The Thirteen are the gods of Alterra. Every town has at least a shrine where the three races of Alterra may offer up prayers to their gods, or make offerings to show how much they value the support of those gods. Larger cities have a ring of shrines, built in the image of the first temples, the temples raised by the gods themselves at the Place of Descent. And those first temples? Those are the heart of the religion of this world. Let us see the temples the Thirteen raised for themselves, and see what gods this world has.
Imagine that we have made the pilgrimage to the Place of Descent, as nearly everyone who has a chance does at least once. This sacred site stands apart from all nations, on an island set apart to the Gods. A handful of international organizations are headquartered in the city that has grown up around the First Temples, and it's not uncommon for the city to be used as a neutral location for meetings between rival realms. We have made our imaginary way off the ship and up through the city to the plateau on which the temples stand. Temples to twelve of the Thirteen form a ring around the edge of the impossibly circular mesa, and we will begin by visiting each of those temples in turn.
Let us begin at the northern point of the compass, with the temple of the Heir. This temple has neither roof nor walls, for the Heir's wind will not enter buildings. A ring of pipes and tubes pierced with holes surrounds the central platform like some vast organ, constantly playing an unending song as his breath blows through them. The Heir is always in flight in his depictions. Even his massive statue at the center of the temple shows him riding the winds, white marble flesh and blue-painted robes suspended above the mundane earth on pillars of crystal, the hammer of thunder in his hand. The blue stone courtyard beneath his Pipes is packed with petitioners and the altars at the center of the ring burn with incense as people offer up a sacrifice to show how much they value the Heir's favor. Most will be praying for favorable weather, for the Heir rules the winds and the weather that they bring. Some will be pilots, for they who fly are also his. Some will be leaders, kings and generals and CEOs, for the Heir is first among equals, and rules even over the Rogue and the Faceless God. Some will be praying for the Heir to help preserve a friendship or to bring them one, for the Heir is said to have dominion over the softer relationships. And some few, none knows who, will be criminals or those wracked by guilt, for the Heir is kismesis to the Blind Judge, and only he can persuade her to stay her hand.
Next in the circle is the temple of the Maid. Most of her temples are of wood bedecked with flowers and carved in the shape of plants and beasts, but this temple, the temple she herself crafted with divine hands, is of living wood. Trees blossom from the earth, woven together like braided wicker into walls of life, shaggy with leaves. And the statues of the Maid Liberated is likewise living, the brown and green of her robes made of living wood and sprouting leaf. Most of the prayers offered up to her are simple thanks for fruitful harvests or good food, for both the growth that makes the food and the cooking that turns it edible are hers. Her altars brim with food offered up, most especially cakes, and every day hundreds who have no other sustenance feast on the offerings. But there are other prayers. One corner of the temple is of metal painted the hue of blood, the same hue as the robes of the statue that stands in that corner. And those who kneel before the Maid Chained are the desperate, those who like her have been enslaved by evil, or those who seek to set the enslaved free and beg the aid of she who watches over those who are chained, whether it be by physical chains or by webs of lies.
After the Maid's temple, we come to that of the Thief, a marvel of gold and gems, blazing in the light. The Thief's temple is as much casino as cathedral, with hundreds coming each day to court her favor with rolls of the dice or turns of the cards in the outer rooms. In the central sanctum, petitioners kneel before her statues to petition her for luck in all walks of life. And, though it is not commonly spoken of, some kneel to ask her favor on illegal activities, for the Thief is patron of thieves and pirates and tricksters and all who live by their wits. But though there are many who worship the Thief, there are few who truly love or adore her. For it is known that her power does not create luck, but merely transfers it. For each bit of good luck she gives out, there is distributed a corresponding bit of bad luck. For every roll of the dice that comes up all eights, another roll must come up all ones.
At the western point, beyond the temple of the Thief, lies the house of the Seer. Some wonder if the gods had made a jest in the juxtaposition of those two temples, for the ideologies of the Seer and the Thief are as opposed as any can be. If the Thief rules luck and free will, the Seer speaks of fate and foreknowledge. The Thief takes fate and bends it to her will, the Seer sees fate and is ruled by it. Those who kneel before her statues of gold and ivory pray to her for insight, for a glimpse into the pathways of light and fortune that stretch before her. But always, looming like a shadow, is the statue of obsidian. For even the Seer once looked too far, and the Grimdark Seer reminds all of the consequences of seeking to see what should be hidden.
