“One of the cornerstones of understanding the nature of Nieth and Hebeen is understanding their strange religion, or religions, as the case may be. In that previous phrase, we touch upon the issue at question. Does Nieth even have a religion, as we, the followers of the Lost, blessed be them, would understand it? Already, the initial impression is strange - rather than worshipping a pantheon of gods, as is wide-spread throughout the continent, they worship one, yet all.

It might help to touch upon some relevant history, as well as some examples to illustrate the roots of such a foreign concept.

Nieth, as far as we can seek, has its roots in a nomadic peoples that travelled the great desert that wraps around its northern half. These were unlike the brutish and savage people of our own northern flood plains, more like the mystical but lowly Vieatta from the mountains past them. Still, it was enough for them to carry on the advanced and civil arts of poetry and music.

It’s within those that they encoded much of their history from early days, although without the advent of writing which other societies wisely use, some of it was subject to mythologization. Regardless, life by all accounts was strenuous out on the sands, and the sacred was pushed aside for the practical. From the practical needs of water and shade there appeared to arise a new religion, one that enfolded all primitive others within its arms as emanation of ‘Embass Aliyah’, or ‘The One and Truth’.

This may provide some illumination to the reader who may have heard of Nieth’s ‘acceptance’ of our Faith.

Within this one, unifying principle, people gravitated to the Oasis of Nieth, which was a popular way station for trade and rest. Many of the historians I have engaged suggest that the principle of ‘The One’ was a major factor in the formation Nieth as a societal centre, as well as the establishment of the Nine Princely Families. The fact that the scions of the Nine Families that I’ve had the fortune to interview claim vastly different patrons between them supports this.

The current ‘landscape’ as it were, for the religion of Neith is roughly as follows:

Perhaps one in five are adherents of our own Faith. Most, that is to say, three in five, worship the traditional, normal pantheon of Nieth, which is also the religion of the ruling prince. In addition, the sisterhood who administer Hebeen, the city of children, are drawn from this majority faith. More details on the various gods and their descriptions is enclosed in the following chapter. The remaining are split between various small and often foreign denominations, including some faiths from the First Lands.

Of these, there are two that bear special mention. The first is the actual seat of the ‘pure’ faith of ‘The One and Truth. It is a relatively small, if quite beautiful temple in the Seat of the Nine. The high priest (‘teacher-guide’ as he refers to himself) was gregarious and pleased to answer my various questions through a translator. Despite being the nominal religion of Nieth, its principles underlying the whole of the society, its actual numbers of worshippers are small. A potential reason for this is the second faith of note.

This is a separate derivation of the principles of ‘The One’ and seemingly the older of the two. It is the principal faith of the various nomadic peoples that wander the Plague Dunes of Nieth. As their account goes, the principle of ‘The One’ was revealed to the forebears of the Nine Families out in the northern deserts. The families had planted and grown an oil-bush to an impossible size (presumably why it is referred to as a tree in oral retellings), often feeding it with cruel blood sacrifices from other enemy tribes.

One night, either nine generations, nineteen, or ninety nine, depending on which account you receive, the oil tree burned. For those that know anything about oil bush, they will know it burns with a fearsome light due to the eponymous liquids within. In this case, such was the magnitude of the tree and blaze that the volatile oils exploded outwards. The founders of the Nine Families, who held council around the tree when camped in the locale, were covered in the oils.

This crude anointment, while horribly disfiguring them all, supposedly imparted revelation to them about the nature of ‘The One’. As such, the faith of ‘The One’ is strongly rooted in the depths of the desert, and many of its more zealous adherents are to be found out among the dunes, navigating the toxic and dangerous environs using methods not understood even among the Neith city-dwellers.

Hence, most of the faithful of ‘Embass Aliyah’ leave Nieth and its surrounding fiefs to live with the nomads from which their faith originated. While the high priest does not concede the idea that ‘The One’ would have a special connection to the desert, for it exists everywhere equally, he considers it understandable for people desiring to live the savage life of their ancestors. Even so, one can observe the imprint the desert has left upon the primitive church, the icon of the oil tree being central to their architecture and symbolism.

To illustrate the devouring nature of this faith, one can examine one of the most famous events in the history of Nieth, which led to the founding of its sister-city Hebeen. For those that take such an interest in the regions of the south, you might quickly realise that one of the title gods of the majority faith shares the same name as a Karkosian deity -‘Viethustra, The Bloody Handed God’.

