'Throne' Series - All Liturgies

PSALMS

BOOK I

———————–

I. ROYALTY

-YS ATUN VRAMA PRESH-

-THE SEVEN SYLLABLES OF ROYALTY-

1. YISUN said: let there not be a genesis, for beginnings are false and I am a consummate liar.

2. The full of it is this – the circular suicide of God is the perfection of matter.

3. YISUN lied once and said they had nine hundred and ninety nine thousand names. This is true, but it is also a barefaced lie. The true name of God is I.

4. Living is an exercise of violence. Exercise of violence is the fate of living

5. Violence is circular. Perception is not circular and lacks flawlessness- therefore, rejoice in imperfect things, for their rareness is not lacking!

6. Love of self is the true exercise of the God called I.

7. Only an idiot cannot place his absolute certainty in paradoxes. The divine suicide is a perfect paradox. A man cannot exist without paradox – that is the full of it.

II.

THE KING IN THE TOWER

1. YISUN is the supreme king. It is impossible for YISUN to have any rivals – you will see this. YISUN does not aspire to royalty: YISUN is the two-syllable name of the seven syllable name of royalty revealed. Only those who can invert a path can know the secret name of YISUN.

2. It was once said that YISUN had many names. This is true, but all of them are false save the name YISUN, which in itself is a paradox.

3. YISUN is the weakest thing there is and the smallest crawling thing, and the worm upon the earth and in the earth.

4. YISUN is capable of contemplating nothing.

5. To speak general truths about YISUN is to lie intimately; in truth one must learn the tongues but the matter remains that YISUN is the unparalleled master of the fundamental art of lying. The best practice of lying is self deception.

6. YISUN once said: ‘Selfish tongues revolt and refuse to invert the contents of their brains – even if it were a lie, this insurrection of our flesh would do us great offense.’

7. YISUN is the untouchable and prime master of all seven syllables of royalty and once told four lies.

i. The lie of the giant and the ant

ii. The lie of the iron plum

iii. The lie of the water house

iv. The lie of the small light

III.

THE GRAND ENEMY CALLED I

———————–

i. The lie of the giant and the ant.

YISUN sat once with his disciple Hansa in YISUN’s second clockwise glass palace. Hansa was one of his most ardent students and a grand questioner of YISUN. Unlike Yisun’s other disciple, Pree Ashma, he had no hunger in his heart for dominion of the universe, but a miserly scrutiny and a heart of iron nails. He was not an aspirant for royalty, and thereby attained it through little effort.

Hansa’s questions were thus:

‘Lord, how must I question space?’

‘With an age, an ant may encircle a giant five million times,’ spoke YISUN.

‘Lord, how then may I question time?’

‘A giant’s stride takes an ant a week to surpass.’ YISUN spoke and smiled in the 4th way.

Hansa was discontent with this answer and rubbed the stem of his long and worn pipe which he always kept with him and would eventually lead to his annihilation. Since he was royalty, he knew this, and kept it close to him as a reminder of his circular death.

‘Lord, then which should I be, the giant or the ant?’

‘Both,’ spoke YISUN,’ or either, when it suits you. Destroy the grand enemy called ‘I’.’

Hansa contemplated this in silence. Later he would recount this proverb to his daughter.

———————–

ii. The lie of the iron plum

There was once a king named UN-Payam who sat at the right hand of YISUN’s throne and ruled a palace of burnished gold and fire and dispensed justice in all things. It was let known once that Payam had grown an extraordinary plum – enormous in size, with adamant skin that was burnished as a breastplate and fifty times as hardy. Payam was desirous of a pillow friend of fiery heart and excellent skill with their mouth and let know that whosoever could break the skin of that plum with their teeth he would swear to share his bed with for three nights in whatever disposition they may desire.

Many gods were in attendance at Payam’s hall on the first day, and even more on the second day, but by the third day of this strange contest few remained who had not tested their mettle, for the plum remained implacable and immaculate and turned many away with sore teeth and roiling frustration in their brains. A great cry rose up and YISUN was called forth from the twenty third clockwise palace of carbon where YISUN had been meditating on the point of a thirty acre long spear of crystallized time. In companionship with YISUN was Hansa, who followed along.

“See this Payam!” cried the gods, “He deceives us! He cruelly abuses our lustful hearts!”

YISUN was very fond of plums and immediately grasped the iron plum and took a long, succulent bite, praising its merits to the amazement of all.

