The Twelve Gifts of Crucible

Crucible is the third god of the Thirteen, and also the third month of the year, the last of winter's days. The spheres that Crucible rules over are Wealth and Fate. You might think this would make him cruel, but more than anything he is just absent.

Not a lot of mythology exists revolving around the Thirteen, but Crucible is a rare exception.

In the days after the War of Ichor, the Thirteen were weary from their long battle with the Titans, and wearier still from the treaties brokered afterwards with the remaining mortal races. Crucible saw this, and took action. To cheer his fellows up, most scriptures would say. The more pessimistic would tell you that his actions were meant to boost morale and, thus, efficiency. Whatever the case, Crucible gave the twelve other gods gifts over the next twelve days.

For mortals, this was translated into Loom's holiday season. For the first twelve days of Crucible, people exchange small gifts. Depending on the person, they may also mirror or reference the gifts given in the original myth.

Crucible 1 - Alentyan

For the youngest god, son of an Archlord, Crucible melted down the fat of a maddening beast from the depths of the Shadowfell. From this sprouted a blue candle that could cleave through any darkness. It made for a great reading light, and Alentyan smiled (as best as his beaked face could) at the thoughtfulness.

If one were to give a specific gift this day, it would ideally be as close as possible to the candle described in this myth.

Seb McKinnon

Crucible 2 - Cashel

Cashel inherited the divine spheres of Earth and Water from two separate Titans, and so to this god Crucible altered fate. Before this, gold was the element of the heavens - it was found among the clouds, and hollowed from the highest peaks. Now it is found deep in the earth's belly, and sometimes floating through rivers.

The appropriate gift for this day is a monetary gift, specifically to someone of poor social standing. Most people just flick a gold piece into a beggar's hand, instead of the usual silver.

The people of Zosk revere this event. The dwarves were not nearly as big a fan of this act.

Crucible 3 - Endymeron

After the previous day's gift, Crucible thought it would be wise to give something to the dwarves - Endymeron's people. The three headed god ruled over Air and Time, and as such Endymeron's people philosophized a great deal over those two things. So, Crucible crafted the meteorite.

Stones from the sky are the subject of fierce debate among many dwarven philosophers. Philosophically, they are heretical. Practically, they contain many useful metals.

Specific gifts given this day are usually either trinkets crafted from exotic metals, long-winded essays, or anything given to a dwarf.

Crucible 4 - Graeler

Graeler rules the spheres of Empires and Mind. As such, Crucible thought it would be appropriate to create something that fit both. Something that required mental conquering.

And thus, Crucible wrote the first riddle. Graeler was, uncharacteristically, delighted.

The appropriate gift for this day is, of course, telling your friends a riddle they haven't heard before.

Crucible 5 - Haraad

As the goddess of Nature and Health, Haraad's power wanes with the seasons. Within the calendar she rules over the highest days of spring, closest to the solstice. Conversely, she is weakest in the fall, when life begins to decay and when illness commonly creeps over the populous.

To cheer her up, Crucible tinted the leaves of autumn's last days beautiful reds and oranges. Haraad smiled, a rare occurrence in the dead of winter, when this myth took place.

On this day the faithful typically give a gift to anyone in their life who is, at the time, sick. If that happens to be nobody they know, they give someone a preserved leaf from the previous fall, when the colors yet turned.

Crucible 6 - Jaspus

Fire and Home are Jaspus's spheres, and yet they have trouble co-existing. Light a fire in an enclosed space, and smoke chokes out its residents. This rule has exceptions, of course, but it troubled Jaspus. So, for him, Crucible crafted the chimney.

Jaspus nodded in approval. This was one of the most emotional acts taken by the forge-god, at least in recorded history.

The traditional gift for this day is a red cake, cooked to look like a brick. In some parts of the world, sweeping your friend's chimney is also considered traditional.

Crucible 7 - Ka

What gift do you give to a god of Magic and Chaos?

Ka was tickled by the prospect, especially when Crucible invited them over to a house in Deitia, heavenbound city of the gods. Ka relished the opportunity to topple Crucible's plans.

