In a world with many gods, there are bound to be many myths. According to the last records, most gods have either fallen or fallen into a deep slumber, leaving only a scattered few who rarely reveal themselves to the world.
Only the Priests who wield their Divine Arts—also known as Divine Benefactors—serve as proof that the gods have not turned their gaze from the world. The most favored among them, the Summoned, occasionally receive a divine decree, but even this is exceedingly rare.
For this reason, Priests call the present day the "Silent Age."
Different civilizations in different lands each have their own mythologies. According to later scholarly research, many gods possess similar or different venerable names across these cultures, sometimes even having two distinct personas.
For instance, the God of Change and Traveler is the human god Quilimo at human altars and the Elf God Thoth at Elven altars. There are even rumors that the Supreme God's arch-nemesis, the Formless God of the Shanshi people, is just an alias that the Supreme God, the God of Light and Order, created for himself in the Kingdom of Sand...
People in different regions can map different constellations under the same sky, yet there is only one sun. Similarly, the Creator God indicated in most mythologies is singular and definitive. Scholars have confirmed through research that most cultures' names for the Creator God are variations of "Lord of Origin" from the ancient Jabber Language, and he is always depicted as a nude male figure, holding primordial water in one hand and pure grains of salt in the other.
Only a scant few tribes believe the Creator God to be a female figure, calling Her the Mother of the World. A small number of other myths depict the Creator God as a singular entity, a complete whole from which all things in the world—and the gods themselves—continuously flow and separate. As such a whole, this being is believed to possess both masculine and feminine aspects.
The Underground Sect the caravan had stumbled upon was, according to the thief, called the "Return of the Holy Mother." They worshiped the Mother of the World and preached that She was slumbering. Once She returned, they claimed, She would unleash her fury upon the earth, and only the children who returned to their Mother's embrace would be forgiven... The thief couldn't clarify the specific details; it seemed he hadn't been paying attention during the sermons.
Although he didn't quite grasp why the Mother of the World would be so grumpy upon waking, Rorschach knew that preaching doomsday was a classic brainwashing tactic used by cults. He couldn't be bothered to delve any deeper.
The caravan traveled until dawn. The sky was just beginning to lighten, and aside from an occasional ox, they hadn't seen another soul. Mr. Ah Le finally called for the caravan to halt and rest for a bit.
"According to the thief's description, Limborg and the surrounding towns all have Sect activity. Limborg could even be their headquarters." Mr. Ah Le spread out a map, circling an area. "We're going to have to start roughing it ahead of schedule. As for these towns… my recommendation is that we don't stop in any of them."
Even though they had only disturbed one Sect outpost, this was a world with Magic and Divine Arts. Whether the so-called "Holy Mother" was real or not, there was no guarantee the Sect's other outposts hadn't already been alerted.
"Are you serious? Running a Cult right under the Emperor's nose?" The caravan was only a few days' journey from the Imperial Capital, a fact that Singrev found unbelievable.
"What if the Imperial Capital is the Sect's ultimate goal?" Rorschach said, looking at the map.
"Ambitious!" Singrev actually gave him a thumbs-up. The Dwarf was a bit of an oddball.
Mr. Ah Le folded up his map. "Whatever this Underground Sect is planning, we're just a caravan. Our mission is to get to Valuva while avoiding trouble as much as possible. I'll report what's happened here to the merchant's guild."
He looked at Hill, then at Rorschach. "Thank you for last night, Master Mage, and you as well, Miss Hill. From now on, we'll have to rely on you, Master Rorschach. The caravan will stick to the river as much as possible, but we'll need your Water Creation Skill when we have to bypass the towns."
"Of course. It's part of my responsibility."
"You haven't rested since last night, have you, Master? Please, get some rest in the carriage."
Rorschach's horse was hitched to a wagon, and Mr. Ah Le had Hag take a break, taking the reins himself. As Rorschach climbed aboard, a hairy head popped out. It was Singrev. He pulled out a Silver Pot and offered it to Rorschach.
"Human liquor's got no taste, no kick. Dwarf liquor, now that's fragrant and powerful! Have a swig. It'll help you sleep."