By all accounts as brutal as he is cunning, he is also the god that provides for the administration of justice. Though all of these gods are of course false as we understand them, one can find an interesting parallel with the origins of Nieth as a society. An astounding number of original texts survive from those haydays, often reflective accounts of the events by those who lived them.

Supposedly this adoption into the widely recognized pantheon traces to the great conflagration that consumed Nieth some four hundred years ago. This destruction particularly devastated the child population of the city. The reigning prince, after the fires had been quenched, ordered the formation of Hebeen, the city of children. Thereafter, almost all children of Neith of age are sent to cross the Aderhajj mountains, and come out into a place where they live and play together, under the watchful eyes of servants of Viethustra and the Dusky Sister.

Another example, far more contemporary, is that of the Yumyaq, the nightly processions of songs, hymns and poetry recitations. The overall effect is hardly like the organised harmonies of our own choirs, and often subject and song clash in the air of cities. However, it is the general belief that such a task is essential for the preservation of Embass Aliyah. It may be universal, but its claimed emanations, which is to say, every religious being in the world, are bound to locations.

So, this discordant din is, in a sense, a spiritual beacon, for the gods to return home, over the land and sea to Nieth. It is perhaps better explained by the high priest of Embass Aliyah, who suggests that it is more of a reminder. Namely, a reminder that the gods all exist within the embrace of Embass Aliyah, and that they will always be worshipped in Nieth.

Out of all the strangest tenets of the faiths of Nieth, this is perhaps the most offensive to those learned. Not only would it implicitly suggest that they have solved the most important theological question of the Lost Ones (i.e. ‘where they were lost’), but also the term ‘Yumyaq’ (‘Of gods’ or ‘godly’ depending on usage) is questionable in itself.

Indeed, the derivation of the term, as far as I can trace it, is actually a title given to the city itself.

‘Yumyaq Al-Nieth’. Or, to translate the crude language, ‘The Watering’ or ‘Resting Place of the Gods’.

An Account of Nieth and Its Civilization

Except from Chapter 4: Faith and Religion

Brother Amelius Jacobino, Eps., Brotherhood of The Shaded Path

UNDER ORDER OF REVIEW - OFFICE OF THE HIGH LUTICIENT

It was an all too normal day, for all of its stresses, or at least, so Yemassa thought. The merchant trudged through the street, his bag of wares heaped high upon his back. That was just about the only thing that was abnormal - his big request. It was an unusually large order of various herbs, spices, and raw plant products that his small farm cultivated. While his handful of workers were busy harvesting gemsing, hot peppers, and the spiky amanas plant, he was carrying the last of the stock into Nieth proper.

The long, squat buildings had their dark windows shuttered against the afternoon sun. Despite that, many of the various city merchants and their clientele were happy to host conversation and commerce. Indeed, they were rushing to do so, considering that the Yumyaq was almost upon them. Once the sacred hour of sunset had passed, no commerce would be allowed, at least no formal commerce.

The activity was abuzz in most parts of the city, especially since the complete rout their forces had enjoyed to the north. Some raiding legion from across the sea had challenged the might of Nieth and learned a hard lesson. Yemassa wasn’t much aware of the details, though like every good citizen, felt a certain pride at the rumour of crushing victory. More importantly, excitement usually meant people’s pursestrings grew a little looser.

The thought hot on his heels, Yemassa drove himself forwards. The request had been a surprise, both in magnitude and in source. He was headed towards one of the inner, higher districts where the wealthy were congregating. He climbed the freshly cleaned steps to one of the upper roads, finding it mostly clear of people, save those that were stall-shopping.

Onwards and upwards he climbed, going up the various footpaths carved out by hundreds of tromping feet over the years. He had to take care to avoid the various pebbles and small scrub brushes that nipped at his wrapped feet however. Finally, he made it to one of the smaller winding district streets, which spat him out in one of the quieter streets. A bend and a twist in the route later, he managed to find his way into the courtyard of the commissioner.

He was greeted by two separate maid servants who helped him unpack and ferried the goods to where they needed to go. To further the shocking nature of the encounter, the client, a woman devout enough to wear a veil over her face, came out to speak to him directly. He knelt before her, refusing to lift his eyes even against her insistence that he need not be so formal.

She even deigned to discuss business, inquiring after his holdings and what kind and how much of his products he grew. He answered with as much humility as he thought was safe, and found a receptive customer at the other end. He had to keep himself from jumping up with excitement when she casually suggested he recommend his services to friends. Only when she returned to the inside did he spring away, walking back down the hill with significantly more energy then he’d climbed.

