E V E N T ☆ E P I L O G U E

END’s eyes widen slightly, lips parting but no words coming out.

The party's conclusion is made, but the god looks startled, caught, a scraggly stray lock of black-gray hair falling down his forehead, as if he can’t believe what’s happening.

You lay out the keys. STORM, HARVEST, SUN, MOON, DREAM, FORTUNE...

And with a trembling hand, END withdraws the last godkey from beneath his tunic, and lays it in the line.

At once, the keys begin to glow.

END looks up, taking a shaky breath, and says, “I didn’t… Thank you. You didn’t have to–”

And with a flash of light, your soul rockets upward.

This time, the rushing feeling is familiar to you – the four barriers towering above, stretching to infinity; the raging flood, the hurricane, the wall of fire, the crushing weight. And then suddenly, the euphoria of freedom, as you’re back in the pit of the whirlpool, back in the real world, flying upwards –

With the clicking of seven locks, you pass through the Gate to the other side.

Sopping wet, you become aware of the cold stone platform beneath you -- and the first thing you latch onto is a child’s wailing.

“UNCLE END ate my frieeeends!”

Your vision focuses. FORTUNE is on the floor, crying at their mother’s feet, beating the ground with their little fists; DREAM has a far-off, mystical expression, idly stroking FORTUNE’s yellow hair with one elegant hand.

STORM and FULL MOON are locked in a feud. Well, something like a one sided feud, really. The veins of STORM’S neck bulge as he shouts, asking questions and demanding answers. Meanwhile, FULL MOON holds his ground, infuriatingly cryptic with his responses.

"The spray that swells in adversity," FULL MOON says wisely, "will pop before its time is due."

"Well, MOON, that would be useful information if I was a gods-damned SPRAY!"

SUN glowers over the proceedings from her throne, arms folded; the flooring and marble arm rests around her glow so brightly with heat that they begin to bubble and melt.

But soon, the chamber goes quiet and still as the Gods notice your return.

And HARVEST, once laying prone... begins to stir.

The flowers rustle.

The leaves whisper.

She lifts her head, eyelashes fluttering, to spot you -- and END.

The god of change is here, you realize. He's hung back, all the way at the edge of the marble platform, flustered and unsure, hands fidgeting. You slowly begin to pick yourself up, wet and sore, from the ground, and END seems to snap out of it, quickly assisting OLIVIA, the nearest person to him.

"HARV," he stutters, looking at the ground. "I... I--"

In an instant, the harrowing ordeal, the fear and uncertainty, the countless millennia of warped memories all seem to melt away. A brilliant smile appears on HARVEST's pink, plump lips. You feel a wave of the goddess's pure and unadulterated joy, so intoxicating that for a moment it makes you unsteady on your feet.

Hitching up her dress to her knees, HARVEST runs across the conclave floor towards END, each step creating a full cherry blossom tree along her path. Her arms outstretch as she finally embraces her lover. END's eyes widen upon impact -- and then he quickly swings her around in the air, lips connecting in a passionate kiss.

Reunited at last, thanks to you.

"Blegh!" says FORTUNE. "I like the kissing better when it stays in the fanfiction, thank you!"

SUN smirks. "You'll change your mind in a couple millennia."

"Hush, darling," DREAM says idly, ushering FORTUNE in closer to her.

FULL MOON is the next one who seems able to find his power of speech. "END," the old man says. "It is... it's good to see you."

With HARVEST in his arms, END seems loathe to tear his eyes from her, but he does so anyway. "Was it you who -- who arranged all this?" he asks in a choked voice.

FULL MOON glances at the mortals. His white, glowing eyes soften. "No," he murmurs. "Not in truth."

Straightening up, the oldest and most wizened of the Gods begins to speak.

“We are eternally grateful for your selfless act. And for making the choice that we were not brave enough to make.”

With the decision made, the GODS step forward to reclaim their keys. As you stand on the precipice of a new era, it seems fit to be rid of symbols of the past that no longer serve the Godsea.

One by one, the keys are destroyed.

HARVEST’S KEY, delicate and bearing its pomegranate centerpiece, withers into oblivion; its life-giving energy consumed by the accelerated passage of time.