“How!” wailed the attended.

“Why, it is a plum of flesh, and quite ripe as well,” said YISUN plainly, and indeed, it was apparent to those gathered that it was the case. The plum was passed around and touched and indeed it was sensual and soft and pliant. Hansa was not so convinced. “It is still a plum of iron,” said he, “there is some trickery here, oh master of masters.”

“Indeed, it is so,” said YISUN, and it was again apparent to those gathered that the flesh of that plum was as hard and impermeable as a fortress. “How can it be so?” said Hansa, “How comes this fickle nature? Plums and the fifty winds are not so alike I think.”

YISUN said, “I told you of this and, believing it, it was so. In truth, it is whichever you prefer. In truth, there is no plum at all, just as there is no YISUN. A plum has no shape, form, or color at all, in truth, but these are all things I find pleasing about it. A plum has no taste at all for it has no flesh or substance, but I find its sweetness intoxicating. A plum is a thing that does not exist. But it is my favorite fruit.”

“A pipe is a thing that does exist, and it is my favorite past time,” said Hansa, lacking understanding, and growing in cynicism.

“What a paradox!” said YISUN, smiling, “I shall share my love tenderly with Payam.”

———————–

iii. The lie of the water house

YISUN and Hansa walked the king’s road once, drinking plum wine. They were enfleshed as maidens at the time, for boastful, drunken Ogam swore on his high seat at the speaking house that any feat accomplished by his brothers he could redouble seven times again. Hansa, of crafty mind, and bearing little love for a brother whose raucous singing frequently interrupted his philosophical fugues, immediately saw an opportunity to deprive Ogam of his prized and well-boasted-about manhood for a fortnight, and challenged him to a contest of womanly love-making, sewing, and hearth sweeping, and for a time there was great mirth in the Red City.

“Dearest Un-Hansa,” spoke YISUN, after a moment, as they strolled along an expanse of fractal glass and cold fire, “Art thou not flesh of my self love? Springst thou not from my recursive womb?”

“Sprung I from your brow, for it is my lot in life to beat my hands against it in return for ejecting me,” said Hansa, in jest, but in truth he listened.

“Knowst thou the meaning of my name Y-S-U-N is the true name of sovereignty?” spoke YISUN plainly.

” I do,” spoke Hansa, for it was true.

YISUN then assumed a speaking form that was bright and very cold, from her breath she inhaled the void, and when she exhaled, beautiful water came forth from her pliant lips in great rushing gasps, and there was a sound like a clear bell that meant emptiness. Hansa was very moved by this display and watched as the shining water curved and bent upon itself and crystallized, and suddenly before the pair was a great, beautiful house, translucent and all filled with light of many colors.

“Observe my work,” said YISUN, pleased.

“It is an astounding work,” said Hansa, clearly impressed. They strode inside the house at YISUN’s bidding. The walls were clear and smooth as crystal, and warm to the touch. It had a wide hall, and a full hearth, and was full of light and air, and the openness of the place with the starkness of the void was incredibly pleasing. Hansa would have given half his lordship for such a house, in truth, for his own was a dark and cramped tomb of iron and dust.

“Observe again,” said YISUN, with a keen eye. Hansa did, and as he looked closer, he saw the walls, the floor, the vaulted roof, the wall coverings, and even the altar with the flowers in the visiting hall were all made of water – water as clear and still and solid as smooth and perfect glass.

“Water, lord?” spoke Hansa, sensing some purpose.

“What,” spoke YISUN playfully, “is the meaning of this allegory?”

They reposed for a while as Hansa thought, in the resting hall of that great water house, and gazed through the shining rim of that house across the great void, where the empty sky was perfect in its nothingness. The house rung gently like a bell and it was pleasing to Hansa as he sat in his woman’s flesh and thought.

After a while, he said this:

“The house is a man’s life.”

“Why this?” answered YISUN, as was the fashion.

“Because although it is very beautiful and filled with many fine things, it is only water, after all. It would be poor to rely on its existence – it is only water pretending to be a house. In truth, there is no real house here at all, just as there is no Hansa, or no plums.”

“This is a good answer,” said YISUN, and made a small motion with her long white fingers, and smiled.

“It is an infuriating answer,” said Hansa, his mood darkening, and his borrowed brow furrowing, “As is common with you. How can one grant themselves the pleasure to enjoy such a fine thing? It sparkles and shines like a gorgeous jewel, but its sparkle is an intimate falsehood.”