"Thanks, Singrev, but I can't handle hard liquor." Rorschach declined the drink, but the embossed design on the Silver Pot caught his eye. He took it for a closer look. The exquisite pattern depicted a stout Dwarf and a human Warrior clinking their cups in a toast.
"That's our first King and your great hero."
Rorschach recalled the mythological epics his body's previous owner had studied. "The founder of the Old Empire, the Demigod Oduff, traveled across the entire continent to visit the Dwarf King in the north. He brought with him great quantities of fine cloth, ceramics, paper, and a fruit wine the color of blood from the southern lands. The two kings forged a deep and lasting friendship."
"When Oduff returned to the Old Empire Capital, his caravan was laden with the Dwarves' fine liquor, and he brought back their precious smelting techniques. With this improved metallurgy and forging, the Old Empire used Sharp Swords and sturdy armor to defeat their enemies on all fronts. Oduff became known as the Wise King and the Heroic King, one who spread knowledge and brought victory."
Rorschach opened the flask, and a pleasant aroma wafted out. His sense of smell, honed by his past life as an engineering student, kicked in. Rorschach detected not only alcohol but also a complex and rich aroma of esters.
'The mountain Dwarves of the north mostly use tubers for brewing. It's a distilled liquor, but it's rich in esters. They probably don't remove much of the heads during distillation. Relying on their resistance to toxins, the Dwarves are likely too greedy for the potent aroma and kick to bother... Hmm. This is good stuff. Good, because the fusel alcohol content is off the charts!'
Rorschach then recounted the end of the Heroic King's epic. "The God of Wisdom and Civilization grew jealous of Oduff's achievements in spreading knowledge and of the praise the people of the Old Empire lavished upon their Wise King. He dispatched his white crow to peck out the Heroic King's eyes, leaving him to spend the rest of his days in darkness. In the end, the Heroic King's sons slaughtered one another for the throne, and the blind old man was powerless to stop them."
The God of Wisdom and Civilization was one of the gods confirmed to have fallen. A widely accepted theory was that his jealousy had drawn the wrath of the God of Order, the protector of the Old Empire.
Rorschach thought of Oduff returning laden with the Dwarves' potent liquor. He sighed, capped the flask, and handed it back to the Dwarf. "The God of Wisdom really took the fall for your Dwarf King!" That unlucky god was what you might call a scapegoat of legendary proportions.
"Huh?"
"I said, aren't you forgetting someone?"
Another head, this one covered by a hood, poked into the wagon.
"Oh, that thief!"
Poor Saji had passed out. His clothes were soaked with sweat and blood, and his face was pale. A strip of cloth torn from his own clothes was wrapped around the wound on his thigh. Curled up in a corner of wagon #3, he looked to be on his last breath.
"He's useless now. What's the point in keeping him? No need to dirty my hands. Just dump him on the road, and he won't get a chance to snitch on us." Singrev was ready to toss Saji out.
"He was just goaded into doing the innkeeper's dirty work. It's not worth his life," Hill protested.
"We're Adventurers! Our lives are on the line every day, and you want us to worry about him?"
Rorschach proposed a compromise. "We can leave him at a farmhouse when we find one. Whether he gets saved or not will depend on if his Holy Mother feels like protecting him."
"And what if he runs into that... whatever-mother Sect and sells us out?"
Rorschach slapped Saji's face hard to wake him, then gave him some diluted salt water to drink. Seeing that he was somewhat lucid, Rorschach asked, "Can you read or write?"
Saji shook his head.
...
The first thing the farmer did when he woke up was go to the outhouse for a piss. Feeling refreshed, he picked up his breakfast basket and hoe, ready to head out, when he nearly tripped over something by the gate in his fence.
"Jenny! Jenny! Woman! There's a man lying by the gate!"
"What? Oh, gods! The poor boy! There's blood all over his mouth and leg!"
"His tongue's been mangled, and his hands are tied. Jenny, he must be an escaped slave."
"A slave? People still keep slaves these days? Old man, whatever the case, we can't just let this boy die here…"