a beer, a deity, a pig roast

I actually thought the one in the middle was holding a trident….

The people of Gremyr don’t worship gods. They revere the idea of virtue. Or the embodiment of a thing. Here are just a few examples. And one notable one.

Adherents who wish to receive The Blessings of Zyvtar need only open their heart and mind to them. Once they do, and they accept that life is a gift and everything that happens is for a reason, realizes that Zyvtar’s blessing are everywhere. From the tsunami that submerged two thirds of Benour under the Tarwyrian sea, to the gold piece you found while walking the streets of Skiplewen.

Or you can think of Penitents who seek the Wisdom of Arin pour over curious pour over their mysteries like this one – A battle-hardened dwarf general in Ancient Almahrrak travelled across Gremyr to seek the Wisdom of Arin. He found a Penitent of Arin meditating alone on a mountain. When the Penitent didn’t acknowledge him, he roared. “Don’t you know that I am the kind of dwarf who can run you through without blinking an eye?” To which is Penitent replied, “Don’t you know I am a human who can be run through without blinking an eye?” Deeply impressed, the general sheathed his sword and became a student of the the Penitent’s for the rest of his life.

Or the gamblers and risk takers who rely on The Chances of Meies provided to them. Or the nagini who lay flat to feel the word of Yslin from the heat in the ground. Or even Kan’s “thunder stick” and flute – which were both instruments of Thyztris’s vengeance. Kan never came to know, but the flute he crafted was called Thyztris’s Woodwinds among the gods. And how the gods themselves laughed when Azrush’s Lament managed kill what they thought never could be killed.

How is it that an idea can laugh at something? That’s a question worthy of one of Arin’s Penitents. But it does have an answer. The Powers of Gremyr do find the need to take possession of an Aught – most often a humanoid (elf, dwarf, human, orc, nagini, aylvan, cyclops). Sometimes they enter a tree, or a rock, or a fish, just to know what it feels like and perhaps imbue some of their virtue into that item. More often than not, another creature will happen upon that and take it for themselves to be a good luck charm – a gift from the gods.

And there was no Power of Greymr who had taken to an Aught than Thoher’s Thirst. They almost always become one with a humanoid, with no particular preference. But whatever form they took, it’s anatomy had to appreciate the taste of beer. They would be born and grow and live among them, with the sole purpose of making a home in a part of Gremyr where they could cultivate barley in order to make beer. And the rest of The Powers of Gremyr would lie and wait for the first batch to be brewed. Then they would come in droves. And they did. They slaughtered rams from the hills and roasted them over the blast furnace heat of a fire made from the logs of a Viking Oak tree.

When the Azruth’s Lament was sung, the Aughts of Qaotl of The Afterlife, of Mozmis’s Good Fortune, of Neneyar’s Beauty, Iarin’s Bough of Fertility, Cinmis’s Breath of Summer, Vutar’s Sense of Governance, Voren’s Bellows of Winter, Eteus’s Bond of Marriage, and Enphin, the antithesis of Mozmis, found themselves high on Mount Valour, looking across their Broad Pool of Seeing at the men fall asleep one by one, never to wake again. From where they were, they could hear the words, but were unaffected by the song.

Thoher roared with laughter. They did so because Aldaesan’s Grandfather, the father of the Scekahian Golem, Rudhos Of The Mountains was not invited to the First Night of Thoher’s batch. Rudhos preferred to be born into humans who have a family history of strength. Thoher, in this incarnation of his Aught, chose an elf – who ultimately was kicked out of Tarwyria and blocked from ever returning.

“Rudhos, you old fool,” Thoher joked. “You can never make anything indestructible. You merely eliminate what can destroy it. You never would have thought your grandson could be defeated by a song.”

“Oh?” Came a voice from the pool. From within came a large, eight foot tall human wielding a mace made from the polished stone of the Khagalahni mountains. He always stashed it as he sense his Aught was about to expire and found it again when he returned. How he came to be at the bottom of the pool was something Thoher would make it their mission to find out. “Did you write that song? It sounds like the drunken ramblings of a fool in love.”

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