“Death is my gift to you,” spoke YISUN in reply.

“What’s the point,” spoke Hansa, bitterly,”Of such a fine house, if it is only a lie? What is the point of Hansa, if Hansa is only a lie?”

“I am a fine liar,” spoke YISUN in reply.

Hansa was silent a moment.

“It is a beautiful house,” he admitted, after some time, “It is a beautiful lie.”

“Our self-realization is the most beautiful lie there is. I am the most conceited and prime liar. Lies are the enemy of stagnation and my self-salvation. How could we appreciate the shining beauty of my house of lies,” spoke YISUN, arching her supple back, “if there was always such a house? How could we appreciate Hansa if there was always such a Hansa?”

They sat in stillness a while longer.

“In truth, we would get very bored,” said Hansa, after a while.

“In truth, we would,” said YISUN.

———————–

iv. The lie of the small light

Hansa was of sound mind and proud soul and only once asked YISUN a conceited question, when he was very old and his bones were set about with dust and bent with age. It was about his own death.

“Lord,” said Hansa, allowing a doubt to blossom, “What is ending?”

It was said later he regretted this question but none could confirm the suspicion.

“Ending is a small light in a vast cavern growing dim,” said YISUN, plainly, as was the manner.

“When the light goes out, what will happen to the cavern?”

“It and the universe will cease to exist, for how can we see anything without any light, no matter how small?” said YISUN. Hansa was somewhat dismayed, but sensed a lesson, as was the manner.

“Darkness is the natural state of caverns,” said he, vexingly, “if I were a cavern, I would be glad to be rid of the pest of light and exist obstinately anyway!”

“Hansa is observant,” said YISUN.

