#fantasy religion

[alpaca-clouds]

Worldbuild Differently: Unthink Religion

This week I want to talk a bit about one thing I see in both fantasy and scifi worldbuilding: Certain things about our world that we live in right now are assumed to be natural, and hence just adapted in the fantasy world. With just one tiny problem: They are not natural, and there were more than enough societies historically that avoided those pitfalls.

Tell me, if you have heard this one before: You have this fantasy world with so many differnet gods that are venerated. So what do you do to venerate those gods? Easy! You go into those big temple structures with the stained glass in their windows, that for some reason also use incense in their rituals. DUH!

Or: Please, writers, please just think one moment on why the fuck you always just want to write Christianity. Because literally no other religion than Christianity has buildings like that! And that has to do a lot with medieval and early post-medieval culture. I am not even asking you to look into very distant cultures. Just... Look of mosques and synagogues differ from churches. And then maybe look at Roman and Greek temples. That is all I am asking.

Let's make one thing clear: No matter what kind of world you are building, there is gonna be religion. It does not matter if you are writing medieval fantasy, stoneage fantasy, or some sort of science fiction. I know that a lot of atheists hate the idea that a scifi world has religion, but... Look, human brains are wired to believe in the paranormal. That is simply how we are. And even those atheists, that believe themselves super rational, do believe in some weird stuff that is about as scientific as any religions. (Evolutionary Psychology would be such an example.)

What the people will believe in will differ from their circumstance and the world they life in, but there is gonna be religion of some sort. Because we do need some higher power to blame, we need the rituals of it, and we need the community aspect of it.

Ironically I personally am still very much convinced that IRL even in a world like the Forgotten Realms, people would still make up new gods they would pray to, even with a whole pantheon of very, very real gods that exist. (Which is really sad, that this gets so rarely explored.)

However, how this worship looks like is very different. Yes, the Abrahamitic religions in general do at least have in common that they semi-regularily meet in some sort of big building to pray to their god together. Though how much the people are expected to go into that temple to pray is actually quite different between those religions and the subgroups of those religions.

Other religions do not have this though. Some do not have those really big buildings, and often enough only a select few are even allowed into the big buildings - or those might only be accessible during some holidays.

Instead a lot of polytheistic religions make a big deal of having smaller shrines dedicated to some of the gods. Often folks will have their own little shrine at home where they will pray daily. Alternatively there are some religions where there might be a tiny shrine outside that people will go to to pray to.

Funnily enough that is also something I have realized Americans often don't quite get: Yeah, this was a thing in Christianity, too. In Europe you will still find those tiny shrines to certain saints (because technically speaking Christianity still works as a polytheistic religion, only that we have only one god, but a lot of saints that take over the portfolios of the polytheistic gods). I am disabled, and even in the area I can reach on foot I know of two hidden shrines. One of them is to Mary, and one... I am honestly not sure, as the masonry is too withered to say who was venerated there. Usually those shrines are bieng kept in a somewhat okay condition by old people, but yeah...

Of course, while with historically inspired fantasy settings make this easy (even though people still hate their research), things get a bit harder with science fiction.

Again, the atheist idea is often: "When we develop further scientifically, we will no longer need religion!" But I am sorry, folks. This is not how the human brain works. We see weird coincidences and will go: "What paranormal power was responsible for it?" We can now talk about why the human brain has developed this way. We are evolved to find patterns, and we are evolved (because social animal and such) to try and understand the will others have - so far that we will read will in nature. It is simply how our brains work.

So, what will scifi cultures believe in? I don't know. Depends on your worldbuilding. Maybe they believe in the ghost in the machine, maybe there si some other religions there. You can actually go very wild with it. But you need to unthink the normativity of Christianity to do that. And that is... what I see too little off.

[californiannostalgia]

okay my beloved ships aside (Beau shouting to Yasha "Babe. Babe, sex. Babe, sex." INCREDIBLE, SHOWSTOPPING--):

I loved getting to see Caduceus talking to Braius. Sometimes it's not the faith that hurts, it's the people. Different systems of belief may help you get through different hurts.

"Are you ready to leave?" What a question.

[elderscrollsconceptart]

Tribunal Saints

Concept art for The Elder Scrolls: Online

Art by Mathew Weathers

-Artist note: "The black and white drawings I had done of the saint designs that then fed into the banner concepts. This was also handed to my buddies that do the environment work to help them knock things out."

[cmrosens]

Creating fantasy religions: something I'm doing now so thought I would post about my process.

The mistake a lot of writers make is developing a religion from a singular event, and piling a ton of stuff on top of it that makes logical sense. Whereas, in reality, religions are self propelling systems that travel under their own steam and if there is an event that catalyses them, it is never in a socio-cultural or political and economic vacuum.

You also end up with an apparently totally random set of things attached to one figure which does make sense if you know the origins, but otherwise is just accepted even if the meaning is lost.

It is the difference between "the god of Midwinter and festivals around this originated because a cult of necromancers were banished into the frozen wastes and this <event> became the Origin Story for how we got to a midwinter festival with creepy bone puppets in my fantasy world" and a religion that feels ... Real.

Ok so firstly, this is a bit too neat. (This was my original reasoning for a midwinter god called Yarash and I changed it because it wasn't very realistic or interesting for my world.)

Why, let's say, is the god whose feast is at midwinter also the patron of puppet makers and osteopaths?

Well, we could say that this makes a lot of sense because the god's festival was originally to do with remembering the dead, and puppets were used in the festival to represent the dead, as necromancy should have been part of it but people didn't actually know how to raise the dead properly. Then as magic evolved people could actually raise the dead for short periods to deliver messages in these festivals, but this drew internal debate from the conservative priests who thought puppets were the original form and so should be maintained, and necromancy was an aberration, vs the progressives who saw necromancy as the original INTENTION and so the natural and correct progression from the puppets. The debate might rage on for years creating splinters, sects, differing traditions that sit uneasily together but find middle ground in other less controversial topics and practices, and even cults.