Then they walked in the door ajar, and a bucket of water fell on Ka's head. Each of their snorts from the resultant laughing fit birthed a slaad.

This is the day of Crucible where you play pranks on your friends.

Crucible 8 - Ouran

On the other hand, Crucible was very confident as to what they needed to give to Ouran. As the god of Morality and, more importantly, Invention, Crucible needed to craft something mechanical. After much thought, Crucible presented Ouran with a compass, late in the day.

A compass is the requisite gift, of course. It would be wise to make sure it's the right kind - giving someone in the eastern hemisphere one that's weighted towards the east pole won't be very helpful.

Yeong-Hao Han

Crucible 9 - Quar 

Crucible's original gift to Quar has been scrubbed from history - apparently, it was horribly offensive. Though, in a roundabout way, Crucible's apology to the god of Truth and Emotion wound up as its own gift.

On the ninth of Crucible, celebrators are supposed to give any long-overdue apologies they might have.

Crucible 10 - Sotiro

For the ruler over Stars and Travel, Crucible crafted the cloudless night - a thing that would allow all lost travelers to find their way home, or perhaps further away from it.

Crucible had to call in several favors for this gift, and as such the most appropriate thing one can do on this day is to offer help to any who may need it.

Crucible 11 - Troyt

Waking up early, Crucible flagged down the second child of the Archdragon. He wanted to show her how to create bronze - for a goddess of War and Lightning, a mainly-copper sword seemed the perfect gift. Troyt would later go on to show her followers that same process.

Bronze trinkets are, of course, the gift of choice.

Crucible 12 - Zuzen

To the dracogod of Law and Thunder, Cashel gifted a book with ever-expanding pages, and a quill with limitless ink. This was to allow him to record as many laws as he could possibly think of. Instead, Zuzen used it to record the names of each god felled during the God Purge, three centuries after when this myth took place.

This day is reserved for gifts to those in mourning.

Orias, the Sylvaa, and Fey

As we know her now, Orias is the Archfey. Queen of the faeries, higher than all courts. She is one of the Archlords, and the only one most people would designate as "good."

But it wasn't always so.

A dozen-thousand years ago, there existed a race on Loom called the Sylvaa. They were a race of plants with humanoid forms, usually appearing to be made of green vines. They usually have broad, flat heads to absorb sunlight.

Sunlight being their primary object of worship - though Orias, then called the Archsylvan, created them, she was humble and protested their earliest offerings. Whole flower fields were arranged for her and trees mystically modified to grow in her image. While Orias appreciated the beauty of their altars, and loved her creations deeply, she also wanted to remain distant so that they could form their own culture. So they came to, for the most part, worship Loom's sun.

Jesper Eising

They created the first clocks, obelisks whose shadow would reveal the time and date. They pioneered many light-producing spells. They named the sun Ianap, or "mother of hearths," for it was Her light that allowed their Mother Trees (known to them as Voria) to grow.

Voria grew from Sylvaa graveyards, which resemble thickets of vines spread across vast swathes of ground. All Sylvaa have seeds for hearts, and when they die they sink to the ground and allow the seed to seep into the earth, where it can be nourished. Eventually, if enough Sylvaa died in the same place, a network of these seeds would form and birth a new Voria - which resemble dozens of thin trees twisting around each other to form one thick trunk, with hundreds of branches.

Most Sylvaa who hailed from the same communities resembled each other, so to distinguish individuals they often carved their names into their skin. It's similar to tattoos for humans, and many Sylvaa went further than just a name - they might have entire handwritten works across the length of their body. Sylvaa were known for being fantastic writers, and in modern times original Sylvaa literature is priceless. All writing was deeply personal for them - Sylvaa were telepaths (communicating with other lifeforms by intermingling roots), and so the chance to create something that truly existed in isolation from their brethren was deeply important to them.

As lovely as this all was, it didn't last.

The Fall

Ten thousand years before the start of the most popular calendar on Loom, there was an event known as the Fall of the Archlords. Orias and the five other creator deities split across lines that most mortals don't understand, descending into civil war. Loom was their theatre of battle, and the planet was ravaged. Many of the battlefields still remain visibly damaged today, with civilizations living in a celestial body's scars.

