High Holy Day

The sun shone like a brilliant jewel perched atop heaven itself on this glorious day. It was Godsday and the faith peddlers were out enmass trying to summon up a few more petitioners for their chosen god. All the regulars could be seen and accounted for along with more than a few that none had heard of before that very day.

Pelor's chosen extolled the obvious ascendance of their god by virtue of the sun itself. Standing on the opposite corner of the square were the devout of Pholtus, all trying to save the sinner and show them the truth in the Blinding Light. Kord's followers performed great feats of strength, showing all how their god rewarded the blessed. Zilchus's merchant priests were busy hawking their wares, showing devout behavior by example instead of by word. If one watched closely enough the odd sage-priest of Boccob could be seen weaving in and out of the crowds, seemingly above such trivial exercises, but still willing to stop and discuss magic and philosophy with those who might accidentally look too curious. This beautiful summer day with all its bustle was indeed one made for the gods.

If the onlooker had an exceptionally keen eye they could spot one oddity drifting among the throng of priests. Wearing bright red robes, polished green boots and a deep purple felt cloak, this fellow had no time to dally about with idle chatter. More than one curious would-be devotee tried to stop the tall, gangly fellow and ask his mission in life. Every one received a thump on the head from a smallish club and a grumble about athiestic curses being the worst you could fear. His was a serious business lost among the clatter of feined faith and piety.

A symbol of the sun replacing the holy symbol of Pelor, only later when it will be used to stop an ever hungry ghoul from devouring a child will its true powers be found. Primarily that it winks when the god is invoked and its wielder glows bright as a lantern for a full hour afterwords.

A magic talisman that grants great strength when worn but reduces all weapons to daggers after they have drawn blood. That gift to the battle-priest of Kord.

Two goblets for the priestess of Sotillon and her pacifist god, blessed to bring on the peace of mind that only a man deep in his mug could truly fathom.

Gifts for the faithful given out. Laces from sandles loosened for ease on their wearer's feat and two smallish tomes that were due to be destroyed by the narrowminded priests of an unknown god. The aging human loved his chosen vocation. Service to a god that wished to not be served, humor perfected to an art that only the chosen could appreciate. All because a young lay-about was willing to hire a desperate and lost soul that needed a few coins to cover the night.

Of course the chap was mad as a hatter, he actually wanted his old castle dusted. And by dusted he didn't mean cleaned, but actually dusted. The fool man wanted a layer of dust added to everything so that the maid wouldn't be bored when she arrived the following day. Every day it was the a similar exercise. The young lord would show up with a bag of coin and a ludicrous job to be done. Cut wood to be built into a tree shape so that the lumberjack that had been hired wouldn't be a waste of funds. Weeds planted so that the gardener would have a sense of accomplishment. Eggs thrown at passing merchants so that the cleaners would be paid. Sheet music changed so that the funeral would have more upbeat music. Books placed in dusty bins so that scribes who thought nothing good could be found on the main thoroughfare would still glean the knowledge they needed.

For seven months he did the odd jobs and twisted deeds, the coin was good and soon he had rooms and food with money to spare. It wasn't until he was asked to throw a crate of bee hives, all still occupied, into a small unmarked church that he had to ask why. The nobleman simply looked at him very hard and said, "you have to find our own punchline. Otherwise how will you know when the story ends?"

No more jobs came and the abandoned church became his small home. Ever since that last day he has sought out the punchline and he is certain that someday he will find it. Unless it finds him first.

-- How Zagyg's followers spent a high holy day in

the Gods' Square of Greyhawk