“Pour me a little more, and gather thee chopwise, and I’ll tell the the tale of Koss and the Flames.
It’s said the race of Men was created because of a strained back. Gob thee not! I’ll tell thee shortly how it came to be.
The lord Koss was the caretaker of heaven in the days when YS-Pravi was split in two by her lovers, and in the war that followed his cramped and hot workshop was filled to the brim-o-brim with broken chariot wheels, bent swords, and breastplates warped and battered. Ole’ lord Koss worked ceaselessly, for his peers had naught but contempt for him and gave him no respite. Thus it came to pass one day after long hours of toil, he knelt to lift his tongs from his hearth and strained his back.
The lord Koss gave out a mighty yelp of pain (oh what a simmery yelp!). Oh, he spat and stamped, and spat many a curse, and there he resolved to do something about his crushing workload. With his bare feet (for he certainly had no chariot) and carrying his tongs, he trudged to the edge of the world, where the bodies of father UN and mother YS lay.
There he rooted around their ashes with his tongs, here and there, until he found what he was looking for. It was a ferocious white flame, a brilliant splinter from the eye of might father UN. However, as he grasped it with his tongs, he eyed it far too rigid, and moreover, it burned with a fierce and terrible cold. He flung the flame far into the void, and rooting around, found another.
This one was a hot black flame, a writhing, awful, hungry flame from the tongue of his ole’ mother YS. But as he grasped it with his tongs, he saw it a-licking at his wrists, so hungry and chaotic it was, so he flung it too, far into the void. And rooting around, he found another.
This was a warm black flame, an inquisitive flame (aye!), from YS’ heart. Koss was curious and found it gentle enough to hold, but it would not stay in his grasp, and sputtered as it writhed about. Pleased, but not yet satisfied, he put it in his leather pouch, and rooting around, found another.
This was a cool white flame, from the fingernail of his father. And Koss was pleased, (oh how pleased he was!) for it was a pliant flame, a stable flame, yet cool enough to hold.
Koss took the cool white flame and worked it for a year and a day. And when it was to his liking, he took his bronze chisel and split it with a mighty crack, and out sprung up all at once the first order of the race of Servants, the Sustainers. There were servants for mending wheels, and servants for sharpening swords, and tending Koss’ hearth, and servants for sweeping his floor, and many more. And he struck it again, and out came the second order of servants. And when the sound of his chisel ceased ringing, the red city was bustling with canal cleaners, and glass-blowers, and brick-makers, and many more besides.
The God were at once astonished and horrified. They rode the void to Koss’ workshop and accosted him. “What have ye done, fool!” they cried, and Koss realized what they meant, for in forging his new creations, his raw material had been the Flame Immortal, the heart and soul of the mighty YISUN. And so, the Servants were no automatons, but all filled with the awful heat of Will, and they very rapidly grew rebellious.
Koss quickly thought about the warm, black flame in his leather pouch, but it would not fit his purposes (how clever was he!), so he reached out to the void to that terrible cold, white flame, where it had splintered into seven hundred and seventy seven smoking shards. But even one of those shards was still far too cold to bring back into the world. So clever ole’ Koss plucked them in one by one and smothered them in the ashes of his hearth. And from that hearth arose the Aeons, the Protectors.
The Gods were even more astonished, for the terrible fires of Will burned even stronger in the Aeons. But Koss was exceptionally crafty, and very quick. Before the Aeons could struggle free from his hearth, encased in their shells of ash, he grabbed them with his tongs, and he beat the good ole’ Law into each one with his silver chisel. Grasping them, he flung them into the streets, where they quickly set about quelling the rebellious Servants with terrifying efficiency.
The Gods were all agape, and praised Koss, and Koss’ heart swelled with pride, for he had indeed done a mighty service. With the servants to take care of their daily affairs, and the Aeons to hold the Law, the Gods were freed from menial tasks to quench their hearts desires (a terrible thing indeed!). And indeed, they would have remained in that city, living luxuriously, in a circular and stagnant existence, for the rest of infinity, had it been for but one of their number.
As the Gods left, Pree Ashma hid her hot and evil body beneath the ashes of Koss’ hearth. Jealousy burned in her wicked breast, for the praise that was heaped upon Koss. She waited until Koss was sound asleep, and with pickery fingers, plucked his chisel from his belt.
Out of Koss’ leather pouch she slipped the warm black flame, and grasping it, cackled as she struck all about it with the chisel. But it would not ply easily, and Aesma was monstrously impatient. As she hammered wildly, the clangs of the chisel grew so loud that they awoke Koss, and the sleeping city, and even reached vestal Prim, where she fought the Archons, lashed to their flensing tree.
Rushing to the workshop, now filled with clashing sparks, the Gods shouted at Aesma to stop. But in defiance, she grasped that chisel in two hands and brought it down in a single wicked strike, and the flame shattered into tiny burning embers. And where the embers touched the dirt arose the race of Men, the Perceivers. And at first the Gods made to stamp them out, but stopping, they were dumbstruck.
Aesma, in her fury and impatience, had very poorly worked the warm black flame of YS (oh poorly indeed!). In her idiocy, she had forged impermanent beings – the first mortals, and in doing so had inadvertently created the Gift of Death. The Gods were bowed in awe, for the little lives of Men burned with meaning many times more potent than the creators of the Red City themselves, and the terrible fires of will burned so brightly within their brows that each was a Universe on their own, and the Gods could say no more.
It was said that this even inspired them into their self-annihilation by Division sometimes later, and the forging of the wheel, and the abandonment of heaven. But it is certainly known that the children of Aesma’s Mistake would go on to be powerful indeed, and exceptionally foolish. It was their race, after all, that tamed that Hot, Black Flame, and in doing so, brought the first of our kin into the world.
Oh lovely, wicked Aesma! And all because of a sore back, my fellows!

Now, bring me more liquid lubrication, will thee not? The night is ripe and I am exceptionally thirsty…”

-Old devil’s tale

“A Devil can be the most horrifying warrior, untiring manservant, or cunning secretary that one could wish. But unlike humankind’s weak Black Flame, the flame of the Devils glows hot and raw. It must be fettered. Otherwise, they will surely tear Throne apart, angels be damned.”

– Par Vam, Undersecretary of the Yellow City

“Never trust a man who claims to know the path ahead. You will find his boots conspicuously clean of mud.”

– Pilgrim’s Guide to Throne

“Lord Intra,” said Intra’s sparring partner one day, “You are called Lord of Swords. Yet you are a man, and men make poor swordsmen.”

“It is true,” said Intra, for nearly all of the famous sword masters of the day were women and the ya-at, who were three sexed. This tradition was rather long in the bones, and rumored to have been started by a famous vagrant who rarely cut her hair and lived in a barrel. There was popular theater about it, in those days.

“Men are too preoccupied with their swords,” said Lord Intra, “They get distracted.”

“You mistake my meaning,” said Intra’s sparring partner, “What I mean is this: you are a mere man. What can you do to the new gods of the Red City, with their whips of fire and their heavy chariot wheels?”

