14th day of Wintergrasp, 1363

 

“I just don’t think it’s a good idea to fake our own deity,” grumbled the man named Sven as he picked his teeth with his crusted fingers while slouching against the back corner of the newly built feast hall.

“We’re not faking a deity, Sven,” Engin replied from across the room.

Most of the gathered elders huddled around the firepit to feast on the spit roast boar in the center. Engin continued, “We are envisioning our ideal deity to pay homage to precisely because the ones we’ve worshiped before turned out to be arseholes or deviants that couldn't care less about the plights of those they’ve marginalized.”

Sven squinted his eyes at him. “I’m two mugs deep into this mead brewed by Bogdan here, which, by the way, tastes just as well as the sweat off my old sack, so would you kindly speak like a simple man and not use so much gibberish.”

Bogdan grunted in protest across from Sven as he downs his own mug of mead, eyes wincing from disgust.

Engin sighed, shaking his head. “Alright, I’ll explain my intent once again so that you can understand clearly.”

He paced around the hall, passing by each of the fifteen elders who attended his summons.

“In the past ten months that we’ve traveled together, worked together, and lived side by side, I realized that we all have two things in common. The first is that we have all been wronged, one way or another, by terrible gods.”

Engin gestured towards two elders in tribal garments of earthen tone. “The Jixisha tribe were forced to flee after their lands were conquered by a belligerent god of battle that oversees the city of Metosia. They attacked unprovoked, despite the Jixisha keeping to themselves and only wanting peace.”

“What does belligerent mean?” Sven asked.

“Overly aggressive,” Engin answered as he approached another pair of elders.

“Bjorn and Thorsten here are from a clan that used to serve under Nidur, the city god of Hrafnsteinn, but their clan was exiled for speaking out against Nidur’s tyranny.”

Engin motioned towards another elder. “Ionus was a former vassal of the god Zemos that oversaw the town of Tormery, until another god usurped control after killing the former. His group was forced to leave their hometown, or else meet the same fate as their fallen deity.”

Engin looked at each of the gathered elders and noticed that they wore the same somber expressions he had seen when he first met them during the month-long journey to this place.

The journey started from his former home city of Mistfell. Other groups hailing from different regions slowly joined his caravan until what was once a small group of eighty people became seven hundred after arriving at their destination, an ancient valley between the arms of two titanic mountain ranges. No expedition has ever taken root there, they were the first.

“My son,” Engin continued. “Died from a supernal disease at the feet of a god calling himself Zareus. I begged and prayed for my son’s salvation because I saw that god perform such divine miracles for others. But he merely stood there with a sneer, stating that I have not contributed enough to his treasury to warrant the use of his divinity, even after I offered everything I owned.”

The silence from the room was palpable as many recalled their own misfortunes.

“I apologize for reopening old wounds,” Engin said as he poured himself a mug of mead. His recollections and the wretched aftertaste of the mead brought tears to his eyes which he wiped away. “Bogdan, you seriously need to reassess your brewing methods.”

Bogdan joined in with the dry chuckle echoing across the room.

“But why is there a need to come up with a fake deity for us then?” Sven asked. A few others nodded their heads in agreement with him.

“That goes with the second thing we all have in common,” said Engin. “We are all good folk. Despite our differences, we have worked hard and helped each other to settle into this foreign land with unknown dangers and tribulations. We have shared our knowledge with each other and partaken on each other’s customs and traditions to better know each other as friends and neighbors.”

He walked towards an open window and looked out at the silhouette of towering trees beyond the recently cultivated fields. “But just because we are all good people doesn’t mean that we will be safe from harm.”

His gaze drifted to the campfires of the numerous encampments dotting the open regions of the forest and continued. “Everyone knows that a settlement, whether it be a village, town, or city, that is not overseen by a deity is at an extreme disadvantage compared to ones that do have one.”

He turned towards the others. “Gods, for better or worse, are essential to the longevity of nations. By their very existence, they deter most hostile forces bent on acting within their domain.”

Engin walked back to his original spot at the firepit and sat down.

“Alas,” he continued. “We don’t have a deity watching over this region and I don’t think any of us would accept some god that may wander here and claim this settlement as their own.”

The other elders collectively nod in agreement. Engin nodded in turn.

