One interesting line of thought that I have yet to formally consider goes beyond the question of whether these “prophecies” should be considered equally as a whole to whether the whole of each of them should be equally considered. If, for example, I dismiss the effects of a particular god’s supposed death, does this mean that I am dismissing their prophesied death altogether? Does every part of a prophecy have to come true for it to be considered prophetic? If the vast majority proves true, what is wrong could be an error of translation, interpretation, or prophetic understanding. On the other hand, if most of a prophecy is false, what is accurate is likely a lucky guess. The Windsong Corollaries never reach this sort of sentence-level consideration (a gap that I might perhaps publish a small paper in when my Lady does not need me, so long as I keep things strictly theoretical). I expect a reading of Beyond Aroden: Failed Foretelling in the Age of Prophecy is in short order to establish a bit of a baseline, but it will be up to my Lady (with my assistance, I hope!) to determine what level of possibility and accuracy any of these must have to be fully considered a work of prophecy.
–Yivali, Apprentice Researcher for the Lady of Graves
The Death of Erastil
Erastil runs. Gallops really. Hoof over hoof, his antlers gleaming, bounding over shallow stream and whirling under tree branch, his body flying forward in a streak of joyous motion. He cannot always be the stag, but there are times he needs to run and feel the wind across his legs, familiar as the dawn but as new as any sunrise. He runs until he’s just past tired and ready for a drink of water, shaking leaves from antlers in a spray of autumn colors and transforming back into the form his followers are used to—horned head and wiry body of an age-old master hunter.
But he is not the only age-old creature resting in this wood. Something emerges, slowly, from a refuge it has tired of, assorted sharp and fleshy parts dragging its pouch of hunger up from somewhere down below. Even Erastil’s well-trained eyes do not quite see it slowly crawling, clawing onto haunch and belly, drawing closer to the god and waiting for the perfect moment. Not until the instant that it rises up to strike.
Erastil runs. Scrambles really. Step after step, bow at the ready, preparing even as he flees, trampling through a clutch of bushes, plunging through the river’s cold, trying to stay ahead until he whirls around to face what hunts him, show it that he’s unafraid. But there are things that even Old Deadeye has no defense against. And when that something catches him, its jaw wide and devouring, it turns what once was hunting god to nothing more than helpless prey, only stopping its ravaging to marvel at the flavor. There’s something here it’s never savored, in between the crunch and squelch—divinely filling in a way that it has never known before and now can never be without. Once it has consumed its meal and all that’s left is bits of bone, it scents the air and twists its body, reveling in the aftertaste of something past mortality, and lurches through the undergrowth to find another morsel.
Followers of Erastil who felt his blessings fade track his remaining footprints to the place he fought and fell. (There’s luck in that, or Jaidi’s hand, steady despite a widow’s grief, putting firm hands against their backs until they find whatever place his hint of dust remains.) A hunt is called, a holy ride, in honor of the fallen god, to track and take whatever beast has left their altars bare. But all they find across their path are other grieving worshippers whose gods (most small in name and reach, their purpose only known by handfuls) now are merely carcasses, devoured by some wretched beast that no one ever glimpses. The Hunters offer shelter and a purpose to these wanderers, and some find comfort in the endless chase across the Great Beyond, even as they never seem to find the subject of their search. Whatever killed Erastil, whatever hunts the other gods, is always hidden from their view, is always one quick turn away, is always adding to the trail of carnage just ahead.
The gods take notice of the beast, each readying their own defense. Some draw together, forming pacts and promising to shield each other—the radiance of the Dawnflower reaches the realm of the Midnight Lord, Norgorber and Iomedae draw swords with Cayden Cailean, the half-abandoned Summerlands fill up with frightened deities—but others use the moment as the perfect time to strike. Gorum turns on the cowardly and sharpens blades against their backs, Asmodeus carves clauses into those he has a contract with, Calistria builds safety from the ashes of revenge. Pantheons rise and fall and splinter in the shadow of the beast, endlessly repositioning even when it has gone to ground, its hunger sated only briefly every new time that it feeds.
Among the mortals, fear takes root as one god or another falls, and those who live are sometimes absent, too caught up in safety to give followers their strength. Some flourish in these absences that gods might once have kept in check, selling hope or cruelty as counters to divinity, creating order from the chaos any way they can. And when the gods grow used to fear and venture back into the world (beast still lurking in the corners, drooling at the prey), some find their temples turned to rubble, dusty from years of disuse, or built over to some new purpose they can barely recognize, and must now find a new path in a half-godless Golarion, even as something in the shadows starts to hunt
When the god of the hunt falls prey to an unknown hunter, what chance do the beast’s other quarries have of avoiding a similar fate?
Much as I found it distasteful to read about, I wish this supposed prophecy had gone into greater detail about this “beast” with what I suppose is a taste for divine flesh (a prospect I can barely conceive of, let alone comment on!). While I did attempt to use my rudimentary artistic talents to create some sort of sketch, even my best guess at the appearance of this beast has fallen quite short, as it matches nothing I am currently aware of. Either my skills are not up to the task, the prophecy has purposefully been vague, or this beast has never been seen before. If the latter, this is yet another reason to doubt this prophecy in particular. Anything this powerful would surely be noted in someone’s annals. Beyond that, though, the breakdown of the gods noted here seems very unlikely. In both my studies and experiences of the gods, I have found them to be quite devoted to those who worship them (each in their own way, of course), even when to their own detriment. No matter how horrible the threat, I do not believe mortals would be abandoned in this way, nor that they would abandon their gods in return. Or, at least, I do not wish to believe it. Best, I think, to move on to some new, and hopefully less troubling, prophecy.
About the Author
Erin Roberts has been thrilled to be able to contribute a few small threads to the fabric of Golarion in the pages of books like Lost Omens Firebrands, Lost Omens Highhelm, and Lost Omens Travel Guide. In addition to her work for Paizo, she freelances across the TTRPG world (and was selected as a Diana Jones Award Emerging Designer Program Winner in 2023), has had fiction published in magazines including Asimov’s, Clarkesworld, and The Dark, and talks about writing every week on the Writing Excuses podcast. Catch up with her latest at linktr.ee/erinroberts.