“I am not concerned with enmity,” said Intra, “I am very skilled in Pankrash Circle Fighting”

“It is true you are very fierce,” conceded his partner, “But my son’s fighting beetle is also very fierce. Could his beetle fell a lion?”

“That depends,” said Intra, “How skilled is the beetle in Pankrash Circle Fighting?”

“Beetles cannot learn Pankrash Circle Fighting, Lord Intra,” said Intra’s attendant, and made a bitter motion.

“Don’t tell the beetle that,” said Intra, who was very skilled at smiling. “If you don’t tell him he will learn it anyway and cut the lion in half with a single blow.”

-The Song of Maybe

“In some parts they know the master of Throne as the god Zayus Patrom, father of lightning. In others they know him as the great warrior called Angel-Breaker, who fights with a spear dipped in molten silver. Only one name is bestowed upon him in common across all the wretched cosmos: King.”

-Sayophraxes, Silent Sister of the Wax Covenant

“Listen Enyis, and listen well. For though her breast be scaled about with thickest iron, the fastest way to a monster’s heart is through a mirror.”

– The blind antiquarian ( Enyis and the Boar King, Act 2, scene 3)

A traveler once asked an old peregrine knight the path to the Red City. “Why by the seven winds would you want to head there?” replied the knight, who was very wise.

“I hear the streets are paved in gold there,” said the traveler.

“It’s true,” said the peregrine knight.

“Then why the note of caution in your voice, friend?” said the traveler, curious.

“Because every ounce of gold in that gods-forsaken city is filthy as a midden heap,” said the knight, “So you might as well be walking on shit.”

– Common parable

“O God of the Quad Roads,

She of Many Flowers, who descendeth upon the spear,

O Pravi, the Torn one, with thy exquisite scalp,

Bless this earthly passage.”

– Invocation of the Torn Goddess

“During the last years of the Gods, when Un-Medam died, his mighty staff weighing four hundred million tons lay inert in the great House of Law. Demons and beggar gods crawled out from the stones of the red city and ran amok. Aesma was called upon to drag the staff up from its resting place and bring things back to order, but she had already torn herself apart in a rage. There was nothing to be done. Nobody could lift the staff.”

– The Song of Maybe

“SHADOW ARTS

I take a brief interlude here to briefly mention the hand and foot arts that are commonly known as the shadow arts. I cannot say much on account of both my limited understanding of these arts but also the extreme measures to which the various schools go to protect the knowledge and practice of these arts. The schools are administered by hereditary hunter clans and well hidden. At the time of writing there are said to be thirteen. The centipede school was infamously uncovered underneath the Red City’s ghost market some 60YT back , dug into its tunnels, and raided by a massive cadre of Root Knights, but it was not destroyed and has since dug itself a new lair somewhere else in the city. The locations of the other schools are unknown, and even seeking them out can be a perilous venture, as I have discovered.

The fools that seek these academies of the dark arts out are often aspiring vengeance seekers, assassins, or bounty hunters. Once initiated, a student becomes part of that school’s clan and is inextricably bound to clan law on pain of execution, typically by being flayed or buried alive. They learn how to move unseen, to use disguises, and the use of many tools, poisons, and explosives.

As for the styles themselves, they are a mix of internal and external techniques, with each school specializing in a particular technique to the point of obsession. Each school takes for their totem an animal, which guides their study. The aforementioned centipede school, for example, is said to train a technique allowing one to use any part of their body to wield a weapon. The legendary Crimson Legs, a human assassin from this school, was infamous for killing with four knives, one in her teeth, two in her hands, and one gripped between her toes.

The wolf school teaches two to fight as one, and mostly trains bounty hunters. The Stone Beetle school supposedly teaches a technique that turns bullets away from skin. The lizard school is said to allow limited transformation of the body’s coloration and texture to totally blend in with the environment (though I have yet to confirm this rumor and it appears a little too outlandish).”

-Manual of Hands and Feet

The district of spires is both Throne’s port and its red light district. Placed midway up the seven rings of Throne, it is a lofty district of tall, haphazardly built towers, spires, airship ports, and gambling dens. The towers are suspended above the lower district of Furnace, Throne’s industrial core, and the steam and smoke from that hellish lower district pours constantly upwards, giving the effect that the entirety of Spires is suspended in an enormous (and foul-smelling) cloudscape.

