any smaller animals while the dragon would deal with any larger threats. It was kind of like a queen bee situation, Flinders thought. Though admittedly he knew very little about bees.
For the past few weeks he and Klaw had been visiting a dragon and teaching her and her kobolds the missionary lessons.
Actually, Flinders was teaching the lessons, Klaw was teaching the kobolds minor spells and how to pick pockets. In the time he had known Klaw, Flinders came to realize that in spite of his grumblings, he did like teaching. He'd make a good missionary someday.
The Elder was never quite sure how much they were absorbing. The kobolds were constantly running around and getting distracted, while the dragon did what she could to wrangle them. It wasn't uncommon for the lesson to end with a completely different set of kobolds than they started with. The sounds of kobolds running around, scratching new tunnels, and getting into who knows what was such a constant in the caves that once Flinders noticed their absence, he found it a little unsettling.
“Hey Druff,” he said to the kobold that met them at the mouth of the cave and was leading them to the dragon's chamber for today's lesson, “It seems kinda quiet today, is something up?”
Druff nodded his red scaley head. “Yes. We sad today. Big Mom in mourning chapel. Druff taking you there ”
Big Mom was what the kobolds called their dragon which, having met her, Flinders felt was very accurate. They had also taken to calling any large cave a chapel after Flinders had poorly explained what a chapel actually was. In his defense it's very hard to properly define terms when a dozen four foot lizard people are trying to show you a cool bug they found and asking every little question that pops into their head. “Why’s everyone sad Druff?”
“Mokie dead. Got sick. We sad.”
Flinders glanced at Klaw. Mokie was one of the kobolds who Klaw had been teaching basic magic to. She apparently had a natural talent. Klaw's face didn't betray anything.
“Oh Druff, I'm so sorry to hear that.”
“Yeah. We all sad. Mokie was fun and smartererest. Big Mom very sad. See?” Druff had led them to a cavern they hadn't been to before. Like the rest of this cave system it was illuminated with glowing stones and fungus. Small kobold sized mounds were clumped to one side and Big Mom was lying down near the newest looking mound. Her long neck and tail were curled almost protectively around the grave.
Seeing her in pain like that, Flinders had a brief thought. Maybe he could use his magic. Give Mokie a blessing and raise her from the dead. Immediately a coldness swept through him. Apparently that was the Holy Ghost’s way of telling him that either he wasn't a high enough level or that wasn't the right thing to do in this situation.
Big Mom paid no heed to them as they approached, clearly lost in thought. When Flinders got close he placed a hand on her tail to grab her attention. “Hey,” he said softly, “Druff told us what happened, how are you holding up?”
She blinked at him, as if taking a moment to register who he was.
“Oh! Elder! I'm…sorry I forgot all about our appointment, I-”
“That's okay, it's not a problem.” Flinders took a few steps closer to her head. Klaw moved closer to the grave and seemed to be scowling at it. “The important thing is…how are you doing?”
She rested her on the ground in silence. Flinders felt he should give her time. When she was ready she spoke. “Not well.”
“That's understandable. It's never easy losing someone.”
Big Mom rolled her head to give Flinders what he judged to be a sardonic smile. It was a little bit difficult to map facial expressions to a lizard face the size of his torso. “You know, when I was little, I actually thought it would be easy. When I was a kobold, our mother never really cared about us. Scores of us could die a day and she just…wouldn't care. I honestly thought that was the way it was supposed to be.” She let out a rueful chuckle and lifted herself up to look at the other graves. “When I got big and had my first clutch of eggs I just… I loved them all. That's the way it's supposed to be. I miss them. Each one I lose. It's like something is ripped out of my heart.”
As they sat in silence, Flinders tried to think of what to say. He thought about 2 Nephi and how there must be opposition in all things. Good and bad, joy and sorrow. That…didn't feel quite right. He thought about the resurrection but that also wasn't what she needed.
Without thinking about it he opened his mouth and the words were there. “Families are forever.”
Big Mom lied down again, pointing one eye at him. “Is that today's lesson?” She asked.
“If you want it to be.”
She closed her eyes and nodded.
Flinders did his best to cover it. He felt like he was rambling on unimportant points and fumbling to find the right scriptures. Nevertheless, the whole time Big Mom seemed to be listening. Her eyes stayed closed, but the spines on the sides of her face remained perky in what Flinders believed was interest.
He clumsily ended the lesson with a testimony after realizing he couldn't remember any more scriptures to quote. He asked if she had any questions and she sat there unmoving. For a moment he was worried that he had misread her body language and she had fallen asleep. Then, at last, she spoke.
“I'll be honest with you Elder. I've never believed your God is real. The only reason I keep inviting you back is because my little ones like you, and I like what they like.” She lifted her head to face him directly. There was so much sadness in those eyes that, if lizards could cry, Flinders could tell that she would have been drowning in tears. “But I think it would be good if he was real. It would be good to know that something as powerful as a God knows what loss is and does everything they can to lessen its sting. Could you leave me with a prayer?”
Flinders prayed that Big Mom and all the kobolds would be comforted and watched over and, after asking for permission, dedicated the grave. As they left, Flinders noticed that at some point a fine dagger with a ribbon tied to it had been put on Mokie’s grave. He was pretty sure that was one of Klaw's favorite knives, but it was hard to tell since he carried so many. As they left, Klaw spoke up.
“I'm…sorry for your loss. Mokie was…not as annoying as she could have been.” Immediately in apparent embarrassment, Klaw turned tail and hurried out of the cavern.
Big Mom smiled knowingly at Flinders “I know what he meant. If you want, please come back soon.”
Day 19 & 20
Exhausted Peacemaker
Ain't no rule says a cat can't- wait, no there actually are rules against that. A lot of them, actually.
Flinders was having that dream again. It had started a little while after coming to Elithrea. He'd feel a heavy weight on his chest then look up and see a huge panther sitting on him. The panther would be completely black, a living shadow, a breathing void, all except for its eyes. Huge yellow eyes, practically glowing in the darkness, staring at him, while its hot breath smothered him.
Tonight, the panther spoke.