SUN’S KEY, a radiant orange key emblazoned with the sun, is consumed by an inferno, reduced to ash and cinder.

MOON’S KEY, with its ethereal depiction of the celestial phases, fades into shadow and night.

DREAM’S KEY, with its pink, cloudy wings and all-seeing eye, dissolves into an ephemeral mist and twinkles of visions.

FORTUNE’S KEY, a resplendent golden key graced with a green and red scarab, becomes nothing but a pile of the sands of fate.

END’S KEY, bearing the macabre visage of a ribcage and skull, crumbles into dust, a solemn testament to the futility of its containment.

With six keys gone... one remains.

STORM has remained silent throughout your entire return, hanging back, his expression stormy and unreadable. He occasionally reaches out to stroke the head of one of his hounds, but otherwise has watched the proceedings in perfect stillness. Now, slowly, he approaches ADELAIDE, making lingering eye contact before taking the STORM Key from her and turning to face the gods.

"You are back, then," he says to END. "That's that."

END's eyes remain cast deferentially to the floor, although you can see him squeeze HARVEST's hand a little tighter. "It is good to see you," he says softly.

"This signals an enormity of change in the Godsea. I hope you will have no quarrel with me, or with us."

"I never did."

And with that, STORM’S KEY, once vibrant and blue and adorned with a resonating bell, begins to shake with a magnetic, electrifying force -- before finally being lost to a maelstrom of its own creation with a boom.

As the last of the keys disintegrates, a surge of energy pulses from the center circle of the Conclave. This pulse surges across the ground, and up and into the veins of the party members; you gasp with it, this unadulterated magic zinging through your mortal bodies -- as your glowing, circular, red marks fading away. The weight of your connection to END is lifted.

No more words are spoken.

One by one, the GODS begin to take their leave. Swinging away on chariots, blasting off in bolts of lightning, and more -- it’s soon just you and your party in the floating structure.

Your ordeal has not ended.

As you descend the flights of stairs towards your waiting ships, a tense and unexpected situation reveals itself. The line of Red Ships, once subdued by your powerful wave, have inched closer and closer.

A chill goes through the air.

A frantic panic overtakes you as you try to board your vessels in small, controlled movements, endeavoring not to show the dread. You fall into positions, preparing food, checking ropes, setting courses.

HARTLEY is quick to depart and step aboard the RIGHTEOUS DAWN.

But the inevitable happens as the formidable fleet pulls up alongside you just as you prepare to set your sails, bronze cannons aimed directly at your hulls. They outnumber you by a gross amount, surrounding you from all sides. With each cannon, rifle, and officer looking out at you, you’re reminded that the warrants for your execution still linger from your past conflicts.

And now you’ve done the one thing the Red Dynasty had wanted to prevent the most: releasing END.

Amidst the tension, you notice HARTLEY staring out at your group from the port side of the RIGHTEOUS DAWN. Its anchor is pulling up, its cannons smoking. The officers on the decks of all of the Red ships are staring straight at them.

He isn't staring back. He looks at you.

His face goes through a myriad of emotions as he scans over a myriad of faces among those wanted for execution.

Including ELSIE.

Including ZURIE.

And then, unexpectedly, he yanks his gaze away.

You can't hear his commands to the soldiers. But you see their looks of confusion. The rising voices of several protesting subordinate officers. HARTLEY's face only hardens. There's shouting. Even a threatening gesture toward his sword. The sailors fall into action. The anchor rises.

He looks across the waves to meet your gaze. You feel the weight of sacrifice. A tired smile threatens to pull at his lips.

“Don’t waste it,” he mouths, as he steps away from the railing.

You don't need him to spell out the rest for you: Stay out of Red Dynasty waters, from here on out.

HARTLEY disappears on the horizon as the Red Dynasty fleet sets sail, allowing you and your companions to continue your journey. As you sail forth, the fate of mortals and gods alike remains uncertain...

But the winds of change are true as they carry you back to PORT HERITAGE.

A Chronicle of the New World Order

1 A.G.R.

(1 year after Godsreturn)

The Greater Godsea has never looked so bright.

With the release of END and the momentous Conclave of the Gods -- tales of which the bards are already somehow dramatizing, often very incorrectly, but never boring -- the Red Dynasty finds its once-mighty influence shrinking within the vast world of the Godsea. Faced with widespread civil unrest and mounting opposition at the return of the Seventh God, the empire has been compelled to scale back its conquests significantly and focus its efforts inward.

