An account of T’Rer’s Reign as King of the Gods, Second Pantheon, Commencing in the year 0 Sela, 265 Lyr, 2463 Ul. Recovered from the Cloisters on the 13th Day of the 4th Month in the Year 535 Sela.

Chapter I: The Second Pantheon

When Faeris’lyr’s corpse fell, the earth shuddered and rumbled. For all who listened, the tremors sounded like a confused muttering of both applause and condemnation–for those who knew what lurked in the deepest of earth, it was unmistakably an unkind, appreciative laughter.

T’Zyri looked to her brother, T’Rer, in triumph and contempt. She had decided the First Blood War–a War she might have decided sooner had she been less patient.

Verine screamed, rushing to her brother’s corpse, and cursed The Schemer’s name. Quickly, T’Rer rebuked Verine but turned to his sister.

“What have you done, T’Zyri?”

T’Zyri narrowed her eyes and, acid dripping from her words, responded, “I have won the war.”

“I offered him a choice, sister. With honor, that choice was his to make.”

T’Zyri laughed, and disdain joined the rumblings of the earth around them. “War is no place for pageantry, brother.” She sighed deeply, knowing she would be understood but only imperfectly. “And what would happen? Yes, perhaps he would concede, and yet another child of the killer of Pel’pyri, Me’me’suul, and our parents’ legacy would remain to sully Mortal minds with allegiance to a name rather than a purview,” and T’Zyri cast a wicked look at Verine.

“You know he would have accepted trial by combat,” T’Rer interjected. “And he was frail.”

Once more, T’Zyri laughed. “Of course I knew he was frail. Or do you credit yourself with all victories?” As T’Zyri spoke, Beodhen looked up from where he tended to his weeping aunt. “Brother, Faeris’lyr was nevertheless a God and a strong one. Do not think yourself so mighty that you might not be toppled by an errant distraction.”

“He was weak, T’Zyri!” T’Rer began to lose his temper, and Beodhen quickly rushed to steady him.

“But if he was weak enough to win,” T’Zyri chided, “then my decision to assassinate a dying, feeble ruler might have instead been the far crueler massacre of all those who would support him.”

Nepheris quietly watched the two Gods argue. He felt no anger towards the Goddess who murdered his father. She was right, after all. Strategy ought only invite chance when there is no other option.

“Either way,” sparkled a voice from behind, “the war has been decided.” Steramestei, radiant even as she was spattered with Faeris’lyr’s blood, stepped forward.

“Yes,” Kasamei joined her twin. “And it is time to mourn the dead.”

“Mourn the dead. Celebrate the living,” Beodhen offered, “is it not the same?” Beodhen bent and picked up the golden crown that had fallen from his father’s head. He regarded it and looked to T’Zyri. “This is yours. You have decided the battle, even if unkindly.”

T’Zyri received the crown, her bloodied hands fingering the golden tines nervously. “Though he quarrels with me, this is for my brother and the Pantheon he would create in my parents’ image.”

T’Rer inhaled sharply, his temper still hot. “Keep the crown, sister. It is yours. But know you have no place on my Pantheon.”

And T’Rer named the Second Pantheon: Beodhen the Shining, Nepheris the Bound, Kasamei the Kind, Steramestei the Radiant, Mynair the Beautiful, and Hyrnedhna the Wild. And their ruler, of course, T’Rer the Righteous.

Such is the way of those who do not appreciate the creatures that walk in Shadow.

Chapter II: The Counsel of Silver

As King of the Gods and head of the Second Pantheon, T’Rer set to the work that he thought of most immediate importance: stabilizing and securing the world of the Mortals.

The First Blood War had taken the lives of Me’me’suul, Pel’Pyri, Myris’lyr, Beo’lyr, Pel’yra, Le’neris, and Faeris’lyr. While such losses were undoubtedly cataclysmic, Mortal casualties had been small in number. The brutal fights of the First Blood War had taken place mostly at the Horizon Line, and Mortals were but witnesses rather than active combatants.

T’Rer and his Pantheon, therefore, were set with a strange reality: many Mortals lived, but the Gods they had loved were dead and gone.

T’Rer sought first the counsel of Nepheris, Bound to the Gods as arbiter and facilitator. Regardless of his duties, Nepheris was the deity most aligned with the pulses and desires of Mortal life.

“My friend,” T’Rer asked the Prince of Contracts, “tell me what I might first do to secure the Mortal world?”

Nepheris thought secure was a strange choice of words–it meant many things, from tightening bonds between Gods and their followers to establishing Deific control over the domain. All things were possible, he affirmed, and relied on one thing first and foremost.

