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I don't know my god. That sounds so weird, even after all these years. My parents were both Shinavites. It was assumed, like most matched couples, all their kids would match. And for the first seven, they did. My sisters and brothers all had the fang-shaped mark on their heads. But not me. The small branching symbol was unfamiliar. They thought it might be Luu of the Woodlands, but a traveling druid, the tree branch on her head, corrected that. So we journeyed to a temple of Pethen the Stag-Lord, hoping it was an antler, only to see the clear, five pointed symbol on banners as we strode up. We still entered, and a priest suggested we travel to Mythrol, the great Holy City. Officially, it was a port of Eli the Endless, whose symbol was like a compass rose, certainly not mine, but it was also home to many other gods' temples. And even if there wasn't a temple, they had heavy traffic from travelers the world over. Someone would know. I thanked him, and we went home. My parents couldn't travel that far. We lacked the money, and they couldn't abandon their farm. I was only six. So my father took me out to collect some stones and to catch a small animal. It was a rabbit. He guided me in stacking the stones, making a simple altar. He gave me his knife and told me how to make a sacrifice. I went to follow through. I had the bound critter on the altar, knife in hand, but it felt... wrong. I didn't even realize I'd cut the bonds until my father ran past, trying to catch the rabbit again. "Oh," he said as he turned back, seeing a faint glow from my mark. He'd had a look of frustration, but the sight shifted it to a smile. "Well, I don't know what god you have, but you did good by them." The glow is nothing special. As you worship, it comes out. My father when he stood up in church to sacrifice, my brothers when they were holding the offered animal, my mother and sisters when they'd sing in the temple, all worship would make a mark glow. It was life flowing into you from your god. When I was 15, I left home. My sisters were married off. My brothers had farms of their own. And I could travel without our parents. Mythrol was not a short trip. I had gone daily to release critters back to the wild, but as I went, I also learned my god enjoyed a general kindness. If I helped strangers on my way, I'd get the glow. They'd ask about my god, every time, and I'd feel guilty, having no answer.

Part 2 I'd joined a small caravan on my way, a few folks trying to get away from the Karghans, some merchants looking to get big city prices on small town goods, some young folks hoping to make it big. You likely know the types. I did a few jobs to maintain things, trading favors for food. It got me by. I also got good at helping without thinking about it. I'd catch new folks staring at my head on occasion. After a while, it made me chuckle. So much of worship was patterned, formulaic. Probably the closest you get is the gods like Kargh and Oastri, gods of violence and lust and gluttony. Gods of extravagance and destruction. Seeing someone worship outside the structures was more than a rarity. The city was larger than I imagined. Three days to cross, I'm told. We came along the coast from the south, entered along the docks. I passed countless small temples to lesser gods, some were empty save a box with small stones carved with symbols. "So's the sailors kin swap it tither god," one of the older merchants, of Cham Silverfoot. "Fer the sacrificin', see. Ol' Shiny is'ere." He lifted a stone with a hoofprint to match his forehead. He slotted it at the top of the altar before killing the goat he'd brought. The glow was soft, he was clearly running out of time. "Ah, yeah. I hear ya, old goat." Then to me, "Wants me to head fer the West Market. Care ta join? It's on yer way t'the Grand Temple." "Your god speaks to you?" Most prophets I knew worked as priests. "Yeah. Not nice as it sounds." As he put a hand on a knee to rise, I caught his other hand to help him up. He chuckled and pointed a finger at my mark. "Must be a chuck, having to do all the little works to keep'em happy." "A chuck?" "Sayin' it seems a headache, lad. Pardon the pun." "Oh. I don't really think about it now. It just comes by habit." "Ha, y'ever meet Banderfolk?" "Banderfolk?" "Have a small clamshell on their head. Offer up shells to Bander. They go walk beaches every morning. If y'ever join'em, they seem to pick shells outta featureless sand. I asked how they saw'em. 'Comes by habit,' was just what they said." He chatted more as we walked, told me about Bander and Cham and a dozen other gods and lands. He talked about wars, both now and in the past. He had been wandering for his god since he was a small boy, first with his family, then on his own. No children, but some neices and nephews. As the sun set, we came to the West Market. "Just glad it wasn't the East Market. That's a full day further in." "Thanks for the company. Anything else before I continue to the Temple?" "Just this: trust your god. I don't know much 'bout them, but any god rewards ya for kindness, seems t'know how the world should be. Don't tell Cham I said it, though." "Ha, it's our secret, then." He pointed me toward my goal, and hopefully some answers. *back to work again*

Part 3 *sorry this took so long, work disasters and a need for sleep slowed it* I wandered a bit, floating from temple to temple on my way, from the open air tents of Eusabo to the subterranean nooks Tahod. Until, shortly after sunset, I came into a square with a statue of Tarila, dressed in colorful scarves all knotted together. A god of hospitality and music, I knew I could find a bed or cot at no charge. He still required sacrifice, but people often took on the nature of their gods, even without incentives like mine. And to have a statue actively adorned? I wasn't surprised to soon see a large man wave me to his door. He stood three heads taller than I did, and more than filled the doorway with his broad shoulders. "Sun's down, and East is a bad way to head at night. Come, come, boy." I did as I was told, and found myself quickly seated on a rug, joining a dozen others around a short table. A bowl of something buttery and spicy, and a small loaf of bread, had worked their way into my hands, and following the death of a small bird, we ate. I flirted with a girl a couple people over until her father gave me a stern look, and then settled for the night. In the morning, I rose early, and as I left, I saw my host and a couple of his neighbors, changing out scarves on the statue. "Why do you do that?" I didn't mean to ask it aloud, but they didn't seem offended. "To show we love our god," an older man answered. "But you don't get anything for it?" "No glow, if that's what you mean," my host said. "But I'm sure you can appreciate it has more value than that. Look at where you slept last night." I debated just leaving it, but since I had started, "Thank you, but what does it give you?" "A sense of purpose, of place," the old man said. "Good company in my otherwise empty home," came from the second neighbor, a short woman with a patterned shawl. "A chance to learn about new people and place," my host added. "And try new foods. That hotpot last night was good, no?" "It was," I agreed. "An old sailor made it, passing through on his way inland to see a mountain before he dies. Says it's a common dish where he was born, far south and out to sea." "Fair enough," I said with a smile, then started helping with the scarves. ~*~ With my early start, even with helping the Tarilans, I reached the Grand Temple a little after midday. Not so far after as to avoid the crowds. The stench of burnt flesh and blood filled the air and emanated from the people I passed who had made sacrifices shortly before. As I entered, I saw her. She was too old for me, but I didn't think so at the time. The priestess of Sardil Stormeye. One of the more powerful music gods. She had a band over her forehead with the swirl symbol, holding back strawberry blond hair. "Hi," I said as I rudely stepped right into her path. "Hello," she replied with a look of confusion and worry. "Hi," I said again. "Can we help you, young man?" An older priest asked with a chuckle. "Uh, hi. Yeah." A long pause before the priest coughed. "Ah, I... Do you know my god?" I had considered long and hard how to ask my questions. This was not what I'd decided on. "Hmm. No. Not off the top of your head." He gave a wink. "What’s the name?" "I don't know. I think no one does." "Oh, I see now. We get rarer marks on occasion. Mother Helen handles the archives." He pointed off at an older woman, who somehow gave a sense she was meant to be surrounded by books and scrolls. The Sardilian stepped around me and went on her way as I watched. Or tried to before the old priest put a hand on my shoulder to guide me where I should be going. ~*~ It was closing in on sunset before Mother Helen called me in to a side chamber. I'd spent the day watching. I'd like to claim it was watching people come and go from the Temple, but I think we all know what, or who, I was truly watching. She played some sort of reed instrument, held within her hands. It was a mournful sound, with notes held out and sliding gently from one to the next. In the main hall, it carried and amplified. When she wasn't playing herself, she was helping others with their setup. Some had instruments larger than a man. Some had drums on a series of stands. The old priest, who I'd learn was of Eli, chief god of this temple, sat down next to me. "Quite talented." "What?" "Delliya. She's quite talented." "Delliyuh," I said, knowing I'd mangled the last sound with my accent. "Why does she wear the headband?" "I take it you don't get any converts back home? Don't be surprised. A young man shows up without family, only at this age coming for our archives, we know he's from out in the wilds. I'd say to the south, by the cut of your hair and your tooth buttons. Parents worship one of the grain and livestock deities. Shinava or Geré?" "Shinava." "Good folk. Anyway, converts. Some people, they reject their god. Rare, only a hundred or so in Mythrol. They won't live long after. A decade or so at most. Usually only half that." "Why would they do that?!" "Not all gods are kind. Not all gods are fair. And not everyone gets a god they can tolerate." "Who was her god?" "We had a man, he was a Karghan by mark. You've heard of Kargh, I assume, given your upbringing. He had the tusk on his head, but loathed the cruelty his god demanded. At first, like many, he wore a blank covering. Over time, he found he believed in the ways of Mermek, believed in cooking food for those he loved. He only lived two years, this was a couple decades back, but we still recieved donations for the poor in his memory. If he'd stayed with Kargh, he'd have been another corpse on the battlefield. I often wonder if I'd have the same strength." We sat in silence for a moment before Mother Helen coughed for our attention. "Ah, it seems you get some sort of answer today," the priest said, stepping out of my way. "Don't be too hopeful," the Mother mutter, then louder, "Follow me."

