Hello my lovely darlings! Well I’m not sure how this one is going to go down because of how attitudes are polarizing at the moment but I am back for another go at the blog post. And I only have about two days to script this, type it up, film it and get it posted on to patreon. No pressure.
For those watching on Patreon, thank you ever so much, you truly keep the lights on. I know that I haven’t been doing the random Patreon of the Week shout outs that I promised to do over on facebook and that is because as of yet I don’t have any paying patreons over on patreon. I am still keeping my fingers crossed that I’ll start getting those all allusive payments but until I do I haven’t got anything to say on that score.
The book project is stretching me thin to the point of splitting. The art is sucking up more time than I thought possible and I’ve barely looked at the proof reading. I don’t know if I’m going to have it done in time for the submission date in June, which is why I haven’t announced a publishing date yet. I’m not even sure I’m going to have the first one done in time for Christmas so I apologise for that.
The truth is I’ve been struggling for a month or more with a government form to beg for a continuation of support with the Infant Distraction and it is… it has just about driven me insane. I don’t think that is much of an exaggeration. They say you can’t pour from an empty cup but that is precisely what the powers-that-be demand you do when you’re a SEND parent. Throw in on top of that the fact that I’ve been one half of the caring team for my seriously disabled mother for the last twenty six years and… well I’m sure you get the picture.
Now I’m sure some of you are asking ‘just why the hell are you trying to take on being a writer and an artist on top of all that as well?’ Well the answer is ‘being a familiar carer doesn’t pay the bills’. I’ve already lost a third of my income just before Christmas last year because the changing goals meant I no longer fit the criteria. Nothing in my life has changed, in many ways it has become harder and more stressful than ever before, but apparently the powers-that-be no longer consider eighteen and a half hour shifts of hyper-vigilance to make sure the sky doesn’t cave in via either kidney failure or ADHD/ASD meltdown to be enough of a job to warrant support. The fact that I have saved the powers-that-be some here between £540,000 and £690,000 in live-in carer wages doesn’t seem to computer. I’m not asking for more support with the form I’ve spent the last month filling in, I’m just asking tht they don’t take any more away but that is up to the powers-that-be and who knows whether there will be any mercy when they apply the letter of the law.
Hence why I’m now trying to be a writer and an artist on top of every thing else. I’ve been at this for two and a half years now and it has not been enough to start the sales coming in so it would be no use waiting for all support to be cut off before I started. As for why I chose writer and artist, it depended on what I could squeeze in around all my caring responsibilities. Writing and artwork can and often is, done at midnight after the caring responsibilities have gone to bed, literally, which is why I get five and a half hours sleep if I’m lucky.
So again I say, thank you, ever so much to the patreons I eventually get, you truly keep the lights on and the coffee flowing. I need coffee, a lot of coffee.
Any way, on to the meat of this blog – the gods of Draconic Shenanigans.
Admittance here, I am a huge Terry Pratchett fan so I went for a ‘Small Gods’ system of divinity for the world of Hestia. For those unfamiliar with the Discworld theory of gods, this means that gods are born from the collective belief in their existence. Gods are born, grow and rise. It also means that they can wither. Gods are dependent on the belief of their followers for their existence but because most religions say that their gods can never die it means that most gods continue on, even after the last of their followers have perished. They go on as voices on the wind, mindless and powerless, whimpering and terrified. Some, a few, manage to find new followers, reviving on the flush of new belief. They grow new devotions that are echoes of their original cults, their names and aspects adapted for a new age. Often they gain the mythos of a dying and rising god veneered on to their original form, a reflection of the cycle of life, withering and rebirth themselves have been through.
Others unfortunately, become demons. They cannot bare the fact that people live without caring that they exist. The idea that they are now irrelevant is a violation neither their egos nor their psyches can survive. They shatter. Strangely enough it is often the gods who were particularly benevolent in their ‘lives’ that are the most vulnerable to this fate. It appears that the ‘betrayals’ of being forgotten when they themselves had invested so much into the relationship with their followers leads to an extreme resentment of the fickle ways of mortals, especially as these god domains are often destroyed be a combination of climate crisis, famine, disease and the aggression of more selfish neighbours, particularly the followers of more violent rival gods. The benevolent god, having spent their power on the early crisis in the chain, find their strength dwindling as their followers die. Having poured themselves out for their people, these failed and fallen gods come to resent the fact that doing what is right leads to no reward, that the universe is blind to justice and that goodness leads only to suffering. Consumed by this cognitive dissonance the withered god warps into a shadow opposite of their earlier incarnation, often taking on animalistic features that blend with their original form, retaining some of their original powers but changed into something monstrous. For an example, a gentle, beautiful goddess of fertility and motherhood can become a scaly skinned, antlered demon of lust, birthing abominable hybrid beings into the world. Some speculate that this is where the werewolf curse originates from, while others contend that the sadistic cruelty of the Tomb Dragons comes from the species being adulterated by the attentions of a withered god, possibly the god of the Creators of the Locutians, withered and twisted by the loss of his followers and turned into something monstrous.