“Elder. Hey, Elder, wake up.”
Flinders's eyes snapped open and he saw Klaw, daintily perched on his chest while staring wide eyed at him. It was probably unrelated to his dream, since Klaw's fur was more of a black and gray mottling and his eyes were actually green. Probably unrelated.
“Hey…buddy, shouldn't you be asleep?”
Klaw scoffed, “I don't sleep.”
“Dude, I saw you take, like, 12 naps just yesterday.”
“I don't sleep at night. Let a guy finish what he's saying, will you?” He hopped off the bed and opened the bedroom door. “Come on, get up, I got something to show you.”
Flinders got up and using a simple spell Klaw had taught him, he lit a candle. He threw on some clothes and stepped out of the bedroom into the sitting room of the inn they were staying at. He probably could have navigated the room in the dark, he had been staying here long enough. The moment they arrived in this town Flinders had gotten the feeling that there was something that they needed to do. After some trial and error they found what it was they had to do. Two local Unions had started clashing and it was steadily getting more violent. According to Klaw in Elithrea a Union was like a Guild but more local and less official, a description that only left Flinders more confused and less certain.
Flinders walked into the sitting room hoping that Klaw had had some sort of breakthrough. Immediately he froze and felt the color drain from his face.
“Klaw?”
“Yes?” Klaw's tail was swishing with obvious glee.
“Why are there two people tied up with bags over their heads in our inn room?”
Rather than answer, Klaw waved his hands with a jazzy flourish, “Ta-Dah! I kidnapped them!”
“You can't kidnap people! Why would you do that! We're breaking so many mission rules!”
“Hey, first: I'm not a missionary, so your rules don't apply. Second: I've been paying attention to all your rules and I'm pretty sure none of them says anything about kidnapping.”
Flinders sputtered, trying to argue back but he couldn't for the life of him recall anything in the missionary handbook that forbade kidnapping. Instead he pointed at the tied up figures. “Who are they?”
With a flourish, Klaw pulled the bag of one of the people, a man with green skin and leafy hair. A Verdelf, Flinders thought they were called. “Here we have Pilar Yeasts, head of the West Side Union!” With equal theatrics he uncovered the other face, a human with a scruffy beard, “And here we have Keln Jr, head of the Fishmonger's Union!” Those were the leaders of the two Unions that were at war. The two men each had knotted gags in their mouths. Pilar seemed to be trying to shake off some grogginess while Keln had a small trickle of drying blood on the side of his head. Klaw started circling the two.
“You see Elder, all this time you've been wondering how we could get these two in a room together so they can talk through their differences. So I made it happen. I'm a peacemaker, Elder! An exhausted peacemaker, these guys are heavy and we're on the third floor. You both could stand to lose some weight.”
Both of them now seemed fully aware of their surroundings and situation. Simultaneously they must have deduced that Flinders was the only person they could reason with because immediately began making muffled pleading noises through their gags.
“And see? It's already working! Look how eager they are to talk!” Klaw pulled out a matching pair of curved daggers and one at each of the men's throats. “Just remember boys, you-” he pointed a knife at Pilar, “want Keln dead, and you-” he pointed at Keln, “want Pilar dead, and I kind of want you both dead. Elder Flinders over there is the only one who wants everyone in this room to stay alive. So, can we all agree to listen to what he has to say?”
The two Union leaders glanced at each other, an understanding passing between them. Then slowly they nodded their heads.
Flinders could do nothing but gawk in horror.
But…
They did seem to be willing to talk now…
He let out a heavy sigh.
“I guess…we should probably start with a prayer.”
Day 21 & 22
Sealed Spectre
Very late, yes, but I'm also including a Sunday Doodle with this one
Malmor the Blasphemous Lich of Ancient Days had been getting really bored lately.
He blamed it on the fact that he hadn't had any visitors in 80? 90 years? Something like that. He would get up and move to alleviate the boredom, except he was nailed to his chamber wall by eight huge silver spikes that sapped his necromantic strength. He had been staked here for around 325 years. He was pretty sure of that. Before that the clerics had him chopped up and kept the pieces in several display cases. They stitched him back together and hung him on the wall after they realized all his parts could move independently and were escaping to have late night adventures.
He kicked his feet in the air and tried to remember that last time someone had come to see him. It used to be that he would get multiple visits a day from experienced clerics looking to prove themselves by killing the unkillable Lich or newbies whose teachers wanted them to learn humility. He would give his big fancy introduction, they would call him an abomination, he would tell them exactly how to kill him, they wouldn't believe him and, inevitably, fail to kill him. It was all great fun.
The last few clerics were the ones he felt sorry for. The ones that came after the Gods abandoned them. They couldn't even summon the smallest spark of power. They came, hoping that their faith would move the Pantheon to action. He could tell they had faith enough to move mountains, yet each time their prayers would fall on dead ears. Then he would tell them exactly why the Gods had abandoned them, why they refused to listen. They would call him a heretic and blasphemer and devil. He didn't mind because he could see they were hurting, and that unleashing their anger was helping. Some left in a huff, some stayed and talked. Eventually they stopped coming all together.
About ten years ago? Definitely less than ten years, the sanctuary above his chamber was being refurbished. Either the Church Of The Pantheon had survived the great abandonment or someone was repurposing the space. It was confirmed to be the former when a bald headed man in the robes of a Steward peaked in long enough to scowl at the mummified Lich on the wall. Some time after that Baldie came again with some people from the Monster Control Guild to try and figure out what to do with him. That made sense. If the clerics were all gone, they were the best equipped guild for dealing with the undead. He tried to tell them how to kill him, but Baldie shouted him down calling him a liar and a deceiver and all that. The Monster Control guys tried some things to dispel him, magic salt, incantations, a holy relic sword to the forehead. It all failed predictably so they settled for replacing two of the spikes that were in a bad state and telling Baldie to call them if Malmor started acting up. After setting up some heavy duty looking protection wards they all left
It had been quiet since then.
Then he heard a scraping from the staircase, far too big to be a rat. To Malmor’s delight a whole crowd of people entered his chamber.