As a result, many islands that were once under the firm grip of the Red Dynasty have now been liberated from its occupation, reclaiming their autonomy and charting their own paths --

Including PORT HERITAGE.

In the Port Heritage's waters, the presence of the Red Dynasty has diminished to a mere shadow. Gone are the days of its overwhelming dominion. While occasional patrols may still be spotted hundreds of miles away at its shifting borders, the presence is largely scaled back, leaving room for the resurgence of local cultures, traditions, and worship. The temples that had been desecrated during its occupation by the Red Dynasty have been rebuilt.

With proper passports, Dynasty citizens are permitted to roam freely through Port Heritage; the same cannot be said in reverse, but frankly, few Heritigians are eager to tread Dynasty grounds right now anyway. The Navy has been strictly instructed that no reprisals should come to Dynasty citizens nor soldiers so long as they maintain the peace.

Facing perhaps the greatest upheaval of all the factions, the Navy not only had to grapple with the destruction left in the wake of the Dynasty’s invasion, but also the question weighing heavy on its citizens' minds:

Who would lead Port Heritage to recovery?

There was, of course, an obvious choice.

Someone caring, valiant.

Someone who stuck through Port Heritage thick and thin.

Someone who had already served the city for years and proved themself worthy.

One who put the people above all.

One who looked both god and man in the eye and did what they knew to be right.

Unfortunately, despite receiving the lion's share of the people's vote, SIR HARRY PUSS CHESTER turned down the offer to become Port Heritage's new Admiral. While rightfully flattered, he believed the Port would be better put into the hands of a more experienced politician. (One who wouldn’t mind his climbing into their lap every so often.)

And so, the position of Admiral was granted to FREYA, the figurehead of the revolution in HYLAINE’s death and the newfound protector of the city. They and their noble Mouseguard worked to mend the many loose ends left hanging in their wife’s absence: rebuilding countless homes, opening the gates of High Hall to hear the voices of all, and offering refuge to those within the final stages of rattles.

The act closest to their heart, however, was restoring HYLAINE KARENIUS's beloved naval academy. An essential institution in regaining the trust of the people they had sworn to protect.

Three letters find their way to the doorsteps of ADELAIDE, WILL, and LUCIAN, all bearing that familiar blue crest.

“Though you have already given so much to this city, I find I must ask one final favor from you. One not for myself but for the sake of the citizens of Port Heritage.

"I am set on rebuilding the naval academy, doing so in such a manner that the mistakes of the past are NOT forgotten. but learned from. I find the best way to accomplish this is to seek the guidance of those who remained as the few true pillars of valor throughout -- and those who have seen the soaring heights of what the Academy CAN be, as well as the dizzying darkness of what, at its worst, it could descend to.

"It would be a great honor to me and the city if you would serve as overseers to this rebuilding. Should you choose to accept, there is a blue coat waiting for you at High Hall.”

In the wake of the devastating siege and fires, the Magi have begun the process of restoration. The once-abandoned and scarred Port Heritage Magisterium campus is now bustling with life again. Students have returned to their dorms, and classes have resumed.

But with the rebuilding efforts, Headmaster ISAK finds himself in dire need of assistance. A few select Magi find summons to his office appearing at their door. With them, the summons bring late night discussions and talks of...

Promotions?

With compassion and understanding, TOQUE, the newly appointed Archmage of Internal Affairs, takes charge of the college's future. Embracing his role, TOQUE adeptly handles the complaints, duties, and long hours of counseling expected of his position, even assembling a team of upperclassmen to support him in managing the growing workload. While the RA meet and greet events remain sparsely attended, the lunch menu changes prove that TOQUE’S influence extends beyond bureaucracy, bringing positive changes to the Magisterium and the love of the students to his office door.

MIRIAM, now donning the cloak of the Archmage of Special Research, commands her department with unwavering authority. Her vigilance, even in the wake of hundreds of research proposals, ensures that forbidden magics are swiftly detected and dealt with. She often finds herself having to escort ISAK (the previous special research Archmage) out of her office due to his persistent eagerness to participate in projects beyond his purview, lest he cause any more trouble once again.

