The Celestial Realm

“Ghondish is gone. Again.” Said Maximilian, AKA Mil, the god of war. Nursing a large bruise on the side of his face. “Sarah, did you have to hit me so hard?”

“Yes.”

“He told us last week that he had things to attend to.” Pendleton said, looking up from a set of well painted figurines. “These are very well made, and well painted.”

“Of course they are!” Sarah said. “They were done by Gobb the Great! I only rescued them from Knowledge's museum.”

“So, no game tonight.” Mil sulked. “I wanted to tell off that new housewife so badly. Trying to limit the number of bird feeders? The insolence of that woman! Is she a Karen in disguise?”

“I certainly hope not.” Kocha said, looking up from the rulebook. “That would be a disaster. The book says that more than three Karens in one development is an HOA ending event, and we already have three.” He glared at Sarah.

- - -

Elsewhere in the celestial realm, Narissa, goddess of Tranquility, was in the celestial forge, having a conversation with Bjorn, who was also sporting a bruise. “I know that little pest is doing something to interfere with the balance. I can feel it!”

“Well, where would he be?” Bjorn asked between hammer blows.

“It may be the famine in Karoksted. Or he may be looking after the disease in the frost deer to the north.” Narissa replied. “I just can't find him.”

“Well, of all of us, he is the best at hiding.” Bjorn turned his project over, and resumed pounding. “Probably a holdover from his lost power.” He didn't notice Narissa twitching at his comment. “Just go look for him in your scrying pool. Or do you need someone to clean it again?”

“No. I learned my lesson from last time.” She shook her head, “That was millennia ago, why won't you let it go?”

“Because I had to kill the kraken. Then clean up after it.” Bjorn took a moment to wipe his brow, “Who put that in there, anyway?”

“I still haven't found that out.” Narissa said, then turned and left the smithy.

*-*-*

Maxwell's Dell, the western wilds.

5th of Kusha, The month of Harvest.

2138 years since the new gods came.

Brandywine the Pixie was having a good day. She had flown the dell, eaten some tasty wildflowers, and had a bath in the stream. Mid afternoon was probably her favorite time of day, warm, lazy, sunny. She landed on a rock near where Ivan was practicing with a newly made War Scythe. “So, Ivan. Want to talk about how you actually got here? I know it was more complicated than you told Max.”

Ivan looked up from examining his new weapon, “You seem more perceptive that our friend.”

“I think he put up his own mental blinders after his wife died. Probably more after he tried to off himself the first dozen times or so.” Brandy shook a small frown off her face. “That boy has been through some shit. So tell me the truth.”

“Well, if you want it.” Ivan leaned back on the rock next to Brandy. “Where to begin? I fell in the trench, after the Germans ran. I couldn't breathe. A hand reached out towards me.”

“Yeah. Fairly standard so far.”

“Then there was this, this place?” Ivan shook his head, “It was all grayish, and cold.”

Brandy stood up, “Whoa... Seriously?”

“Yes. Then this cloud...with pinpricks of blue light-” Ivan was cut off.

“Lalalala! I can't hear you!” Brandy jumped into the air. “Never mind! I never asked! Good day, sir!!!” She bolted.

A startled Ivan stared after her fleeing form. “Did I say something wrong?”

*-*-*

My Dell, the real western wilds.

5th of Kusha, The month of Harvest.

2138 years since the new gods came.

Brandywine was very subdued this evening, kinda pissy too. Threw the Halfling's crown out of her room. Almost like when my wife was having a really bad rag day...? Do pixies have that problem? Probably. Poor girl. Wish I could make her some warm honey-milk to sooth her suffering.

14th of Kusha,

Brandywine seems better. Still won't talk about it. Meh. Harvest is going well. Should have enough feed for the animals, and food for us. I do wonder what the winter is going to be like.

I need to find a new town to shop in. Stupid bandits.

*-*-*

Elsewhere in the world, Ghondish, the goat god of eating stuff, was standing on top of a tree. Not just any tree, a giant redwood. He stared at the heard of frost deer. He had already tended to the illness, and was just enjoying watching them frolic in the sun. He didn't bat an eye when the wolf pack jumped from ambush and took down a pair of younger ones, nor later when a wyvern swooped down and grabbed another. All was right in the world. He batted his ear, and the scrying spell that was hunting for him missed. Again.

Sighing, he took a step off the tree, and landed on the other side of the world. Famine. Not natural, mostly. Some idiot mage had quadrupled the food production of the lands, and thereby stripped the land of it's viability, causing a famine. Add to the mages stupidity, a drought, and the area was wrecked. Time to get to work.

He sat in a small thicket, and waited for nightfall. Once moonrise, occurred, he stepped out onto the desiccated soil, and began to void himself. Take a few steps, void. Some more steps, void. As he worked, proper sustenance across the whole of the lands was restored to the soil. After midnight had come and gone, he finished up, and headed for the mages home.

Upon arrival, he kicked the door in and looked around. The house was large, and included the mages laboratory, which he strode into it. A quick search found the mages books, and his collection of ingredients. After kicking them into a largish pile at the foot of the stairs, he took a bite of the more expensive pieces, and then 'blessed' the rest, like Tom Cat did.

On his way out, Ghondish chuckled as he herd the mage stumble down the stairs, and into the moist pile he had left. A glorious night indeed.