“Gasp!” He shouted. His lungs had long ago withered in his chest, so he couldn't gasp properly. “Company! And me looking such a sight! Oh, but do come in, nevermind the mess, I'd come over to greet you but-” he thrashed against his spikes which didn't budge. “Nailed to the wall, you know.”
He looked over the group. Baldie was there, looking sour. There was also a pair of beastkin who, judging by their stupid hats with the massive feathers, were from the Monster Control Guild. An elf woman who looked like a Bard of the Word Spreading Order followed. That was certainly odd, nothing newsworthy had happened in this chamber since a rat accidentally fell on Malmor's head five years ago. Another beastkin entered, with sharp eyes that noted Malmor briefly before scanning the rest of the room. Definitely Thieves Guild. The last person he couldn't quite read. A human, very young, wearing what might have been the latest fashion of the Bureaucrats Guild, assuming they had lost all fashion sense. White shirt, no jacket, a long, skinny cravat, and a rectangular black badge on his chest. Malmor figured that this person was of some importance. The beastkin thief was posturing in a protective way, like he was the boy's bodyguard. Meanwhile, Baldie kept shooting him loathing glances. Bad blood there, apparently.
“Now, what can I do for you?”
Baldie ignored him and turned to the boy.
“Now, Elder Flinders,” he said the name with such disrespect that Malmor wondered if it wasn't a name but some newfangled swear, “if your God is truly all that you say, then surely it will give you the small amount of power necessary to dispel this weakened and sealed spectre.”
Malmor balked. He? A spectre? The most powerful lich the world has ever seen, feared and despised in all lands which knew his name, mistaken for a spectre? But no, there was something else going on here.
Malmor pieced it together quickly. This Flinders boy must have been claiming to be a cleric of some God not recognized by the Pantheon. A thousand years ago that wasn't unheard of. It wasn't until around 800 years ago that the Gods actually got over their jealousy and petty squabbling long enough to join together. Baldie didn't accept this new God and was trying to embarrass the boy into abandoning him. By saying that Malmor was a mere spectre he could make Flinders's God appear desperately weak when they inevitably failed to kill him. If he still had breath he would have sighed. In all these years, mortals were ever the same. But, though he had no breath, he could still speak, so he did.
“Don't lie, Baldie.” He called out, drawing everyone's attention again. “I am no Spectre. You stand before Malmor the Blasphemous, the Immortal Heretic, The God-Thorn, the-”
“As you can see,” Baldie interrupted, “the spectre is quite mad. It was sealed down here years ago to help train the Clerics of the Pantheon in the arts of dispelling the undead. Even back then, this twisted soul was known for its clever deception.”
That did it. For Malmor it was one thing to insult him, he didn't care. You didn't live as a corpse for two thousand years without learning to get over your own ego. But the way this man lied so brazenly? That needed to be stopped.
“I think we've all heard enough out of you, Baldie.” He stretched out his power and shoved Baldie back, pinning him against the far wall. The silver spikes burned in protest but were far too weak to actually stop him. The wards that had been placed by the Monster Control Guild burst into flames in the face of Malmor's power. The two Monster Control Guildists rush forward, one with a shield and the other with a spear. Both their weapons were some kind of magical constructs, intelligent enough to disrupt and reroute Malmor's power. Unfortunately for them he had far more power than they could have anticipated. It was as effective as the best irrigation system in the land being placed at the ocean floor. He smelled the fear in their hearts and, using that as a way in, had full control of their nervous systems in a heartbeat. In a second heartbeat their bodies were completely under his thrall and at his bidding they threw down their tools.
The bard had fallen to the floor and was gaping at him in shock. The cleric stood behind his bodyguard companion who himself stood with knives out and teeth bared as if that could do anything.
Malmor cracked his neck and focused back on the cleric. “Now, if no one else has an overwhelming desire to try and correct me-”
“You're balder than he is.” The cleric blurted out.
“What?”
“It's just,” his body guard whispered for him to shut up as the boy pointed to where Baldie was pressed against the wall, “Steward Skyson has, like, fuzz on his head. You're so bald I can see your skull…and maybe a little of your brain? So it doesn't really make sense for you to call him Baldie. It's just…kinda been bugging me.”
Malmor ran a bony hand over his skull. Damnation, the boy had a point.
“You know what? Fair. As I was saying before Fuzzy interrupted, I am Malmor, the Blasphemous, the Immortal Heretic, blah blah blah- the most ancient and powerful lich the world has ever known, I'm sure there's a list of my titles you can look up somewhere. I have been alive for over two thousand years and faced over one hundred fifty thousand clerics representing every God in the Pantheon. For each encounter I have told every cleric exactly how to kill me. None have succeeded, obviously.” He wiggled his bone thin limbs in the air to demonstrate his continued vitality. “I've never been interested in killing clerics but, since I have had to do it from time to time I'm going to ask you to remain civil. Can you do that?”
The cleric stuck out a fist with his thumb extended upwards. “No prob, bob.”
“I don't…what was that? Was that a yes?” Malmor looked at the bodyguard, “Was that a yes?”
The bodyguard nodded “Yeah, he's just…foreign.”
Ah, a foreigner, of course, that explained a lot.
“Alright, Elder Flinders was it?” The cleric nodded and didn't seem offended, so it wasn't some newfangled swear, “Now I'm going to explain why I am the oldest, most powerful lich ever.” This was always the first hurdle, explaining his spell. “My lich spell is based around conditional magic. It will immediately dispel if the conditions are met.”
The bodyguard and the cleric both looked confused, as expected. The bard, who had recovered from her shock, was now rapidly scribbling in a notebook.
“What…does that mean?” Elder Flinders asked. Malmor was stunned. How could someone be a cleric without knowing basic magical structures? The bodyguard began to explain in the patient tones of a teacher.