"My proposal to invent our own deity has two objectives. First, it will serve as a bridge to unite our various cultures and heal the past traumas associated with gods. Many of us have been raised to honor the divine, and I believe faith can still be a positive force. Instead of discarding it, we can develop a new faith that is tailored to our needs. Some might label this idea as delusional, but if it provides us with comfort and fosters harmony, then there's no harm in pursuing it."

Engin stopped speaking, letting the others speak amongst themselves for some time before continuing.

“The second purpose is to deceive any potential outsiders who would fancy causing trouble for us. If we are convinced enough of our belief, then they will believe that a deity watches over us as well. No one sane would risk the ire of the divine even if they haven’t witnessed its physical manifestation.”

“This seems like a lot of effort for what may all just be lip service in the end,” said Bjorn with a gruff tone. His boulder of a frame loomed over the others. Despite his advanced age, he still carried an imposing demeanor.

“Aye, that may be so,” said Engin. “This will only work if we fully believe in it with our heart of hearts. We must put in the effort, in order to deceive ourselves and our past trauma so that we can look towards our future with dignity and pride.”

Engin ended his speech with a raised fist.

The silence returned as the elders pondered about what to decide.

Hilda, the druid from the Jixisha tribe as well as the eldest of those gathered, sipped her tea without uttering a single word throughout the debate. She felt Engin’s sincerity in his appeal and his wisdom in his approach, but she also saw the three mugs of mead he drank beforehand. She also smelled the distinct aroma of cannabis that permeated from his being, no doubt lingering after he partook in smoking that substance with a few others earlier in the gathering. Most of the others present were in a similar state. She was satisfied with the pleasant company so only sought nourishment from small morsels of boar meat and her blend of tea.

“I think it’s a worthwhile venture to try,” said Hilda. She thought that Engin’s idea, while influenced by beverage and substance, would not cause harm to others. It may just be a way to cope with everyone’s worries and uneasiness living in the frontiers without the influence of a divine. Her tribe had no need for reverence for such beings, but perhaps this was worth going along with. “If after some time people stop believing in this non-existent deity and eventually forget the original purpose for it all is, then we can reconvene and see if it accomplished its purpose.”

The others looked at her and thought of her words. None were completely against the idea, but only strained to justify the effort.

Engin spoke up. “So let’s decide on a vote. All those in favor raise your mugs.”

The votes were unanimous, all mugs and a single teacup rose.

Engin smiled with pride and nodded. “Now comes the next part of the discussion. What would our deity be like? I have an idea—”

“A wise, merciful, and dashing god!” shouted Ionus, albeit heavily influenced by his past admiration of Zemos.

“A bold, strong oxen of a god,” said Thorsten.

“I want our god to have a long white beard to show his wisdom,” said one elder.

“A god with four arms would be kind of nice,” said another.

“How about four legs?”

“Two heads!”

“A god in the form of a tree would be fitting.”

“Why does it have to be a god? I’d rather worship a goddess.”

“Here, here!”

“Can the goddess have big bosoms?” asked Thorsten.

“You’re onto something there brother,” said Bjorn as he clasped hands with Thorsten.

“Men, they only want one thing and it's—”

“Does anyone want the boar’s tongue?”

“...”

Hours passed. Each popular idea was carefully deliberated and voted on. No aspect of their deity was defined until the votes were unanimous. The mead ran low from the effort.

“Alright,” said Engin while slouched against the wall, massaging his temples. “Here’s what’s been voted on so far. We have decided on a goddess, whose visage is that of an innocent young girl whose flesh is that of the earth, whose hair flows like water, whose eyes are brilliant like the sun, and who is garbed in a blanket of clouds.”

The other elders raised their mugs in agreeance.

“Good,” Engin continued. “Now we all agreed to our goddess’ virtues. She is to be kind, affectionate, wise, lovely, and bold when the need arises.”

The elders raised their mugs once more.

“Then lastly, before we adjourn this meeting and retreat to the peace of slumber, which I know many of you are already feeling, we must decide on her name.”

“Iris.”

“Alexandra.”

“Selene.”

“Lorelei.”

“Xena.”

“It’s a little late to ask, but have we decided on a name for our village yet?” asked Prudnik as he raised his hand. The youngest of the elders, having only lived for forty-one years, he hadn’t spoken much but this question had always bothered him.

