I am the Highfather.
For one year, I give my entire devotion to a new god. As of yet, I have not repeated a service. As of yet, I haven’t been given a choice. I leave these journals behind, so that after, people can gain insight into the gods that rule the heavens.
In that year, I am their highest-ranking cleric. More than that, I become their avatar.
I am not always myself. Sometimes, I forget who I was before I was chosen.
Time, or Fate, will decide who remains when my tenure ends.
Assuming I remain at all.
I step out into the dark, and feel the warmth of the moon’s light on me. Instantly I feel one with the night. My skin tingles, my veins glowing with the light of the moons. Mal’Cett is nearly full—the smaller moon, the one the calendars ignore. I was born under the Eye of Night. I may yet live to see another. I feel my goddess’ gaze upon me. She is…intrigued.
Eldessa is not what a commoner would call a popular goddess. She is a fickle. Not quite as fickle as the deity of the sea. At least Eldessa’s temperament can be charted. When Kal’Cett is full, she is as warm and inviting as a mama bear, if the world were her cub. When the moon is new, she is as warm and inviting as a mama bear if the world approached her cub.
At her urging, I slip into a shadow and emerge in a closet. It creaks as I will the door to open.
As goddess of the night, she suggests ghosts and bogeymen, nightmares made manifest. In other words, she is likely the god children fear most.
The sound of the young boy screaming draws a smile to my toothy grin as I retreat into the darkness of the closet, the sound of approaching feet already fading.
They should fear.
Not only children, though. Eldessa is quietly underestimated. She is the goddess of shadows and night—fundamentally, goddess of change. Shadows do not remain stationary, and night is darker on some nights than others. From this flow three primary sources of worship.
I step from shadow to moonlight and watch a tribe of were-panthers dancing beneath the sky. My pulse quickens; I resist the urge to howl, not because it would be inappropriate. I fear what I would do if I gave into that change. The goddess chuckles in my ear. The tribe celebrates the birth of a cub, a new worshipper. They part as I walk toward the altar on my hind legs, silent as death.
The Shiftling elder priest kneels. The mother offers the cub to the moon—and to me. I lay a clawed finger upon its brow. Its eyes glow purple at my touch.
An omen. A good one.
That child is one of destiny.
As goddess of change, Eldessa is revered by lycanthropes, particularly true lycanthropes. Shiftlings dwelling among cities often call themselves Phases—a safer name when traveling the nervous edges of civilization. Eldessa seeks them out, offering the cursed ones a choice: become true, or remain fractured. They do not always accept. When they refuse, Eldessa wanes from full to new—and those who resist seem to draw monster hunters as if by scent.
I slip into shadow again and emerge in Torpor, the City of the Dead. I walk streets lined with bowing vampires and respectful ghosts. It is fortunate the living cannot easily find this place; they have always misunderstood the dead. Discovery would mean war. Torpor lies deep within the Wasteland, hidden by the still-functioning aether rune that once dominated this land.
I climb toward the citadel.
As goddess of night, Eldessa draws worship from those who thrive within it: lycanthropes, hags, witches, and the occasional vampire. Ur’Aqeda, her archpriest, is a six-hundred-year-old mummy and Queen of Torpor. I offer respect. She does not enjoy being displaced, even for a year. Eldessa flits above her, caressing her rotted cheek, all the while gazing lovingly at me. Her amusement sends shivers up my spine. Ur’Aqeda is silently going through spells that may aid her.
I smile as I fade back into shadow. Change comes to us all, Your Highness. You have your goddess’ attention. I wonder if you know what that truly means.
I slip back into the shadows and emerge in the Lightless Depths. Scholars have argued the source of the vast underground network of tunnels and caverns since they were first discovered. They’re not all wrong. Of course, they’re not all right either. What is true is Eldessa has been spreading her influence here.
As the goddess of shadow, Eldessa claims sovereignty over places were the light barely shines. She seeks to expand that into pure darkness. And for that she needs roots.
I step out of the shadow and emerge in the middle of shadow elf city. Also known as dark elves, the shadow elves are a banished faction of elves, for meddling with fate. They had been censured by the gods, and for a while even their magic had failed them. They were the first people, Eldessa contacted after centuries of no divine contact. The shadow elves had resorted to demon worship, and dabbling with dark magic.
Although she must compete with infernals for the elves attention, Eldessa has a solid foundation of worshippers here. In fact, it is the most concentrated sect of worshippers she has. The fact that they willingly change their forms into more exotic beings – driders, wemics, manscorpions – fascinate the goddess of change to no end. She wants them to go deeper, take her message to the places where the shadows are eternal.
The shadow elf Hives I visit, strongest of the twelve in the city, hosts a grand feast in honor of the goddess. I’m given the choice of roasted unicorn, or braised human for the main course. I elect for the unicorn, thankful for once that I am an avatar of night. I don’t ask about the bloodwine.
I don’t need to know.
A Darkness Rising 