“Conditional magic is a fairly weak spell form. It's designed to react to certain conditions. For example I could enchant a box to only open in the presence of a certain object. The problem is that if I pick conditions that are rare or impossible, the spell can be tricked or just overpowered. So if I need a phoenix feather to open the box, I might be able to trick it into accepting a common roc feather, or I could just find a way to break the spell itself. On the other hand I could make the condition something really common, like a stalk of wheat. Then it won't accept anything but the wheat, but that's so easy to get that you might as well keep the box open.” His brow scrunched in thought. “But that doesn't make any sense. If you set the conditions to something impossible, then someone would have found a back door or workaround by now. And if it was common then someone should have been able to meet the conditions. Unless…”
If Malmor still had lips he would have smiled. “Go on, you're on the right trail.”
“Unless you set the condition to something very possible that never happens. Then the spell would be strong enough to resist any work arounds. But I can't imagine what conditions could possibly work for that.”
“You’ve got it exactly. The reason you can't imagine what conditions would work is because you don't know the Gods like I do. And don't worry little cleric, failing to meet the conditions doesn't reflect on you personally. If you fail to kill me today, as a long history suggests you will, it will be solely because your God refuses to meet a condition that is well within their power. That condition is…actually wait, you two should hear this as well.” Malmor pulled Fuzzy off the far wall and brought him close, while also pulling the bard woman closer. “You two can stay if you behave.” He said to the Monster Control Guilders, dropping his control of them. They immediately collapsed into a gibbering, jelly legged mess, implying that whatever fight had been in them was gone.
“Now, the thing your God must do to have any hope of killing me is simple. He must forgive me for being hungry.”
The elf woman, to his surprise, was the one who first voiced disbelief. “I doubt,” she said, clearly biting back a fear of inciting Malmor’s rage, “that's the whole story. You mean a hunger for power or forbidden knowledge, don't you?”
“No, I'm afraid I don't.” Malmor mentally pulled back the centuries, back to the day he first learned to hate the gods. Before Elithrea had been settled, when it was little more than a snarl of nomadic trails. A lot of the details had faded from his mind. He couldn't remember what his name had been or even which race he was. But he could absolutely remember that moment. “I was a child at the time of a great famine. While traveling we came across a huge pile of food, sitting on an altar. I did not know at the time that it was an offering to the gods. I only knew that I was weak and starving, so I ate. Since that day, I have been branded by all the gods as a thief and sinner. If any God is willing to forgive me for that first sin of mine, then in that day I will finally die.”
Malmor looked at his small audience, and focused on the cleric. “But they won't. They could, of course, but they won't. Because, you see, in all things the gods are identical to mortals. The same thoughts, the same desires, the same passions. The only difference is that the gods have all these in greater abundance. Greater pettiness, greater lust, greater hate, greater stubbornness.” He spread his arms wide to make his next point. In his fervor his power began to seep out of him, causing the chamber around them to quake, “And that is also why my spell is so unbreakable!” The shaking became more violent, now a full on earthquake. Above ground Malmor's power was beginning to turn the sky black.
Without noticing he slipped into a more archaic dialect, “For doth not all kin of women borne knoweth to forgive, as well doth yon seawyrm knoweth to swim? If the Kin Which Dies could forgive the wretch that took of his bounty in ignorance, then the Kin Which Dieth Not may could forgive that and more! For the Kin Which Dieth Not hath a heart filled with love greater! Compassion greater! Charity greater! So great is the abundance of forgiveness of the Kin Which Dieth Not! It is more than all the dust of all the roads! Yet in their infinite stubbornness and arrogance they doth deny me their smallest portion! If they couldst give themselves unto their humility infinite, and repent of their hatred of me, then my slanderous tongue wouldst be ever slain!”
Malmor caught himself and tried to calm down. It has been so long since he had done this that he had gotten carried away. He could sense above ground a pack of fenrir in a nearby forest trying to get as far away from him as possible. It was good to know that he still had it.
The cleric stepped forward. Bold little thing. Malmor hoped he wouldn't be too troubled by the inevitable outcome.
“I believe my God can forgive you. But he also has a condition. He can only forgive you if you accept it.”
Malmor was stunned at what he had just heard. Forgetting all decorum he unleashed his full power. The sun aboveground turned pitch black. The ground shook more violently than before, blood and black ichor oozed from the walls. “Accept it?!” He shouted, his voice no longer just emanating from his withered husk and now roaring from the stones in the walls. The spikes in his chest turned white hot and began to melt in their impotent attempt to hold him back, “All I've wanted for the past two thousand years was forgiveness for that one crime! Because of my sin, because I foolishly ate when I was hungry, the gods threw down vengeance and hate into my people!” The spikes were now molten puddles at his feet.
Slowly he took a few steps towards the cleric. “With drought and disease they slaughtered my tribe! I would accept it like a parched man in the desert would accept a drop of water!” The gathered group quailed under the overwhelming force of Malmor's power, except for the cleric. The cleric stepped forward and he held out his arm to the side and raised his hand upward. His lips moved, but Malmor couldn't hear what he was saying over the rumble of the quake. No matter. He knew what this was, the cleric was invoking his God.
“Yes! Call for you God! Let's see what they're made of!” The Lich braced himself for this next part. After two thousand years it hadn't gotten easier. Like all the other gods, this God would surely be unwilling to meet the condition and instead try to crush the spell with brute force. Over a hundred fifty thousand times he had felt the overwhelming pressure of divine power. None had broken him yet, but it still hurt every time.
“Come on!’ he hissed through what was left of his mouth, “Do it!”
Then something strange happened. The cleric's demeanor shifted. In a tone that pierced the surrounding caccophany he spoke directly to Malmor. “Mallic, Child of Morllic, member of the Third Tribe of the Golden People,” Malmor was shocked. That was his name, and yes, he was one of the Golden People. It had been so long even he himself had forgotten. But how could this cleric… of course, it wasn't the cleric speaking. His God was speaking through him. That was unusual. Through the cleric the God continued, “Since the days of your youth you have been faithful to the light and knowledge available to you. Because of this, your sins are forgiven you.”
Malmor was stunned. Too stunned to hear any other words from the cleric's mouth. In his soul he felt the necromantic spell click softly, as if a delicate key had opened a well oiled lock. The spell melted away in an instant. His power began to dissipate like smoke in the wind. His body, no longer held together by the spell, finally yielded to the ages and began crumbling to dust.
