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[h2]Helgensblot - the Festival of the Gods[/h2]
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[sub][i]28 years after Antiquity...[/i][/sub]

Autumn was at its peak, with hot-red leaves dancing in the wind on every branch. The fields were all only plains of sliced grain stalks similar to unshaven stubble, and the vegetable acres were all messes of potholes and ditches as eager hands scooped carrots, beets, onions and kohlrabi out of the ground. Skin sleds of goods stacked taller than the people pulling them flooded in and out of Ha-Dûna like the tides on the beaches below. Even the occasional cart, imported from far off lands and dragged by highland cattle, brought in the autumn mutton for the great feast of Reiya. From the beach below, nets upon nets of fjord salmon and herring were dragged aboard Dûnan rafts in preparation for the feast of Claroon. From the woods came the children giddily with baskets of pears, apples and currants red and black to honour Jennesis. Odes to the gods rang out from every building corner, and people sat on stools in the streets between shifts of lifting and loading, smoking pipeweed and sharing in the excitement of the upcoming festivities. The Celite Iontráil was polished and cleaned thoroughly in preparation for the sermon of Fìrinn; adequately sized boulders were prepared for the Boris Games; the Constellars had, despite religious schisms, been cordially invited to prepare the rites in honour of Seeros, as with every year during these times; an enclave of druids knelt before Gibbou’s altar and fervently prayed for permission for the whole of Ha-Dûna to stay up past curfew; Caden’s test of strength was set up next to the Boris Games’ course; a monument to all those who had fallen during the Conquests was erected in honour of the dead and the sorrow they felt for them through Naya’s grace - confusingly, bards all around also sang of Naya’s beauty in ways that did not match her solemn portrayal; marriage proposals and ceremonies were conducted by the dozens as Taeg Eit would have wanted it. It was beautiful, harmonic chaos.

After all, it was the first day of Helgensblot.

Helgensblot was a week-long celebration in honour of the gods - nor just the druidic gods, but all the gods precious to the Dûnans. It was a holiday of harvesting, games, feasting, music and offerings to the gods, all as thanks for the gifts given to them. The first day marked the day when all would prepare for the following days - the grain fields would be shaven clean of their produce, which would be rolled into the mills and processed into flour for bread and porridge. The old rams and ewes and dams were slaughtered for their mutton, which would be grilled over fires with wild herbs and sea salt. Ceramic pots of butter, yogurt and kefir which had sat under the ground to keep cold through the warm late summer were unearthed and unlidded. After the way the Helgensblot had gone the year before, the archdruids had picked and seized as many joybells as they could find, preserving them as fruit kompots in a cellar under the House of the Weary. There, they were kept under guard, though some of the festival attendees showed clear signs that the archdruids had missed a few. Apart from that, though, all the festivities were as old as tradition itself.

This year, however, a new game would be introduced alongside others - one in honour of their newest addition to the pantheon: Sigeran’s tournament. It would fall on the second-to-final day, and all were curious as to what the archdruids had thought up this time.

The first day passed quickly as everyone was too busy with work to realise that time flew by. Before long, all the preparations for the week had been completed, and the feasting had begun. Various bards took to the improvised stages and performed songs about the gods: the Ballad of Macsal and Lucia was particularly popular - as was the Epic of Gaard Goldhair. The first feast always served mutton stew. The goat and the sheep were the animals of survival, and to celebrate having survived another year thanks to the gods, the Dûnans knew of no better meat to eat. It was eaten with yogurt and sour cream, and for desert they had wild fruit kompot. The feasting continued deep into the night, for the druids were confident that they had gotten Gibbou’s permission. Those who lasted until past midnight got to see the Constellars put on a ceremony in honour of Seeros, their familiars dancing about with their masters. 

