After We Break
April 24-June 4
Story Log 1 - April 24
Story Log 2 - May 8
Story Log 3 - May 22
Library Return Log - June 5The city of Rivers’ End sits neatly, as the name implies, at the end of two rivers, joining up to flow together into the bay and then the sea beyond. Our story begins on the week of the Grand Festival, a yearly - if dully named - tradition where the streets fill with vendors and performers, fireworks and spectacle, to celebrate the gods and their workings, through their own deeds and through those they’ve blessed with their power - their paladins, their clerics, their priests. This year in particular, the Festival is a breath of fresh air, because it signals a momentary ceasefire in the gods’ war.
No one knows why, exactly, the gods are fighting; they don’t discuss such matters with mortals, not even those in their service. Perhaps it is in part because their servants can do little to aid them; perhaps it’s an attempt to keep the peace between the temples in the mortal realm, make sure the war does not creep outside of the divine. If it’s the latter, it is… mostly successful. There are few outright hostilities between them, more often a cold shoulder or curtness rather than anything more inflammatory. Except for the one time. When The Thing With Feathers fell.
Before then, no one knew a god
could die. There was no way to know what would happen, and there can be little blame placed at the feet of its followers - the few that remain. The Thing With Feathers - the god of birds, winged creatures, and hope - died, and when it did the part of its power that had bored deep into its followers died with it. No one knew how deep that power went until it was gone. The survivors say it felt like a part of their soul was ripped out of their body, unimaginable pain and suffering before their memory went dark.
Their blackout did not lead to their deaths, however- not immediately. Instead, every single one of them lost their minds.
They grew the wings and talons gifted by their god, screaming in pain as they did so, and struck out at anyone nearby. Paladins used their strength and new claws to savage anything that moved. Clerics flew high above with wailing cries, periodically crashing down to the earth again with little mind of what they landed on. And the priests, the vast majority of the The Thing With Feathers’s followers, burned their temples to the ground, a mighty pyre for their fallen god. It took a great amount of effort to subdue any of them, but eventually, all of them fell into a deep, almost death-like sleep.
Most of them never woke back up.
To say it changed things would be an understatement. There is an understanding now of just how deeply the gods’ powers are entrenched in the souls of their chosen. There is a concern of what would happen if any of the other gods died. And there is fear of The Thing’s still living chosen, the few who woke up and were taken in by the Advocate’s temples, to nurse them back to health and give them a new home. They are all still unstable, the light that once filled them never to be replaced. Is there a future for them still, in this world without their god?
But the Festival is the time for all of those things to be shed, to just rejoice in the gods, their glory, their wisdom, and to pray that their conflict can be resolved without more bloodshed. And then the war will resume, and everything will go back to normal. Just as it always does.
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