At some point, the secular authorities get involved for their own reasons. Maybe some rulers are pro-"The Old Bones" or anti-, or they want to outlaw necromancy or benefit from it for various political reasons, socio-cultural reasons, economic reasons, military intelligence reasons, etc. Whatever happens, happens. Times change. Official attitudes swing back and forth, while internally the religious debates continue, now informed by and perhaps as counters to, this secular intervention.

Then we end up in modern times, the times of the story. Nobody really believes in gods anymore. They do remember the old gods of the seasons and at the secular festival in winter, there are a lot of traditional puppet shows that have a whole history and life of their own. The puppets are called "the old bones" and nobody really remembers why. Osteopaths have the puppets and symbols relating to the midwinter festival on their certificates and college heraldry and nobody really remembers why, but the information is there to look up and is a fun thing to know for trivia nights.

And necromancy... is a controversial branch of science, divorced from its original religious significance for many but not for all, and more integrated as an art or practice in the public consciousness (positively or negatively depending on perspective and propaganda and actual usage).

And now, you have a ton of depth and meat to it without having to flesh out the arguments and debates themselves unless that is plot relevant.

There is a lot you can do with this society now, and by tweaking one thing you can create completely different societies and ideologies. The depth is now there to set your story at any point during this history and to develop numerous ideas. So much stuff can happen.

With the singular event version, and a static fact of a necromancy cult in the frozen wastes, things are much more limited and linear, with less depth to play with.

Also remember that your characters will not be expected to know everything about your world unless they are experts in religion and/or history, and also the 2 subjects are not mutually inclusive so a historian is not an expert theologian and vice versa. How much the average person on the street knows depends on levels of formal education, accessible knowledge beyond formal education, which may include religious instruction and folklore, and propaganda. But it means you can build in some subtle things - like the puppet symbols on the door of an osteopath or bone doctor - that never need to be explained, but have a logical in-world explanation below the surface.

Try taking a static idea and work it into a system and see where it leads!

EDIT: I'm doing a workshop on Build A Hellscape at the Devils and Justified Sinners online conference, Saturday 24th Aug 2024, 9AM UK Time. Sign up below:

[niofo]

as much as i subscribe to the theory that andraste was a mage and the chantry just erased it, the same way they did with ameridan, i want to expand on it with two theories that have no real foothold in canon, i just think they'd be neat:

andraste was possessed by a spirit of faith and by trying to recreate it the seekers discovered the rite of tranquility

andraste wasn't even human, she was a spirit who took shape of a human same way cole did, when the human andraste died before the whole maker thing even started

it would be interesting if the spirit!andraste was actually brought back in the fade by the collective faith of her followers and she was the spirit of faith that was touching minds of the seekers during their vigils. tho i also can't see her being happy about the bs the chantry is now doing in her name, so maybe not that. she'd be like, wait a moment, where's the canticle of my best buddy shartan?

[deluxewhump]

Pride of Princes

A story in the Blackmuir Reign Verse

2: the cell

CW: imprisonment, torture mention, fantasy religious persecution, threat of execution, royal caretaker

Prev

Robb Muirdwele was a prison guard for castle Blackmuir. He was not kingsguard, nor was he a knight as he’d once naively dreamed of. But guarding the cells below the castle was an easier job than others he’d had, and he was grateful for the relative shelter the stone walls provided, and the generous meal they were given once a day, as all staff and servants inside the castle were.

But there were drawbacks. For one, it was dark and damp, and even in high summer he had a cough he could not shake. For another, there was the new prisoner. Robb now had to be on his toes at all times because of unusual visitors to the cells, including clerics and more than a few knights. Not only that, but there were the awful sounds that accompanied these visits to the new prisoner. They were torturing him, that much was clear. Robb wondered what it was he’d done to elicit such ire from men of the Tercet and knights and soldiers of the king. The prisoner never said. He never said anything to Robb, or any other of his ordinary guards. He never begged for an audience with the King, or something to write with, or tried to bribe them with desperate promises of money and favor. He cried out and screamed during the torture, of course, but that was all.

When Prince Aedric came to the cells, Robb thought this prisoner must have really done something extraordinarily offensive to House Blackmuir. He bowed his head hastily to the prince, and let him inside the cell.

“Light,” he requested, and Robb lit the cressets. When he’d provided the prince with all the light the cell was designed to provide, he stood just inside the door and watched with his hands folded in front of him dutifully, his back straight. He’d never been this close to a Blackmuir, and only seen the king once. Aedric was the eldest son and heir, with pale brown hair and sharp, straight features that made his face both unforgettable and striking. He wore a doublet of black lined in silver, Blackmuir colors, and a knife at his belt. He’d brought two soldiers with him, but instructed them to wait at the entrance door ten yards down the corridor. They did so silently.

Robb watched as the prince approached the prisoner, his fine boots making soft chuffs on the stone. The prisoner lifted his head slowly, fearful and bleary. The last visit involved a cleric again, and he’d had him beaten before they’d even exchanged words.

The prisoner stiffened at this new presence and flattened as tight as he could against the cell wall. The prince squatted to sit on his heels before him.

“Lord Barrowfen?”

So that was his name. Not that it mattered to Robb. Sometimes he knew their names, sometimes he did not. It wasn’t his job to know them, only to guard them and keep them alive.

“Are you alright?”

The prisoner lifted his head. One eye was swollen to near shut, and he had caked blood that had dried from his nose to his upper lip. He held his arms protectively over his torso, which Robb knew was likely deeply bruised, if not riddled with breaks. The knights or soldiers did the hurting. The cleric only ever watched, holding his white robes an inch off the floor so they would not be dirtied.

“Will you not answer?”

The prisoner spat in his face. Robb flinched.

Incredibly, the prince did not retaliate, but lifted his sleeve to wipe his cheek. “I would feel the same,” he said wryly. “I’m sorry you’ve been hurt. That was not on my orders, Lord Barrowfen. I want you to know that, because I’m trying to help you.”

“I’m not a lord in here,” said the prisoner. Robb strained to hear. “I belong to the gods. Not to my father’s new pretender gods. Nor yours.” The prisoner coughed and winced, giving an involuntary whimper at the pain it caused him to do so.

The prince turned. “Did you do this?”