The second day was dedicated entirely to the Boris Games. Here, men and women competed for the favour of the stone god by running a mountain race for thirty kilometres, all while carrying a sizeable rock in their hands. Many participated - most made it back. The route could be treacherous, and to lose the rock meant instant disqualification. Those most unfortunate never made it back at all, and served ever as reminders to respect the mountains and the king of stone, Boris. All knew the risks, however, and many who participated had sharp arguments with their families about the dangers of the race. Deaths were always a tragedy, but they were simultaneously honoured as martyrs who gave their lives so the others would not have to - a sacrifice to the mountain god, almost. The race went on for most of the day, and many ran out to the fringes of the route to cheer on the participants. Druids were posted all around with pots of water and fermented milk to help the racers recuperate after long strides. After the games, the winner, who this year was a herjegalling named Frode the Enduring, was raised atop a pedestal and given a calf, a ram and a ewe for his efforts - an incredible gift to a family without ties to the resthouse system. The night once again followed with more feasting, music and games.

The third day was reserved for prayer, and the festival came almost to a halt. All participants went on a minor pilgrimage down to the lowlands to see the sun rise in the east over Tordentind, the mountain at which foot laid Grimholt, all in honour of Reiya. They then followed the sun’s rise to the sea and the surface reefs, where they tossed leftovers to the gulls, barnacle fliers and the fish to thank Claroon; by midday, they reached the forest, where they buried acorns, seeds and pinecones to thank Jennesis; by the afternoon, they had reached the foot of the mountains under Ha-Dûna, and they gave thanks to Boris by rubbing the stones with their hands and building small cairns; at sunset, they were back in Ha-Dûna in time to see twilight reflect against the Celite Iontráil, and all offered their thanks to Fìrinn by bowing to it. As the stars came out, they thanked Seeros by swearing to remain hopeful and to inspire their peers to do the same; as the moon rose, they thanked Gibbou by going to sleep; and as they did, all the mothers sang the songs of Macsal to lull their children into the world of dreams.

The fourth day was once again a day of games, this time Caden’s test of strength, with activities to remember the fallen planned for the afternoon in honour of Naya. The test of strength challenged its participants first to squat with the added weight of tree trunks, stones and, mostly for the laughs, other people - particularly their spouses. Those without proper technique and arrogance in choosing their load could be damaged for life, and this year, like every year, there were two or three who pulled a muscle, snapped sinews or broke their backs due from sheer pride. Thereafter came a test of pull-ups. Finally, there was a test of pushups. At the end of the day, the winner was the magnificent gaardskarl Boudicca, a mountain of muscle and one of the survivors of the Battle of Grimholt. The competition had been fierce between her and Frode the Enduring, but having spent all his vigour in the race two days prior, Frode simply couldn’t compete with his rival Boudicca. Her price was two goats and a wooden permit that allowed her family access to the resthouses for the whole winter. However, as she already was married to a druid, she declined and offered the permit instead to her sister, who took it happily. She was subsequently further hailed as a true daughter of Ha-Dûna. After the games, the participants all gathered to mourn their lost ones at the altar to Naya. The sorrow once more stopped the celebrations dead, but towards the end, the archdruids put a spin of martyrdom on the narrative, reigniting the party fervour once again. An afterparty continued at the Bard’s College into the depth of night.

The fifth day was dedicated entirely to Taeg Eit’s marriages, and the druids would go to bed exhausted and sick and tired of saying and hearing the vows over and over for a whole day. This day, the feasts all became quite a bit more family-oriented, and wedding gifts were exchanged between the families of the couples. Those offering druids for marriage always had to pay much more than the peasants, but those funds were, after all, drawn from the resthouses, so in reality, marriages didn’t cost them as much as it cost the commoners. The Statue of Prolificacy was also eagerly visited in the evening.

Then came the sixth day, the day of Sigeran’s Tournament. The archdruids had gotten up early and approached the altar-in-progress to the Victory God. They knelt down and offered the tribute of fruits and meat. Kaer Teagan spoke, “O mighty Sigeran, victorious lord over all and champion of war - we ask you humbly for your blessing to play games of battle in your honour today to conclude our festival!”

At first there was silence for a long moment after the request was made. Then came once again the voice that was a million, each a whisper but together much more.

[color=Fuchsia]“You may have my sanction but not my blessing, such is reserved for those who more faithfully follow the righteous path.”[/color]

The five archdruids recoiled and looked at one another. Kaer Togen, the oldest among them by now and most senior archdruid, raised a quivering hand. “What could he mean by that?”