As his life began to fade away, he had to know who this God was. He probed the God's power and was able to get a good view of him. There in plain view were all the vices and pettiness of the gods he knew. Yes, he was jealous and vengeful. And yet, with a divine portion of humility, this God was not so proud to deny himself kindness and love. This God understood the foolish actions of a hungry child. This God had laws, of course, a need for order, but that need was tempered with mercy and understanding. It was everything he had once believed the gods to be.
For perhaps the first time in two millennia Malmor the Blasphemous found himself speechless.
“Huh.” He gasped.
And then he finally died.
Day 23 & 24
Deserted Tomb
Probably would have finished this one sooner but, unfortunately, events occurred. Still imma do my best to finish this thing.
Fellimina, level 16 Elf Bard of the Word Spreading Order, knew that she was sitting on a huge story. The moment the self proclaimed Lich started ranting, her chatterbug started buzzing with messages from her fellow Word Spreading Bards throughout the city of Hadagur.
As she looked over the pile of mummy dust that allegedly used to be Malmor the Blasphemous, she activated the magical construct to listen to the messages. The first few were just about the earthquake, as expected, but then quickly they went into wild directions, the sun turning black, statues weeping blood, mirrors showing faces of long dead ancestors, and other generally horrifying chaos.
She glanced over to Steward Skyson, who was beating a hasty retreat while the two Monster Control Guilders followed closely, demanding him to explain why he didn't tell them what was really down here. She'd hunt down that story thread later. She was glad for having written down the Guilders’ names when this all first started, she could interview them through their guild at any time. Skyson was a consistent and known figure in Hadagur. He would be unlikely to flee the sanctuary, regardless of whatever scandal beset him. All of them would be easy to track down later.
The alleged cleric, Elder Flinders, looked like the event had taken a lot out of him. He was sitting against the wall, head between his knees, trying to breathe deeply and slowly. His party member, a thief who introduced himself as Klaw, was cautiously examining the remains of Malmor.
Her chatterbug buzzed with another incoming message. She held it to her face and answered, pleased to hear the voice of Loam, the old Verdelf she had apprenticed under, come from the chatterbug.
“Fell! Where are ye? Hadagur, right?” As usual he didn't wait for an answer, “I’m out near Kallum, ‘bout an hour's walk from there and I'm looking at a strange story here and me gut tells me the source is Hadagur.”
“You're probably right, a lot of weird stuff happened just now, what’ve you got old man?”
“You know how they say if you ever see a fenrir, yer already dead? Either yer talking to a thrice killed corpse or I'm looking at three dead fenrir. Witnesses say a whole pack o’them come tearing out the wood like the devil himself were at their tails. Might o’been just that because these three just suddenly keeled over o’fright.”
“Maybe not the devil exactly, does the name ‘Malmor the Blasphemous’ ring any bells for you?”
The other end was quiet for a moment. “Malmor? Ye sure?”
“That's how he introduced himself.”
Loam let out a long whistle, “Aye, that'd do it. He's said to be the most powerful Lich to ever live. That's quite a scoop you got there.”
“It gets better, Malmor’s dead,” she stepped over the lich dust towards Elder Flinders who was getting to his feet, more or less recovered, and grabbed his arm. “And I've got the guy who killed him right here, a guy called Flinders, says he's a cleric.”
“Ha! A cleric? For real? Now that is a scoop, what do you need from me?”
Flinders looked at her hand and then to his companion, “Uh, Klaw?”
Fellimina held firm, “Get me everything you can on Malmor, I'll be in touch.”
Klaw approached aggressively, one hand not so subtly resting on a knife hilt. “Alright lady, give him some room.”
She held on tight, she wasn't about to let the story of the century get away from her. “Right after I get an interview.” With her free hand she reconfigured her chatterbug from voice transmission to voice recording and shoved it into Flinders’ face. “Every in Elithrea will want to hear about the Gods returning.”
Flinders’ face twisted in clear discomfort, “Klaw? I feel like we should leave.”
Klaw, surprisingly, didn't seem to agree, “Hey, this might actually be a good thing. You've been trying to tell everyone about your God, this could spread the word a lot better.”
“No, Klaw, I feel like we should leave.” Fellimina saw some unspoken communication pass between the two and Klaw sighed.
‘Right, got it.” In an instant there was the hiss of a smoke bomb and she was blinded by white mist. Something hard struck her wrist, breaking her hold on Flinders. When the smoke cleared Klaw and Flinders were, predictably, nowhere to be seen leaving her alone in the deserted tomb.
Fellimina, however, was not deterred. People like this Flinders didn't just pop out of thin air. She flipped to a new page of her notebook, and prepared her chatterbug for the task of hunting down everything she could about this so-called cleric. With any luck, by this time next week, she'd know more about him than his own mother.
Day 25 & 26
Luminous Stewardship
Gonna try and use Conference as an excuse to get the last three of these done. Let's see how well that works
On a farm on the far outskirts of Kallum, Elder Flinders and a large Verdelf man struggled to roll a huge rock into a cart.
“That's it Little Elder, just a little more leverage over there.” Instructed Rootreach, the Verdelf, who stood a full two feet taller than Flinders. Apparently Verdelfs grew just like humans and elfs until they reached maturity, after that they just started getting bigger. If they lived long enough they could become giants.
With a final shove the rock rolled into place. Exhausted, Flinders flopped down next to the rock and cast a glance back to the farmhouse. Klaw was already halfway there, having left a minute or two ago to get them some water, still staying within eyesight, at Flinders' request.
Rootreach plopped next to him, grinning. “Good work, Little Elder!” He said, “That should be the last one. Can't thank you enough for your help.”
Flinders and Klaw had come across Rootreach trying to clear this field on his own the other day. The farmer who owned this field had hurt his leg and couldn't do it himself, so they (mostly Flinders) had offered to help.
“Yeah, no problem, that's what I'm here for.” Flinders puffed, still trying to catch his breath.
Rootreach nodded. “You know, Little Elder, I was pretty suspicious of you at first. Glad to see I was wrong, you really are the trustworthy sort.”