“No, your highness,” blurted Robb. He’d forgotten the word royal. It was your royal highness for a prince, and then ‘sire’ thereafter. He licked his lips nervously. Why did the prince not know this was done by the king’s own men? Under supervision of the clerics? It didn’t matter. His job was to answer a Blackmuir’s questions.

“Who then?”

“Soldiers, sire. His Grace’s knights.”

“What about the clerics?”

“Yes, sire. They are present for it.”

The prince turned back to the prisoner. “Roan,” he said gently, almost beseechingly. “May I call you Roan, then?”

The prisoner looked at him guardedly. He blinked, something like a wince. Perhaps it hurt to shrug.

“I’m not here to hurt you. I’m going to send a healer down to you.”

The prisoner was caught off guard, if only for a moment. His look of naked hope turned to one of distrust. “One of the king’s healers?”

Robb could only see the back of the prince’s head, but he tilted it slightly at that. “I’ll come with him. I’ll watch him.”

“It won’t matter. They’re not going to stop,” said the prisoner. “They want me to recant.”

“Will you?”

The prisoner’s eyes grew bright as if wet, and he looked away toward the dark corner of his cell. “No.”

The prince moved from a squatting to sitting, letting his fine clothes contact the cell floor.

“Get us water,” he said over his shoulder. Robb turned to fetch it, wondering if it was for the prince or the prisoner. When he returned, the prince held out his arm to receive the cup without turning around. He dipped a kerchief into the water, and motioned toward the blood on the prisoner's face. Robb watched as the prisoner allowed the prince to blot the kerchief against his upper lip until the blood came off. When he was done, he offered the prisoner the rest of the water. He lifted one hand gingerly from his ribs to take it.

“But would it not be surrendering to go through with the arrangement?” the prisoner asked. Robb understood he had missed a piece of their conversation when he’d gone for the water. “Would I not still be capitulating?”

“Not to me,” said the prince, with his knees drawn up and his forearms draped over them casually, as if he were picnicking on a green hill and not sitting on the floor of the dungeons. “You can keep your gods, as far as I’m concerned. I’ll build you a shrine.”

“My gods have no need of a shrine.”

“Whatever it is they need, then. Whatever you need. You’ll have it, but we have to say the vows. I can protect you much more effectively if you are my peaceweaver.”

“Why would you protect me?”

“You’re betrothed to me. Why wouldn’t I? ”

“They won’t let me out without a recantation. They’re going to do worse, and then there will be a trial, and then they’ll kill me.”

The prince nodded. “It seems so, at the moment. Do you know how?”

“How they’ll kill me?”

There was silence before the prince spoke again.

“Treason is usually resolved with burning at the stake.”

The prisoner dropped his eyes.

“I don’t tell you that to be cruel. I’m trying to find an answer, but I think you might need to be that answer for yourself. Will you work with me?”

“I won’t accept the Tercet,” said the prisoner. His voice trembled slightly. “And I’m not afraid.”

The prince hung his head, and then brought it back up again. “Don’t do it out of fear, then. Find something else.”

In the firelight, Robb could see the prisoner’s eyes well up again. He grit his teeth and hugged his arms over his abdomen, looking over the prince’s shoulder at the wall of his cell. He was resolute. At length, the prince climbed to his feet.

“I’m still bringing a healer,” he said as he walked out of the cell. Robb shut the wooden door and fastened its iron bolt with the prisoner inside.

Next

[puzzled-pegasus]

Additional WoF hcs

SandWings have a type of adapted webbing between their claws from their common ancestry with SeaWings, to keep them from sinking in the sand.

IceWings also have similar so they can swim and walk on the snow.

MudWings love frogs and will consider it good luck if they see a bullfrog, especially a particularly large one. For this reason, they tend to depict cranes and herons, which eat frogs, as crafty and a little bit evil in their storytelling.

MudWings generally don't eat alligators because of the belief they are related.

SkyWings incorporate eagles into their religious beliefs and believe that they are sacred, like angels or watchful guardian spirits in disguise, and they are Apalled at the prospect of eating one.

Coral loves dolphins so much, she named her daughter Orca. That's not really a headcanon, that's just a thing I just realized lol

SeaWings have a popular dessert they like to make from red kelp, it's like gelatin or pudding. It's especially popular among the lower class dragons.

SkyWings really aren't sure what to do with their war-mutilated veterans, especially the lower class ones. They hate any sort of imperfection, but they also admire the fact that they survived battle at all, so they altogether just try not to think about them. Maybe they even have a closed off section of town where they encourage them to stay. :(

I'm not sure if this happened already but I'm sure Thorn is going to either destroy the weirdling tower and cause riots or she will destroy the building and put the contents into a proper museum to preserve what an awful dragon Burn was

SeaWings have the highest literacy rate next to NightWings. Many IceWings can't read much more than their own names.

SeaWings can be immune to jellyfish venom.

Toys commonly given to dragonets include wooden, clay, or iron figures, dolls made from wood, cloth, or sometimes grass, stuffed animals, wooden practice weapons, dress up jewelry made from glass, and more. Additionally, dragonets, especially in the Kingdom of Sky, are commonly given bones to chew as an equivalent to being given a lollipop.

Dragons regrow their teeth multiple times in their life, as part of the reason they're able to live so long. This comes from their common ancestry with crocodilians.

There is said by RainWings to be a species of eagle in the rainforest that is similar to a harpy eagle, but much bigger, with talons as big as a dragon's. It has been reported to have flown away with dragonets before, and though a very rare occurrence, RainWings tell their dragonets about it partially for their safety and partially to scare them into listening to them. The eagle is probably called something SkyWing related---after one of the queens, perhaps. These predator attacks are one of the only reasons that RainWings still have venom.

As well as flowers, RainWings like to decorate themselves and their homes with brightly colored feathers they find.

NightWings, upon coming to the rainforest, have since introduced RainWings to glass flower vases. Many RainWings love them. They have also introduced them to the concept of cooking fruit to make jam and juicing it and/or fermenting to make tasty drinks

SandWings believe that ravens are a good omen and enjoy leaving scraps of prey out for them. They admire their tendency to clean up what is upsetting and avoided by most. IceWings see them as a symbol of death or a warning and are extremely creeped out by their intelligence.

