Despite my apprehension at reading about the deaths of so many of Golarion’s gods and my continuing belief that these Godsrain Prophecies cannot be taken at their word, I still feel a bit wistful about reaching the end of my analysis. While it is certainly possible that there are other prophecies in this vein, this is the last that I will read before delivering the collection to my Lady.
I am not sure why I feel so hesitant to put this work aside. Of course, there is something satisfying about feeling like you are a part of important research, even if the experience of it is less than pleasant. (I think here of those who have documented the beliefs of faiths that are somewhat more difficult to understand, as in To Scream Is Divine: My Year at a Nidalese Temple and its somewhat more uneven follow-up, Kuthite Lullabies.) Beyond that, though, I believe I will miss the gods themselves—or at least the insights into them that these texts have given me, even when I don’t believe a word that I am reading.
After reviewing the entirety of the Godsrain Prophecies, I am confident in one thing and one thing only: that the author has been made privy, whether through prophecy or otherwise, to the fact that one of Golarion’s gods will die. The preoccupation with the subject of a dead god, accuracy of some of the smaller details, and feeling of anticipation throughout are compelling evidence in favor of my theory. With all the contradictions and confusions in the text, though, I do not believe that the author knows which god, how they die, or why.
Unfortunately, this is where my certainty ends, as there are several different reasons why the author may have taken this information and used it to create the prophecies. It is possible that they feared what might happen and wrote these prophecies as a warning, attempting to prevent the dangers they dreamed up. It is also possible that they hope the death will be a destabilizing event, and that they intended for these prophecies to weaken faith and trust in the gods, making them easier to abandon in the aftermath of a catastrophe. There is no way to know, as I will admit to my Lady; I hope that in her wisdom, she can discern the truth.
If nothing else, as with all futures, only time will tell.
–Yivali
The “Death” of Rovagug
The chant starts as a whisper—an idle piece of pillow talk on nights Sarenrae cannot sleep, her fingertips gone marching on the canvas that is Shelyn’s back, her hands casting surging shadows onto Desna’s resting arm. She weaves a tale of how to win the battle that she hungers for, imagining alliances that span across the Great Beyond and speaking life to victory until the passion of her dream becomes a shared ambition. All three lovers make mention of it, idly, to those who share their interests, pitched in a tone and timbre meant to echo in the listener’s chest. The message drums with nostalgia tinged with rage and thirst for justice long delayed, and it is passed along from ear to ear until it finally circles back, a call to action with the deadly urgency of war.
Imprisonment is not enough. Rovagug must die.
There are more gods now than there were when Rovagug was sealed away, and many sign up for the quest to kill the Great Destroyer, to stand alongside Abadar and Gozreh and Calistria. Some do so to show their mettle, some to gather bragging rights, and some to reassure themselves that if there is something to gain, they won’t leave empty-handed. Sarenrae worries, privately, that many do not understand the danger they’ve signed up for, but she takes the names and notes the skills and hands the roles out all the same—rear guard to those who fear but fight, support for those who dwell in hope, melee for those who want to feel the blood beneath their fingers.
At first, it seems too easy. Asmodeus unlocks the seal that leads into the Dead Vault and gods pour through in something like a line. Wrackworms turn from feasting on the Rough Beast’s flesh to face them, but fall to sword and spell and scythe as if they were an afterthought, slicking the ground around themselves with remnants of their dying. After the cheers and murmurs fade, a gnawing silence fills the air, thick and dank and hungry, and for a moment, no one moves, a huddled mass of godhood waiting for something to happen.
Then Rovagug is everywhere—suddenly, impossibly. Rending, clawing, tearing open, shoveling exalted flesh into his waiting mouths. Apsu’s wing is torn asunder. Hei Feng’s feathers fall like rain. Grandmother Spider holds her own, her arms a whirling blur of blades, but watches as Thamir falls still, body crushed beneath a claw, and Hanspur drowns a second time, awash in his own blood. But Rovagug, despite his power, cannot overcome them all, and soon the tide of battle changes, rattling the prison’s walls as gods press their advantages, slamming his body side to side—an endless, rhythmic dying.
With each impact on the Dead Vault’s walls, Golarion is shaken. Buildings tumble into streets. Rivers shift to find new banks. Old trees flatten forests. Volcanoes long thought dormant, from Taldor to the Five Kings Mountains, spit dense ash into the sky, blanketing the life around them and blocking out the sun. The Eye of Abendego expands twofold, turning the Mwangi Expanse into newly Sodden Lands. When Rovagug is finally still, Sarenrae standing by his head with her arms held high in victory, the gods emerge from the Dead Vault to find a world that thinks the end has come.
After all the dead are mourned, no one agrees on what comes next. The aftermath grows tense and bitter, victory turned vicious. With Rovagug no threat to them, godly alliances feel heavier, a burden to be shrugged off or set down and ignored. How to rebuild a ruined land becomes the stuff of smaller wars—Abadar feuds with Erastil, Irori shuns Iomedae, Sarenrae feels the weight of blame hurled at her from every corner, and Norgorber sides with anyone who might advance his cause. But while they bicker here and now, the gods may yet unite again, as deep in Avistani soil, disturbed by distant tremors, the worst of Rovagug’s spawn have felt their prison falter and ready for destruction that would make their sire proud.
While imprisoned, Rovagug maintains the peace between the gods, but in his absence, what prevents war between the immortals?
That is certainly one way to end things. If I am being honest, the idea of Rovagug trapped within the bowels of Golarion has always made me a bit nervous, but it seems it may be better than the alternative! Which gives me one final idea as to why these prophecies exist—perhaps they argue against change and tell those who read them that, even for those gods whom you might fear or hate, the status quo is better than anything new that you might long for—a desperate version of a wish that, no matter what they have seen coming, it would be best for things to continue as they are. Sadly for the author, change, I believe, is inevitable. I hope only that we are ready and that we meet it, heads held high and wings outstretched, however and whenever it comes.
Don’t miss our exciting livestream on Tuesday, April 16 at 4:00 PM Pacific at twitch.tv/officialpaizo, where members of the Pathfinder team will announce who among the remaining deities is the unfortunate victim presaged in these prophecies. In addition to revealing which major deity is going to die in the War of Immortals event, we’ll also lay out the entire slate of War of Immortals tie-in products coming in the second half of 2024. Make your final predictions and join us in just under a week.
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.