At the end of this war, drastic measures were taken that would ensure no side was a true victor. Ianap, the star at the center of Loom's solar system, was destroyed.

Continents were ripped from Loom's surface in the shockwave. The seas boiled off into steam, and the atmosphere was destroyed - even today it exists only as a weak blanket, scarcely able to produce rain without magical prompting. And, though the creations of all the other Archlords had left petty Loom for extraterrestrial pursuits, the faithful Sylvaa had remained. And so they were all destroyed.

Orias, weeping, reunited with her other Archlords to forge a new sun. They then all departed Loom, bitter and resentful of one another. Orias created a whole demiplane simply to find isolation. It was a perfect mirror of the planet, but entirely devoid of other life - as though it were an empty house, and only she had the keys to it.

Orias, as she is usually depicted after her mourning. (Daniel Kamarudin)

She stayed in this other place for a long time, mourning. And eventually, though it took her thousands of years, she left it. She had made her peace with her lost people, and the land of this demiplane had begun to bloom again as Orias's emotional state recovered.

And that was when the Fey entered.

Redeemed

Fey are spirits, denizens of the Astral Plane born from the experiences of sapient mortals. Like many spirits, they feed on magic and emotion - which were both in abundance within Orias's private demiplane. Once she left, they infiltrated the plane and began to glut themselves, growing fattened and powerful.

However, they were eventually discovered. Orias used her demiplane as a shelter for wounded innocents during the War of Ichor, and that was when she discovered the spirits. She was furious, and ready to destroy them - kind as she was, she was no longer tolerant of anything remotely close to betrayal. However, four quick-witted individuals struck a bargain with her: they would attend to the wounded she had brought in, and the rest of the demiplane, caring for them both. They would do this for the rest of time, becoming stewards of this place that was paradise to them.

Orias, having missed calling herself the mother of a people for a long time, accepted. She named the spirits fey, "redeemed" in Sylvan. She named the plane the Feywild, and changed her long-defunct title to the Archfey.

However, it was not the fate of the Sylvaa to be remembered only as the creators of a language. Their graveyards are not just the resting places of the dead - they are cradles for new generations.

Regrowth

Eventually, the Sylvaa reappeared on Loom. In its 14th century after the War of Ichor, the planet was invaded by a hostile alien force. These were the Yugoloths, hailing from a planet or two over. This event was called the Shattering, but it isn't the point of this paragraph. What is relevant is what they brought over.

Unbeknownst to Orias, a small amount of her original progeny had developed incredibly powerful teleportation magic. The Sylvaa were the original builders of Loom's massive teleporter pads, but some had grander aspirations than just that. These nine Sylvaa wanted to travel to the sun itself, so that they might worship it directly (they were also working on a way to not be burnt to a crisp in this process).

One of their test-runs, to push the limits of how far they could travel, was to Yugo. They all went together, and upon arrival they all perished. Yugo's atmosphere is toxic to most of Loom's inhabitants, and Sylvaa were no exception. Their seeds were buried in foreign soil, an environment that could never host them.

Marco Nelor

Around ten thousand years passed. The seeds of these nine burrowed into Yugo's earth, right into deposits of iron. They were eventually discovered by prehistoric Yugoloths, who cherished them as curious relics. Ose, their adoptive god and another Archlord, saw the seeds for what they were. He was exiled from Loom, and so could not return them himself - but from this point forward he nudged them closer and closer to space travel, so that they might eventually visit Loom and return the seeds.

His efforts were successful, but the visit from Yugo was hardly peaceful. A story for another time. The point, again, is that these nine seeds, able to be nourished by sunlight from Loom's new central star, Vant, jump-started Sylvaa society. They had been reborn into a curious new world, and they found they had much work to do.

Sylvaa Stats

If you want to play a Sylvaa, here are the stats I would recommend. They're tuned for 5E, but if you use another system hopefully this provides a decent-enough framework. Roleplay-wise, Sylvaa are known for their great literature, sun worship, and general confusion at much of modern society. They primarily speak Sylvan.