Despite their love for ravens, SandWings are really annoyed by their obnoxious cousins, crows, and it is not an uncommon sight to see them chasing the birds away with a broomstick

MudWings are delighted whenever they see bluejays or similarly bright colored temperate forst birds, but not for any spiritual reason. They just don't see bright colors often :D

MudWings generally find it extremely disrespectful to pick flowers, especially ones that grow on someone else's property, because brightly colored flowers are not especially common in the swamps. It's quite the culture shock when they meet RainWings who pick every pretty blossom in sight.

Similarly, if a SandWing finds a flower in the desert which is wilting, they are obligated to bring it water.

[druidx]

Saying fantasy grace as a spell to purify food & drink, and stop people becoming unwell or assassinated.

The royal family sits down to dinner. The archbishop says grace to ensure any poisons have been nullified.

The healer of a party of adventurers saying grace as the pottage is being stirred or the roast spitted so no one succumbs to dysentery.

A mother making sure all her children know how and when to say grace as she sends them off to their new homes, in the hope their family line continues.

People of different religions arguing over the wording, not realising that it doesn't matter - it's the faith and intent which makes the magic work.

[saraptor-art]

Hello, I had questions about the gods of the sea, about their ideals, if there are commandments or prohibitions, if they have any religious symbols, stories. 🌊 🛐 🌊

Hey, Anon, answering this from the 3rd of Sept :D But I wanted to take my time with this one so there we go!

When imagining this, I tried not to take inspiration directly from real beliefs or religions to avoid any appropriation but I’m still clearly influenced by my Christian background and the “casual witch beliefs” that circulate in European cultures. I researched different beliefs from Ireland and East, South East Asia but went with something softer, murkier and based on the ocean itself rather than legends, stories and creatures. Visually, I took inspiration from different Mesopotamian writings and from Peruvian art.

I wanted to create a very soft magic, with few intermediaries that still fit in One Piece since there is very little talk of religion in the manga (before Nika xP). I also wanted to leave it to the believer or non-believer’s interpretation if it works. So while Biri is sure that her faith keeps her safe on the sea, there’s always the possibility that she’s a very good sailor and has a lot of luck.

[gracelyngrausamkeit]

Luck is a fickle thing. Too little of it and the cruel world swallows you whole. Too much of it and the silvery brambles of complacency and arrogance suffocate you. Intoxicating and ever-elusive, luck is fate itself. For, have many a great conqueror not met a shallow grave after a single unlucky day, and have happy coincidences not given rise to great visionaries?

Uncaring to the world, the Weaver of Fortune walks their transcendent path, spurring Ages of Silver wherever their vigorous foot treads and spelling the ruination of every land only touched by their withered limbs.

It is Fate-Seekers’ holy mission, therefore, to chase after the divine on their inexorable journey. Riding under the banner of a thorn-crowned void, the Silverthorn devotees hope to guide the direction of the very Weaver's pilgrimage.

[she-posts-nerdy-stuff]

Hi!! this is a kinda random question, but I was just thinking about it. So we know that the Druskelle (and presumably most of Fjerda) are bigoted, racist, etc.. Does that stem from their culture and like the wars and stuff or is that part of their religion? I guess hypothetically could Matthias/Maya/your other Fjerdan ocs have corrected their prejudices and still believed in Djel or do the two beliefs contradict? Just wondering what your take is :)

Hi, thanks for the ask!

I absolutely adore religion in the Grishaverse and a while ago I wrote quite a long analysis on Matthias and Inej's relationship with their respective religions, mostly focusing on Djel since I feel I know more about Fjerdan religion than Ravkan having read the soc duology a lot more times than the other books, and I talked quite a bit about some of these things so I'll link that here in case anyone is interested and below I'll put a couple of quotes from that more specifically pertaining to what you've said here. Essentially, I believe that the Drüskelle order is a cult and represents a warped version of Fjerdan religion and that Matthias' journey of self-discovery and of learning to find the version of Djel that he believes in and that aligns with who he wants to be is one of the most beautifully written character arcs I have ever read.

Some quotes from my previous analysis:

"Theoretically, the Drüskelle are raised (forced) to believe the same basic principles of the religion that most of the religious people in the country are [...] However, what’s taken completely further is that the Drüskelle are told that the only way to be truly respected by their god is to take decisive action against Grisha people for their power, because it’s “demonic” and a warping of Djel’s gifts. Now first of all, none of the religious teachings we learn about as the reader even remotely suggest this, which suggest that it’s a baseless prejudice for which religion has been used as an excuse for so long that it’s become culturally ingrained and believed."

"Matthias even shows particular pride that he was personally told the secret of the second glass bridge by Jarl Brum himself"

"And this is the thing, ok, because by claiming that Djel will show the boys the path and then telling them himself (!!!!!!!!) Brum is claiming far more power than a servant of Djel and or Fjerda. No, now he turns himself into a messenger of Djel, a prophet if you will, just to reaaaalllly double down on that religious trauma he’s giving these kids. He is putting himself into the Messiah-like position; he’s saying that Djel sent him to them to tell them that they must kidnap and kill people to earn his love."

"in his own practice Matthias would appear to see Djel as a benevolent god"

"presented himself as a Messiah-like figure and effectively forced these young boys to believe that betraying him is akin to betraying Djel"

Okay I'm restraining myself from adding more to that list because I'm just sitting here reading through the original analysis going "ooo add that" "and that" "that too" and I'll just end up copy and pasting the whole thing if I carry on like this, so if you'd like to read more I should've linked it at the top :)

I'm gonna talk a bit about Djel and relationship with religion in terms of my Fjerdan OCs here, if anyone is interested but hasn't read the fic you don't have to have done to follow the religion info but it's worth knowing that it's set almost entirely in Ketterdam and takes place nearly 10 years after Crooked Kingdom :)

For my Fjerdan OCs religion is very much on my mind whenever I'm writing them, and I find it a very interesting thing to consider. So, I have three Fjerdan OCs in Daughter of the Rain and Snow: Maya, a Tidemaker and our titular character, Celina, a deceased (pre-events of the fic) otkazat'sya whose body was burned and who therefore cannot reach Djel, and Fiona, a Heartrender who lost her relationship with religion a long time ago and has no interest in taking it up again. I'm going to start with Fiona because I haven't really explored her relationship with Djel very much since she has had less scenes than the others thus far, but I tend to have quite fleshed out backstories for my side characters even if they don't make it into the story lol