Meanwhile, CLEMENTINA, the new Archmage of Library and Archives, diligently oversees the vast repository of knowledge within the Magisterium, ensuring that the wisdom of the past is preserved for future generations with a mighty bark.

With an Archmage committee forming once again, the Ring Trials commence, putting the skills and knowledge of the young acolytes to the ultimate test. And to those that have passed, a grand graduation ceremony awaits the upcoming class of seniors, where AZAL and AOIFE, amongst others, walk the stage to be bestowed with their Wizard titles, marking a new chapter in their magical journeys.

Amidst it all... a mysterious, scraggly-haired figure emerges within the academy, offering assistance in the realm of magi research, particularly in the enigmatic field of blood magic. Typically accompanied by now-Wizard AOIFE, this cloaked figure’s presence sparks curiosity and whispers -- and the duo find themselves navigating uncharted territories while rebranding the controversial practice.

With a touch of marketing genius, the once-stigmatized discipline begins to undergo a transformation. With no more artificial barrier blocking the flow of magic, the agonizing person cost of performing END's magic is no more. With a little help by the strange man who occasionally appears on the campus grounds -- whispering just the right reference book into the ear of a near-sleeping student in the library, or surreptitiously changing one number in a malfunctioning formula -- studies of this new magic have begun to lose their taboo...

...finally becoming known no longer as blood magic, but cycle magic.

As the Magisterium slowly rebuilds and recovers from its recent trials and revelations, a sense of normalcy starts to settle over the halls. Best of all is a new energy -- a thrum of... hope? -- as in every student's heart there grows a palpable anticipation of what lies ahead for the college, the faculty, and the realm of magic itself in the ever-evolving world of the Godsea.

While the release of End has done little to affect the landscape of piracy within the Godsea, it has undoubtedly changed the lives of those set forth with pilfering on their minds.

In the months following the Conclave and the final defeat of the Pirate King, the Pirate Queen has extended her far reaching thanks to those amongst the Black Flags.

For those who have shouldered the weight of great responsibility until the very end she offers a gift in the form of a rather gaudy jewel encrusted crowns. Ones that are so valiantly placed upon the heads of the now longstanding Pirate Lords, VANJA and CATHERINE. A heavy weight to carry, she reminds them with a smirk. Allegiance from the very start until the very end.

Promotions have even been offered to those thought deserving; SLOANE and AUDRA to the title of Merchant Lord and crew respectively — the latter of which just now learning she had been a part of the Black Flags for the past 6 months. There is considerable talk of this decision being spurned by the rumors of SLOANE being the most fortune favored pirate in the Godsea as the childish gods former keybearer . A way to appease the ever growing tales of her roguish exploits amongst the marauders.

And perhaps one of the most bittersweet of all, a gifted glowing compass to ISMENE and an ever transcribing map to ESHA. They come in the form of a small black box tied with gold ribbon, hand delivered by MAYTHIAS herself. The words "for your departure" do not grace her lips, but the message is clear as day from the soft look behind her eyes.

One final thank-you comes in the form of a letter, addressed only to ASHVENKET:

“You have served nobly by my side throughout these many years, and I am only pained by seeing the end of it on the horizon. I owe you far more than I can give, but gods willing, I may repay even a fraction of such a debt. In the wake of what has happened I find it only right to grant you the freedom to chart your own course, whether you should choose to attend to your affairs or stay with us until... the very end.

May FORTUNE favor you most.”

Enclosed is the keys to a Black Flags vessel and a set of pearls that could easily fetch millions.

Perhaps the most surprising of all these shifts has been the agreement between the Pirate Queen and Port Heritage’s newly elected leader. It states that MAYTHIAS will discontinue raids on Port Heritage, as long as those of her crew that helped fulfill her sister’s quest can walk freely in its streets.

Many have said this is a sign of the Pirate Queen slowing down, perhaps going weak in the wake of her sister’s demise. Others have claimed it's the final settling of an empire, unbridled confidence knowing not even Port Heritage’s uninterrupted might could threaten the Black Flags.

Those who are lucky enough to be invited to the siblings-in-law's rambunctious High Hall feasts are just glad for the invite.