Just before he scampered off the road and onto the various footpaths that led down to the main thoroughfare, he caught a glimpse of the far cliffs between the houses. It would be sunset soon, he knew, and if he waited for just a few more minutes, they would turn a golden red in the evening. The others would manage just fine without him for a little while longer, he was sure.

So, making his way between the various alleys of the neighbourhood, he clambered out onto a shelf of rock. This was both a better and more precarious view, given the drop of several hundred hands into another quarter already in shadow below. It had been the site of an old mine, he thought, although his knowledge of the older parts of the city was not completely up to snuff.

He hunkered down on a rock a handful of paces from the edge, crossed his legs, and waited. Soon enough, the sun lowered in the cliffs behind him, the skies awash with the evening haze. This was a good spot, he’d have to remember it when he desired a good view of the city. From here, he could see most of the northern quarters, as well as the great central sprawl of the city running from left up to right.

At the very top of the city to the right stood the palace of the Nine Families. As Yemassa watched, its nonagon concentric layers of domes and spires, one for each generation he recalled, began to glimmer a pinkish hue. As the shadows below his feet began to stretch out to cover districts by the dozen, the northern cliffs seemed awash in fire.

Before he had much of a time to enjoy it, however, he heard the first lilting notes. The plucking of strings, the beat of rabbit-skin drums, the raised voices all started from below. He recognized some of the tunes that began the Yumyaq, songs of the working man and woman mostly about hard days in the fields or jungle. He smiled, the notes recalling fond memories of his own family, though he generally heard less of them now.

It was with a start that he realised that meant he had spent nearly a half hour on the ridge. As more elaborate poetry in service to one god or another began to drift behind him, joining the din from below, he scrambled. Thrusting the pack onto his shoulders, he took one last chance to survey his city as the cliffs shone their fiery colours. The din of the Yumyaq, the song of bountiful Nieth, rose to the heavens, calling across the brushlands and jungle to the distant sea, to carry the gods home.

It was a good sound, a familiar sound, the sound of home to him as well as those distant divine beings. Before he could turn his heel and walk down to the footpaths that would take him home, however, he found something tickling the edge of his vision. He squinted at the far cliffs, red and magenta, with hints of orange and yellow among the craggy faces.

He squinted further, trying to determine what exactly had drawn his attention.

It took him a half-minute more to determine that a flickering, bluish light was moving this way and that in the shadows of a cliff face. That was certainly odd, he thought as he watched the barely visible speck hover in place.

It only became odder when a second, yellowish light joined it.

It became alarming when a dozen, then two dozen, then hundreds of multicoloured lights joined it. The shadows it had inhabited vanished a glow of yellow and blue as they seemed to get bigger. They were getting bigger, Yemassa realised, as little tendrils and flakes began to shoot up above the cliffs in the sunset haze. Reds, purples, greens, but predominantly yellows and blues floated like petals on the wind.

There was a deep rumbling at the edge of his hearing, not powerful enough to shake the ground, but enough to send a wave through his feet. Fear lanced through him as he watched them grow brighter and larger until…

With an explosion of colour and light, a great torrent, like a spring pouring forth from a crevasse, vomited out and up. Yembassa watched as a swirling mass, a comet coming down to earth, shot forward across the city. As he watched it streak towards his position, frozen with shock, pieces of the light flaked off, drifting almost lazily down toward the city.

A piece of Yembassa recognized the locale - the school quarter, where most of the children would just be running out of classes. The scholars and priests studying long hours into the night, preparing to defend themselves against peers, or to present a proposal to the Prince-in-Reign.

There was a flash so bright he had to turn his eyes away.

When he looked back, the minarets and walls of the school districts were drowned under a sea of flames. More flashes followed, bits and pieces of the great comet delivering the biggest explosions he’d ever seen as they made contact with the ground.

Yembassa’s legs finally managed to unlock as the first screams began to drift up to him on suddenly scorching air. He realised numbly that half the city was burning in a matter of moments, and that the comet was shooting straight towards him. He turned to run, yet something drew his eyes around even as his legs pumped.

The mass turned just in time, streaking below the cliff line, where the old mine entrances had been, he thought. A small spine of hope poked through his terror.

Slowly, slowly, wavering from side to side in gentle, periodic motion, the molten feather drifted down, down, to touch the rocks where he’d been sitting.

Then there was light, and sound, and a heat that melted his eyes out of their sockets and tore him limb from limb.