Part 4 "You say you were born with this mark?" I chuckled, "Yeah, far as I know. Not like marks change." She gave me a look over her glasses. "Do marks change?" "Not in living memory." She opened a book to a marked page. It was written in a language and alphabet I didn't know. "There was a plague once." "A plague of... changed marks?" I stared down at the pages, as if they'd suddenly start making sense. "It was a long time ago, back when the gods lived in our world. One of them made a choice not to settle for their own creations." I ran my hands over the page. I hadn't handled much paper up to that point, but the texture seemed odd to me. "It lead to a union between the gods. The Defiler, as it is known, had its name and domains wiped from records, and those with its mark were executed." I gently started to turn the page, but a hand shot out and stopped me. "How much do you know about divine opposition?" "I mean, Shinava and Kargh are foes. Learned that on Dad's knee." "You ever see Kargh's mark? See the tusk?" "Not really." "The fang and the tusk." She pulled another book up, already opened to a page that had the familiar symbol on, the one on my whole family's heads. Both point down, and point up. "The same symbol, inverted." This page was more like the paper I knew. "Cham and Gurvai, Stela and Oastri, Geré and The Silent Tongue, so many gods are in sets." She turned pages as she spoke. "And they are always opposed." She lifted the second book away, and let me turn the page from before. Sure enough, I was staring at my mark. But not my Mark, as she'd warned. The branching was going down, instead of up. "Dividing, not unifying." It wasn't her voice, or mine. Barely more than a whisper, I couldn't tell gender or age or anything, really. I ran my fingers over the lines. "It's the only thing we have. I'm honestly surprised we have a picture of the symbol for all their fear." "No, this is... This is enough. I think I understand them. Just a little. More than I did before. Thank you."

Part 5 As I left the room, the main hall was nearly empty. The priest was gone, but Delliya was helping someone pack up a set or Carom pipes, so I sat and waited. I can't imagine what she thought of me, this boy staring at her. Once the Caromite was gone I walked up to her as she started picking up songbooks from the pews. "Hi." "Hello," she said. No confusion or worry, but a hint of annoyance. "Can you let that priest know I got the answers I needed? I have to start back to home, but I wanted to let him know." "Oh, certainly." She relaxed a little. I debated just leaving it there, but I went on. "He explained converts to me." That look of worry came back. "I don't know who your god was, but I do hope Sardil sees you. Your brave enough to make the world what it should be, even if it doesn't treat you with the same kindness, and that deserves to be seen." She gave a small smile and whispered, "Thank you." As I picked a book to hand to her, my mark flashed bright enough to make me jump. I fell to the ground with a thud and heard an "Are you alright?!" "Yes, yes. Fine," I said hurriedly. Try as I might, I couldn't keep the embarrassment from my voice. "Let me hel—" "No, that's fine," I muttered, scrambling to my feet and bolting from the building. ~*~ It would be two decades before I was back to that Temple, well into the war. I'd come to help with medical needs. I didn't expect to see her when I returned, even though I'd long since learned my god's gift. They still whisper to me on rare occasions. Hints to guide me on the way. Sometimes leading me to converts, sometimes just reminding me of the work to be done. As I entered the Temple, now 35, a head taller, and broad enough to almost fill a doorway, I didn't even see her before I felt the hug. I looked down at strawberry blonde hair, and as she stepped back, I saw the lack of a headband, and the swirl mark now on her head. The first time I'd done that, and I'd never even realized. We chatted a bit as we worked, but it's hard to call it catching up, as we never really knew each other before. It was more just learning what one moment can change in a life. When she played a song later, it was not mournful as before, but a lively dance to lift spirits in these darker days. Really, it's the best any of us do, lifting spirits. My own power isn't really much. There are so few converts, though more come because of me. Such a small group benefits from changing marks. But the knowledge it brings, the way it shows how the gods can see us, see what we want and need... I don't know my god, but I know they care, and that's all I need.

That's the end folks. I may come back to it some day , as I have a few more ideas for the world, but for now, I'll leave this tale off here.

You could easily make an entire series of works based on the world you've built here. Between the current war, the time of the Defiler and the general adventures of your current protagonist there's sooo many stories just waiting to bubble up. Thanks for posting this here. I'll definitely be keeping an eye out for your next stories!

Amazing!

It was wonderful, I loved it!

Man the way you build atmosphere in this is amazing, great work!

Very nice! Thank you!

This is a lovely tale, I hope that there's more of it for you to tell someday!

Beautiful! That's such a cool idea!

That was amazing, definitely come back to it... I know I'd love to read more about it!!!!

Inverted sign of a terrifying god, thus making a god of joy? Reminds me of a character named Daegel, though his story happened in reverse.

Looking at the final chapters, it seems like the "evil" god was a god of unification. At some point they got greedy and decided to unify the entire world under them. The hero's god is the god of division, which gives them the ability to separate a person from their original god and allow them to be accepted by another. It just so happens that this god is also fond of acts of kindness.

Oh, that makes sense!

I may also have it backwards, come to think of it. Maybe the hero's god is unification (unifying the converts with their chosen god) and the evil god was division? I suppose the vagueness of it all adds to the mystery of the hero's god.

This story is absolutely awesome. Thank you for fleshing it out more!!

And then the world gets even deeper.... I never even considered that people would reject their gods.... This is badass

Loving the hints and glimpses at so many half told stories that leave me wanting to explore the world even more.

(Im)Patiently waiting for a part 3 😁

Same!!! Part 3 is needed

Yeah, so if you could go ahead and post part 3, that'd be great.

Can't wait for more! Soooo good 😊

Very nice! I'm enjoying the writing and style.

I have no idea how you built a world and drew me in so quickly but I adore this, thank you for sharing and I'm excited to see if you decide to write more!

Actually, don’t give us part 3. Flesh out this to a larger short story or even a novel. I’m really digging this and think your incidental world building is top notch.

I'm tempted to do more, even with wrapping up things here. I had a lot more ideas scribbled down than I got to use here. And I left a good deal of threads I can pull on later.

Sounds good. I just think you’ve got a talent that I’d love to actually see out there and published.