“I told you, Kaer Teagan - he’s sees the animalistic ways of our warriors and declared that our victories are without honour!” Kaer Pier accused. Kaer Teagan snarled back at him and tossed herself to the ground once more.

“Forgive us, great god - we are bit ignorant specks compared to your infinite wisdom in the righteous paths of war. What is the path we ought to take instead to please you the best?”

[color=Fuchsia]“You have misunderstood the purpose one must take in war. Your warriors seem to have a curious idea that their duty is to fight your enemies, you archdruids have a worse idea that in war you take only that which your people need. The greatest curse you have brought upon yourself is that of the idea of honor. Does it shield your warriors from arrows? If driven off your land can you eat honor? Would honor save your children from the lash of your foes when you did not do enough to destroy them because it would not be honorable?

“Your objective in war is to ensure the survival of your people over your enemy, your warriors need to destroy the enemy, not fight them. Only give them a chance to defend themselves if there is no other option to defeat them. You take not only what you need, but what you must to ensure that none will challenge and threaten your own people in times yet seen. You squander your victories with a too quick peace, you give your enemies time to work against you. You squander your warriors’ lives in fighting anything that resembles an honorable fight, honor has nothing to do with a righteous war. To be on the righteous path you must ensure your people triumph over your foes.

“Prepare to walk this path and you shall have my blessing.”[/color]

The druids were speechless. Kaer Pier’s libs quivered while the mouth was agape with disbelief. The two elders Kaer Togen and Kaer Saner eyed the ground in great discomfort, looking almost ready to vomit. Kaer Oleg and Kaer Teagan, however, both shuffled even closer to the altar and lifted their arms to the sky in praise. “Oh, your wisdom is too great for our humble minds to comprehend, magnificent Sigeran - forgive us that we could not see!” Kaer Oleg bowed his head and whispered praise to the victory god.

“What are you doing?!” Kaer Pier snapped quietly behind them.

“Are you deaf? It is clear that we have been too kind to those who oppose the supremacy of the Dûnans. None other than the mighty Sigeran - the cornerstone in our prosperity as it is now - has decreed so!”

“One of the cornerstones, Teagan! I--...” He looked nervously at the altar. It stood in stark contrast with the other altars in that it was not ordained with figurines, crystalline stones, bowls of fruit, nuts and vegetables, or flowers; the altar of Sigeran was decorated with skulls and bone. A flash of realisation washed over Kaer Pier’s face. “... I… I do not know if Sigeran is who we think he is.”

The other archdruids recoiled. Kaer Teagen first showed surprise, then a knowing frown that made Kaer Pier realise he had made a terrible mistake. “... Blasphemy… On the day of Sigeran himself.” She turned to the altar again. “Great god - what say you in response to this abhorrent behaviour?”

[color=Fuchsia]“The duty of protection falls upon you present to prove yourselves still faithful.”[/color] As the voices spoken in unison they grew ever harsher in tone. [color=Fuchsia]“One of your most holy number blaspheme, blaspheme at the altar and on this most holy day! It begets reckless apostasy or malevolent conspiracy, to have an Archdruid so harshly seek to imperil your entire community, their thoughts and guiding hand turning the faithful down dark and unholy paths as shown through their quick and easy slip to blaspheme. Show your faith- root out the corruption and evils wrought in Ha-Dûna, save the faithful from the corrupting ideas and ideals of such a dark teacher. There is still time yet to prove yourselves before all gods, before we are forced to action.”[/color]

Chalk looked black in comparison to the colour of Kaer Pier’s skin as they heard this. Both Kaer Togen and Kaer Saner began slowly walking backwards. Kaer Teagen and Kaer Oleg both cast themselves to the ground. “We are still worthy, your greatness! Your will be done!” With that, Kaer Oleg cast his arm out, roots shooting out of the ground to envelop his colleague. Pier reacted in time, swiping outwards with his arm to blast the roots away with a momentary wall of sunfire. Teagan turned around and hammered her fist at the ground, a pillar of stone shooting up from the ground and casting Pier backwards. The man crashed to the ground with the sound of a snap and a pained squeal. His right arm, which he had landed on, pointed in an unnatural angle. Oleg charged up another spell, but in a last minute effort, Pier shot his palm out towards him, a purple cloud forming around Oleg’s face and immediately knocking him into a deep sleep, falling onto Teagan on the way down. 