Fiona is 22 during the events of the fic and has been working with Inej and the crew of the Wraith for almost four years. She made her way to Ketterdam at 17 after her family discovered she was Grisha and threw her out. In a desperate attempt to flee Fjerda - and notably not knowing any Kerch language - she signed an indenture contract with a Kerch merchant who offered her safe passage to the country. She did not know what she was signing, and her contract was written in Kerch, but she just wanted to get out of Fjerda as quickly as possible and this seemed like her only option. She was freed and ended up working with Inej when she was 18. Fiona had battled with her relationship with Djel for a long time after discovering she was Grisha and keeping it secret, but when her parents learnt the truth and started abusing her and eventually turned her out with nowhere to go and no protection to be found she adopted atheism completely, akin to the way Kaz and Wylan found their atheism. -

“Saints speed,” she said to Inej, who echoed the words she knew were said for her benefit alone.

Fiona had given up on Djel, the god she was raised with, and had no interest in taking up another. (Chapter 8) (I feel so weird quoting my own writing)

Religion is very much at the forefront of everything I write considering Maya and Celina, particularly since Celina only appears as a character in Maya's POV chapters (she exists more as a concept to Kaz, Inej, and Aimee, who connect her to things she represents to each of them but whom they never knew as a real person). Maya battling her relationship with Djel is very much in the forefront of the story and one of my favourite chapters is when she goes back to the tree she cut down in anger and prays for it; the chapter is essentially a long monologue of Maya talking to Djel and voicing every side of her argument out loud. I won't list everything here but I'll add this quote from the chapter:

“I’ve tried it every way,” she whispered, failing to fight the sobs that were growing in her throat, “I ignored it, I tried not to use it, I used it for others, I used it for myself, I used it for You. And I have somehow failed You every time. Maybe I deserve to burn now, but they say you are born Grisha. Did You really look at me and always know I would deserve to burn? From the very moment I was born? Perhaps this is all I am in Your grand tapestry of destiny; a game for You to play, a doll that You can take apart and stitch together at wrong angles. I am a broken toy that can be discarded and burnt whilst the world moves on as though I were never here. I made the wrong choices, but I thought they were the only ones left. You could have let me stay at home. You could have let her live - let both of them live. And I never would have done anything like this. I’m so sorry…” her voice broke and she felt the tears flooding over her cheeks as she collapsed over the ruined tree trunk and cried into its empty flesh, “I’m so sorry,” (Chapter 66 on tumblr, chapter 67 on AO3)

And the chapter ultimately ends with Maya asking Djel to teach her how to deserve forgiveness from Inej and the other characters for everything she'd done, or to at least teach her how to forgive Him.

I think one of the most important aspects of religion in terms of this and in terms of Maya and Celina's relationship with each other is that even though Celina knows Maya is a Tidemaker neither of them ever talk about it and Maya reached a point where she was actively afraid to bring it up because she didn't know how Celina felt about Grisha and she didn't want to jeopardise not only what is the only relationship she has with anyone right now but arguably what is the first relationship she's ever had that wouldn't be considered abusive (her relationship with her father is kinda up in the air, I know, but considering that he sold her I don't think it's a spoiler to say I hate that man's guts even though y'all have a little bit more to learn about him yet) since realistically Celina was the only person she had a real conversation with for three years and the only other people she spoke to in that time would be clients, Yennefer, and occasionally other girls at the Tulip Mill. Maya even saw Yennefer's death more as vengeance for Celina than she did for herself, saying that Yen's death was for Celina and Kaz's death would be for her before she finds out that Kaz was partially responsible for Celina's death in the worldview that she holds - and as Kaz considers himself no less responsible for her death than Rollins was for Jordie's. I don't know if I'm explaining it quite right but the fear that Maya developed surrounding other people's perspective on Grisha power preventing her from being able to share her feelings with Celina I found a really heart-wrenching detail to write and I was definitely hoping to present the idea that even if religiously the ideas don't contradict - considering that we see Celina adapt her belief in Djel to say that anything that she does at the Tulip Mill will be forgiven because she has no choice over it - culturally speaking it's still such a complex and difficult thing to move past that Maya isn't even sure she can ever express it to the only person she trusts, and I also hoped to touch on this idea with the flashbacks to the Ravkan boy at the Grisha workshop with Maya who didn't trust her because she was Fjerdan even though she was Grisha and had literally fled Drüskelle and her home country

Anyway I hope this made sense, it's starting to feel very rambly and random, and I hope that it was interesting to read. Thanks so much for teh ask and for your interest in the fic! <33

[land-of-candy]

Honey

[mouchiiarts]

Aphblr I am in need of some input. I saw a post on Instagram of a cat girl wearing a hijab and it got me thinking.

How would meif'wa/lu'pine wear different headdresses and religious coverings? Not just Muslim but Jewish, Christian, etc as well!

I am curious to see what y'all's ideas are! 👀

[cmrosens]

Fantasy Religions: Rethinking Hell & Prayer

I'm creating a fantasy hellscape and death realms so I had some thoughts about that for worldbuilding:

What happens if your hellscape isn't a place of punishment? What alternatives are there to "punishment" as a concept, and what does that say about your fantasy religious system(s) and so on?

like: I'm using a system where it's about how you die. It literally doesn't matter what you were like as a person, if you die in a specific way, you go to the corresponding realm of the dead and you're at the mercy of whoever's realm that is. If they are pretty nice and the place is the one everyone wants to get into, you may need to convince the gatekeeper to let you in when you get there, but that's doable. Also people might then try and manipulate their deaths to fulfil the criteria for getting where they want to go.

It's also fun because then people can go to hellscapes (various) even if they don't deserve it, and what happens then? Can they escape? Can they journey through and find a way out? Can everyone?

Do/how do prayers function in this system?

Are people praying to a deity that can hear them?

How do they try and get said deity's attention and why is that meant to work?