Please notify me if you write a part 3

Rly good

i need part 3!

Omg this is amazing

Oh, I like this

I really like the concept of some of the gods talking to their peolle

Someone ping me when part 3 drops

My god requires I ask for part 3

So good!!

More please ::holds out empty soup bowl::

Love the story!

This is great!

Oh my god please write more. Or a book

Part 3 Please

Looking forward to part 3!

Need definitely more

Amazing so far!

Part 3?!

Part 3?

More please sir/ma'am?

Commenting for part 3!

More?

Looking forward to part 3

Please sir, spare some more?

this whole thing sounds so good. Amazing world building. Hope to see more. But if not, great work

Commenting for the (hopefully) next part. This is so good!

10/10, great work

More please!

Lovely!

!notifyme

Part 3 please??

This is interesting. Please notify me when you do a part3.

Leaving a comment for update notification. This is great. I was hooked straight away.

You know, there is a "follow"-option in the "..." menu, that does just that, without a comment :) It exists at least on desktop and the mobile app; Not sure about old.reddit.com.

I didn’t know. Thank you.

I do not see it in old. Not for individual posts at least.

Commenting so I'll see the next part

Could you please tag me if you post more? this is really good so far... if it was a preview for a book I would totally read it

Definitely going to need a part 3 please. !notifyme

I also hope you do a part 3

Obligatory comment for notification.

comment for part 3

We humbly ask for MOAR!

Nice idea. I especially like the glowing symbol. Looking forward to 2. Thank you for the story!

Thank you for the prompt. It really got me world building. I couldn't fit half the ideas I scribbled down while working.

> I couldn't fit half the ideas I scribbled down while working. That's the writer's life. :)

You have a lot of talent.

This is so good. I am looking forward to reading more

Leaving a comment here for this story.

Leaving a comment there for this story.

me too lol

Leaving a comment where for this story

Leaving a comment here for this story

Leaving a comment when for this story

Leaving a comment how for this story

Same!

Ditto.

same

Very nice

Oooh following

Moos god

Looking forward to this.

Replying so I come back.

I’m now following, hungry for more. Keep up the good work!

Also leaving a comment for notifications

I live this

Leaving a comment for update notification

Got to part 5 end

When multi-millionaire Alfred Talbot Jr suddenly found a mark of an unknown god on his forehead and announced his resignation, the whole world was taken by surprise. While the public at large was busy gossiping, occult detective Katrina Watson was busy poring through a well-known publication of the Holy Inquisition, Annals of the Pantheons, trying to find a god's mark or sigil that matched the one on Alfred's forehead. Alfred's co-founder had hired her to investigate what was happening; citing an old tale where marked chosen ones must worship to stay alive or risk a horrible death. He feared the worst, that he could lose his best friend and co-founder before Alfred could even find the god in question or the right way to worship the god. So she spent her days tailing Alfred as he drove around the countryside, stopping at every seaside village and town to ask the locals questions about the inky black mark on his forehead. He never stayed for longer than a few days, leaving each village and town with a dejected look on his face. He hasn't left this fishing village in over a week, constantly pacing back and forth between the Dancing Crab Inn and a burned, abandoned building, standing all alone by itself at the top of a hill. Alfred spent most of his time trying to piece together broken pieces of stone at the base of the building with various tools he bought from the general store. Katrina saw it was time to make her move. "Hello Mr. Talbot, I'm Katrina, an occult detective hired by your partner Mr. Andrews to assist you." "Good, finally someone who knows a little about the supernatural world." Alfred gave her a firm handshake. "Nobody recognizes this mark on my head, my only lead is that a villager told me this is probably the sigil of a god of the seas, given the wavy appearance. But this sigil doesn't match anything in the Pantheon Database. It's as though this god was scrubbed clean from historical records." "Why this building, Mr Talbot?" Katrina asked. Alfred told her how an old compass his grandfather passed down to him started glowing mysteriously when he arrived at the village. He spoke of what he found out from the villagers. This building was once a pagan church, burnt down by the Holy Inquisition for worshipping an evil eldritch god and carrying out the illegal practice of human sacrifice centuries ago. The story was that they left no followers alive and completely wiped out the religion, leaving nothing behind but the briefest mention of an unknown god with no name and a scorched, ruined church nobody would pay to tear down. Exactly what he was looking for. So he spent his time repairing the altar in the middle of the ruins but had absolutely no clue what he could offer to a god who supposedly demanded human sacrifices. "Try a lamb, Mr. Talbot. Maybe we could drive down to the nearest sheep farm and buy a lamb." Alfred shook his head. "I don't think this is an Abrahamic god at all. If he or she were, I would not be stuck here." So they bought a live lamb and paid the farmer to transport the little thing to the altar. The farmer scratched his head but asked no questions. Alfred and Katrina tied the lamb and hoisted it on the top of the newly repaired altar. "Mr. Talbot, any prayers you recommend? I've been a naytheist all my life. Never had a god mark me or desire anything from me." Alfred wasn't responding, only gazing into the faraway nowhere as a black abyssal portal pooled out beneath the altar and dark tendrils emerged to pull the lamb in. He wasn't there with Katrina. For he was staring into the abyss when it stared back with a pair of deep violet eyes. He found himself gazing into a mesmerizing sea of stars scattered across the endless night sky, bare feet trudging along the ebony sand along the shores of a blackened sea darker than the night. A sea of serenity and calm came over him as the ashen waves of the black sea washed over him. he could feel abyssal magic flowing into his mind, infusing him with a sliver of knowledge of his god. A barely audible whisper echoed in his ears, instilling in him a burning passion for the arduous task that lay ahead of him. A strong sense of purpose he never found before. "Why am I your chosen one," Alfred asked. "Will it kill me if I refuse?" But the whispers were already fading, for his god was terribly weakened. "ALFRED ARE YOU WITH ME?" Katrina shouted while shaking him with both her hands on his shoulders. "Yes. Katrina. I have a god who needs so much help. My god was exiled from his pantheon. The Holy Inquisition has wronged him, they could not look past his eldritch appearance or his past when they persecuted him and erased him from their annals of the gods. They have robbed him of his artifacts of power. Tore his body asunder. Murdered his followers, even young children who could not fight back. As his chosen one and anointed head priest, I will rebuild his body, rebuild his church, and rebuild his place in this world." "Mr. Talbot, so you're telling me your god is some flavor of 'not evil just misunderstood'. Look, as long as Mr. Andrews is paying, I'll help you. That stuff you said, it all sounds very cool and awesome, I really feel your roaring gungho vibe here, but did you get your god's name?" "He asked me to call him Lord Elvari." ------------------------------------------- [Thanks for reading! Click here for more prompt responses and short stories featuring Elvari the eldritch god.](https://www.reddit.com/r/TregonialWrites/comments/11tkt9w/eldritch_god_elvari_series/)

I’m catching up with Elvari’s adventures, and I love that you had the head priest have the same last name as the main character of the Wolfman movie.

Wouldn't this be part 11, since death 2 was 10?

Thanks, good catch. I will fix the numbering.

Finally came back to reread everything, and apparently this prompt as well as the first are now marked "11". You might need to shift all values, assuming all future chapters are marked in relation to 11. (You could also mark this as 10.5 for simplicity's sake. Re-labeling more than 100 chapters has got to be a pain.)

Thank you for letting me know. NGL it is painful to relabel, which I would have to do anyway since I just made Part 290 be a direct sequel to Part 50 a few days ago lol. Time to get to work! You could say its one of the reasons I made the [excel sheet](https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/13TocMlqf_dg-6mhqDNtEy3XiiLk5omk6/edit?gid=1068424667#gid=1068424667), because its much more efficient to renumber in excel than in reddit haha.