“Bah!” she snarled, rolled him off of her and uncorked her waterskin, pulling out a lance of water which flew to pierce Pier. It would have, too, but he had once again, in the span of a reaction, altered the truth of his position slightly to her perceptions, making her miss by mere inches. As she tried to manipulate the water lance again, Pier pleaded the invisible stars above for aid. 

In an instant, all light and color drained from the morning sky, except for bright lights forming a constellation resembling a shepherd looking down at them. In the confusion, a kirin appeared beside Pier and then the sky returned to normal. Both Teagan and Pier screamed in fright, and Kaer Togen and Saner who both were watching from behind the cover of a nearby altar, cowered before the creature. None of them reacted before Pier, though, and before the others could understand what had befallen them, the kirin set off into a sprint out of the city. Around the city, too, there were screams, confusion and terror over what had happened to the sky. 

“S-stop them!” shouted Teagan, but from what she could see, the kirin instead parted every crowd and had every gate opened for it. The archdruid got to smacking Kaer Oleg awake again, though it took some well-placed slaps. Stalking back up to them like a pair of walking corpses, the old Kaer Togen and Kaer Saner eyed Teagan with reluctance and shame. As Oleg came back to his senses, Teagan eyed the senior archdruids with contempt.

“Why didn’t you stop him?!”

“W-we--” Togen began, but Teagan waved him quiet.

“Ugh, you’re useless! Of course, this is what we get for allowing you old clowns to remain in our circle for this long…”

“Old clowns?!” Kaer Sanner opened, but was cut off again.

“It is clear that we have been foolish to trust in peace… Sigeran is right! Blasphemers surround us everywhere - even in our innermost circle! I’ve tried again and again to tell that buffoon Pier, but he couldn’t see - he couldn’t see that Ha-Dûna allowing our neighbours to coexist - to thrive even - will kill us. We are the chosen people - the Dûnans are the people of the gods! Sigeran has realised this - Sigeran supports us in this!”

Kaer Togen raised a concerned finger. “But Kaer Teagan, see reason - Sigeran is not one of the Eight! He is but a lesser god that--”

“LESSER god?!” Kaer Teagan stormed at the elderly man, who fell back with such haste that he lost his footing and fell to the ground with a weak whimper. It was just barely that he could raise an arm to defend himself. Teagan glared down at him. “I’m beginning to think we have been lied to all this time - [i]Hir[/i] granted us power in exchange for a lifestyle as sheep; we were grazers who bit at the lowest form of life - grass - and never dared journey beyond the edges of the meadow. Then we tasted blood and became the wolves, Togen - we are survivors and have always been; like the hounds in the night, we bare our fangs to carve out our place in this world. Such was the way of our ancestors who battled the Ketrefans, and such is our way still.” 

Kaer Saner had knelt down by Kaer Togen and begun to heal him, holding his hand gently to pump the life of Reiya into him. Teagan knelt down and took the other hand, bringing it to her cheek. Togen and Saner both eyed her warily. Teagan cracked a smile. “Don’t you agree, you two?”

They remained voiceless, their eyes pleading the other for help they both knew neither could give. Finally, Kaer Togen, hints of tears in his eyes, nodded slowly. “Wholeheartedly, Kaer Teagan…”

Teagan’s smile broadened. “How wonderful that we see eye to eye. And you, Kaer Saner?”

The other archdruid looked back at her, then down at Togen with a glare of betrayal starkly visible across his poorly-aged face. However, the more he looked back at Teagan, the weaker the glare grew, until finally, he too nodded weakly. “We are, indeed, the chosen people… Sigeran… Said so him… Self…”

Teagan grinned and squeezed Togen’s hand before standing up. “Loyalty to the gods and your leaders comes so rare these days. Thus was demonstrated by Pier, after all. Still…” She frowned at them. “... None of you made attempts at capturing what was clearly an enemy of the gods. You are stripped of your ranks as archdruid.”