Either way, there’s a lovely island off the coast of Elderwell that has been signed off with two sets of initials.

Within the hallowed halls of the Goldhand Guild, an upheaval shreds the very fabric of its power and influence.

The echoes of the small uprising you (somewhat unwittingly) took part in have resonated within the guild's chambers, causing tremors in the once-steadfast hierarchy of lawyers, bankers, scribes, and bureaucrats. The Wage-Workers' Revolt, as the interns' rebellion has come to be known, ended up lasting for eleven days straight, holding hostage the Guild higher-ups and therefore preventing the city guards from attempting a breach of the building.

Everyone kept expecting the situation to be resolved when the interns ran out of food, but weirdly enough, they seemed to have an almost infinite supply of calamari.

To everyone's surprise, nobody is killed during the conflict. Though the interns were armed and dangerous, something must have gotten through to them; they do occasionally chuck a lawyer out a window when the guards got too aggressive, but the worst injuries are bumps and bruises.

And when the news arrived that LORD TENTACLINO, the PRIME MINISTER OF PORT HERITAGE and ADMIRAL OF GOLD, was dead... it was all over.

But it is not so simply to establish a new economic leadership, even a work-led one. In the aftermath of TENTACLINO’S untimely demise at the hands of your party, a void remained -- a void that demands a successor to steer the guild through the seas of uncertainty. The Goldhand Guild finds itself faced with an urgent quandary.

Also, for a long time, the whole building really smelled. There was a lot of seafood to dispose of.

The worker-led Guild searched desperately for a new future. Among the scattered remnants of TENTACLINO’S legacy, a surprising revelation emerges in the deepest drawers, dustiest stacks of papers, and mountains of scrolls and gold coin in his office; he apparently has a distant relative…

And potential heir.

And so WISH, a humble and kind girl that has accompanied your group of heroes, is summoned at the GOLDHAND GUILD.

As the tides of destiny converge, the weighty mantle of LORD of the GOLDHANDS is placed upon the unassuming little fish.

In a demonstration of her boundless compassion and altruism, WISH elects to wield her newfound authority to bring aid to the downtrodden RATTLES district, channeling resources and renouncing the debts incurred by its struggling denizens during the enigmatic upheaval -- with the help of local heroes such as KAS and SUNNY to shepherd the efforts. Alongside her philanthropy, the fish orders for the GOLDFEATHER statue, the symbol of TENTACLINO’S tight grasp on the channels of money in PORT HERITAGE, to be taken down. The halls of the Guild feel light, with WISH in charge.

There’s also rumors that some of the coinage from the depths of the vault have been promised toward celebratory events -- festivities to raise the battered city's spirits. There is one very important festival coming up, afterall…

In the outermost reaches of the city, the newly-rebuilt Jade Gates raise their shimmering necks for sail after rippling sail to pass beneath.

In Port Heritage, ships of all colors, shapes, and sizes have once again begun to constantly stream in and out of Heritage Cove. As a trading hub, such vessels' arrival would normally be of little interest to citizens, but today, hundreds pour out into the plaza to watch them enter. The chiming Storm bells ring even to the tallest reaches of the tiered city-state.

Once again, Godsgoing -- now Godsreturn -- is being celebrated in the streets of Port Heritage.

From the looks of its people, you can scarcely tell the city came so close to falling.

The transformation of Heritage Plaza’s winding streets is enough to make even the haughtiest of nobles stare on in amazement. It bears scars: many buildings still lay in rubble; however, the city's missing pieces are rife with various stalls and games and bands, like a scrapbook lovingly pieced together with various odds and ends. The wafting aroma of greasy sweet foods can be smelled from a mile offshore. Sticky-faced children dart underfoot, clutching Fortune Fritters and Sun Scorpion pops galore.

A particularly runny-nosed rugrat sneaks to the side of the towering figure of HEADMASTER ISAK, who, alongside a group of other magi, is shooting animated fireworks from his wand. The lights take the form of great bears and owls and other beasts as they dance around the pavilion.

A group of pirates lights a cigar on a passing fiery wolf before returning to their card game and laying everything on the table. The Godsea’s most decorated criminal, MAYTHIAS MAKALLION, flashes a fanged grin as she shows her own hand. All aces. A row of cheers and jeers erupts.