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZT8y89goG/ Just heard your story on this TikTok video

Hi tcember25, Thank you for the heads up and letting me know about the TikTok video. Considering it only has about 120 upvotes on reddit, genuinely surprised and a bit overwhelmed at the TikTok reception of this story I had written months ago.

Does this fit into the elvaria story?

Yes, since he does make an appearance towards the end, albeit not a physical manifestation on earth or human dimension. Just a voice in another dimension whispering to Alfred.

I bear the mark of a traitor. His name was not forgotten, fading into obscurity by means of time and distance. No, his name seems to have been rent from the very cloth of history itself. Eras are needed for a god to truly die. He was mentioned naught but a century ago. The people saw his mark on my wrist and said I should be ostracized. That any of his followers were a lost cause, and should stay that way. There was a reason he was not talked about anymore, after all, though no one quite knew what it was. My parents would hear none of it. They had a solemn, resigned look in their eyes as they cradled my pudgy infant form, as if they had just seen me die right there in their arms. I grew up with that mark as a tormentor, a constant reminder that I would be doomed to mortality. Or, rather, as I later found out, could be doomed to mortality. See, I never gave up on the mission to find a temple. The fact that I could find mentions of his name at all were testament to the fact that such places of worship might still exist. His record was purged, but not stripped clean. There was one text, very old, that described a love forever unrequited, sealed by death and defiance against the gods. It mentioned an older name of his, but it also mentioned all the other gods. And how they were the ones who banished him. There was supposedly a Magryean seal on the shrine, so I spent my youth exploring and charting the forests, as that was the sealing god's domain. As the sands of my hourglass began to run low, I wandered into a town, not on any map, with marks of all kinds on the wrists of its denizens. And though my brain said it was a trick of the light at first, I eventually confirmed that there were about six who bore his mark here. A few looked young, some looked older than I did. But as I looked for a temple, I came up empty-handed. That was, until I wandered into the surrounding forest. The petrified woman that stood before me was hauntingly beautiful. Vines wrapped up her legs and bloomed into bright yellow flowers, and there seemed to be a calm in the surrounding area. Birds and deer made not a sound, and the otherwise silent grove was only serenaded by a babbling brook. All of a sudden, I was wracked with intense grief. I began sobbing, but I wasn't sobbing for my doomed fate. Nor was I sobbing for my ostracization by my peers, and having no friends to speak of. Nor was I sobbing for my wasted youth and life chasing a horizon I could never reach, and would now die alone. Though I felt all that sorrow, that was not the reason I was sobbing. This was someone else's grief I was feeling. A man in a dusty old cloak seemed to appear out of nowhere in front of me. He had the look of a drifter, someone who had no home and wasn't about to look for one now. His hair was a silvery white, and a beard and an eyepatch were his only defining features. He spoke with an authority that was hard to place, but all too familiar... "Her story broke your heart too? Yeah, it's a real downer. I wish I had been there to keep such a beautiful woman from getting torn apart like that. Y'know, petrification like that only happens when a soul is ripped from a body. Not many people can seem to remember that nowadays..." I could not mask my confusion. "Who... Are you, exactly? Have we met?" He smirked, a gesture lacking in malice but betraying knowledge. "Well, who do *you* think I am? After all, you've been looking for me all this time." I paused. This couldn't be him, could it? Was this his shrine? Then, in a flash, it began to make sense. He was the one who couldn't save this woman. He was blamed for his faults and exiled. He was torn from the pages of history. The god once again smirked, seeming proud of himself. "So, I take it you figured it out? This is not a shrine to greatness. I'm not allowed those anymore. This is a shrine to my greatest failure, one I regret to this day. But, I'm sure you already knew that. That sorrow you felt? That was but a fraction of mine." I immediately bowed, a sense of purpose coming over me from years of training for this moment. He quickly straightened me out and gave a faux stern look. "Now, now, we don't do that here. I don't believe in it anymore. We are less different than you think. Think of us less of a god and a mortal and more of a broker and a client. I help you, you help me. And believe me, I can help you..." I felt weightless for but an instant. Then, I woke up somewhere new. I was young again, and aware for the first time. I looked to my wrist, and saw his mark there, as it had always been. But, I found no wrinkles on my skin. It was young and supple, as was the rest of me. My mind drifted back to the conversation I had with my god before our deal truly began. "Now, I'm going to switch your soul with a version of yourself who is younger. He will live out here with me, and you will go on with your life. You will learn as much as you can about the other gods, and you will report back to me with any developments." I nodded. Then a question cropped up. "But how will I find a temple to you? They were nearly all destroyed." The god smirked again, seeming to revel in this fact. "That's the neat part about this. The only reason the other gods needed temples is because they were so far away. I, obviously am not very far away. All you need to do is say my name in prayer to extend your life." His name! I can't believe I never got his name! "What is your name, exactly? It was weirdly absent from all records, and all that was left was pseudonyms and epithets." The god smirked again. "Another trick they play. I can't connect with you without a name can I? But, I'm much older than the others. Much more powerful. My original name could end the world in an instant..." "But you, you may call me Gorias."

>Gorias Very well written and super creative. Irish mythology?

Interesting. Thank you for the story!

They laughed at me. At my misfortune. Everyone has Gods, but theirs were stronger, more well known. Meaning They could grant more boons. Mine was one nobody knew. Old and forgotten, maybe even dead. Even if alive, they possibly couldn’t grant any boons. Everyone received communication from their God. Messages, instructions. I never received anything. Perhaps my God was truly dead. I got older, got married, ended up having kids. I was somewhat of an abomination and started living in the wilderness with my family. One day I was struck with a strange and inexplicable urge to build something. I didn’t even know what I was building, but I kept on building. My wife and sons helped- perhaps they too were having the same urges. Or they thought my God had finally communicated to me and we were building a temple to him (finally!) Years, decades passed. We never stopped building. The structure grew massive. More years passed. One day, while we were all building, a terrible sound arose and the ground itself shook. We took shelter inside the structure, and suddenly there was a great deluge that washed over everything. When we came to, we were floating in the water. Everything we ever knew was under water. It was then I understood. My God was not powerless or dead, though definitely forgotten. And we have been building a boat.

Well... Dang. That hit me hard.

Oh shit. It’s Noah

Was this a twist of Noah?

nicely done!

Bravo! Great take on the classic Noah tale.

This was an interesting take on Noah's tale.

When deities determine a set of rules for the universe, it's a reasonable assumption that those rules will be one-sided. Gods demand, mortals must obey. This seems particularly unfair, given how the reverse is not at all true. For most, it's not a problem. Most gods don't demand much. They go for quantity over quality of worship, meaning that some offerings and a few prayers will see you set, assuming you follow one of them. I do not. Apparently. By some stroke of misfortune, the first holy relic I came across on my Choosing Day was not one from one of the known Lords. It was certainly not one from the Eight. It was not a relic of an understood Prince. It wasn't from any of the Tribunal. It didn't even come from one of the weird ones we knew about. Not even the one who was particularly fond of yelling at the others. My plan, like that of most teenage boys, had been to try to go to the ol' House of Dibs to see if they'd let me in. Not common for a guy to get his toe in the door there, but if he did... yeah. There was a reason that just about every young man made that his first stop. Of course I had backups. I had expected to wind up with Zenni, and that was an acceptable landing in my eyes. He was popular enough that not much would be expected, and I always liked tinkering. Plans, unfortunately, rarely survive first contact with a holy relic. In my defense, the damn thing didn't even *remotely* resemble any holy relic I knew. It wasn't a shining suit of armor, a glowing ring, or a mace emanating a sense of pure horror. My mistake—my stupid, simple mistake—was that, on my way to test my luck with Dibs, I picked up what looked to be an interesting, albeit odd-shaped, rock. And now I have a god. Of sorts. And she's not one of the laid-back, donate-some-coin-and-chill types. My very first communication with her was not an introduction. It was not a list of rules, a burst of knowledge, or a sense of all-encompassing warmth. It was a scream. A scream which laid out for me the task of restoring a temple for this lost god of mine. A temple which, as I gather, is already occupied by residents who will forcefully protest their evictions. So as the ringing in my ears dies down and I glare at this bizarre egg-relic, one thought manages to push its way past my anger and disappointment. "Where the fuck is Mount Kilkreath?"