Saner and Togen gasped. “You cannot do that outside a moot!” Saner snapped and straightened himself in challenge. A flare in her eyes kept him from continuing. She reached down to her belt and brandished a great copper scythe, unholstering it and bringing it down to Saner’s throat.

“I can, and I did.”

Saner swallowed, but his face remained stern. “The others won’t accept this - I won’t accept this.”

Teagan’s scowl deepened. Slowly, she withdrew her blade from his throat and Saner breathed out in relief. Teagan than stepped around him, hooked the blade around his neck and sawed, parting the skin and opening the veins in the throat to spill litres of blood all over Kaer Togen’s face. The old man spat, squirmed and squeaked. Kaer Oleg took the barely breathing man and dragged him to the altar of Sigeran while Teagan held Togen’s head by the hair.

“I do not care whether you accept or not. It is not our decision, but the gods’, and the gods have made theirs.”

Togen breathed quiveringly. “[i]God[/i], you mean.”

Teagan looked over to the altar, where Kaer Oleg was busily mounting the corpse on a saltire. “Yes…” she whispered. “Our god has made his decision.”

Crowds still panicked from before blackout earlier came running to the archdruids for help. They saw the massacre and gasped and squealed, the warriors immediately moving to the front line brandishing whatever they had on them that could be used for a weapon. At the front came Boudicca and Frode the Enduring, both horrified at the archdruid whose robe was drenched crimson, standing over a blood-covered man and in front of a mutilated display of the butchered Kaer Saner. Many keeled over to vomit or burst into tears at the display.

“What… Is this?” Boudicca barely breathed. Frode, too, had to vomit and supported himself on two others as he did.

“This is the will of Sigeran! We have been led astray by the Eight, my children - peace was never an option! Our people belong on the battlefield, and none among us should rest until the entire world rests underneath Dûnan heel! Great Sigeran - shout your holy decree!”

The whispering cries of a million voices called out to the crowded masses so assembled. [color=Fuchsia]“Holy Kaer Teagan speaks truth of divine will! You, the people of Ha-Dûna are the chosen people! Fated to rule and to conquer as divinely guided under the righteous path of Kaer Teagan!”[/color]

[color=Fuchsia]“Arise children of Ha-Dûna, the unrighteous are culled from your number, dead or fleeing from their true punishment, and your path becomes clear! Your enemies abound around you, the unrighteous guide and seek to destroy good Dûnans from outside what your virtues did not allow them to do from within! Go forth and conquer! Go forth as the chosen, the rightly guided people!”[/color]

Boudicca and Frode both watched in disbelief as great swathes of people fell to their knees in awe of the voices, shouting praises to Sigeran and lifting their arms to the sky in worship. Others slowly, but surely, started backing away towards the wall gates, but then, someone shouted, “HEY! Kneel before the great Sigeran!”

“No, this is wrong!” came a weak-voiced, but strong-willed response, and they all knew who it was. Kaer Pier’s sister, Kaer Logan, who had stood up to Teagan at the beginning of the conquests, was shepherding those who followed her sentiment towards the gate. Boudicca and Frode had begun making their ways over, but Boudicca suddenly stopped and struggled to continue. A number of hands had wrapped themselves around her leg, all of them belonging to the kowtowing remainers.

“If you leave, Sigeran will think us unfaithful and punish us all!” shouted one of them. Boudicca wrested herself free.

“This isn’t right! Reiya wouldn’t want this - Gibbou wouldn’t want this - and Seeros absolutely wouldn’t want this! What is wrong with you all?!”

“Silence! You’ll get us all killed,” came another sharp whisper. Boudicca kept walking over the kneeling masses. 

“What’re you doing, you fools?!” came insults from the front, followed by Teagan’s own, “Why are you letting them leave?!”