Of the three gods that have been mentioned in Draconic Shenanigans and the wider blog two have proper names an one is known more by her title. Of these three the titled one is, if not the most powerful then certainly the eldest, having existed in one form or another for uncounted millennia.
The Lady of Fate
Known only by her title the Lady of Fate is she who holds luck in her hands. She has no temple, no priesthood, no chosen city or country, no prescribed method of worship or set rota of prayers. She observes no Holy Days or Fast Days, no true method of calling her attention. She has existed ever since the first game of chance or challenge where someone breathed a silent prayer to any god who may have been listening. She is the last spin of the dice, the last throw of the javelin, she is the one who listens to desperation and sometimes answers...and sometimes does not. She is a capricious and tricksy god because all pray to her as the games continue and sometimes she’ll answer one and sometimes the other. Love her if you must but never fully rely on her, for all luck is hers, both the good and the bad. If you do not wish to lose then don’t play the game for she will not hold favourites forever. If you have the stomach to fail sometimes then she is a god who will always listen, just be ready to roll with the punches if you lose her favour for any unknown reason.
Tra’kan’hini
A goddess who has held on in the margins, never fully withering but never fully growing either. Considered by many Ash Elves to be an evil influence, her aspects are more misunderstood than this simple binary. The majority of Ash Elf deities are as cruel and heartless as their people, proud, haunty, violent and cunning, they glory strength and despise empathy, compassion and gentleness. Among the Ash Elves strength is measured in who you can hurt and shame and break without reprisal. They have no room for kindness and are always willing to do anything to anyone to gain their own wants and desires. They defer pleasure only as long as it takes to remove barriers to that pleasure. As among Ash Elves the screams of the betrayed are considered the greatest pleasure, true connection and trust are a weakness easily exploited and disposed of among them.
Into this toxic stew steps Tra’kan’hini.
Considered evil and corrupting by the Ash Elves, it is she who asks for mercy, she who looks at the battered and the broken and sees not a thing worthy only of contempt but someone worthy of relief, someone worthy of cure, someone worthy of a chance to try again. If abused people where broken plates, Tra’kan’hini is the sort of being who would repair the breaks with gold, seeking not to deny the trauma ever happened but rather to accept and hold the breaks until something more beautiful can come of them. Tra’kan’hini would give all what they need for them to find peace enough that instead of passing pain on and continuing the chain of harm, they can grow something new with eyes clear of hate.
Tra’kan’hini would certainly be on terms of respect with the witch who asked the right questions for Jerome Wright to turn aside from the path of the Witch Hunter. That is exactly the sort of work that is considered sacred duty in Tra’kan’hini’s honour.
Seeing as Tra’kan’hini is an outcast god among her own people she has no set temple. There are a few scattered shrines in the Underworld to her and a few in the upper world founded by Ash Elves that have left their home, their clans and their kin. The shrines in the Underworld are perpetually under threat of destruction by the majority of the Ash Elves and as such they are cunningly hidden. Some even say that they can only be found by those truly searching for Tra’kan’hini’s help to escape the Underworld. However, an Ash Elf must understand that if they take Tra’kan’hini’s path they will never return to the Underworld. They will be forever marked as estranged from their kin, damned in the eyes of the Matriarch’s as traitors to their own Clan and unwelcome, unwanted and unclear to all other Clans. Tra’kan’hini allows those who truly pray for something different to find something different but to do so they must sacrifice all connection to the savage gods who have ruled their lives up to that point. The measure of love is what you are willing to give up for it.
In return those who worship her gain a quiet guardian and protector. Tra’kan’hini moves quietly through the world, her strength the endurance of the care giver, the doctor who always sees a patient never a problem, the nurse who manages a smile at the end of a fourteen hour shift, the mother who sits up all night at her child’s bed side and still makes breakfast for others in the morning. That is who Tra’kan’hini is, she is the light that shines, the lantern held high in the dark, her shining moonlight giving hope and comfort to those who need it. Though not an aggressive god she will stand at the side of her followers when they face down danger, lending her strength to their arms and protecting their minds from those who would enslave, distort and deceive. After she will comfort and heal the hurt. Tra’kan’hini holds the door so others can enter and exit her sanctuary. Tra’kan’hini longs for peace, stability, comfort and calm. Not the comfort of laziness and unending leisure, the comfort of having a secure purpose in a community where all know and perform their duty, serving each other with care and contentment.