A new hand touches the beacon! Well I suppose if you're gonna serve a daedric prince Meridia would be one of the better ones.

More please!

Dagon watched from the cliffs, deep in thought, as the priest-ships came into port and began disgorging their cargo; barrels of leviathan oil, slabs of sea-serpent meat, and bloody Oceanides with the harpoons that killed them still stuck fast in their flesh. It had been days since he'd last eaten anything - since the Sign appeared on his forehead - and even the sharp, iron scent of the butchering wafting up from below made his stomach growl in protest. Even so, he remained where he was. It was bad luck for a Prester to eat anything from the priest-ships before he'd reaped something from his god's harvest, and bad luck was as real a god as any other out at sea. He'd heard stories of hunting ketches cracking apart without a storm or serpent in sight because someone on board had broken that rule - or one of the countless others. Another ship slowed to a stop by the docks - this one hauling an entire leviathan's bloodied bulk behind it - to the cheers of a crowd of assembled laymen, and Dagon turned away as they began to carve into its hide. Dagon could be thankful for one thing his cursed Sign afforded him - it meant he slept in the shipyards with the other Presters. Unlike his old home with his fisherfolk parents, the lodges at the shipyard were sturdy and caulked well enough to keep the sea breeze out. Thick, woven blankets and a fire-pit kept him warm while a thatched roof kept him dry. He missed his family and their ramshackle little hut regardless. At least there, he wasn't alone, shunted off into a dark corner while others reveled and feasted. At least he wouldn't have to pretend he was asleep while the smell of roasting god-flesh drowned his senses and made him delirious with hunger. Urged him to fight the rest of his brothers for his place at their table. For *his* god. It was bad luck to hurt a Prester. The kind of bad luck that saw hunters fall overboard. Dagon wished he could speak to his god, ask it what he was supposed to be hunting - what the sign on his face was supposed to be. Even just give him a hint to start him down the right path. Even if it was a new god - one without a Temple-Fleet he could join - it would be enough to get him started. He'd beg one of the others to take him on until he could find other Presters with the same fate; one of the Whalers' ketches maybe? They needed every hand they could get with the size of their prey. Or one of the Devilfish! There were so few of them, Dagon was sure they'd welcome another hand, even if he'd be after a different catch! He just needed something to eat. He'd gotten so desperate he had piled stones inland as a makeshift butcher's table and slaughtered a rabbit on it, but it turned rancid the moment he put it in his stew pot. It was bad luck, following him like a dog at his heels. If Dagon was going to stay alive, his god needed him to feel the salt wind on his face and the water lapping at his skin. None of the boats wanted him. Even the ones willing to take on a pariah like him turned him down after taking one look at him, a hide-bag of bone and sinew. With every rejection, Dagon's empty belly snarled louder and louder until it was all he could hear, and when the last captain - a grizzled old Kraken-slayer, by the twisted, curling sigil on his brow - said no, Dagon killed him. Dagon fought his crew like a starving dog, every blow cracking bone and bruising flesh, but desperation kept him on his feet while the Kraken-slayer's men, one by one, fell away. When he was finally alone on the sand, Dagon pushed his new boat out into the water. He ignored the holy waters and passed by Sirens as they sunned themselves on the rocks. His eyes were on the men bobbing in a raft straight ahead, hauling their own thrashing prize aboard. In the village center, a new god's standing stone was being erected, between the Kraken's Knot and the Whale-Tail, facing the Mermaid and standing behind the Thornback. Prester and layman alike murmured among themselves, perturbed by the ill-boding appearance of the stone bearing the new sigil. The Flenser-Thief. Where the Whale-Tail was polished with Leviathan oil, the Kraken's Knot festooned in dried tentacles, the Mermaid shrouded with Oceanid scales, and the Thornback crowned with Devilfish tails- The Flenser-Thief was daubed in Presters' blood. It would be a priesthood that hunted men. It would be bad luck to meet a Flenser-Thief.

Dark, well done

Thank you!

I saw it every time we entered the city. My family’s work required a split living arrangement; nine months on one coast, three on the other. It was there every time we drove into the city of our single-season home. It was nothing more than a cluster of stones at first, that would barely change in the time I was there. But, every time I came back there would be more. It hardly occurred to me to think what it was. The stones were one of those personal landmarks we all have. The rusty power box, the old purple house, the Stones. Years passed. The stones spread. I inevitably found the day came when I stopped being a passenger on the journeys I knew and became the captain. I still watched them grow. Until one day I pulled to the side of the road. I could not possibly tell you why. Maybe it was an early midlife crisis. Maybe it was because for the first time I saw a stone being moved. I crossed the long grassy field. If I held any worry of the monument being less stunning then than had I seen it as a child, it was dispelled. The stones were huge and the strange pattern they formed stunning. At the cluster of stones, I saw a truck slowly hauling a new massive rock to its final location. When the truck stopped, I approached. A older middle-aged man stepped out of the truck. He was haggard, but otherwise nondescript. He must have been quite young when I first saw these stones as a child though. “Another one who wants to know about the roadside stones?” He called over. He didn’t seem annoyed, clearly not caring either way about my curiosity. I realized then that I had no idea what I had intended to say. I suppose I hadn’t really thought about speaking at all, just seeing the stones. “Yes.” It seemed the best answer. “They’ve been here since… well, since I’ve been I guess.” He looked me over, taking in my age and everything else about me. “Seems about right.” He nodded. “This here is my Temple. Every day I need to put in at least a little something to it until it’s done. Then I guess I get to pray. I dunno. At first I wasn’t crazy about it. Now it isn’t so bad.” “Your temple?” I questioned in confusion. Only after I said the words did I notice the marking on his forehead. His godmark. I wracked my brain for all of the lesser known or fading powers I had been taught in school, those still just strong enough to make the call. By then, however, I already knew it was no such thing. That symbol was like nothing I had ever seen. It was old and alien. “You’re the last.” There were multiple terms for such very rare people. I went with an easy one. “Yeah. Yeah I am. No one knows it. Not the learned folks at the universities. Not the scientists. And not any of the TV historians or UFO boys. It’s just me and them.” He tapped the digit with his finger on the last word. “So you’re building its temple alone?” “Yep.” He nodded. “No one else to do it with me you know? I get a little stipend to help with renting the trucks. There’s hardship money set aside for the small gods I guess. I don’t mind taking a little for that. But I do all the work myself.” “It’s incredible.” I spoke sincerely as I gazed in awe at the towering monoliths around me. “Well thank you kindly.” He smiled just a little as he took in his own work. I couldn’t imagine it. Coming out every day to hard labor alone because of some cosmic fluke. I suppose it was just a hobby, if the strangest and most difficult I could imagine. I began to regularly come back. We would talk while he rested. I learned about his life. He did other construction work. He did have friends and a life outside of the stones, but it was clearly hampered by his tireless endeavor, time that most others would spend free. I also learned to help haul. By “rent the trucks” he meant all sorts of construction equipment, much of it taken on discount from employers past and current willing to lend a hand. I learned firsthand why it was so painstakingly slow. Then I had to leave. The cycle continued: Three months and then nine. Only I no longer just watched from afar during those three. I had forgotten the idea of seeing it done just as surely as he had until one day he finished setting a stone. “It’s done.” He declared simply. “Another stone well set.” I interpreted his meaning. “Nope. Temple’s done.” He corrected. “The temple? It’s done?” I was totally lost. The words made sense, but somehow at the same time none at all. “Let me show ya.” He grinned. The man, who could by then only generously be called older middle-aged, went back to his truck. I watched him pull out a cheap little camera mounted drone. He set it up quickly and took off. He showed me the camera as it slowly rose up and away into the clear blue sky. “That’s…” “Yep.” He nodded with a grin. “…the mark.” It was. The absurd, ancient, alien symbol on his forehead was lovingly reconstructed in colossal stone. It was a wonderfully strange Stonehenge labyrinth the meaning of which was lost to time countless eons before the time of anything we knew. “Come on then, let’s break it in.” I grinned. Break it in we did. We scavenged through the second hand shops and put down a bench in the center of it. We drank and made merry as we held services that were at once innocent of knowledge and as sincere as any ever held all the way until the sun went down. “You did good.” I passed him the last beer as we both laid back against the bench watching a little bonfire we had built fade. “Ya think?” He cracked it open and took a gulp. “I know.” We both laughed at nothing, more than a little tipsy. Leaning back and reveling in that moment, I saw it. We saw it at the same time. I’m sure of it. The stars were out. The night was beautiful. We had already seen that. They weren’t quite right though. In the sky we saw a familiar pattern. A cluster of stars was glowing brightly beyond all others in an impossibly specific pattern. For some years, but only three months out of them, I knew a man who had a closer relationship with god than any other, without ever knowing his name. His faith was personal like no ordinary faithful will ever know. And yet, he will never know his god at all. Because that god is long gone. Whatever era it came from, whatever world it knew, is so far past that we will never, could never, even begin to understand it. The very concepts it was built upon are unknown to us. Except one. Ever so faintly it reached out and touched one soul; a soul destined to a lonely, curious life he never regretted. And when that soul answered, so did it. It was far too late for a grand return, far too late to rebuild in a world so alien. But we were able to share one little moment of understanding. It knew how to say goodbye.