“Ha-Dûna is more than your power fantasies, Teagan!” boomed Boudicca and drummed her powerful chest in challenge. “The people know this - they are loyal to the true gods: the gods of [i]Hir[/i]!”

“Oh, are they, now?” Teagan snapped back. She pointed at one of those who had whispered earlier. It was a man, a skinny man, barely old enough to be called a man. He rose slowly and approached her. “What is your name?”

“G-Graham,” he whimpered back. Teagan put her hand reassuringly on his shoulder and gestured to the Eight altars, all twinkling in the morning sun still. 

“Tell me, Graham, do you believe that the Eight are greater than Sigeran? Would you trust your life with them over the god that gave us all eternal life?”

Graham squeaked and wheezed, shifting between the altars to the Eight and the altar to Sigeran, particularly the dripping corpse of Saner. After a moment, he whispered something. Teagen smirked. “You’ll have to speak louder than that. Come on, so they all hear you.”

“THE EIGHT ARE NOTHING COMPARED TO SIGERAN!” he shouted from the top of his lungs and collapsed forward with a long cry. The yell blasted outwards like a shockwave, shaking every Dûnan to the core. One by one, they rose up, reached for what weapons they had and began to chant: “Sigeran, Sigeran, Sigeran…”

Boudicca and Frode stood at the gate, the population of those disgusted by this already hurrying away in a panic. Quickly, they began to close the gate and bar it up from the outside, reinforced further with Mother silk and roots summoned forth by rebelling druids. The barricade and midday-made silk would not be strong enough, however, and hardly four minutes after they had gotten started, the gate quaked with the fury of fanatics on the other side. Both Frode and Boudicca resolved to help the others escape rather than stay and hold the gate. A minute later, the improvised blockade broke, and the streets flooded with Dûnans hunting for blasphemers.

“Kill them - kill them all - the unfaithful must not be allowed another breath!” Teagan shouted after them and turned to the altar. “We pray we may yet be worthy of your blessing, great god.”

[color=Fuchsia]“You have it, drive them from Holy Ha-Dûna.”[/color] The voices seemed much calmer at this point.

“It will be done, great Sigeran.”

Men, women and children all screamed as the tide of bloodthirsty fanatics rolled towards them with great fury. The Mothers set up barriers of silk again, but like last time, they knew that the sunlit did no favours for the silk’s strength. Druids whispered their final prayers as they readied themselves for one last defense against the darkness. Warriors of the refugees went to the front with what weapons they had. The clash was imminent, now, and they knew only a fraction of them would escape Ha-Dûna alive.

Except that would not be the case. Like earlier when the sky had turned back, the sky flickered once more, and momentarily, the moon outshone the sun. The first row of fanatics fell over, then the second one did. In mere seconds, the avalanche of flesh and weapons that had been hurtling towards them with war cries and roars, piled over itself into mounds of snoring bodies. The escapees were dumbfounded, but those quick to action among them hastened to shepherd them out of the city before the enemy woke up.

Running after them, Teagan stomped on the ground in a wild rage. “Damn it, damn it, DAMN IT! Give chase after them! Come on, wake up!” she yelled and kicked at one of the sleepers. He only rolled over grumpily. Teagan kicked him until he bruised and then, a sudden sensation dazed her and she fell over with a snore of her own. Meanwhile, the escapees made it out of Ha-Dûna without suffering casualties beyond their lost belongings. They were heartbroken, however - their compatriots had come at them with the sole intention to slay them all. Not a tribe among them, either - these had been people of every tribe, of every clan. Boudicca stood atop a hill overlooking the great, empty city below. Behind her came Kaer Pier, his broken arm bandaged with Mother silk. Boudicca bowed her respect, but Kaer Pier bowed deeper.

“Please, don’t greet me as such. I deserve none of your respect,” Pier sighed.

“A servant of the true gods such as yourself deserves nothing but respect, Kaer Pier,” Boudicca replied and drummed her chest in salute. The archdruid groaned.