If the deity/deities are very annoyed by the prayers of the living and have deliberately made it difficult for prayers to reach them, what then?

Or, is it more that the living require someone to open a channel of communication so they can be heard, and this also helps the souls of the dead in some way?

Can prayers benefit the dead? How and when?

Can the dead pray for themselves/for the living, so it operates in reverse?

I'm going with the system where you can't pray for yourself, that's an alien concept, because the person who prays becomes a conduit or a channel for somebody else. They have to try and make their mind go blank with repetition of words given to them by the wind - which carries the voices of the restless dead, who died without anyone to pray for them and open a road for them to travel on - and in that moment of blankness, the soul they are praying for can cross over from life to their appropriate death realm. If you don't have someone to pray for you like this, your soul joins the wind forever, and you are just a whisper bringing warnings and bad news to people, and telling them what to pray for everyone else.

This is based on the old folklore that you can hear the voices of the dead on the wind, I think it pops up in Flemish folklore in some form, but also I've heard it elsewhere. I just adapted it.

From this, you can build outwards and work out fantasy religions and philosophy and ideology. Just keep asking questions, layer on layer, and see where this goes, as your answers are the scaffolding and the shape will grow from those first decisions you make.

Like, ok, what's the terminology for these concepts and processes (do they even have words like 'hell' and 'prayer')? How do these terms show up in the language and casual conversation - idioms like "he hasn't got a prayer" or "not a hope in Hell" wouldn't work if prayer isn't something that's synonymous with 'chance this will work out', because in this world, the idea of asking for something in prayer doesn't exist.

So in my world, for example, 'he hasn't got a prayer' wouldn't mean 'he doesn't stand a chance', it means, 'he's going to join the restless dead because he's got no one to pray for him'. That might be used for a very unpopular person: he's so bad, he hasn't got a prayer. (He's such a bad person that he hasn't got anyone who will pray for him when he dies). Or, a very lonely, isolated person: I think that's so sad - living alone without a prayer.

Similarly, if there's no Hell, then all the idioms that use "Hell" as a place of punishment no longer apply, and if there's no equivalent, then "not a hope in Hell" would have to be retired and swapped out for something else that does make sense in this world instead.

Conversely, "living on a prayer" like Bon Jovi would mean "selling my ability to pray for you", like a service that people offer so you don't join the wind, or go to the wrong death realm, or that you'll get passed the gatekeeper if a prayer operates like a ticket to enter, or whatever this might mean in your world.

If this is something that can happen, how are these people seen - as necessary to the community, or as unscrupulous opportunists? Bit of both? There's a whole interesting series of characters you could develop from just that concept, which might draw parallels with the sin-eater figure. And what happens if someone who doesn't deserve a lovely afterlife pays someone to pray for them so that they get entry into a lovely death realm?

There's a lot to play with when you just take one idea away, and try to swap it for something else. In this case: Hell isn't a place of punishment, so what is it then, and does it exist at all, and if not, what is there instead and how does it work?

That's a good place to start with building fantasy religions. I've already done a few other posts on my thoughts there!

EDIT: I'm doing a workshop on Build A Hellscape at the Devils and Justified Sinners online conference, Saturday 24th Aug 2024, 9AM UK Time. Sign up below:

[the-starlight-writer]

Religion in TKoM's Faerie I: Intro to the Gods

Hello! In my previous worldbuilding blog post, I made reference to religious figures and gods of Faerie! Who are they? How many of them are there? What are they in charge of? What do their ceremonies entail? All excellent questions! I aim to answer them (at least briefly) in this post series!

Who are the Faerie Gods? There are two gods involved in the creation and passive maintenance of Faerie as we know it. Previously just spirits, the story goes as follows: two spirits decided to pool their mana and create a people to dote on and become parent to since spirits cannot procreate. The Goddess most revered out of the pair is known by many names including "Lady Rowan" and "Green Mother". Her actual, holy name is Miele-Ara (me-el-ay ⋅ ah-rah).

[Alt text: A portrait picrew of a brown-skinned woman with a pair of goat horns twisting upwards. Her hair is long, wavy and a honey brown colour. She is wearing a holey white halter top and an off-shoulder dress. The background of the image is white. The woman is haloed by a green circle.]

Miele-Ara is designated ruler over the living, the ground and the things that grow from it. She is worshipped generally and most religious customs that are part of the Faerie Calendar and general life are related to her.

Her religious counterpart and fellow god is named Malaran (mah-la-ran). Similar to Miele-Ara, they are addressed by a variety of names including "the Night Watchman".

[Alt text: A portrait made in the Djarn picrew depicting a humanoid figure with a large number of eyes, black horns and ears reminiscent of a dragon or reptile's. The sclera of all their eyes are black while the irises are purple. All of the eyes are looking in different directions. The figure is wearing an ornate necklace and grey/black clothing.]

In a way complementary to Miele-Ara, Malaran's domain is in the abstract and yet concrete things like knowledge, astronomy, research of a esoteric nature; the night and the unknown and the things that live in it.

As their sacred texts are more difficult to understand and have generally never been part of the wider religious culture of Faerie with the exception of those who live in the lands most closely linked to his kind of magic, worship and reverence of Malaran is often seen as occult and dangerous. But Malaran is gentle, sweet and kind. Malaran is patient and loving, anxious and tender. Miele-Ara on the other hand? Not so motherly as people like to romanticise her to be.

In additional posts in this worldbuilding series, I'll go into more detail about their specialities and the methods of worshipping both of them + some folktales! See you next time.

[deluxewhump]

Pride of Princes

A standalone story in the Blackmuir Reign verse ~150 years before Therrin Blackmuir takes the throne. This story is complete, around 12k words. This is part one.

CW: fantasy setting with a monarchy, fantasy politics, fantasy religious tensions, pressure to convert, torture, beatings, burning, threat of execution, imprisonment, defiant whumpee, forced/arranged marriage, polygamy, sex, court drama 

Characters and terms:

King Thyran Blackmuir (tie-run) 55- Therrin’s great great grandpa. Has ruled 30 yrs at this time and recently suffered an illness (stroke)

Prince Aedric Blackmuir (A-drick, strong A sound) 32 - the eldest prince and heir. Has one brother Cedric and two peaceweaver brides, Esther and Miline. Has one child with Esther, 6yo Esti. 