Flinders chuckled, “Yeah, I get that a lot. I know I'm not exactly what passes for normal around here.”
“True! True. I was particularly worried because I had heard horrible things about you from my fellow Steward, Skyson.”
Flinders' heart dropped to his stomach. “You're…a Steward?”
Rootreach wiped his brow, and looked sideways at Flinders, “I am. And I must thank you for being such a thorn in Skyson’s side, it was a nice change of pace to have him yell at me about someone other than, well, myself.” His broad green face split into a great wooden toothed grin. “We're brothers in the Order, but we've never really gotten along. Theological differences. I should take this opportunity to apologize on behalf of the Pantheon for how he's treated you ”
“Oh, no that's fine,” Flinders said out of habit before he could stop himself. And then, before he could stop himself again, he blurted, “But seriously, what's that dude's problem?”
Rootreach let loose a jovial cackle, “Oh-ho-ho! I’d embarrass my whole order if I told you how often that exact question has come up in private discussions between us Stewards!” He rubbed a hand over his face as if trying to literally wipe the smile off it, “The, uh, most charitable consensus is that he is simply fulfilling the legacy left to him by his father and grandfather. Or trying to at least.”
“What do you mean?” Flinders’ tone softened as he sensed there was more to this story
“Alonz Skyson, Thorrik Skyson's grandfather, was a Priest during the, uh, Divine Departure. He was one of those who led the Church of the Pantheon through that crisis. No small feat, mind you, keeping a church together after its Gods have left. But he and the others managed. Going from counseling face to face with Gods to…whatever we are now.”
“And, what are you now?”
Rootreach smiled ruefully. “That’s the question, isn't it? And it happens to be the main source of disagreement between Thorrik and I. It's the main source of disagreement between many Stewards these days. Some, like Skyson, believe we can coax the Gods back, as if they were some sort of wild animals that we had accidentally startled away. And what would we do with them then? Snare and trap them? Clip their wings like common rocs? Will we herd them? Milk them? Eat them?” He took a deep breath to calm himself down before getting back on track. “Sorry, I'm arguing theology. The truth is, we agree on the most important thing: there are no Gods, but the people need Gods. We just disagree on what we should do about it.”
“So,” Flinders began, now genuinely curious, “If Skyson believes the answer is to get the Gods to come back, what do you believe?”
Rootreach let out a long steady breath as he gathered his thoughts. “In the old days a man in this farmer’s situation might have appealed to maybe Horla, God of Spring to have his fields plant themselves, or perhaps Pheromalie, Goddess of Abundance, for his crops to grow faster to make up for a late planting. I'm of a faction that believes that, if the Gods no longer answer requests, it's up to us to fulfill the needs of others. It’s said that all have a portion of the God’s power within them, and I believe that we must use that divine portion to, well, act divinely.”
Flinders nodded his head in thought. Then, apparently forgetting his exhaustion, leapt to his feet. “Oh! Hold on!” he rushed to the crumpled pile of his bag and Klaw’s cloak, pulling out a thick, almost block shaped book and flipping frantically through the pages. “Ok, so Jesus, my God, he died. I mean he got better, but that’s not…um, anyway, before he died he was talking to his followers, kind of getting them ready for when he wouldn’t be with them anymore.” he then read from his book, occasionally pausing to mentally translate a phrase into Elithrian. “For I was hungry and you gave me meat: I was thirsty and you gave me waterskin. I was a foreigner and you sheltered me; uncloaked and you cloaked me. I was sick and you visited me, imprisoned and you came to me. Then the righteous answer him, saying, Lord, when did we see you hungry and fed you? Or thirsty and gave you waterskin? When did we see you as a foreigner and sheltered you? Or uncloaked and cloaked you? When did we see you sick or imprisoned and visit you? And the King shall answer and say unto them, I say unto you if you’ve done it to the least of these my brothers, you did it to me.”
Flinders flipped to a completely different section of the book, “but, Mosiah puts it a lot more plainly. Oh, Mosiah isn’t a god, he's just a guy. Well, a king guy, but uhh…here it is, he says ‘And see that I tell you these things that you may become wise, that you would learn that when you are serving others you are only serving your God.’ That’s kind of what you're saying, isn’t it?”
Rootreach stroked his chin thoughtfully. “No, that’s not it at all. Quite the opposite.” he began to get lost in thought, “but not incompatible. I’ve been arguing that if we have divinity inside us we must act divine, but if others have divinity then… yes…that might win over the Luminous Stewardship faction…hmmm. With that coalition…yes…” Rootreach blinked back to the present, “I’m sorry Little Elder, I got lost with theological arguments again. But that is an excellent point. Thank you for teaching it to me.” he chuckled to himself, “do you mind if i use that argument at the next Pantheon Council meeting? It might prove…very useful to the future of the church.”
Flinders held out a fist with a thumb pointed to the sky, “Sure, no prob, Bob.”
“W-what?”
“That means yes, I think.” Klaw said, having approached without either of them noticing and making them jump. “What are you talking about? You didn’t agree to anything weird did you?”
Rootreach let loose a joyful peel of laughter and slapped a hand on the cart, pulling himself to his feet. “Come on Little Elder, Let’s serve our Gods a little more and get this cart out of here!”
Day 27 & 28
Redeemed Betrayer
I swear I'm gonna get all of these done. Only two more to go, then...I dunno, we'll see.
A Few Months Ago
Klep felt awful. He was scum. Worse than scum. He was slime. He knew it. He had known it for a while. It was a little hard to pin down exactly when he had become human slime, it had happened little by little. Snatching something from a neighbor here, lying to a friend there. At some point he had become a bandit, the lowest profession in Elithrea, someone who preyed on travelers. Even that lowness and disgrace he thought he could bear, but he couldn’t help himself.
He couldn’t even be loyal to his own fellow criminals. Even now he was planning to betray them. It was that last job they had done that did it. The crew had ambushed a lone beastman, Thieves's guild, Klep guessed, not that it mattered. The beastman fought back, a knife slipped, and they had left him bleeding out alone on the road. He was probably dead by now. Klep had seen the look on his face when the man was stabbed. He remembered that look as they returned to the hideout, and he heard the other bandits laughing about the whole thing. They had killed a man and were making jokes about it. That woke him up. Woke him up to what he was, what he had become over all these years.