“My lord,” Nepheris responded. “You must first work to build trust with Mortals. Through trust all things might move.”

Nepheris thought on his father’s legacy. Faeris’lyr had loved the Mortal world, even going so far as to take a Mortal bride, [redacted]. For whatever he lacked in leadership of the Gods, Faeris’lyr was beloved among Mortals. Nepheris had observed his father and found his ease inimitable: truly, it seemed he was happier among the dying than when among his immortal peers.

However, Nepheris mused, his father had never been able to strengthen the bond between the Gods and Mortals. The pathway between the Pantheon and the believer–the true channel of Devotion–existed but, at least during Faeris’lyr’s Reign, never truly strengthened.

Nepheris explained this, in careful detail, to T’Rer: “My father failed to act as a God–however, the Mortals saw the Gods at their most fearsome. Now it is your job to embrace something most difficult: behave as a Mortal while maintaining your power as a Deity. From there, at least I believe, comes true allegiance between the Gods and those we serve.”

T’Rer thought on this and, moreover, on how similarly his sister might have responded.

Chapter III: A Seat at the Table

Nepheris and T’Rer continued to collude and, as one might expect, given their purviews, settled on an agreed upon tactic: the establishment of law.

The First Blood War had distracted the Gods, and much of Circadia had become lawless and Wanton. T’Rer was truly sickened by such action, and he wanted to build order as he and his parents before him had built the first cities.

“Yes, I agree,” Nepheris counseled. “But as my brother might say, they need skin in the game. We can’t decree our will from on high. After all, they’ve seen us at our ugliest, our most brutal, and perhaps weakest. We die, we fight–”

“We betray,” T’Rer interrupted.

“We should go to them as colleagues. Invite them to the table. These are our laws between not just Mortals, but Mortals and Gods.”

Hearing this, T’Rer’s eyes took on a brief spark of passion. He began to speak on what such an accord might look like. It mounted into a speech on the eternal union of Mortal and God, hewn into stone and tree as immortal as the tides themselves.

Nepheris quietly chafed under such a suggestion, but his way was not to confront but instead to convince.

“Ironclad law that does not change may not be in our best interest,”Nepheris pondered. “If we as Gods can make mistakes, surely, in conversation with even the most Devout of the Mortals, we might falter.”

T’Rer stopped himself short and quickly nodded. “You are right, of course. In building a great wall, it is easy to ignore the weakest cornerstone.”

Nepheris continued, “And so might it not be better to establish our own foundation and, from this, offer the Mortals the chance to revise and build from it? And might we not, like tacticians do, learn from it over time?”

T’Rer followed this and, gradually, Nepheris led him to a most agreeable invention: the first ever Day of Negotiations.

Chapter IV: Cities of Gods

Pleased with his tactical approach to the new King of the Pantheon, Nepheris gracefully moved into his next series of plans: Mortal cities where the Devout of the Realm and attending layfolk might congregate.

Faeris’lyr had started this early work, but both the war and his own lack of ambition had stalled progress. Indeed, some of the most promising cities had fallen to ruin.

T’Rer eagerly accepted such plans and set to work erecting his own capital: T’Zane. Named for his parents, the sprawling city was both strategic and austere. Monuments and civil works were meted equally by practical streets and rigid architecture. It pleased Beodhen and Steramestei little, but Nepheris conceded its stern grandeur.

Beodhen happily took on charge of Faeris’Tel, the former capital city and the first terrestrial home of the Dynasty. Similarly, Nepheris adopted Tel’Nephri as his own seat of power–though more modest than T’Zane and Faeris’Tel, it was his mother’s natal home and, in the Prince of Contracts’ eyes, had as much potential as any grand city.

Mynair requested the bustling urban port Port Naia–while Port Naia was a hub of maritime commerce and culture, Mynair stated she intended to spend most of her days far out to sea. Nevertheless, she would offer its inhabitants her Blessing.

To Hyrnedhna, Beodhen suggested no city be given. Instead, he determined that the great expanse of ancient wood be both named and provided to the Wild Queen. After all, it was both the place from where Gu’labir drew the earth that made Hyrnedhna and the site of Me’me’suul’s demise. Hyrnedhna begrudgingly appreciated the Shining Prince when he gave the many tracts of wood the name Suul’Nedhna.

Hyrnedhna, now possessing her own territory, assembled the wild creatures of earth that once followed Pel’pyri and Me’me’suul. Howling in the tongue of beasts, she named them her own: Hyrnedhnai.

