P R O L O G U E ☆ Godsgoing

The draconic Jade Gates raise their shimmering necks, lifted by the tide under the control of the City Guard's Moon devouts... and sail after rippling sail passes beneath.

In a city of trade like Port Heritage, ships of all colors, shapes, and sizes constantly stream in and out of Heritage Cove. They are invisible to most citizens at this point -- just another gorgeous foreign ship with silken sails, or a beautiful sleek skipper with an iron-tipped mast. The chiming Storm bells ring even to the tallest reaches of the tiered city-state.

But on the first day of the Godgoing Festival, many take to the docks and roofs to watch an incomprehensible quantity of ships crowd into Heritage Cove.

When the sea swallows the sun, the official religious ceremony will commence in High Hall up in Skygardens, a solemn ritual in which the leaders from around the Godsea light six candles... but until then --

It's a party!

The Docks

The instant a sailor steps onto solid ground in Port Heritage, Godgoing is already upon them.

Is it difficult to unload your ship after potentially a months-long journey when there are children running around underfoot, when the streets overflow with gambling and arm wrestling matches, when Heritagians crowd the shore to daub paint onto paper lanterns? Sure -- but that's the holidays for you.

As wizards snag sprays from the ocean's surface in small colorful bags, and old women sell oranges from carts, and songs overflow from the pubs, a sense of freedom settles over the docks, a place otherwise known for its nightly ghosts.

For many families, it's an unmissable holiday tradition to build a paper boat or lantern to set off into the sea. ("Mama!" yells a wide-eyed boy. "You can't even see the WATER past all the boats!")

For others, it's an unmissable holiday tradition to scam the wearied foreign sailors into paying gold for maps that are free on every corner.

And as for the denizens of Thieves' Cove, crawling out of their secret tunnels and holes concealed by wooden boxes and loose brick to melt into the crowd, well... the docks have a different appeal altogether.

Heritage Plaza

The center of the festivities is, unquestionably, Heritage Plaza.

Wind your way up through the cities zig-zagged, ever-climbing streets. Follow the steaming scents of curried octopus and fried honey, and you will eventually emerge onto the wide plateau that forms the city's center.

The brick-and-mortar Goldhand establishments ringing the plaza are strung with many-colored pennants and fluttering flags; some even have open doors to admire the spun glass and shining silk within -- look, no touch, of course.

But even the wealthiest of nobles and haughtiest of nobles cannot help but go starry-eyed at how the Plaza transforms for Godgoing. The food stalls are twice as numerous, twice as greasy, twice as sugary, twice as exotic and delicious, twice as fragrant. Tables spread across the cobblestones with wares from all across the Godsea -- everything from simple flower garlands to mysterious, murky crystals. Games of strength and agility are held under striped tents, and part of the square has been cleared out for boisterous line dancing.

Of course, some of the children running about may have... sticky fingers -- if they're really children at all, and not kobolds in disguise. Heritagians know to keep their purses tethered to themselves -- but foreigners may not be quite so wise...

The Temples

Tear yourselves from the multi-colored, sugar-laced wonders of Heritage Plaza, and you may be drawn to wander up the branching marble stairs to the ring of six temples.

Here, floral incense and burnt herbs sweep away the smell of fried dough; boisterous lute music disappears on the wind, replaced by calm: people talking, feet shuffling, and bells tinkling on the breeze.

Priests of the pantheon sell small colored votives, each representing a different prayer for your upcoming year. Religious individuals from across the Godsea find it important to make a stop to light a candle at their god's altar. The polished brass inside Sun's tower shines like fire with hundreds of candles within; Fortune's gold-plated statues glimmer like treasure; Moon's quartz-studded stained glass twinkles like the night sky. There's even a small corner of the temple district with a shrine for minor deities.

Whether from religious obligation, tradition, piety, desperation, or genuine worship, the temples are a breath of fresh air -- a reprieve from the constant business and flashy sights that overwhelm Port Heritage during Godgoing.

Some of you may never have been this high above Port Heritage before.

As the purple dusk slides into darkness, the city's stilt-legged tiers light up with fireworks and glowing orange windows. The entirety of Spellster's Lane has a silvery aura, although you can't make out the individual sprays.

The gates of High Hall are flung open.

You stream inside.

Those who have never attended this central ceremony of the Godsgoing Festival can quickly observe the tradition. High Hall itself, with its towering marble pillars, is still locked tight, but the vast courtyard has been set up with an altar, bearing six candles. This is where the most powerful figures across the Godsea will meet in a tenuous peace to entreat the gods' returns.

Wind ripples across the courtyard, salt-scented and warm. Suddenly the festivities below feel very distant -- and ever so quiet.

The Dragon of Port Heritage appears on the steps of High Hall.

Admiral Hylaine Karenius descends the marble stairs to the ceremony platform, her heeled boots clicking. She is garbed in full Navy regalia, the twin tails of her royal blue coat sweeping her heels, gold-threaded seams glimmering. The mother-of-pearl handle of her famed sword peeks from beneath.