Ability Score Increase. Your Wisdom increases by 2, and your Constitution increases by 1.
Empath Network. You may communicate telepathically with any creature or plant within 30' of you that is touching the ground, by way of your root network. You do not need to share a language with a creature to be able to communicate with it this way, but it must be able to speak at least one language. You may communicate with plants in this way regardless of their ability to speak.
Photosynthesis. You may gain the benefits of a long rest by entering a dreamlike state while immersed in sunlight for 4 hours. During this time, you are considered to be asleep, and are not aware of your surroundings. After 4 hours have passed, you gain the benefits of a long rest and become fully nourished for the next 24 hours. You may still eat and sleep normally, and will need to do so when you lack access to direct sunlight.
Natural Spellcasting. At 1st level, you may cast Dancing Lights. At 3rd level, you may cast Entangle once per long rest. At 5th level, you may cast Daylight once per long rest. You use your Wisdom score for the purposes of casting these spells.

(I should note these stats are almost wholly borrowed from the Sprouting Chaos Player's Companion by BoltNine Homebrew. People on Loom have played Sylvaa before and I wanted to keep the statblocks consistent-ish.)

The Age of Eight Plagues, Part Two

Part one here.

The Plague of Drowned Dead

The year is 831, and the Plague of Vermin has almost been defeated. When their waves come, they are pitiful compared to the former deluges of pestilence that came in earlier years. The Sacellum's paladins see less and less work digging rat-proof trenches, and things seem to return to normal.

And then, people began bursting into flame.

While certainly the quickest of the plagues to take a life, Drowned Dead was toward the lower end of the bell-curve in terms of lives taken. It was another airborne disease, meaning most everyone on Starfyk had it. But the exact mechanisms that caused the infected to spontaneously combust were never discovered - it was seemingly entirely random.

Even the dead would ignite on occasion, leading to the Sacellum declaring burials at sea to be mandatory. This upset a great deal of the populous, particularly the few bugbear citizens - for whom burial at sea was a religious requirement that had been outlawed since their assimilation. Social unrest was the name of Drowned Dead's game, and while their Plague was not the most damaging in the long term - that distinction would be reserved for the Plague of No Tombs - they did pave the way for much of the success of future Plagues.

Drowned Dead was, as had become routine at this point, hunted down and killed in 842 A.E.M. This also marked when the Sacellum came into possession of the city of Baryinnah, complete with its own oracle. Though it would fall and be reclaimed several times over the span of the next few Plagues, its capture was a symbol of the Sacellum's near-domination over all of Starfyk.

The Second Plague of Vermin

God dammit.

We already know the details of how exactly a Plague of Vermin operates. This was just another instance of it, lasting from 855 to 871 A.E.M. (the Sacellum had gotten good at fighting it in the years past). What's more interesting is how exactly Vermin, the very same who had conducted the first Plague with her name, lasted this long.

If you remember, the Plague of Vermin was a sickness of the blood. This means that any animal whose blood mingled with a Vermin-bearing creature would contract it - including when they ate a patient.

Surely, not all the squirrels in the forest were slain by fire and blade. Some were eaten by the coyotes, as any other. And those coyotes fell ill with Vermin, too.

Vermin invented not just a Plague, but a method of reaching immortality. Her sentience stretched thin between a myriad of beasts, like a spiderweb. She still lurks there, in the forest. It will never be rid of her. Her blood has soaked into the soil there, and on quiet nights when the wind rustles through the trees, their leaves whisper her name.

The Plague of No Tombs

With Vermin driven back for a second time and a twenty-one year period (the longest pause between any of the Plagues) of good health after it, the Sacellum began to think the feverish night was done. Baryinnah stood tall, a beacon of the Sacellum's victory over the Alquari. Hushed at first, the whispers that the Age of Plagues had ended grew confident. There was a whole generation of children entering university that had not seen a Plague in their lifetime. Hopes were high for the future.

And in 892, they were ripped asunder.

The Plague of No Tombs was a zombie apocalypse, plain and simple. The dead did not stay buried. The whole continent was plunged into a vile period lasting over a century. No Tombs themself was never discovered - they were just one more shambling husk among the millions. Bodily fluids spread the Plague, drowning whole towns in undead bile until they were naught but an army of things that would be better off in the sepulchers.