Kasamei was granted the small town of Deathwalk. Somewhat surprised at its size, Kasamei requested from Nepheris funds to support its growth. Perhaps a bit chastened by his oversight, Nepheris quickly provided her with gold from his own coffers.

Steramestei claimed for herself the Brightwater Isles, quickly establishing monasteries for her worshippers. T’Rer questioned her decision to isolate from the other Gods, but she assured him she needed her privacy.

As an extension of diplomacy to the Fallen Gods, Nepheris offered territory to them as well. This somewhat bothered the King of Gods, but his silver-tongued ally assured him it was a pithy courtesy.

To Verine was provided Vyr’Vera, the lush and fertile expanse of sunny hills she had long known. Verine was delighted–it was a place where her Devout could live in discretion and success.

To Gu’labir was conceded the Me’guul Tunnels. Ancient and labyrinthine there were places that, despite Nepheris’s best efforts, only the Rotten One truly knew.

Opix accepted no territory, winking that they preferred to be without home.

And while she was only a Minor God, T’Zyri was nonetheless provided the ancient city of Myrim’Zane. Known only for its crumbling ruins and population of ill repute, Myrim’Zane nevertheless held a secret only T’Zyri knew: it was an unseeable font of true Mana, for reasons known only to her and perhaps Gu’labir. She decided she would bide her time, within the magical streets and alleys, and master the landscape around her.

Among all these cities, however, one place remained high above all others: Gods Road, the place where the Divine first met the Mundane and, ever since, the extraordinary grew.

Chapter V: Sisterly Advice

Steramestei and Kasamei applauded the works of the Prince of Contracts and King of Truth. However, behind closed doors they questioned the balance of power.

“I agree,” Kasamei started as she poured her sister a cup of tea, “that Mortals should be given a seat at the table.”

“Of course,” the Star Lady assented. “And who knows that better than us? After all, it is the two of us, Mynair, and Hyrnedhna who have most widely attracted the love of Mortals and their worship.”

“Yes,” Kasamei returned, “and you might go so far to say that, even with our fellows’ increased popularity, we are truly what strengthens the Pantheon.”

Steramestei sipped her tea and responded with feigned idleness. “Quite so. And then you must anticipate my worry, sister.”

Lady Death nodded. “Though they offer Mortals a seat at the proverbial table, and they offer Mortals law, I wonder if our own Devout are offered equal voice.”

Steramestei smiled a bit archly. “Even if they had the best of intentions, is it not in our nature to favor our own Devout?”

The Sisters chatted into the night and, with little effort, concocted a plan they thought might serve them best.

Chapter VI: The First Journey into Shadow

Though Kasamei did not commonly walk in the shadows of earth, she was nevertheless familiar with their shape. In accordance with her sister’s ideas, she journeyed deep into the dark, seeking the one who might know the King of Gods best: his sister, the Schemer.

T’Zyri slithered through walls and alleys as Kasamei ventured to her throne room. She found herself persistently frustrated that, try as she might, it was difficult to skulk at the heel of Lady Death.

When Kasamei entered the shadowy throne room, T’Zyri stepped forth. She was still elegant, Kasamei noted, but somewhat harder. When once she had dressed in the finery of Horizon, she now garbed herself in metal and silk–a queen armored for some unseen war. Still, T’Zyri wore her father’s crown and at her hip was the dagger.

“Kasamei,” T’Zyri spared no pleasantries.

“I come seeking advice, Princess,” Kasamei offered courtesy.

“Yes, the swarms have told me. You and your sister are wary of my brother’s plans.”

Kasamei paused, considering her words. “Not so much his plans, but our own representation. Law, order, and truth are fine and good, but they make little space for change and revelation.”

T’Zyri smiled, and it was unkind. “Indeed, steel and silver may shine but not so brightly as the dimmest star.”

Kasamei remained silent.

T’Zyri shrugged and slouched in her throne. “I have always envied you, Kasamei,” she conceded. “I know most things, yet I do not know what lies beyond that final door.”

Kasamei smiled in turn. “Neither do I, Princess. I am merely a shepherd.”

T’Zyri regarded her, the webs of her mind minding their own corners. “So you say,” T’Zyri paused, though Lady Death was still. “In any event. You seek a balance of power that my brother might accept.”

“Yes, in so many words,” and Kasamei offered a sincere clarification, “truly, we want our Mortals represented, and their Devotion strengthened. Laws are fine, but not when they are made in isolation from the scope of faith.”

T’Zyri nodded and thought. She had no real interest in aiding the Sisters, but she had less interest in incidentally strengthening her brother’s Reign.