“Many great men ask me why I keep such numerous, rare, and expensive flowers in my palace. This is to warn me of the habits of weak kings. A king should always be attentive to his flowers, and keep a great number of them. If he does not pay his servants enough to take care of them, they will pluck some in secret, and sell them in the market. If his servants do not care enough for their master or their service, they will willfully neglect his flowers, and they will die. If he forces his servants to water the flowers out of fear, the delicate flowers will be overwatered and they will die. If he keeps lavish flowers, he must educate his servants sufficiently to take care of them, or they will die. A king with wilted flowers, or no flowers at all is not worth trusting. This is the first measure I take of my rival lords.”

– Au Vam, Pankrator of Vesh, the Yellow City

The Concordance of the Demiurges was the greatest speaking house of any age, with many chambers, a small city on to itself, located in the very innermost circle of Throne, Sacred Spoke. Today it is a blasted, cursed ruin, untouched even by treasure hunters for its reputation. The corpses of the two demiurges who began the Universal War are, according to legend, still here, impaling each other on their weapons.

“When studying sword law, many of my students ask me about the principle of hesitation. I tell them plainly that hesitation is defeat. Thought is slower than the edge of a blade and does not cut half as well.

‘Master,’ they then ask me, ‘What if victory is impossible?’

The answer to this very simple question is this: flee, or go to your just and honest death. Either is a good choice. The worst of all is the man who agonizes for half a breath over the value of his own life and dies an indecisive coward.”

– Ryo-ten-Ryam

Though over three hundred tournaments have taken place, Gog-Agog has not hosted all of them. The contest only occurs every thousand Turns (rotations of the multiverse around Throne), which is a little more than three years, chiefly because the resources and expenses involved are enormous, not the least of which is the arena must be reconstructed each time.

“It is often speculated upon why Concordant Knights start their pre-combat prayer for forgiveness of violence with an attempt to propitiate Aesma, by far the most violent, rampant, and willful of the gods. The answer, as I was told by one particularly old angel who held watch over a decaying section of the king’s road, is extremely simple: if anything was horrendous enough to offend Aesma, it was enough to offend all the other multitudes of gods, thus the prayer is started by opening the largest flood gate of them all, so to speak.”

– Musko Reeve, Manual of Hands and Feet

“There are among men who vie for the Crown of the World men who cultivate evil Atum, who break the meridians and suck out the marrow of other men, who participate in blood alchemy and all kinds of dark and malicious alignments.

These men are the most powerful among immortals, but they are not to be envied. They are piteous, broken things that must be destroyed with exceeding force whenever they crawl out of their stinking holes. If one were to sit upon the Great Chariot of the Red City, it would be a most terrible thing indeed.”

– Six Purities Path manuscript, circa 250 S.C.

“When striking iron, it’s better to break the hammer than the arm that swings it.”

– Old folk saying, Red City circa 500 B.S.C.

The embassy entrance of the Celestial Empire in Throne is built after the Dragon’s Gate of throne, in imitation of the most popular point of entry for commoners, according to legend, into the mighty halls of the gods.

“The temple of YS-HET, the god of thresholds, is open to visitors at all hours of the day, and though any are allowed to linger, they may not stay for a period longer than a night and a day over a period of a quarter turn of the Wheel, as mandated by the Old Law. This is to make sure the temple is clear and functioning well for the constant flow of pilgrims and the needy, and does not become overwhelmed in its services.

The temple sits close to the West Dragon Gate at the lowest ring of throne (in Ashton), and is a point of entry for many coming to Throne for the first time. In old times it was guarded by seven angelic Root Knights of an esoteric order although now five of their number lay dormant and reincarnating. The priests of the temple chiefly concern themselves with keeping the temple clean and orderly, and offering succor to travelers. Central among these duties is the giving of temple alms to pilgrims, including the famous Six Color temple stew, a perpetual stew based on the six flavor elements of traditional Goblin cooking that is kept fed from a mother pot in the central sanctum and is said to have many health benefits.

Having tried the Six Color stew myself it was, disappointingly, only one color, although its fortifying effects on my constitution were hard to dispute as it kept me awake for hours.”

-Payapop Pritram

“I suppose it’s only natural of mortals to make use of whats given to them. In the case of the Red City, this tends to be the remnants of their progenitors. Nothing like taking the corpse of a god to work, I suppose.”

– Musko Reeve