This Plague left a huge impact on the culture of Starfyk as a whole. In the north, the tradition of canonizing great war heroes as Zealots (largely in the place of traditional saints) began. The Sacellum pioneered the Turn Undead spell as a means of crowd control. And in 988, there was a proper secession.

In that year, the patriarch of the Vath family found a way to merge the soul of an ancient Giantine Emperor with his own. This was unprecedented, and challenged the divine monopoly the Sacellum had on the continent. Seeking to rekindle his lost people, the man (if he could be called that) now known as Llipyah Vath staged a revolution.

In the already weakened state of the Sacellum, they had few free hands to contest this revolt. And so the Tenth Empire was born. They were an uneasy ally during the later days of the Plague of No Tombs - giants proved incorruptible by the disease, seeing as they were made mainly of earth and spirit.

After countless losses, the Plague was finally brought to sustainable levels in 1001 A.E.M. Baryinnah had been cleared of undead, and it was the new center of the Sacellum's power in the north. With seven Plagues behind them, the Sacellum's territories in the south and the north had come to hate each other, and separating them had become the only sustainable choice for the future.

The Plague of Black Blood

This was the last of the Plagues. It was the shortest, both in terms of turnover between the previous Plague and lifespan. It lasted from 1003 A.E.M. - a mere two years after the end of No Tombs - until 1008.

The Alquari were just as devastated by No Tombs as the rest of the continent, and a power vacuum formed among them that failed to stay full for long during the previous century. They were fighting on two fronts - the reckless Plague unleashed by a desperate High Druid and amongst themselves. Black Blood was more of a warrior than a proper druidic mage, and he was the one who ended No Tombs for them. He found himself thrust into the position of High Druid, and one who sorely needed to produce a successful Plague.

Pulling heavily from No Tombs, Black Blood also produced a blood-based disease. It thickened the blood, congealing it into a useless black sludge. It was similar to what the Sacellum had seen before, and so they were prepared to treat it once it came along. It was even somewhat of a relief compared to what they had seen in the past two centuries. Just more shivering civilians in dusty, hastily-built hospitals.

Black Blood's throat was ripped out by one of Aurdao Vihn's wardogs. With him died the Age of Plagues. These were the blackest days of the continent, bringing a surging tide of ruination upon all who walked it. The Alquari were a scattered mess, reeling from blow after blow, the most of them being self-inflicted. The Sacellum was chained in debt to its foreign sponsors, hastily carving up what little of the frontier remained to try to pay back a backbreaking price. Baryinnah still flew their banners, yes. But to the west they had a new enemy in the Tenth Empire, and their northern colonies were barely recognizable as worshipping Rimhr.

The blackest days were done, yes. But the future was not looking white, only a dour shade of gray.

The Age of Eight Plagues, Part One

I'm trying to flesh out the history of Starfyk, one of my continents. My next campaign takes place on it, and so it seems prudent to know what would have happened in the last 500 years of its history (I already have its immediately-after-God-and-Titan-War stuff down). A big part of the continent is the huge area controlled by mainly anti-civilization druids (known as Alquari) to its north, and they're going to be prominent in the upcoming campaign, too. So I figured I'd start this exploration with them.

I'd been writing this for like two weeks when I decided to just break it into parts. Eight is a lot. This is the first half of them. The next will skip the introductions and just go into the last four.

--

In 717 A.E.M., the Sacellum of Rimhr set its sights on the northern portion of Starfyk. They had unchallenged control of the southern half of the continent, with most folks being happy to join the people who had toppled the most powerful of the Giant Empires. Though the two other empires in the north had long since fallen, there were still numerous setbacks in trying to obtain those lands. The biggest of these were the Alquari.

They have no name for themselves. The name we use - that the locals first spoke when communicating with the Sacellum - means "dog people" in Giant. They are the escaped slaves of a former empire, who allied themselves with the wyverns so that they might topple all those who would enslave them. For some, this grew into a hatred for all civilization.