He had to make it right in some way. His initial plan was to go back to the beastman’s corpse, give it a proper burial. Then he would go to the nearest barracks, tell them everything about his bandit crew’s hideout, their numbers, everything they’d need to wipe them out. He’d probably be hung for his trouble, but it didn’t matter anymore. He couldn’t live like this anymore. He was ready for that.
What he was not ready for was seeing the beastman alive.
Least of all was he ready to see how the beastman was still alive.
Watching from the shadows he saw a man in strange clothing, a style he had never seen before, black trousers, a white tunic, some thick black ribbon tied around his neck. The man was leaning over the beastman. The beastman snarled weakly, but didn’t have enough life in him to do anything more. The stranger carefully placed his hands on the beastman’s head and started speaking in a language Klep had never heard before. For just a moment a gentle glow emanated from the stranger’s hands. The light was…beautiful and terrifying. Klep felt like he wanted to both bathe in that light forever and also run from it. As soon as it had come it was gone and the beastman, with a look of shock on his face, felt at the bloody spot on his stomach where the knife wound was, or where it should have been.
“How did you do that?” The beastman asked.
“𐐌'𐑋 𐑅𐐪𐑉𐐨, 𐐌 𐐼𐐪𐑌'𐐻 𐑅𐐹𐐨𐐿 ...𐐶𐐸𐐲𐐻𐐯𐑂𐐲𐑉 𐑊𐐰𐑍𐑀𐐶𐐮𐐾 𐑄𐐰𐐻 𐐮𐑆.” The stranger said in his foreign language.
“Don’t you speak Elithrian?” the beastman said as he tried to get up, but he stumbled and fell over. Whatever had just happened had apparently taken a lot out of him.
“𐐎𐐬, 𐐺𐐲𐐼𐐨,” the stranger said as he caught him, “𐐻𐐩𐐿 𐐮𐐻 𐐨𐑆𐐨, 𐐌 𐑃𐐮𐑍𐐿 𐐶𐐨 𐑌𐐨𐐼 𐐻𐐭 𐑀𐐯𐐻 𐐷𐐭 𐐻𐐭 𐐩 𐐸𐐪𐑅𐐹𐐮𐐻𐐲𐑊.” The stranger then toppled over himself. Apparently whatever healing spell he had cast took even more out of him.
Still hidden, but determined to help Klep stripped off his bandit armor. Backtracking down the road he made like a local out for a day trip. Hopefully the beastman wouldn’t have gotten a good enough look to recognize him. He acted properly surprised to come across the two weakened men struggling to stand in the middle of the road. The beastman seemed to be regaining strength by the minute. The stranger on the other hand, looked pale and exhausted. His eyes flickering into sleep while he stood.
There was an old waystation shack not too far from there and, with a little work, Klep was able to convince the beastman to take the stranger there to recover.
“You two look like you've just crawled a dungeon.” Klep told the beastman after starting a fire in the waystation's long cold cookfire in the middle of the room. He felt guilty, seeing the dust everywhere. The neglect of this waystation was a near direct result of his crew's banditry.
“Hmmm.” grunted the beastman, who had yet to give his name. He carefully led the stranger to one of the cots and laid him down.
Klep’s logical mind told him to just leave. To hurry his way to the barracks and his doom. But curiosity compelled him to stay, just a little longer. “Have you two been partied up together long?” he asked.
“No.” The beastman said, his gaze locked on the stranger, who had once again fallen unconscious. “We've never crossed paths before.” The beastman had a look like he was trying to work out a difficult puzzle.
“What do you suppose is wrong with him?” Klep asked after a long stretch of awkward silence. “Nothing catching, I hope.”
The beastman shook his head. “Mana drain. Some rest and he'll be fine. But… it's strange…” He trailed off as he stared at the stranger, lost in thought.
“What's strange?”
There was a shift in the beastman's tone and Klep had the strange feeling of being back in school being lectured by a member of the Education Guild. “Mana drain. When casting a spell it draws from your own mana reserves, the more spells you cast the deeper your reserves will grow. If the spell uses more mana than you have in reserve it will borrow power from your soul and you get mana drain. It usually happens when a child casts their first spell. Before they build up their mana reserves or get a sense for how much mana a spell needs. But that…” his hand trailed down to the drying blood on his stomach, “that can't have been his first spell. Not even close.”
Klep nodded, “I've certainly never seen a spell like that.” As soon as the words left his mouth he regretted them. Klep had forgotten that he was masquerading as a random traveler who wouldn't have seen the stranger's healing spell.
The beastman's eyes turned to meet his. Their green and gold seemed to glow in the firelight. “I knew I recognized your smell. Turned back to loot my corpse after your friend stabbed me, I assume?”
Klep panicked and stumbled backwards. “Wait, let me expl-!” With clearly magical speed, the beastman was upon him. A dagger whizzed through the air, only missing because Klep had tripped over his own feet. With terror fueled speed he scampered across the room. He pressed against the wall and immediately realized his mistake. His shadow, cast by the cookfire, burst to life and took the shape of the beastman. It's strong smoke like arms wrapped around him, holding him in place. A throwing dagger flew at his heart, only his frantic thrashing made the knife miss its mark and lodge deeply into his shoulder.
“Please, wait!” He choked through pain and tears, “I was going to the barracks! I never wanted to hurt anyone. I was going to turn the others in!”
The shadow's grip tightened on him, dragging him to his knees. The beastman strode closer with death in his eyes. “So, you would turn even on your allies? You think that will make you redeemed, betrayer?”
Klep dropped his head in despair, he would die here he was sure. And he deserved it. “I didn't want to hurt anyone.” He sobbed, “I never wanted to hurt anyone.” He braced himself for the killing blow.
