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Quote from The Godseeker's Preamble

If you have stumbled across these texts on your own, then that means I am dead. Do not fret my life, nor feel pity for me; I have fulfilled my purpose that was bestowed by the gods, and now I meet them and feast in their great presences. But please, as my final wish, I ask that you share these tales. Tell them among your friends and family, whisper them to the bards and the poets. Leave this bound novel of tales somewhere that it can be found when you have finished reading it.

Prologue - The Godseeker Entente
xxxxxWe are, or were, once a famous and renowned cult unique to the Northern Reaches. At first, an attempted guild, then a failed guild. We poured over religious texts of all sorts, often needing to send agents to strange and unusual monasteries and churches, obeying bizarre rituals and processes to be accepted into their culture for even a matter of days. Our goals were never something hostile, at least while I was still recognized as a member of our loose organization. Rather, we sought the knowledge of deities. We believed that, if we were successful, we could impart the knowledge of these deities on the world and bring them closer to their gods and goddesses. I was still a stranger to the ways of the Entente when I first realized the foul truth hidden beneath the mask of righteousness. Certain beliefs worked traitorous puppet strings within our organization, spreading their deities far and wide through the use of hidden missionaries. Only the inner circle, our Godrisen Acolytes, were uncorrupted.

xxxxxWhen I stood before those I believed to be my kin, I called out to them and begged for these hidden fools to be revealed and cast out; endorsed by the Godrisen, I believed myself invincible to the lies of the missionaries. Instead, those lies disassembled my authority and credibility, and my kinsmen called for my expulsion from our false cult. However, the Godrisen did not endorse those calls. They could do nothing without proof. Sadly, that meant that the spoken threats to my life could not be used to expel the hidden traitors, nor could the missing texts of sensitive religions be called to attention, for the thieves were never caught. I took it upon myself to step away from these liars and blasphemers of our beliefs, and so became the first of my kind: the Rogue Godseeker, neither exiled nor slain in the line of my duties. Rather, the final true Godseeker, devoted both to my gods and the true dictations of the first Godrisen Acolytes. I have, in the years of my life, traveled far and seen much. And, to keep those memories in order, I have written them down. If there are other pages scattered around this one, seek them in order. I have numbered them carefully as I have with the memories that first gave rise to these stories. Chronologically, they will make far more sense to any reader.


Now please, read on. Enjoy the tales from far and wide.

Tale One: A Lie as Old as Trees

Quote from The Rogue's Note

Now, before I begin on this tail, as I'm sure I will tell it later, let me say this: I had no idea what I would see this day. As many coincidences and odd conveniences occur, I assure you that they are all just coincidences and odd conveniences. With that said, I can finally begin telling this story.

xxxxxFar on the south end of the world, on my first self-assigned mission to discover a much-debated presence of an exotic pantheon, I first heard of a mysterious falsehood hidden by centuries of root and soil. At first, I was investigating rumors of an isolated piece of humanity, a civilized group of exiles that wrote with odd symbols and crafted tools of rare metals and powerful steel. They were renowned, even by those that turned their noses up, as masters of the forge and hammer. Their weapons sold not for the common coin, though, only ever traded for material; metal for metal, and nothing else tolerated. When their merchants trekked to and from the market, they carried their goods in enormous pouches that they draped across their shoulders or ragged bags that they laid across the backs of steady mules. The tools and weapons, even plates of armor, all seemed as light as feathers upon them when they began their hikes. When I inquired, I learned the name of their community - Duuvernheim. Well, as close as I can find to write it in an understandable way. Their odd language, those dozens of odd symbols, were spoken with odd sounds that were nearly impossible to first understand.


To Be Continued - Please Be Patient