She takes her place at the front of the crowd, exchanging greetings and murmured words with the other four figures already standing at the altar: kings, queens, emperors, and presidents from across the Godsea, east, north, west, and south. Those five individuals, barely sparing a glance to the gathered crowd, represent millions of lives. Economies of incomprehensible scale. Wars decided and ended.

There is a conspicuous absence.

At last, as the emptiness stretches on, Admiral Hylaine steps forward, a muscle working in her jaw. "Welcome to Port Heritage," she says to the crowd. "You are welcome--"

Ripples of movement. People stepping aside. A tall, broad-shouldered man strides to the middle of the courtyard, flanked by two rows of soldiers in red armor. The candlelight causes the shadows cast by his antlers to stretch and flicker.

Admiral Hylaine observes him coldly.

"Where are your masters, Lockhart?" she calls. "This candle is to be lit by the leaders of your nation. Not their servant. Are they so discourteous as to abstain?"

At the word servant, Commander Lockhart huffs through his nose. Still, he offers a small, knowing smile.

"You'll have to forgive us for the break of tradition, Admiral!" he proclaims. "Our Priest Ruler could not make it, but they sent myself and my men on their behalf to carry out their duty. The Red Dynasty’s leadership sends their regards… and hopes to meet you soon enough.”

Stirring in the crowd now; shifting robes, darting eyes. Confusion. Admiral Hylaine's eyes narrow.

She takes a step down the altar, hand slowly moving to her weapon. She speaks with an edge in her voice.

"Surely the Red Dynasty's pious leadership would not choose this of all days to flout tradition."

Lockhart steps forward as well. "Admiral Hylaine Karenius!" he calls. "Reports of your dealings with the gods have alarmed the Priest Ruler and the council." His hand rests on the hilt of his own sword. "On behalf of the Red Dynasty, you’re being charged with crimes against the greater realm of the Godsea for sowing chaos amongst the pantheon and endangering your peo--"

Hylaine flings her head back and laughs. "Charges? What right have you to charge me?"

Throwing back her coat, she unsheathes her sword, and to the crowd, shouts, "Let gods and men both witness that it was not I who disrupted the ceremony on this ni--"

The Dragon does not finish speaking before the first gunshot rings out.

The screams at High Hall are drowned out by the fireworks and delighted shrieks from the city-state below.

In mere minutes, half the guests at the Godsgoing Ceremony have deserted the courtyard, leaving trampled cloaks, possessions, and people behind. Down in the harbor, you see new Red Dynasty ships in Heritage Cove, moving toward the docks. Fleeing noblemen stream down the marble stairs like ants toward the city.

You have not quite made it out yet.

The ceremony table is overturned, wax spilling slippery across the flagstones, low-lying flames devouring the velvet tablecloths. Commander Lockhart and Admiral Hylaine have battled their way up the platform steps.

"We could have done this peacefully, Dragon!" the man bellows.

The Admiral's white-silver hair has come loose from its pins, wild around her face. But her blazing eyes are razor-focused. "You would say that either way," she spits.

A kick to the breastplate, and the Red Dynasty army's general tumbles backward down the stairs.

Admiral Hylaine pivots, and ascends the altar.

"Too early by far," she says. From her belt, she withdraws a white-bladed knife. "But then again, you're the ones who praise the gods' unknowable timing."

When Admiral Hylaine's blood sprinkles over the altar, the sky goes dark.

It was nighttime before. This is not that. The sky simply blinks out of existence, a vast, flat, black ceiling.

The island rumbles, and a deep, thin crack splits the ground beneath Hylaine's feet. It circles around the courtyard's perimeter, containing you within. When the lines meets, cracks shoot inward, like a deep burrowing creature, toward the courtyard's center.

Light shoots into the nothing-sky.

And something crawls out.

The first demon spreads its wings, crouches near to the ground, and launches into the red-lit sky.

High Hall falls still.

For a moment, everyone can simply stare. Reds. Navy. Hylaine. Hartley. You.

By the second demon's emergence, the courtyard flurries to action once more.

It's not like before. The lines between aggressor and defender have dissolved. Most of the winged monsters take off into the night -- but others swoop down at the mortals. Swords and muskets flash once more.

Commander Lockhart had been knocked to the edge of the island by the Admiral's blow. He stands now beyond a red wall of light, shooting up from the stone-gouged circle. He snarls, trying to push back inside -- but the second his armor touches the red light, sparks fly. He shouts in pain. For a moment, he stands bloodied and breathing hard, his face wavery and distorted through the barrier.

The choice appears to be made.

He and the other few figures trapped outside the barrier turn and disappear.

Demon after demon wings its way across the Godsea. You watch, head craned back, and feel a strange stillness.

Alongside the assurance that nothing -- nothing -- will be the same again.