“𐐐𐐩! 𐐤𐐪𐐿 𐐮𐐻 𐐫𐑁!” The stranger's voice shouted in his strange language. Klep felt the shadow hands release him. He looked up to see the stranger, no longer pale and weak looking, standing between them. He fixed the beastman with a stern look that caused him to take a step back. The stranger then turned to Klep and helped him back on his feet.
The stranger reached forward to the knife in Klep's shoulder. Klep's eyes widened with shock. That same glow from before was back, again it made him both want to bask in its warmth forever and flee to some deep dark cavern where it could never reach him. Equally startling was the change that appeared for just a moment in that now glowing hand. For a brief flash it was no longer the hand of the stranger, it was rough and coarse, worn from years of work, and in the palm was a great wound, as if a terrible spike had been driven through. The hand grabbed the knife and pulled it out. To Klep's surprise there was no pain or blood. There wasn't even a wound when he looked.
He looked back to the stranger who opened his mouth and spoke. Klep felt in a way like knowing that the voice that came out did not come from the stranger, it came from something ancient and distant, yet also new and close.
“Go,” said the voice from the stranger's mouth in perfect Elithrian, “Go and do good.”
In a moment the glow disappeared. The stranger's eyes rolled back and he collapsed in a heap on the floor. A cold, calm silence filled the way station for a moment. It felt as if a roaring bonfire had suddenly been snuffed out.
The beastman recovered from his shock and rushed to the stranger, looking him over. Satisfied to find both breath and pulse he turned to Klep, fur bristling. Klep saw his eye land on his shoulder then his hand dropped to his own stomach.
“You heard him.” The beastman said with barely contained venom. “Go.”
Klep did not need a second warning. He threw himself back out the door and ran as far and as fast as he could. Only when he finally ran out of breath and had to stop to breathe did he let himself think of what had happened. He thought about the light that was both beautiful and terrifying. He thought about those words that must have come from the same source of the light, “Go and do good”. He again felt in a way like knowing what that light or power wanted him to do. To him it seemed like a crazy idea. It might get rid of his once fellow bandits, but it would also likely lead him to death faster and more certainly than handing himself over to the hangman.
But again he felt that it would bring him closer to that light, and doing things any other way would bring him away from it.
Still those two desires warred within him. The desire to let that light cover him, fill him, become a part of him, and the desire to reject it and run to where it could never find him.
Klep thought about it for a long time. He thought about it as the sun dipped beyond the horizon. He thought about it as the stars grew bright and moved across the sky, eventually fading back into the dawn. When the dawn sun reached his face, he knew.
And he took the path towards the light.
slowly slowly picking away at an idea to make a "Make Joshua Graham more Mormon!!!" video
current thoughts of ways he could be more Mormon: - has a BoM or a triple combination instead of book with a cross on it - deseret alphabet inscription obvs - quotes the BoM and D&C and the PoGP along with the Bible. I don't have any picked out yet so any ideas are welcome - references to early church leaders & history as well. - comparisons to Orrin Porter Rockwell - maybe mormons in the post-apocalypse don't have CTR rings anymore but they probably have some sort of CTR charm. A belt buckle, a ring, a bracelet, etc... Joshua could carve some for the Dead Horses and the Sorrows - lol. horrible food concoction that even in the post-apocalypse gets weird looks but he enjoys it. anyways if you have any thoughts on that as well please lmk I'd love to see them
Me when I see someone wish painful death and total eradication of all Mormons: Well golly, they seem awful upset. I'd better pray that they find peace in their hearts.
Me when my phone auto corrects "Deseret" to "dessert" or "desert": What is this hate crime? Why hast thou thrown in with the Prince of Darkness and all his odious ilk? When will my people be free?
haha do you ever stop and remember that there's a whole entire musical dedicated to mocking your religion that's been running continuously on broadway for half your life and nobody in the world thinks twice about it lollllll 😜 it won nine tony awards 🤪
AND IT'S SUPER RACISTTTTTTT 🎉🎉🎉
The worst part about it being racist (aside from, you know, the racism) is that it's actually trying to be anti-racist. It just crit fails so hard it ends up being super racist.
The goal of it is to have audiences laugh at the way white American Christianity views and treats outside groups, especially those in non-white countries, and then walk away thinking "oh jeez, I do some of those silly things myself. Better fix that!" Instead, by choosing Mormonism as their "stereotypical white church" they solidly prevent any mainstream Christian from seeing themselves in the story. It then becomes "look at how ridiculous those Mormons (who I already hate) are! Glad I'm not like them at all!" And they walk away feeling superior and never once looking inward except to say how much better they are than the pretend Mormons on stage. So already it encourages the exact type of bigotry and self importance that it wants to discourage.
And then! It only depicts people of color as ignorant, violent, and diseased. You know, like a racist would. Now you COULD argue that it's supposed to be from the racist white character's perspective so of course they would appear that way. But here's the thing, narratively that only works if you, at any point say, "hey, actually this stuff isn't true". Otherwise, you're just doing racist shit.
And here's the rotten cherry on the whole shit cake: fans keep saying "yeah it's offensive, but the music is so catchy!" You know what else had catchy music? Blackface minstrel shows. Shit's still racist.
So to recap: the show that's supposed to be anti-racist is so bad at being anti-racist that it encourages bigotry, spreads racist stereotypes about a REAL country that REALLY exists, and the best defense of it has been used since the civil war. Like, I know that Mormonism doesn't have the best track record when it comes to racism, obviously, but we've NEVER fumbled it that badly.
Sunday Doodle for 5/17/26
I’ve long since played with the idea of an alphabet picture book for the Deseret Alphabet. Thought I’d give it a little try today.
Ok, the full post is genuinely wholesome
But, couldn't you have found literally any other hook
I am mysteriously compelled to once again point out that the word of wisdom does not, in fact, prohibit cannibalism.
if u are biphobic im gonna throw raw meat through any open windows of your home
Me, a fan of both bisexuals and of catching raw meat in my mouth from the comfort of my own home: Surely we can work something out
is this u?
How did you get that picture of me, I'm literally so scared right now
if u are biphobic im gonna throw raw meat through any open windows of your home
Me, a fan of both bisexuals and of catching raw meat in my mouth from the comfort of my own home: Surely we can work something out