The smallest town is an abomination under their eyes. The forest is the true home of men. To break its bones and refurbish them into obscene symmetry is the highest crime. When all races live like beasts, reveling in the base, carnal pleasures - that is when they will be truly happy.

Not all the Alquari think like this. Some are content to live peacefully in the northern woods, coexisting with the outside world. But the Sacellum see them all as the same, and so they are all put to the sword. They torched their woods and broke their bodies.

So, in response, the Alquari sought the High Druid. They begged her to bend the will of the forest and called for retaliation against the invaders.

The High Druid broke their necks for daring to speak in front of her. And then, she set about to concocting a plague.

For the purposes of this post, all plagues come from the High Druids of the Alquari. They manufacture their plagues, using their own bodies as breeding grounds for all manner of vile disease. Travel to distant lands is no trouble for them (for it is said that every forest leads to another), and so they may capture distant infections within themselves and bring them back to lands where they are foreign and vicious.

Most of the High Druids do not have names. It is against their way - names are a product of civilization, and they have long-since abandoned all that is birthed from that putrid womb. So, in the Sacellum's official historical records, the name of a High Druid and the name of their Plague is the same.

The Plague of Flayed Skin

When the first of the plagues came, it was like nothing the Sacellum had ever seen. Most people were happy to join them, and those that weren't could be easily beaten into submission or destroyed, if necessary. But a disease is an enemy that cannot be fought with spears and torches.

It ravaged settlers and their livestock alike. Clerics from the capital sent to treat it found themselves quickly consumed. Refugees brought the plague to the southern cities, creating an air of intolerance for outsiders that would last a millennium. This was intentional on the part of the archdruid who went on to be called Flayed Skin - her purpose when crafting it was to divide the conquerors. To create a whole new social class: lepers.

Speaking of, this was when Rimhrheld's odd prejudice against armadillos started. The little critters carry leprosy very well, but can live just fine without it. They brought in a second wave of the disease just when the Sacellum was getting good at eradicating it, extending the duration of the plague until 741 A.E.M. This was especially unfortunate for the Armadillo Knights of northwestern Starfyk, who lost much prestige and a beloved mascot to the Plague.

The Pangolin Knights rose after the power vacuum formed, but their mascots just weren't as cute as the old guard.

The Plague of Fallow Fields

Flayed Skin was killed in 738 A.E.M., and her plague was arduously destroyed over the span of the next few years. While the forces of civilization struggled with that endeavor, the druids were busy crowning a new archdruid. The Alquari that was eventually selected came to be known as Fallow Fields, and his patience was only outmatched by his malice.

Why kill the Sacellum, when you can just kill their food?

More of a blight than a plague, Fallow Fields did exactly what the name sounded like. It was never spread as wide as Flayed Skin, but it did its job in creating a dependency on food imports in the north. Again, creating a schism between north and south that would drive a wedge into the continent's two halves.

Twelve years and millions of gold later, and the Sacellum's appointed alchemists concocted a pesticide that would kill the bacteria behind the blight. Fallow Fields himself was killed early into the Plague's lifespan, in 745 A.E.M., but the longevity of it even after its death points to his ultimate success.

The Plague of Shingle-Eyes

There was an almost ten year gap between this Plague and the last, due to infighting among the militant factions of the Alquari as they searched for a new archdruid. Medical staff in the Sacellum's colonies had been increased after the last two plagues, and they fervently watched all who got sick, waiting for the next Plague to rear its head. But both factions didn't realize that a new plague had already begun. When Shingle-Eyes announced to his fellows that a tenth of the settler population had already contracted his Plague, they bent the knee to their newfound archdruid.

Shingle-Eyes is a slow-acting plague. It is said that it first appeared in its earliest stages before Fallow Fields had even been defeated, but the effects are slow-acting that it took until 762 for it to even claim a life.

Shingle-Eyes is an airborne disease that only worsens with the loss of sleep. The result is the growth of more eyes. Many, many eyes, coating the body like shingles (hence the name). The more eyes you have, the harder it is to close them all, the less sleep you get, the more eyes you grow. Eventually, the victims are bedridden, but unable to sleep, and eventually die when enough eyes grow in their throat to block off the windpipe.