She is also not afraid. Tra’kn’hini expects her followers to be brave in the face of cruelty, speaking and acting against the tyrant, the unjust and the abuser. They have been rescued from slavery and persecution, therefore it is their duty to aid others in that plight. They are tasked with speaking truth to power, even at personal cost, because the malignant, the baleful and the malign do not need people to say yes to work their evil upon the world, they just needed nobody to say no. Tra’kan’hini is hated by the other Ash Elf gods as her way runs so counter to theirs and she does not sit quietly with that judgement, striving constantly against her cruel siblings. As such her followers are expected to follow her example.
Tra’kan’hini has no set rota of prayers nor does she truly have a priesthood. Instead it is up to the individual follower to decide how much of their time they are willing to dedicate to her worship and how they will do so. Washing a plate, if it is done for the good of others can be an act of worship to Tra’kan’hini, especially if it is done as part of a meditation to her. Tra’kan’hini would rather have a short, heartfelt prayer said with true devotion that a half an hour ramble. Indeed, just her name spoken in desperate need and with true feeling has been enough to summon her attention and her protection.
Kronzyn
The Collector, the Walker, He of Many Faces, the Listener, the Comforter.
Kronzyn has many titles, as is to be expected of a god that has survived multiple natural disasters, colonialism, exodus, and homelessness.
Originally a god of the Shulmi elves, Kronzyn’s belief spread into the Tiansin Empire after the survivors of his people crossed the sea five hundred years ago, fleeing the Day of Destruction that engulfed the Burning Continent, and was for a time deeply rooted in that place. In recent times though it appears that his non-Shulmi followers, known as the Children of Kronzyn, are being persecuted and driven from their homes. Whether or not this will decrease his power or whether it will lead to his religion finding a new and fertile soil to grow in is yet to be seen. Kronzyn is a god that is fully capable of slotting into multiple different pantheons for his aspect is both niche and adaptable.
In his rawest form Kronzyn is a death god. He is not however an ever hungry, ever devouring, ever punishing death god. He is a death god fully in love with life. He looks upon life with all its fleeting, fragile beauty and loves the sheer, ever changing splendour of it. He does not bring suffering or destruction. Quite the opposite, he wants his followers to lead long, happy, secure lives. He wants them to have large, healthy families, he wants them to try as many new things as possible. Kronzyn loves the master who has perfected a single craft to the peak of their ability and the jack-of-all traders with equal measure, for each will bring him a beautiful story when they finally walk with him. Kronzyn has all the time in the world and all things must come to him in the end.
Kronzyn is the Walker, he who guides the souls of the fallen across the Black Sands to the Gates of Eternity. And if you cannot walk he crawls with you and if you cannot crawl he carries you. Kronzyn is the Listener, he who hears out the story of your life and as he listens he makes the artefact that encapsulates your life the most. A life of great duality may produce two artefacts, it would take an exceptional like to create three. When he has seen you through the Gates of Eternity he will enshrine your artefact in his galleries where it will be kept safe for all eternity. Kronzyn remembers every life he has ever heard from our fathers and our grandfathers and back and back and back.
Kronzyn is the Comforter. In his natural form he is neither he nor she nor any species. Kronzyn is androgynous and bland, his face more akin to a blank theatre mask than anything of living tissue. However, when he comes to walk beside one who is crossing the Black Sands he wears whatever face will bring the most peace and rest, from the elvish maid to the stern human warrior to even a wise old badge who hums the tune to ‘Seeds of the Time’. Which ever face will bring the most comfort, Kronzyn wears while he listens to your tale and creates the artifact that holds your life’s record within his galleries.
The galleries of Kronzyn are a legend spoken of in hushed whispers by both his followers and non-believers alike. The compendium of aeons of lives, a museum that holds all the knowledge that ever was, wizards, clerics and necromancers unfaithful to Kronzyn alike have begged and dreamed and craved for the chance of one day, one hour among those sacred shelves. If Kronzyn has ever allowed a scholar the honour of walking among those shelves is unknown, though his followers do speak of clerics necromancers of Kronzyn who, through long devotion, fasting and honest prayer, have been allowed a glimpse of the Galleries of Eternity, a brief glance at the Collector’s Collection. Some speculate that to see it all would be enough knowledge to break the minds of mortals with overwhelm, every event seen from so many different angles of different witnesses battering the consciousness of a single mortal into submission. It is said that there is no mortal strong enough to be the Receiver of Total Memory.