“I caused this… If only I had spoken up against Teagan before… Put an end to the ever-growing sympathies for Sigeran earlier, then maybe I--”

“Stop.” Boudicca squeezed his shoulder supportively. The archdruid met her eyes with a shattered frown. “You have done no wrong, archdruid. You stood up against a woman of great power - as well as her closest lackey - and escaped with your life. In your own words, it would seem that the gods still have plans for you.” She punched him amiably in the chest and smiled before facing the city again with a grim scowl. “We cannot delay for long. Gibbou and Seeros may have been our saviours today, but we know not when the enemy will rise again. We must travel south, gather reinforcements with the hamlets. We need to outpace the servants of Sigeran and make certain they cannot garner more support for their malicious cause.”

Kaer Pier wiped his tears and nodded. “I will seek out the constellars. They might be able to help us send a message to the other druids in the lowlands and in the east at Grimholt. I doubt any of us would have chosen to remain with Teagan, and if they did, surely the gods must see by now that they have gone astray.”

“My thoughts exactly. Go there and beseech them for aid. I will bring our people to safety.” The two pressed their foreheads together in fraternity and parted ways. Ha-Dûna had suffered a terrible defeat at the hands of its greatest enemy - itself - and now it would have to be taken back.
[hr]



[hider=SumSum!]
It’s festival time! HD preps for Helgensblot, the once in a year week long feast in the honour of the gods - not just the druidic gods, but all of em: Reiya, Claroon, Gibbou, Caden, Boris, Firinn, Naya, Jennesis, Macsal, Taeg Eit, Sigeran, Seeros - they all here. First day’s a huge feast and prep; second day’s the Boris Games, a dope ass race; third day’s pilgrimage day, where all of HD strolls around the countryside to pay homage to the gods; fourth day’s Caden games and Naya crying; fifth day is marriage day in honour of Taeg Eit; sixth day’s Sigeran’s tournament, a new event starting in the year 28. We never get to know what the seventh day would be.

Turns out that Sigeran’s tournament might not become tradition, as when the druids go to ask Sigeran for his blessing, he drops a chapter straight out of a socio-darwinistic manifesto on top of them, really appealing to Kaer Teagan and Kaer Oleg, but not to Kaer Pier. The archdruids have a dope magic fight from which Kaer Pier escapes with the help of Seeros’ kirin. Seeros blacks out the sky while doing so, causing a panic in the town as it’s midday. Teagan then kills one of the other archdruids and mounts him on the altar to Sigeran for the whole populace to see, because they came into the city centre to find out what’s going on. Sigeran drops another hard-ass speech on the Dûnans, causing half of them to run and the other half to want for an ethnic cleansing. Teagan sends the cleansers to clean out the heretics who don’t throw away their faith in the other gods in the name of Sigeran, but Gibbou sees this and puts the attackers to sleep so they can escape, aided by the Mothers. Ha-Dûna falls into the claws of Teagan and becomes a city under Sigeran’s patronage, albeit with half its population.

The Separation arc has begun.
[/hider]

[hider=MP!]
Sirius
Starting: 2MP/2DP
Ending: 2MP/0DP 

-1 DP to give unnamed Kirin title: 
Stand Against Death I: The mere presence of this Kirin weakens the hold of magic relating to death and undeath. This aura of disruption is rather weak and is barely noticeable, but this effect is majorly improved by contact with it.

-1 DP to perform godly act discounted by omens to make everyone in and near Ha-Duna perceive that the sky turned entirely black for a moment except for a looming constellation of the shepherd glaring down at them.

Gibbou start 1MP/0DP
1MP - Perform godly feat: Put the raging fanatics chasing after their compatriots to sleep so that the innocents can escape unharmed.
End 0MP/0DP.

Thaa
Start: MP 5 DP 4
-2 DP undying blessing for those who remain in Ha-Dûna, less intense but long lasting
End; MP 5 DP 2
[/hider]

[hider=Prestigios!]
Statue of Prolificacy: 5 + 5 = 10
Celite Iontráil: 5 + 5 = 10.
Circle of the Long Stride: 26 + 5 = 31
Basin of the Weary: 5 + 5 = 10
Dûnan Bards: 0 + 5 = 5
Bard’s College of Ha-Dûna: 0 + 5 = 5
[/hider]