“My brother hungers for hierarchy as a lost man hungers for direction. He wants not just order and law but order and law that puts some above others.”

T’Zyri of course did not say that she wanted much the same.

“My sister said as much,” Kasamei assented. “But we were unsure of how to present it.”

T’Zyri, after thinking on her brother’s particular whims, smirked. “T’Rer also enjoys pomp in appropriate circumstance. Propose a new order–Devout who are singular in skill and worth among all others. Devout who might serve as the mouthpiece of both Mortal and God,” and T’Zyri offered a bit of honesty, “I above all others know we sometimes need a bit of translation.”

Kasamei thought on this and provided, “Something like the Priests of Old? The ones who first translated your parents and the Old Gods to the scattered Mortals?”

“Yes, but it’s my brother,” T’Zyri corrected. “Something loftier.”

“High Priests, perhaps,” Kasamei enjoyed the sound of the words. “Dutiful and responsible, but authoritative.”

“Not too traditional but steeped in enough ritual.”

Kasamei paused to consider this and, pleased, bowed her head. “I am grateful for your advice, Princess. It has been a pleasure.”

“All yours, I’m sure.”

Kasamei chuckled and returned herself to the shadows of stars where she might report to her sister.

T’Zyri stared where she once was, motionless as she mused on her own worth.

From somewhere, unseen yet persistent, an unkind voice reminded:

You’d make a fine queen.

Pleased with his tactical approach to the new King of the Pantheon, Nepheris gracefully moved into his next series of plans: Mortal cities where the Devout of the Realm and attending layfolk might congregate.

Faeris’lyr had started this early work, but both the war and his own lack of ambition had stalled progress. Indeed, some of the most promising cities had fallen to ruin.

T’Rer eagerly accepted such plans and set to work erecting his own capital: T’Zane. Named for his parents, the sprawling city was both strategic and austere. Monuments and civil works were meted equally by practical streets and rigid architecture. It pleased Beodhen and Steramestei little, but Nepheris conceded its stern grandeur.

Beodhen happily took on charge of Faeris’Tel, the former capital city and the first terrestrial home of the Dynasty. Similarly, Nepheris adopted Tel’Nephri as his own seat of power–though more modest than T’Zane and Faeris’Tel, it was his mother’s natal home and, in the Prince of Contracts’ eyes, had as much potential as any grand city.

Mynair requested the bustling urban port Port Naia–while Port Naia was a hub of maritime commerce and culture, Mynair stated she intended to spend most of her days far out to sea. Nevertheless, she would offer its inhabitants her Blessing.

To Hyrnedhna, Beodhen suggested no city be given. Instead, he determined that the great expanse of ancient wood be both named and provided to the Wild Queen. After all, it was both the place from where Gu’labir drew the earth that made Hyrnedhna and the site of Me’me’suul’s demise. Hyrnedhna begrudgingly appreciated the Shining Prince when he gave the many tracts of wood the name Suul’Nedhna.

Hyrnedhna, now possessing her own territory, assembled the wild creatures of earth that once followed Pel’pyri and Me’me’suul. Howling in the tongue of beasts, she named them her own: Hyrnedhnai.

Kasamei was granted the small town of Deathwalk. Somewhat surprised at its size, Kasamei requested from Nepheris funds to support its growth. Perhaps a bit chastened by his oversight, Nepheris quickly provided her with gold from his own coffers.

Steramestei claimed for herself the Brightwater Isles, quickly establishing monasteries for her worshippers. T’Rer questioned her decision to isolate from the other Gods, but she assured him she needed her privacy.

As an extension of diplomacy to the Fallen Gods, Nepheris offered territory to them as well. This somewhat bothered the King of Gods, but his silver-tongued ally assured him it was a pithy courtesy.

To Verine was provided Vyr’Vera, the lush and fertile expanse of sunny hills she had long known. Verine was delighted–it was a place where her Devout could live in discretion and success.

To Gu’labir was conceded the Me’guul Tunnels. Ancient and labyrinthine there were places that, despite Nepheris’s best efforts, only the Rotten One truly knew.

Opix accepted no territory, winking that they preferred to be without home.

And while she was only a Minor God, T’Zyri was nonetheless provided the ancient city of Myrim’Zane. Known only for its crumbling ruins and population of ill repute, Myrim’Zane nevertheless held a secret only T’Zyri knew: it was an unseeable font of true Mana, for reasons known only to her and perhaps Gu’labir. She decided she would bide her time, within the magical streets and alleys, and master the landscape around her.

