The crowd in front of the vast chasm surrounding the Starstone Cathedral was slightly larger today than most days. Visitors from all over Golarion stopped by the great pit every day to marvel at the ancient edifice at its center, to dream of the stone hidden away behind its massive walls, lethal traps, and immortal guardians. It was said that the Starstone granted immeasurable power to any who could touch its crystalline surface and pass the final test of spirit. Those who succeeded became gods. Most simply fell to their deaths in the chasm outside and the rare few who made it in the cathedral were usually never heard from again.
Normally, an attempt by one of the “hopeful” would draw a huge crowd of locals and visitors alike, all interested to see if the would-be god could even make it across the chasm. The celebration was usually all in good fun, if you could call someone risking their life for immortality fun, but it could turn unruly in an instant, the mob demanding the poor soul fling themselves into danger. In either case, it was good business for those of us who ran shops in the Ascendant Court, selling sweet treats and chilled wine.
But not today.
Today was the fourth supposedly prophesized moment of ascension for Dyrani, and business was terrible.
Her first attempt was almost a year ago. The Osiriani woman had only been on the Avenue of the Hopeful for a few weeks at that time, and although she didn’t have a large throng of supporters, she still drew a good crowd to hear her tale and see her make the attempt. For over an hour she spoke of her accomplishments, from the moment of her birth under an auspicious sign, to the tremendous thunderstorm that bore down upon her parent’s small home giving her a connection to the rains and floods, the crops, and the land. The people listened to her claims of connection to the harvest and how she could be counted on to bring rain to struggling farmers and ensure a season of plenty for all upon her ascension. They even saw her plant a simple seed into the ground and encourage it to grow, yet when it came time for her to leap, something changed. She looked out at the chasm and declared that it was not the right time.
“The seed was not yet ready to sprout,” she said, adding that once the plant has matured, she would take the test.
Suffice to say, there were more than a few jeers and cries. But for all the disappointment, Dyrani benefitted quite a bit from the show. For the next few months farmers, gardeners, and food merchants began to stop by her rustic stall on the Avenue and pay their respects to her and the growing plant. They say it never hurts to get in early with new gods. Even if only one in a thousand passed the test, those who do are sure to remember any who believed in them from the start. For my part, I sold a lot of harvest breads and orange tea to her faithful.
Illustration by Mirco Paganessi from Absalom, City of Lost Omens
Dyrani even gathered a few devotees to aid in her preparations. She anointed each in a grand ceremony, dubbing them the High Priest of Rains, the High Priestess of Sowing, and the High Priest of Harvest, respectively. They were mostly harmless, wearing ridiculous hats and making pronouncements about the weather. Most would-be-gods attracted a few desperate fools, even when they had nothing to give other than vague promises about the future. The feeling of importance, of belonging was often enough. The avenue was usually cluttered with these supplicants, shouting edicts and making the case for their still-mortal deity. It wasn’t bad for business, really. Most visitors came just to see this spectacle, even if there was no attempt that day. Some of my best days selling sweet pastries have been after a good brawl between the high priests of various would-be faiths. No one wins... except us.
The second attempt was scheduled for later that summer. By this time, Dyrani had amassed a vast crowd of followers, and there was a festival happening in the Grand Bazaar, so the city was swollen with visitors. The Avenue and the Court were packed with people, many of whom began drinking and chanting for Dyrani just after dawn. Her High Priests were there of course, collecting tithes in vast cornucopias made from straw. From the moment I saw them, I knew it was not going to be the day. These hopeful never go through with the test when the coin is flowing freely. There’s still too much to be gained. Later that day, the High Priestess of Sowing pronounced that Dyrani had read the tea leaves (from my stall no less!) and decided that the most auspicious time to take the test would be at the end of the harvest, so that she could prove her worth to all the other gods and make this year a harvest like no other. Fortunately for the harvest deity, another hopeful made the attempt later that afternoon, screaming as he plummeted into the void. I think he wanted to be the god of fish or some such nonsense.
Over the next few months, Dyrani’s appearance changed significantly. Gone were her woolen dresses—now she wore elegant silk embroidered with golden wheat. Her simple grapevine crown was replaced with a wreath of bejeweled golden leaves, and now she carried a massive silver scythe, so that all might know that the goddess of the harvest was near. It had been a good few months for her and her faithful, as the donations came flooding in from visitors and locals alike. But as the end of the harvest drew close, there were signs of stress.
The High Priest of Rains quit one afternoon after a heated debate about the upcoming attempt. I think I saw him making poses at the end of the avenue, worshipping another perpetual hopeful. The High Priestess of Sowing stopped working the street for donations after a local gang stole her cornucopia. Only the High Priest of Harvest remained loyal, doing whatever was asked, but he was a zealot, having lost his entire family to famine some years back. I wouldn’t be surprised if he leapt into the pit after Dyrani on her day.
When harvest finally came, the crowd was sizable, but it was clear most didn’t think Dyrani would actually go through with it. All were disappointed when the sacred plant was revealed. It was withered and brown. Defeated, Dyrani called off the attempt, claiming she had been sabotaged by agents of Urgathoa, who wouldn’t dare let such a powerful deity ascend. The boos were some of the loudest I’ve ever heard. Nearly all her supplicants quit in the following days, stealing her finery and looting her treasury.
It was a hard winter for the would-be goddess. By the spring, it was just her and the High Priest of the Harvest. Their clothes were stained, and the silver scythe had been tarnished.
And that brings us to today. My shop is toward the end of the Avenue, right across from the vast chasm surrounding the Cathedral. The spectacle is all but gone. Dyrani has drawn right up to the edge. There’s no cheering, no chants, just silence and the sound of the wind. As the clouds break, a shaft of sunlight illuminates the young woman. She looks exhausted, as most do after their long journey down the Avenue, but as she looks up into the sun, its warmth shining upon her, she steps out, over nothing…
About The Author
Jason Bulmahn is the Director of Game Design at Paizo. He spends most of his time staring at schedules and math problems, hoping to find a way to ensure that Paizo creates the most fun, engaging games possible. When not working with the design team on the next Pathfinder hard cover, he is at home, working on even more Pathfinder material to share with folks through his personal imprint, Minotaur Games, or streaming video games on twitch.
About Tales of Lost Omens
The Tales of Lost Omens series of web-based flash fiction provides an exciting glimpse into Pathfinder’s Age of Lost Omens setting. Written by some of the most celebrated authors in tie-in gaming fiction and including Paizo’s Pathfinder Tales line of novels and short fiction, the Tales of Lost Omens series promises to explore the characters, deities, history, locations, and organizations of the Pathfinder setting with engaging stories to inspire Game Masters and players alike.