Though the plaza remains the height of excitement, all eyes look upon the various parties unloading at the docks with bated breath.

Representatives from all walks of life exit their boats. You catch sight of SOYDAN, his face jolly and rose-flushed, as he surprises a rather rigid Navy member with a trademark Autramellian hug. Pink petals upon petals spill from his robes out onto the docks. A lone white draconi, OSARAN, attempts to sidestep this public display of affection only to bump into FAOLAN and SPESNA rubbing noses in the embroidered silver kimonos of the Moon Temple.

Even the bravest of Navymen goes a little squeamish upon seeing the Denemorian spiderweb sail. The hulking figure of the darkly dressed GROUNDSKEEPER doesn’t inspire much greeting outside of a sheepish “hello.” Thankfully, the GUARDIAN seems much more interested in curtsying to JAWSHUA and the other Reef residents who are swimming around the docks.

Perhaps the most shocking sight of all, however, is that of red sails.

A small girl, no older than twelve, exits the almost-humble vessel. The red ruby encrusted crown leaves no question as to who this guest might be: THE PRIEST RULER.

Whispering travels from the lowest dredges of Thieves Cove to the tallest peaks of High Hall.

“Did you know ADMIRAL FREYA invited her?”

“It’s just for show -- all of Godsea’s representatives are supposed to be here remember?”

“They said it’s to make certain this never happens again.”

“Not like it can, the Dynasty’s already in shambles...”

Taking uncertain steps on the cobbled ground, the little princess bows her head and continues on towards the temples with the weight of judgmental eyes on her back. She is flanked by only a few recognized Dynasty citizens, perhaps a show of peace -- that, and a single guard. His tall antlers point towards the setting sun.

In many Godsgoings prior, the proceedings were held within the gates of High Hall, a place that has run red in both blood and magic.

Today, hundreds gather outside Port Heritage’s temples.

They stand as brilliant as ever, a show of the one thing the Dynasty thought sacred enough to keep pristine. There is one different: the once-desecrated temple at the district's far reaches.

Obsidian rock forms the walls of the END gods' once-lost house of worship, no longer reduced to rubble; it emits a reddish glow from deep within its recesses. A few pink flowers lay at its entrance, and from somewhere, you swear you can hear a gentle moo.

ADMIRAL FREYA KARENIUS stands at the center of the branching path, surrounded by citizens and representatives alike. They clear their throat, removing the tricorn hat from their head.

“A year ago today, we experienced one of the most pivotal events in the history of the Godsea. One that shook not only Port Heritage, but every being across the seven seas, from the smallest among us…" (An agreeing nod from LORD WISH.) "...to even the might of the gods.” FREYA looks back towards the temples.

“I invite you all here not to strike accords or wars or treaties amongst nations, but to look far beyond that. To bear witness to what has changed -- and to those of you who have brought such change about.”

Their eyes return to those of you in the party, those who had a hand in deciding the fate of the Godsea. They give a small nod, a sign to come forward.

The STORM devouts step forth to place a single bell upon the ground. It crystallizes with sea salt.

The HARVEST devouts step forth to place a pomegranate upon the ground. It decomposes to just fine red flakes.

The SUN devouts step forth to place a wooden flask upon the ground. It catches fire and burns to its end.

The MOON devouts step forth and place a scrap of silk upon the ground. It quietly unravels into a silvery dust.

The DREAM devouts step forth and place a single feather upon the ground. It shimmers before shattering.

The FORTUNE devouts step forth and place a gold coin upon the ground. It quickly splits into two smaller gold coins, then four smaller gold coins, then so many you lose count.

And, finally...

There is a small stir as the END devouts step forth uncertainly. The concept of such a thing -- a devout of the Seventh -- was once so unimaginable, frightening. But the Admiral's eyes only soften as they beckon them. The END devouts place a humble offering -- a simple handful of mud. You blink to take a closer look and swear that it looks like an abstract art piece. It crumbles into dust.

“Thank you. For returning the Godsea to what it always should have been.”

You watch on as the now-ashes laid upon the table drift away with the wind, carrying out far past the temples and over the sea’s horizon.

From behind you can hear the brilliant bright glow of Port Heritage’s celebration. Beckoning you back.

The END