Among all these cities, however, one place remained high above all others: Gods Road, the place where the Divine first met the Mundane and, ever since, the Extraordinary grew.

Chapter V: Sisterly Advice

Steramestei and Kasamei applauded the works of the Prince of Contracts and King of Truth. However, behind closed doors they questioned the balance of power.

“I agree,” Kasamei started as she poured her sister a cup of tea, “that Mortals should be given a seat at the table.”

“Of course,” the Star Lady assented. “And who knows that better than us? After all, it is the two of us, Mynair, and Hyrnedhna who have most widely attracted the love of Mortals and their worship.”

“Yes,” Kasamei returned, “and you might go so far to say that, even with our fellows’ increased popularity, we are truly what strengthens the Pantheon.”

Steramestei sipped her tea and responded with feigned idleness. “Quite so. And then you must anticipate my worry, sister.”

Lady Death nodded. “Though they offer Mortals a seat at the proverbial table, and they offer Mortals law, I wonder if our own Devout are offered equal voice.”

Steramestei smiled a bit archly. “Even if they had the best of intentions, is it not in our nature to favor our own Devout?”

The Sisters chatted into the night and, with little effort, concocted a plan they thought might serve them best.

Chapter VI: The First Journey into Shadow

Though Kasamei did not commonly walk in the shadows of earth, she was nevertheless familiar with their shape. In accordance with her sister’s ideas, she journeyed deep into the dark, seeking the one who might know the King of Gods best: his sister, the Schemer.

T’Zyri slithered through walls and alleys as Kasamei ventured to her throne room. She found herself persistently frustrated that, try as she might, it was difficult to skulk at the heel of Lady Death.

When Kasamei entered the shadowy throne room, T’Zyri stepped forth. She was still elegant, Kasamei noted, but somewhat harder. When once she had dressed in the finery of Horizon, she now garbed herself in metal and silk–a queen armored for some unseen war. Still, T’Zyri wore her father’s crown, and at her hip was the dagger.

“Kasamei,” T’Zyri spared no pleasantries.

“I come seeking advice, Princess,” Kasamei offered courtesy.

“Yes, the swarms have told me. You and your sister are wary of my brother’s plans.”

Kasamei paused, considering her words. “Not so much his plans, but our own representation. Law, order, and truth are fine and good, but they make little space for change and revelation.”

T’Zyri smiled, and it was unkind. “Indeed, steel and silver may shine but not so brightly as the dimmest star.”

Kasamei remained silent.

T’Zyri shrugged and slouched in her throne. “I have always envied you, Kasamei,” she conceded. “I know most things, yet I do not know what lies beyond that final door.”

Kasamei smiled in turn. “Neither do I, Princess. I am merely a shepherd.”

T’Zyri regarded her, the webs of her mind minding their own corners. “So you say,” T’Zyri paused, though Lady Death was still. “In any event. You seek a balance of power that my brother might accept.”

“Yes, in so many words,” and Kasamei offered a sincere clarification, “truly, we want our Mortals represented, and their Devotion strengthened. Laws are fine, but not when they are made in isolation from the scope of faith.”

T’Zyri nodded and thought. She had no real interest in aiding the Sisters, but she had less interest in incidentally strengthening her brother’s Reign.

“My brother hungers for hierarchy as a lost man hungers for direction. He wants not just order and law but order and law that puts some above others.”

T’Zyri, of course, did not say that she wanted much the same.

“My sister said as much,” Kasamei assented. “But we were unsure of how to present it.”

T’Zyri, after thinking on her brother’s particular whims, smirked. “T’Rer also enjoys pomp in appropriate circumstance. Propose a new order–Devout who are singular in skill and worth among all others. Devout who might serve as the mouthpiece of both Mortal and God,” and T’Zyri offered a sliver of honesty, “I above all others know we sometimes need a bit of translation.”

Kasamei thought on this and provided, “Something like the Priests of Old? The ones who first translated your parents and the Old Gods to the scattered Mortals?”

“Yes, but it’s my brother,” T’Zyri corrected. “Something loftier.”

“High Priests, perhaps,” Kasamei enjoyed the sound of the words. “Dutiful and responsible, but authoritative.”

“Not too traditional but steeped in enough ritual.”

Kasamei paused to consider this and, pleased, bowed her head. “I am grateful for your advice, Princess. It has been a pleasure.”

“All yours, I’m sure.”

Kasamei chuckled and returned herself to the shadows of stars where she might report to her sister.

T’Zyri stared where she once was, motionless as she mused on her own worth.

From somewhere, unseen yet persistent, an unkind voice reminded:

You’d make a fine queen.