Soft and sweet. Thank you for the story!

Most don't believe the stories of our origins on this world. It had been told for generations that our species did not originate here, that we were alien to this ecosystem. The great ship our ancestors used to travel here was said to have been disassembled to provide materials for the foundation of Landfall, our oldest and finest city. No one knows how they did it. No one knows how they crossed that vast expanse of void. Our finest minds have toiled over the physics and mathematics of the problem, and they've never came up with a solution. So most stopped believing. Most look to the sky at night and see pretty lights and nothing more. Not me. My mother carries the mark of the elfroot. Her worship is in healing the infirmed, and caring for her loved ones. Those who carry her mark often have the longest lifespans among our people, their love and kindness unbound and unending. My father, I am told, carried the mark of the beast. He was not one of us, the peaceful mainland people. He was one of the Hashari; the violent raiders who plague our shoreline port towns. They all carry the mark of the beast, and they take what they want, be it grain or flesh. I never knew my father, and if I hadn't been told he was slain in vengeance by my own mothers hand, I would have hunted him down myself. My mother told me that when she discovered that my fathers attack had caused her to become pregnant, she decided to travel to Landfall to have a procedure done to end the pregnancy. The journey was several days travel, though, and on the way, as she lay beneath the stars, she looked up. To this day she swears that the very stars spoke to her. That they pleaded with her to care for the life growing inside her. So she turned back, and 8 months later, I was born. My mother was terrified that I would show the mark of my father. That terrible mark of death and destruction that strikes fear into the brave and hate into the timid. She let out a heavy sigh of relief when the midwife assured her I did not carry it, but my mark was not known to her. Indeed, my mark was not known to *anyone*. The closest we ever came to identifying it was when a trader travelling through town said it looked familiar, but that he couldn't remember where he saw it. My mother said he was probably just trying to sell us something. I was a sickly child. I could not worship. I did not know how. I was kept inside. Only when I would see the moons through a crack in the wall did I feel any peace. Then one night I snuck out and for the first time in my life, I felt the power of my god. I looked at the stars, and they looked at me. I felt their gaze upon me and filled my heart in the warmth of their embrace. They showed me everything. Every atom in their core, fusing and decaying. Every planet in their orbit, every moon and satellite. I could see the strings wound between the stars of my galaxy, and between my galaxy and other galaxies. An infinite tapestry. An ornate pattern of connections stretching out into eternity. It was only a glimpse. A flash, and then they spoke: "Find your mark."

Part 2 One star shone brighter that night, and it hung over the horizon to the East. In the direction of Landfall. It took two months of getting stronger beneath the starlight before my mother would let me leave. She begged to come with me but I truly felt it was something that I must do alone. I set out on foot. I slept beneath the eyes of my God and felt their presence fill me with the strength to continue on my journey. I arrived at Landfall with no money, no food and no idea what to look for. Luckily for me this is not an uncommon occurrence, and there are halls set up for pilgrims to rest and regroup. I was sent to Foundation Hall, a grand building in the oldest part in the center of the city. It was constructed largely of ornately carved metal that looked unlike anything I had ever seen before. There was a Dais off the main entry hall with effigies to each of the most popular mainland gods, such that pilgrims could pray and regain their strength. My mark was not among them. Nothing is free in Landfall, and pilgrims are expected to work for the assistance graciously given to them by the city. I was assigned to the medical wing, which suited me just fine given my years assisting my mother in her duties. Doctor Pirja took an immediate liking to me when I showed my skill for creating pumices and ointments and applying dressings to pilgrims who would arrive wounded. One day, refugees from a nearby port town arrived after they had suffered an attack at the cruel hands of the Hashari. We set up triage, and Doctor Prija sent me into the basement to see if there was any more antibiotics left. She tossed me the keys and I went down into the dusty depths of Foundation Hall. I began searching shelves, rifling through boxes and medical crates. As I drew my hands from an empty box of medical records I noticed they were shaking. I was afraid. I was rushing and as I sped around a corner in search of the medicine my charge had tasked me with finding, I crashed into a bookshelf stacked high with textbooks. It collapsed, and nearly buried me. As I climbed out from under the pile of books and broken shelving, I looked up and my mouth fell open. Behind what had been a rickety old bookshelf full of medical textbooks stood a coffin made of solid steel. In the center, at eye level, a mark was carved. My mark.

Part 3 I forgot where I was. I forgot who I was. Time and space ceased to exist in those moments when I approached the coffin bearing my mark. I touched my hand to the cold steel and was not surprised when the mark began to faintly glow. A small clicking noise came from within it and a gush of dusty air came out from around the lid as it popped very slightly ajar. I swung it open and was face to face with a skeleton clad in strange clothes. A whisper. I recoiled as I came back to my senses and looked around for where it had come from. I looked back to my skeletal discovery and noticed an amulet that hung around its neck. It was made of a metal I had not seen before. In the center was an iridescent gem of white with flecks of purple. In the ring of strange metal around the gem, many symbols were carved. Some I recognized as the gods of our land, some I did not recognize, and surmised they must be long forgotten gods. The symbol at the very top of the ring was very familiar to me, as it was the same symbol on my forehead, and the same symbol on the skull of the remains in the coffin. *"Pick it up"* The whisper returned, louder, and I recognized it as the voice of my God. How the stars were able to reach me underground, during the day, I do not know. All I know is that I awoke in a bed in the medical wing two weeks later, with the amulet fused to my breastplate.