The others gave Prudnik blank stares in return, realizing that despite already living in this valley for over a year and even managing to erect several buildings, no one has thought of a name for the village yet. No one brought it up until now. How?

Another hour passed. Many became weary, but another unanimous vote passed.

“Then it is settled,” said Engin. “This village will hereby be called Ebonheim, in honor of the ancient Ebon trees in the forest that resists even the sharpest of axes. The name will be a symbol for the resilience of its people in the face of adversity as its longevity.”

A round of applause filled the room.

“Lastly, once again, we now just have to come up with and vote for the name of our goddess,” said Engin with a heavy sigh.

The others groaned.

After another bout of silence, someone mumbled a response. “How about we just call her Ebonheim?”

“What?”

“You mean the name of our goddess will be the same name as our village?”

“That sounds strange.”

“Won’t it get confusing?”

“Hmm, I think it makes things easier. Fewer names to remember. It’s not like this goddess will take offense to it. She’s just made up, after all.”

“You’re…not wrong.”

“Does anyone else have another hour or two to spare to debate on her name?”

“...”

Engin raised his mug. “Then it’s settled. Our goddess will be named Ebonheim, in honor of our village of Ebonheim. That our goddess and village are one in the same. Both serve its people and are part of us.”

They all raised their mugs while collectively yawning.

“Good work everyone,” said Engin as he slowly headed out the main door. “Remember to spread the word of what we discussed here, and with that…I bid you all a good night.”

 

***

[Akashic System initialized]

[Law of Plausibility activated]

[Constraints of Causality activated]

[Domain Administrator request initiated…accepted]

[Beginning accumulation of requisite quintessence for divine creation…Status: 1%]

 

***

Two months later…

 

What started as a cute lip service to appease the village elders’ seemingly whimsical decision to revere a non-existent deity became a trend that took root in the hearts and minds of the villagers. The delusion became activities of endearment, especially to the younger generation of the community.

“Goddess Ebonheim,” said a young man tending to his garden. “If you can bless my tomatoes so that they turn out plump and juicy, I’d appreciate it.”

“The goddess would say to you that you should be diligent in tending to those weeds if you want your tomatoes to grow,” said the neighbor living in a tent from across the way.

“Thank you much. Goddess be praised.”

“Goddess be praised indeed.” They chuckled at each other.

 

[Accumulation of requisite quintessence for divine creation…Status: 12%]

 

***

Six months later…

The village held a small festival, celebrating the completion of a tannery, an apothecary, another cistern, a decent autumn harvest, and the safe birth of several newborns in the past year. Many danced around the wooden effigy of Ebonheim atop a small shrine consisting of a miniature garden atop a pile of large flat stones found at a nearby riverbed, and decorated by Jixishan trinkets.

The celebration lasted throughout the night, with many paying homage at the shrine after congratulating each other for another year of hard work paying off.

 

[Accumulation of requisite quintessence for divine creation…Status: 33%]

 

***

 

One year later…

[Accumulation of requisite quintessence for divine creation…Status: 65%]

 

***

 

Another year followed…

[Accumulation of requisite quintessence for divine creation…Status: 99%]

[Accumulation of requisite quintessence for divine creation…Status: 100%]

[Requisite quintessence for divine creation acquired]

[Initiating creation process…]

[Inputting requested parameters…process complete]

[Loading…]

[Divine creation complete]

Vivid colors permeated through the darkness, first as blobs splattering around the canvas of pitch black void. The blobs slowly flowed into discernable shapes with clear boundaries that contained its corresponding colors.

A tapestry of green atop a trunk of browns and grays signified the trees, while the canvas of blue with streaks of white illuminated the sky.

Sounds of the earth shifting, the leaves blowing, and the animals roaming assailed her senses.

Her vision shifted around to scan her environment. Everything seemed so new, yet so nostalgic. She sensed herself, a floating, disembodied mote of essence.

A string of words revealed itself in her vision, manifesting as glowing text in a language she inherently understood.

 

[Name] Ebonheim
[Divinity Type] Terrestrial God (Artificial)
[Divine Rank] Lesser God - Dawn Stage
[Quintessence] 717 / 8000

The mote of Essence known as Ebonheim found herself uttering her first word. “Eh?”