As you can imagine, it isn't pretty. Image Source: Bloodborne

Eventually, with help from humiliating curfew laws strictly established in the northern settlements, Shingle-Eyes was defeated in 770. His death stopped the production of more of his Plague - it had spored from him, like a smokestack polluting the atmosphere. The curfew laws continued for several decades afterward, leading to much tension between settlers and law enforcement.

The Plague of Vermin

Though this plague is by far the one with the least casualties (official records state only thirteen died directly from it), it was the most damaging. It was a war not against the people of the Sacellum, but its infrastructure.

Vermin was the next archdruid after Shingle-Eyes, and hers was a blood-born disease. It was essentially a mass dominate spell spread through Vermin's own blood. Rats would come from miles around to drink of her, then birth whole generations of pups who would never have minds of their own. Vermin's sentience superseded theirs.

And in the summer of 774, every single pest in the forest came out to wreak havoc on the cities.

Wooden support beams surrounded by three layers of squirrels, chewing at them until their gums bled, knocking it down in the span of an hour. Moles tunneled under the Sacellum's shrines to collapse them during the next festival held in it. Crows shitting all over statues of Aurdao Vihn, the war hero who had killed the previous three archdruids.

It was also an especially difficult plague to quash. Vermin lived on through her progeny, her feral sentience having no problem existing in the tiny minds of her namesake.

Whole cities were declared fallen to Vermin and burned. The Sacellum would pay a silver piece per dead rat brought in to them, almost driving them to bankruptcy in a mere month. Their victory over it was the most pyrrhic the Sacellum had ever known - and it was impossible to tell if more pestilence would come spilling out of the forest. But finally, in 833, they stopped coming.

However, by that point, another Plague had already started.

Dullahan

Courting Rebellion

All spirits are born from mortal want - similarly to how gods (most of them, anyways) rise from mortal hope. Pixies slip from in between flower petals when a child laughs, and when a wizard ponders how to gain more power a familiar spirit seeps from her shadow. And Dullahan crawl up from between the cracks in pavement when the impoverished overthrow the ruling class.

Once, they were a court of low fey who wished to upturn the power structure. They fashioned a guillotine and intended to dispose of the highest-ups on their home plane with it. They were eventually discovered, and their own tool used against them. Most died, of course. But it's said that some waited for the rabble to run off, collected their heads from off the ground, and fled onto the Material Plane. Now only the foolhardy speak of them, with the epithet of the Headless Court.

They're usually found in abandoned buildings. The old church in the woods that's only used for its graveyard nowadays. On top of a stretch of aqueduct left behind by an ancient civilization. The room at the end of the hall in your tenement building. These are where they hold their court, spinning their great wheels (also used as coat racks, but for heads) and dancing. The guillotine, blade polished to a mirror shine, sits in the center of the space - which seems much bigger on the inside. They are waiting. Waiting for you!

Jevil is a Dullahan.

Because everyone knows the Headless Court has helped with all the world's greatest revolutions. The Lightclaimers, the Tenth Empire, the Alquari - all danced with the Dullahan, and they were the builders of nations for it. The foundations of which were laid, of course, with skulls.

And when you come, they will whisper their words, sweet as honey mead, bitter as wine-turned-vinegar. They will tell you that history is a cycle. A society is born, and the ambitious corrupt it, placing themselves as the ruling class. They plunder the labor from the poor, who then rise up to put them to the sword. And a new society is born - one turn closer to perfection. But the wheel has stagnated - won't you give it a nudge? Look how it glitters in the moonlight. It's waiting for you, dear.

Inevitably, someone does nudge it. The wheel of history turns, and there is much rejoicing. The rest of the night is spent in revelry, wild dancing and ball-games with the laughing heads of the Good Folk. And when morning comes, the spinner wakes up alone. And gets to work.

Start your revolution. Make it successful. The more join your cause, the more new Dullahan are born. Bring a noble back to the abandoned room every fourth Rimhrset, and we'll liberate them of their head for you. There will be more rejoicing, and all your new friends are welcome, too!

And if you come empty handed?

Not to worry, dear. Your own head is quite pretty. It will make a fine substitute.