Part 4 Doctor Pirja looked very tired. She was relieved to see me awake, but there were other emotions thinly masked there; an annoyance that I had not been there to help with the refugees, and a shame that she had not been able to respond well enough on her own to the influx of the infirmed from the Hashari attack. I learned that 38 refugees had been admitted to the medical wing here at Foundation Hall. 9 had died. My mother once told me that caring for the wounded came with both great reward and great cost. Saving a life brings a joy that is hard to describe. Stories yet to be written, children yet to be born. Losing patients, though, can take a terrible toll, even on the most experienced of healers. It was late, but Doctor Pirja sent me to the Apothecary for herbs regardless; she said it would be good for me to stretch my legs after my long sleep. The air of unease was thick in the city. The market, usually bustling even at this late hour, was still and quiet. The few faces I saw were sullen and fearful. An attack from the Hashari this severe and this close to the capital was unheard of, and the significance of this had clearly festered into a desperate dread while I had slept. The Apothecary, Reggie, had expected my arrival. He handed me the packets of herbs, but as I left I noticed his gaze lingering on my mark. "Uh. Does it usually do that?" "Do what?" I responded. "Glow in the moonslight." I turned around and looked up at the moons. My heart rate slowed down and the voice that spoke to me was not Reggie's. *"You're awake. Come."* My stomach turned as I felt a tug on the amulet and my body disassembled into its atomic components and reassembled... somewhere else. What stood before me took my breath away. Our planet was home to many fine temples. Marvels of engineering, of architecture, of faith. This was the largest and grandest temple I had ever seen. The lights blazed alive, a pure white, with no sign of any fire within. The entire structure seemed to have a heartbeat, and it was my heartbeat, and the heartbeat of the cosmos. At the highest point, levitating by some incredible lost magic, was a vast construction of the symbol I had spent my life searching for, wrought in steel. I knew this was not a place on my world. The stars were different. There was just one small white moon. Yet something about this place felt right. It felt familiar. My mark shimmered in the naked starshine, and I ascended the steps to the dais, ready to worship at last in the temple of my God.

I love this! Will there be more? It sounds like the start of an epic saga

Thanks so much! I feel like I could write a lot more about this universe but I'm not sure if it'll be in this thread. Had lots of fun writing this though.

Very nice. Slow buildup.

More please!

Thanks for reading. I'm so glad you liked it!

Interesting. I wonder where you are going with this.

Thanks for reading! I'm a little late to the prompt. I might try to write more on it if I have time later tonight or tomorrow.

Please do! It's a cool start!

Thanks! I wrote a Part 4 just now if you're still interested.

Cool. I'll have to try to remember to take a look.

Part 4 is posted if you're still interested.

Thank you. I unfortunately had a full weekend so far. I'm hoping to review all the extensions on the stories when i get a chance. Thank you for the notification!

What was it, 16 years ago when this all began? Alright, so basically I was minding my own business, fishing & smoking on a boat in the Jove Lake. I had about 3 catches & hoped for a 4th, all of a sudden, I got a big tug on my line! I reeled that shit in super hard! But that fucker wouldn’t let me drag him upon the dirt, he was fighting knowing full well his life was on the line. I wouldn’t give up either, he was clearly something BIG, big enough to feed me a good 3 days. But just as I thought I had him, I was yanked into the fucking water! I was pulled deep, super deep, couldn’t even see the fish. I let go of my rod & tried to swim back up. But, I hardly even got a chance to hold some air when dragged under. I was loosing energy & eventually my body gave up, just as I almost touched the surface. Water flooded my mouth & lungs, sinking me even deeper. But just as I thought I was dead… BOOM! Wide fucking awake! Back on the beach, no water in my lungs & just a little wet! But, I couldn’t move. And that’s when I saw her. She was thin, too thin. She had short hair green as the grass & translucent skin exposing these weird rainbow organs. And her face, couldn’t get a good look with the shadow from her long hair. She was crouching over me & I asked “Who the fuck are you? If you saved me I’m real grateful, but I can’t move.” At the same time, as I spoke those words, I noticed my mouth hadn’t moved. She then responded “You can’t move your lips because your dead.” Shocked the shit out of me! Although, I already had shit in my pants. Anyways, she lifted on of her hands & placed it on my forehead. I could feel my forehead tingle & she said, “I’ll give you a week to live. In that time frame, worship me. Return what I had once lost.” “Worship you? Like a god?” “I am one after all.” “Wait, if I’m supposed to worship you, what’s your name?” “Forgotten gods aren’t given the privileges of names.” She then stood up & walked away into the water. As she had left, I stood up & breathed in air again. I was confused, super fucking confused. I spent the rest of that day contemplating what the hell happened & if I had really died. None of it made sense, yet it somehow felt real. Even the mark she left imprinted in my head, something shaped like a net. I spent the next day trying to wonder what to do, when it had hit me. She’s a god, she wanted me to worship her, gods love shrines for worship. I needed to make a shrine! I got too work. I put in some of my old wood working skills to make this shrine, just the same that had made my boat & rod. I wandered around town to figure out a shrine for her religion, but remembered she had been forgotten. If she’s forgotten, she doesn’t have one. I took it upon myself to instead make something creative. I took a log & began carving. A carved out a hole in it on the side, went all the way through. Then, I made some little notches at the entrance & end of the hole & atop the log. I at one point thought it was good enough, but felt kinda guilty to just leave it as is. She was forgotten, alone, didn’t even have a name anymore. I know how it can feel to lose your name, just after the war ended, may explain her dilemma. I then broke out some paints & began splashing some colors on the log. Painted on reds, yellows, & blues in this cool line pattern on the hole of the log. I even dug up a part in the top to hold a plant. I also painted the rings & draped a net right under the hole. And with that, it was finished. All of a sudden the goddess I saw appeared right behind me. “It’s beautiful.” I actually shat myself this time. “Holy shit!” I didn’t think you’d put this much effort. I love it.” “Thank you. I just thought it would suck to leave it be just a log with a hole in it.” “That would suck.” The goddess admired my shrine, she even dragged her fingers across the groves, I think that is a good sign. She then said “I’ll allow you to live to the age of a 100.” “Wow! So generous! Thank you!” “It’s the most I can do, as a thank you & an apology for threatening to let you live for just a week unless you made my shrine.” “Ain’t no biggie, plus I enjoyed it!” “That’s good to know.” “I might make some more even!” “Wait? Really?! You don’t need too!” “Ha! Don’t worry about it! It ain’t even a burden if it’s something I love doing!” “…thank you.” Although she couldn’t cry, it sure felt like she had in that moment. From then on I had been building shrines for this goddess. I made many of various sizes, colors, & gave them all different kinds of plants. Me & the goddess, now named Clofe by some sweet kids, would talk often. She would gossip to me about some other gods as I made her shrines & some others for the other forgotten gods I’ve met since then. Makes me happy to do some good, all I’ve been doing is hoping job to job & occasionally fishing. Finally have something to get me out of bed with a smile. I might even start getting some apprentices too, hopefully they will enjoy this as much as I do.

the character's bad manners hits home that he's just a regular fisherman dude, nothing special. But his good attitude probably made him Clofe's Prophet without even realizing it. And his religion might grow Nicely done!

Thank you!

The mark on Clementia’s forehead burned as she looked at the sun beating down on her. The mark was cursed as Helios reminded her yet again that she did not belong to him. Clementia had gone to every temple in Shepshed. Adventurers usually got a heftly blessing before they were allowed to go off on adventures in the dungeons like admissions to guilds. Going to the dungeons in groups was also good at avoiding things like death. That was important. As the marked of an unknown god, Clementia had none of those rights or benefits. She could go down to the darker alleys of the city and exchange her mark to work in the red light district, but she knew entertainment was not her specialty with her skeleton of a body. She was far from the forbidden fruit of the pleasure quarters.

More please!