Being a god of death Kronzyn’s clerics cultivate power over the dead but not in the usual manner of necromancers. Indeed in the Empire of Tiansin the Children of Kronzyn pay for the bodies of the dead and they do not accept the victims of murder. The followers of Kronzyn know, they always know if a person’s life has been cut short, their story unfinished, Kronzyn cheated of the tale that should have been his. They work within the law of the land but they can be creative with how they apply the letter of that law. The law says that the accused must be brought forth without visible stain or blemish. The followers of Kronzyn do not need to leave stain or blemish to wring the true tale from the accused’s resisting tongue, they know far more subtle ways to convince a liar to tell the truth.
For those who’s bodies come with the due respect at the end of their lives, the Children of Kronzyn strip said body of all that could cause corruption and stink. They treat the bones with reverence, binding them with twisted ribbons of silver and finally animate them with music. These skeletons march as soldiers beside living kin, toil on foundries or dig in mines, the last act of service their mortal remains giving to their still living kin being preventing their children from having to endure the chain, the whip and the lash of being slaves.
Kronzyn has a structured priesthood of service but it is built on merit rather than elected rank. The runes of Kronzyn take time to learn and longer to master and the teaching of them is to be given for free to any who show aptitude for them. All youngsters of the Children of Kronzyn receive the basic education in the runes, those that show any skill in their shaping are taken on for further study if they pass their tests. Just as their god moves fluidly between male and female, young and old, so the Children of Kronzyn recognise value not in what you were born as or how old you are but who you strive to be at every age. Oldest might be coldest, locked in their way of thinking that matched a world that no longer exists. As such the Children of Kronzyn practise a form of governance unusual in the world of Hestia. They discuss the issues facing their community at the evening meal every night. If something needs to be decided for sure and certain a vote is cast by those over the age of eighteen, though the questions and observations of children are not ignored. ‘Out of the mouths of babes and children Kronzyn draws his wisdom’ is a proverb amongst them. This is different to the Shulmi Elves that travel the Great Duct Plains as the Shulmi Elves still practise the structure of their ancestors.
Among the Shulmi Elves there is still the Council of Chiefs, chosen by the menfolk to lead them. Men hunt, fight in wars and provide the muscle for the heavy lifting of the tribe’s work, whilst the women organise camp, gather and raise the families. The Council of Chiefs will decide if it is necessary for the tribe to move or go to war but it is always the elder of the Mother Lodge who gives the last nod of agreement to ratify these decisions. Without that nod the move does not happen or the war does not start. The Mother Lodge reminds all that every decision carries the weight of the damage it will do to seven generations. Among the Shulmi Elves children do not owe their parents anything, instead parents owe their children everything including teaching them how to leave no permanent scar upon the land.
Among the Shulmi Elves Kronzyn is but one of their Great Spirits, though one of the most honoured as he is the last and most sure. His is the last hand that holds you as you walk the White Road across the Black Sands to the Gates of Eternity. He steadies elders, walks beside warriors and carries the children who do not survive the rigours of childhood. All bless him as the last comfort and the last guide.
There is also a legend among the Shulmi Elves that in the last days of the war against the Domilii, before the Sky and Earth was rent with unholy power, their greatest warrior took on the form and aspect of Kronzyn’s justice giver, standing between them and those who would have destroyed Kronzyn’s people and ended all the stories, every where, all at once. They say this warrior could face down legion and turn aside whole armies, that whole tribes and war bands dashed themselves to pieces striving against him. They say it was the grief of Kronzyn that gave this warrior warning that they were all being led astray by the Domilii and enabled him to see so many of their people safely to the coast and away across the sea before the final calamity smote the Continent and rained unnatural fire from the sky. These legends state that this warrior, the chosen of Kronzyn, did not perish in the horror of that day, instead swearing to find the one who could undo what the Domilii had wrought and setting out across the world on this quest, gathering stories in the manner of Kronzyn as he went. Whether he wanders still is unknown but the Burning Continent still smoulders and blackens the most Easterly sky with it’s poisons. And Kronzyn still waits to walk with the Domilii across the Black Sands.
So there you have it, some of the gods of Draconic Shenanigans. I hope you enjoyed this look into the mythos of Hestia and if you have an idea for another god, you can drop me a comment on my social medias. You are most welcome.
Take care of yourselves my lovely darlings, be kind and be safe.