It is natural that the Rogue's cobalt temple should follow the golden edifice of the Seer, for each is mother and daughter to the other, and they are at once allies and counterbalances. For the Rogue is at once She Who Hides and She Who Reveals. Her power is the void that blinds the Seer, and she, like the Thief, has dominion over the outcast and over all those who seek to hide from another, or from themselves. But though she takes, she also gives. She is patron of scientists and inventors, and it is her priests who are at the forefront of charity and provision for the poor. It is she who parents tell their children sneaks in through the walls in the dead of night to leave behind gifts on Hussmas, and just occasionally they speak truth. And it is she who contests dominion over intoxication with the Clown, keeping the Abhorred from having full control over the things that make glad the heart and those who partake of such things. Leaders also kneel at her feet, for as her husband the Heir rules over those who lead openly, so the Rogue has dominion over secret leaders, over whispers in the beds of kings and over consiglieres that stand behind the throne.
Beyond the Rogue's shrine we come to that of the Sylph. There are nearly always funerals in this her central shrine, for she has dominion over death and rebirth, and it is she who brings both the cold sleep of winter and the new growth of spring. Frogs decorate the walls of her temple, for she and the Witch were both frog-breeders, both identified with life's endless quest to survive and grow. Children are thick in her shrines, for she takes in children whose parents cannot or will not provide for them, and if her priestesses cannot find new families for these foundlings, they are raised by the temples themselves. It is also alleged that beneath her first temple here is a reserve of matriorbs, kept in suspension by mysterious technology should the troll race ever again be without a Mother Grub.
We have now come halfway around the circle to the temple of the Knight, which stands at the southern point of the compass. This temple is red, red as blood, red as the heart that beats the pulse of time. There are many clocks in this temple, and the great bells that ring the hours can be heard across the city. Moreover, in the tower of this temple is the Master Clock, the one by which all other clocks across the globe are set. Legend says that the Knight himself set that clock, and that his power keeps it accurate even now. Few pray to the Knight, for his guardianship of the timelines is cruelly impartial. He does what must be done to keep time running straight, and as he does not spare himself the cost of the endless corrections, neither does he spare anyone else. But some few do offer worship to him, chiefly historians and lorekeepers.
After the Knight comes the Prince, the Destroyer. Like the two that flank him, he is a merciless god, and the Heart upon his chest is empty. He is master of war, of destruction, and what he destroys, not even the Sylph can bring back. Soldiers pray to him, and executioners, and all who bring necessary destruction. For destruction is necessary from time to time, and whenever it is, the Prince is near at hand.
Beyond the Prince is the Blind Judge, the Legislacerator, ruler over justice and judgement. Many come to her temple to ask for justice, both in prayer to the Judge herself, and in petition to the legislacerators that are her hands in the world. But few can walk through the gates of her temple without a trace of fear in their hearts, for as she is blind to the deceptions and obfuscations of the wicked, so also is she blind to the tears of the penitent, blind to shades of gray, blind to the terrible price that justice can exact.
Continuing the circle we have reached the eastern point, and the temple of the Witch. She is the Gardener, the Frog-Breeder, she who guides the ascension of nature and adapts each thing to its environment. Frogs decorate her temples, for they symbolize the transition from life in the mud to life in the sun. All the wild places are hers, and even her own form echoes the beasts she rules. But, or perhaps naturally, she is also patron of travel and exploration, of all that is involved in going from here to there or hither to yon.
If the Witch stands for the potential of mindless life, the Page is the potential in human and troll and carapacian. All who seek to excel, whether in art or craft or science, come to his white temple to pray for his blessing, for he started lowest and rose highest, and the murals show him blazing like a white sun.
The temple of the Faceless God is like no other, for where all the rest of the Thirteen ascended, the Faceless God descended. Though that portion of him which resides with the other Gods rules over love in all its forms, his true work is done clad in mortal flesh. Again and again he has been reborn wherever there is oppression. Like his matespirit, the Blind Judge, the Faceless God stands against injustice. But where she hunts out the criminal, he appears where the law itself has been corrupted. Sometimes he will lead rebellions, sometimes he heads protests, sometimes he simply ushers in reforms. No mural or statue will show his face, for it is different in every incarnation, but his sign, the six and the nine, is constant. Every rebellion, every protest group, every reform movement, bears that mark as its banner, and only the Gods know which are led by Him.