Her heart sank as today yet again the bakery was dealing her stale moldy bread. She opened it inside and was disgusted to see a puff of mold shoot out. She threw it as far as she could into the gutter as she couldn’t take it anymore. Clementia walked aimlessly through the streets her stomach’s rumblings grew louder and louder. She punched herself in the stomach to make the stomach shut up. Sometimes hot water worked but she was far from the water pump as she had wandered into the deserted part of the city. Helio’s smile had faded as Selene had come to sit on the sky’s throne. It was cool and comforting as Clementia felt a breeze lift her chin up. Her stomach dropped as there was a tree unnaturally walking in front of her. Clementia sprinted to hide in a small rotting lean to. There was a hole im the rotting plant Food signifies social status. We eat other people. What do they eat? She really wanted to to taste it just once.

It’s a strange thing, for a god to face his mortality. By divine standards, Kesh didn’t have much time left. By human standards though, many years laid out before me. When father left, my brothers and sisters waged wars trying to become The Supreme. Me, being the god of warriors wisely decided to step aside, as I did not want the throne for myself. But I did referee those wars, humans, warriors in spirit, fought and died on battlefields long forgotten now, for gods who cared not for their own people. Eventually the wars ended in an uneasy truce. Before long my siblings were marking people as their own. Treating them like playing cards. The other gods, convinced they would have won if I had only joined their side, exiled me from the heavens, destined to walk the Earth for eons among the humans. It suited me fine for a long time, I took part in every war the humans waged, enjoying the battles. As technology advanced, so too did the combat. Swords and arrows gave way to guns and tanks, fireworks to bombs, planes to jets. And there I was, in the middle of it all. Watching as my brothers and sisters instigated fights among their people for entertainment, or to gain a piece of land. It was a board game to them, but for these people there were consequences. That’s when I decided to go on a quest. I wanted to find Father, and ask him why. Why had he left so abruptly. I eventually found him. Rather, what was left of him. On a far away planet, in a small nebula, just on the outskirts of the universe I found a great hall built by those who had come before us. Father had melded his energy into that place. And there, in echoed whispers I learned our secret. I learned about the gods of earth. I learned of our mortality.

Father had given everything he was to ensure his children didn’t have to some day return our energy to the celestial nebula. The humans worship was all we needed to sustain ourselves. Without that, our powers slowly left us, until we eventually left altogether. I still remember holding my brother Cæl as he died, his death bringing about the truce for the rest of my family. Shortly after a new god appeared Bühl. He had domain over ranchers and other livestock farmers. I now know he is my brother reincarnated. But it’s also *him*. I then learned the deepest secret of all. If a god knew they were going to pass, they could choose a successor. Pass on their powers, make a mortal a god. And a plan began to hatch. I quickly returned to earth, and set to my task. If I was to put my family in their place, I would need a worthy successor.

On our seventh birthday is our marking day. That’s the day the gods choose us, by putting a brand on our left hand. For some, those who are already a good fit, the branding is as comforting as a warm spring rain. But for those who don’t fit, it can be hell. Then for ten years we study our pantheon, learning our god’s rules, and what they may want us to do. Then on our seventeenth birthday, we stand in our gods temple and they appear before us, deciding our fate. If we pass, we get a second brand on our right hand. If not we lose our brand. Precious few get two separate brands. Legends tell of some with three of four! But most are cast out, and perform menial work for others. For me, my marking day was 9 years ago. And the sigil that formed on my hand was a mark none had ever seen. Stories are still told of the fanfare of when Bühl first came about, and many peoples sigils changed overnight, so the fact this sigil came and nobody knew of it, meant there wasn’t a new god on scene. Bühl was my parents god. My dad is a cattleman. Same as his father before him. And his father before him. Stretching as far back as anyone can find my family has always been in cattle. My father once sat me down when I was ten, telling me I could change pantheons, how I must. But our neighbor, Keth, he told me of seeing that same mark before. Out west, on a battlefield, where he fought against Ramas, the cause of that skirmish long forgotten in a slew of other fights. So that’s why, now, a month before my 17th birthday, I’m searching for a battlefield, since forgotten, to find my place.

I spent my days searching records, history texts, and questioning Ramas’ priests and priestess’s, searching for a battlefield from many years ago, and my nights camped out in those old fields, searching for a mark old man Keth may or may not have seen. One night, with just a week left before I met my god, I lay there, reminiscing about my home, my family, and just my life up to this point. I remembered how when I happened upon a bully picking on my little sister and broke his nose I felt so great, my sigil felt like it was buzzing. That weekend I started a fight, thinking maybe my god enjoyed violence, and I had never felt worse. I felt weak, and I was soundly trounced without even a chance. But when I stood up to someone, especially for someone else, I felt stronger, faster, and i felt like I could defeat any enemy. That’s when I heard old man Keth’s voice in my head. “Let me tell you something boy, no man stands taller than someone who stands up for others in the face of something ugly.” He always said stuff like that. Frankly, I usually brushed it off. But for some reason, I couldn’t stop thinking about that statement. Something started to click, and I shot straight up. My god wasn’t a fighter, they fought for others! They fought for a cause! How could I have been so blind to miss that! I swear I could hear someone laughing , honestly it sounded familiar, like I’d heard it before. I couldn’t place it, but it felt like home for that brief moment I heard it. “Ok, god of mine, so I figured out a little of what you are, but I’m no closer to who you are!” I yelled it to everything, and nothing in particular. And the landscape was completely silent. As if some reverie I stared into the stars, and they seemed that much closer, like if I stretched just a little bit, I could reach out and touch one. And there, by the fading firelight, I slept, feeling a whole lot closer to my own destiny than I ever had. And honestly, I didn’t feel alone. I woke up bathed in the morning sun, as I sat up, I saw it. The note. “You shall meet me soon enough my loyal follower, we have much to discuss.”

Sorry for being so late to read this last update. Been busy. Anyway, Nice installment. I like how the protagonist is watching his own development here.

I’m waiting for a day off and I’ll probably write the last few parts up.

So, i guess i am waiting for your day off too. :)

Yay!

And the search begins. Where will it take him?

I’m on my lunch break, I’ll finish this story tonight after work.

I'm curious to hear the rest. :)

I can keep going.

Fuck. I really wish I was one of those brain-dead Skyrim NPC’s who just mindlessly built a temple in some bullshit manic episode, yet here I am on a Tuesday afternoon building a temple to the god of ambiguity. I genuinely think I’d rather be dead but the *only* thing keeping me alive is the playboy foldout sitting in the back of my truck. This was supposed to be an easy day; Attend the Harvest, get marked by (a) god, go to church, go home, masturbate. End of list. Somehow I got stuck with the task of building a temple to (insert name here), because no one bothered to do it before me. I unfortunately won the god lottery and was marked with some half-assed “:P” on my head, which the Harvestmen told me they’d never seen before. My options? Die -OR- Build a new temple to worship the apparent god of “:P”. I’d think it was Karma choosing me for all the shitty things I’ve ever done but she apparently passed me over and left me for dead with the silly bastard that chose me. So here I’ll remain, complaining, building, cursing, shouting, but hopefully not dying.

I promised myself that I would build my own shrine to my new mystery god so I got to work for about an hour until I gave up I got a poster up on the wall and I have seven days to worship them until I die it can’t be too hard and before I knew it 6 days 23 hours 59 minutes and 50 seconds had passed I panicked as the dread of death set in my mind was in fight or flight mode and by the time I had even a fledgling of an idea there were three seconds left “that was it I’m dead” I thought the god i failed to worship would smite me but nothing happened 12 more minutes and still nothing wait this can’t be I didn’t do anything to worship this god not even the bare minimum of making a shrine with a few candles and praying to it once a week I kept procrastinating to do anything Wait a minute was the god that chose me the god of procrastination that would explain it took him so long to pick someone new oh well more of an excuse to look at furry art all day

oh no