Roan Barrowfen (Row-n, rhymes with shown) 28- noble-born second son of Randall Barrowfen, of the easterly reaches. Given (unwillingly) as a peaceweaver to Aedric 

Tercet The new official religion being implemented by the Blackmuir crown. (Also a term in poetry, but here it's the name of a religion lol) The Tercet has three sections of religious importance that focus on commerce, agriculture, and the sanctity of law (the monarchy). 

Peace-weaver (Old English: freothwebbe)- Anglo-Saxon tradition of marrying women to an enemy tribe in hopes of mingling bloodlines and encouraging future peace between the groups. Peaceweavers here are specifically matched to smooth over a current conflict in the region, and not the same designation as matches to strengthen alliances or procure wealth. I prefer it as one word, not hyphenated.

Other notes: 

Title from The Wanderer.

Polygamy is encouraged for royalty at this time in the Blackmuir rule, if they are peaceweaver matches. Peaceweavers can be any level of nobility, but the first bride's children are typically the only ones recognized as viable heirs, unless they do not bear one or the heirs do not survive, and then it goes down the line to the second spouse. As you can imagine this causes lots of problems, but not in this story. 

This is loosely inspired by the history/legend of Saint Juliana by Cynewulf, as told in the Exeter book. 

_

1.

Prince Aedric was fast asleep when he was roused by Juliana, a timid handmaiden of his first bride, Esther. She never entered Aedric’s chambers, certainly not without invitation, or her mistress’s presence. 

“Prince Aedrick,” she said, giving a hurried bow. Her head was uncovered, her hair in two mussed braids as if for sleep. 

Aedric cast his eyes about the room for signs that something was amiss. He heard nothing from the open door of his chamber, or from the eastern window that caused any alarm. The fire was still burning in the hearth. He could not have been asleep for more than a few hours. 

“Juliana,” he said sharply. “Esther? Esti?”

“Are both well, sire. I don’t come on her behalf.”

“Then why? What is it?”

The girl pursed her lips and looked behind her, as if someone might be standing in the doorway in pursuit. “I wish to tell you something, but I fear it is not my place.”

Aedric sat up further in bed, his head still thick with sleep. “It must be important, to wake me in the middle of the night. Have out with it.”

“I only mean to serve you and my lady’s interests.”

“…Yes, Juliana. I know. I’ll… make sure there are no repercussions.”

She nodded solemnly. That had been her concern. “I was not told to come to you.”

“I understand. What is it?”

“The lord from the far reaches. He arrived this afternoon.”

Aedric frowned. He’d been recently betrothed. It was to be his third peaceweaver match, and the first to be male. The match was the youngest son of a Barrowfen from the easterly reaches, that wild and unforgiving marshland he’d visited as a boy and never had any desire to visit again. The reaches were an insular and stubborn region of his father’s vast kingdom that had caused some difficulty of late, but Lord Barrowfen was prompt with the annual taxes, and receptive to the new religious order.

But if his new betrothed had arrived in the afternoon, why had he not been called to meet him? Why had he not been sent to him directly, as Esther and Miline had been? He asked Juliana as much.

“The king. He is speaking to him now, in the Oath Hall. He is displeased.”

“Why?”

Juliana shifted her weight, nervously twisting at a small silver ring on her right hand. “He is refusing the Tercet, my lord. It’s caused some trouble.”

Aedric shook his head. “Why has he come all this way,  just to protest when he got here?”

“I-I don’t know, sire. I don’t think he wanted to come.”

Aedric raised his brows. 

“I know nothing more than this. I only wanted you to be aware. They’re very displeased with him, my prince.”

“Go,” he said, throwing off his covers. “I need to dress.”

She hesitated, wringing her fingers bloodless.

“Your name will not be mentioned,” he assured her. “Go.”

_

Aedric wondered if he’d ever been in the Oath Hall at such an hour. Every brazier was lit, casting jumping shadows on the high stone walls. His father sat elevated on his dais, attended by two knights, his favorite Tercet cleric in robes of snowy white, and several members of his court. 

Aedric’s eyes swept over them in turn. All had turned to watch him enter, and soon their eyes turned to their king to gauge his reaction to the prince’s intrusion. 

“It’s late, Aedric,” came Thyran Blackmuir’s weakened voice from his throne. A sudden illness had struck him before spring’s last snowmelt, and he had not been the same since. 

“Indeed it is, Your Grace,” Aedric answered. “What matter could not wait until after we had all slept and breakfasted?”

At the base of the dais stood a young man in modest clothing, unmoving, with his gaze fixed on the stones beneath his feet. Aedric gave him a wide berth as he approached, looking to see if this was the peaceweaver he’d been sent a portrait of in the initial negotiations. It appeared to be. He was of a similar height as Aedric, and though he could only see his bowed profile, it seemed to be the Barrowfen from the picture — Roan, was his name, or else it was someone strikingly similar. The portrait had looked promising.

He was of a similar age as Aedric as well, highborn, and unrelentingly beautiful, with dark hair and green-brown eyes, high easterly cheekbones, and a particular, intriguing smile that Aedric hoped was not just the flattery of the artist, but a look the subject had worn while sitting for the sketch.

“Hello,” he said, standing to the nobleman’s right, a safe six feet of distance between them. 

Roan Barrowfen gave him the barest glance, looking up without lifting his head. Their eyes met for only a moment and he returned them to the floor, his jaw set in something between determination and fear. Aedric was mildly stung by the sheer disregard of the exchange, a disregard he was unaccustomed to. 

“Is this my new peaceweaver, then?” Aedric asked, addressing his father. “Is this Roan Barrowfen?”

“It is,” the king answered wearily, his left eye now permanently drooping like a melting clay doll. 

“Why was I not sent for?” he asked, in front of the men of court, the cleric, and the knights. “Surely there must be some reason I was not sent to greet him upon his arrival?”

“Sit,” bade his father. 

“I prefer to stand, Your Grace.”

Aedric was nothing if not a loyal firstborn son, but he was not as docile as he might be. He tried to remain respectful to his father, the king, especially in front of members of court, but he would not be seen as a mincing puppet, either. And the king could be stubborn.

Of late, that concern had flagged. His father was not the man he was the year before, or the thirty years of his rule before that. He sometimes lost his train of thought, or his words entirely, and spent much of his days in bed. 

“Your betrothed has insisted on an act of….of  treason since his… arrival,” managed the King. 

Cleric Alfonsus looked down from the dais at Roan Barrowfen with a disdainful sort of pity. 

“What treason is that?”

The King motioned at his cleric, inviting him to speak and save him the trouble.  

“Lord Barrowfen maintains the false gods of the easterly reaches,” explained the cleric in a smooth voice, still powerful enough to project. Aedric admitted his unnervingly blue eyes and unrelenting gaze gave him an air of authority. His arms were folded together in the white fabric of his robes of office, hiding his hands, which Aedric thought was another apt metaphor. “He has denounced the Tercet, and by extension, the authority of the King.”

Aedric could have laughed. The Tercet was a fledgling religion, breeding in several pockets of the north for only two generations before gaining fast favor these last ten years. When he was a boy, no one had even spoken of the Tercet, the three-deity trident of land, commerce, and law. It was about as relevant as whoever this easterly man’s far-flung gods might be. And now it was treason to refuse them?

 “I’m sure this is a thing being done on principle,” he said amiably, opening his hands toward his father and the cleric. Even the knights were looking at him. “A well-intentioned principle, at that. Your Grace, is not the point of a peaceweaver to make peace? Peace is not something that can be expected upon arrival, or overnight.”

“The terms were clear,” answered the cleric, speaking over Aedric’s last word. “Randall Barrowfen sent a letter with his son. He knew this might happen, and in it he outlines his sincerest regrets, along with fealty to the Tercet and the king. His son’s life, if not as a peaceweaver, can be of some use as a forfeit.”

Aedric made a sour face. “Forfeit? To be an example, you mean? That is the perfect opposite of the goal we have in making this arrangement.”

The cleric continued. “Rejection of the Tercet directly undermines-”

“Your Grace,” Aedric cut him off, addressing his father. “This is mad. Put a swift end to it.”

With some difficulty, the King adjusted in his straight backed throne, a simple and elegant design of carved wood meant as an homage to humility and efficiency. “Your Esther and…Miline are worthy brides, Aedric. They are peaceweavers, and they are Muirish now. They serve a purpose. This…” he waved a hand irritably, “open dissent is not something I can ignore. I will not have a hostile…. traitor at my table. Bearing…. our name.”

“Hostile traitor,” Aedric echoed in disbelief. He wondered, not for the first time since his illness, if those were his father’s words, or repeated words of Cleric Afonsus.  “Has he spoken of any plans to murder any of us in our sleep?”

“No,” said the nobleman in question. Aedric turned to him, surprised he’d spoken. “But I will not abandon my gods for you. Or for the king.”

A murmur of offense broke out among the men in attendance. 

“I am a theurgist for the gods of our land,” he continued, looking up at Aedric with his head still slightly bowed. His eyes looked greener in the light of the braziers, and he had a high color on his cheeks that Aedric couldn’t discern between a sign of good health or the start of a fever. “I will serve my gods, and my gods alone.”

“A theurgist. You conjure your gods?”

“On behalf of others,” he answered. “As much as it is in my ability to do so. And if they answer.”

“And where are they at this moment?” he asked quietly, directed only to the foreigner. He meant it in a friendly, exasperated sort of jest, but Roan Barrowfen dropped his eyes like it had been a taunt.

Aedric set his jaw and looked back to the dais. “Give me the night, Your Grace. Let me speak to him privately, as I expected to do upon his arrival.”

“When you arrived,” said the king, “I had just sentenced him to the holding cells. He will….await there. Await his…ah,” he struggled for the word. “His trial.”

A pit of dismay formed in Aedric’s stomach. They had only exchanged one letter, but it had been promising. Roan Barrowfen was clearly well versed in his letters, and well spoken. He’d seemed modestly eager for the arrangement. Had he not realized he would have to, at least publicly, lay down his gods and his theurgic practices to do so? Another thought— had he even written the letter? Had he come of his own free will at all?

Aedric wished he could speak his true mind to his father, but there were lines he knew better than to cross in the Oath Hall.

“He will have a chance to recant, Aedric,” said the King, as if he were placating Aedric when he was a petulant child, over some small matter. “He will have many chances.”

He thought the wording of that promise to be ominous. Many chances? Did they intend to harm him in hopes of eliciting it, like a confession from a criminal? A highborn? Betrothed to the prince? Roan Barrowfen seemed to take the same meaning from the words. His chest rose and fell with noticeably faster breaths, but he did not move a single muscle. Aedric felt a sharp pang of protective sympathy towards this stranger he’d so been looking forward to meeting. 

“I ask you to reconsider this,” he appealed again. “It’s highly reactionary, Your Grace, for naught but some words.”

The king only motioned weakly to the knights, who came forward and took the prisoner under each arm, leading him away. He stumbled, but caught his footing and went willingly. Aedric stood rooted to the spot as the King rose from the throne. Others followed, and Oath Hall began to empty. 

Cleric Alfonsus stepped down from the dais carefully so as not to trip over his robes. He fixed Aedric with his deliberate gaze. “Naught but some words,” he repeated as he passed him. It felt like an admonition. 

The following morning, Prince Aedric learned that the trial was set for a full month away. Roan Barrowfen’s noble status required three representatives from his home to travel to the Muirkeep to sit on the jury. Aedric knew this would influence the outcome, but he was not confident it would be in the way he’d like. Lord Barrowfen himself had condemned his son with that letter, to appease the king. Whoever came from the reaches was likely prepared to do the same.

The final decision would be the king’s, but that would undoubtedly be influenced by the clerics, as it was a religious matter. That was a fact that had been concerning him of late— more and more seemed to fall to the discretion of the Tercet leaders, namely Cleric Alfonsus. 

After speaking with his father to no avail, he did the other thing in his power. He went down to the cells. 

Next