Kauai is the goddess of vacations, relaxing, trips to exotic locales and tropical islands. She is another imported deity, since Port Delta is temperate in climate. A group of islanders brought her with them on a trip looking for further trade routes for their kingdom, several sailors heard tell of the place and decided it might be worth it to head over to see what it was all about. Upon arrival, they discovered a tropical island paradise, and the locals discovered an important and nearly inexhaustible source of money. They ratcheted up the price of normal everyday goods, and set up luxury inns on the beach. Some of the sailors realized the goldmine they had found, and started an ocean travel line with the locals, bringing tourists in and charging for passage. The locals set up a block of time for their goddess of vacations (then relaxation and beaches) to have services at the temple of small gods as advertising.

 

The services have a roasted pig served to the congregation and guests, along with various other island delicacies such as island roots, tropical fish and fruits. Flavorful alcohols are served and islanders perform many of their traditional dances, including beautiful young women and grass skirts and muscular young men juggling fire sticks. The music and atmosphere are designed to relax and distract the people of the city, and convince them that they might want to travel out to the island sometime. This is an effective strategy, as the name Kauai has become synonymous with vacationing and has become city shorthand for their island.

 

Her symbol is a pair of crossed palms, heavy with coconuts and jutting happily from the sand of a warm beach. She is depicted as a beautiful woman in the traditional grass skirts of their dancers wearing a garland of flowers around her neck.

 

Now, speaking of the goddess of vacations, this site is going to be going on one (a vacation, not a goddess) until early June, then we’ll open with a fun short story alternating every two weeks with another serial story. I’m also considering other forms of content, and would love some ideas, if you want to toss them at me.

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Button is the goddess of orphans and abandoned children. A mother and caretaker to the downtrodden and the forgotten children of the city. Her followers are those who have been left to their own devices as long as they can remember, those who may never have known the comforts of home and the loving embrace of a parent. They are the urchins and ragamuffins who form gangs and roving bands in order to get what they need, food, water, shelter, protection. These gangs are fiercely protective of their deity and their protector, going so far as to damage and destroy the property of other churches that they see as “rivals” to their “mother.”

 

She began life as an orphanage owner, caring for the children of the city and doing her best to feed and protect them. Her children were her life and she was theirs, and they believed her to be a God, and this belief (as strong as a child can believe in a thing) caused her transcendence to divinity. She still owns her orphanage, and many of her followers are there, but she can only provide so much space and there are many children who would rather be on the street.

 

Her services are grand soup kitchens attended by the homeless and orphans in the city. Her earliest wards have become her most trusted priests and helpers, running her church and establishing the logistics of running a soup kitchen for all the homeless and parentless in the city. They use the money earned from the sale of miracles to purchase supplies, and have begun satellite orphanages and care facilities throughout the city.

 

Her symbol is a pair of angelic wings with a halo. This symbol wasn’t her idea, and was instead The design of one of her charges. She is depicted as she is (one of those few odd living gods that cause so many census problems), a matronly woman whose face is careworn with hair in a utilitarian bun.

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As’holia is the God of jerks. The deity of dicks, the patron of punks, and the Lord of louts. His followers are those who take pleasure in the pain and suffering of others, and seek actively to create such emotions to feed upon. They steal food from children, ask irritating questions they already know the answer to, park their horses and carts right in the way of traffic and also right in the way of the door to a business. The priests are scions of these acts, the pinnacle of the sport of creating misery where none currently exists and causing as much irritation as possible. They’re more likely to perform a miracle at random, charge you for it, and then pretend they didn’t hear you when you said what you wanted. They’re the kind who show up late to their services, half-ass things, and then knock off for the day early. This fairly accurately describes exactly how the services are run.

 

The content of the services is a complicated ritual of bizarre and uncomfortable motions made in a specific order, as a kind of ritual dance. The effect of watching this dance in its entirety is to become extremely nauseous and need to lie down. The congregation then continue on to chants that alternate between high and low pitched wailing, these make listeners feel as though they have forgotten to stub their toes on something hard (and proceed to kick a nearby object with an intent to hurt themselves). From there They move on to silent prayers for the strength to create the most misery and mayhem they possibly can within their lifespan.

 

His symbol is an unusual shape that is at once impossible to conceal or hold comfortably. It pricks and pokes to remind the bearer to cause irritation and pain to those around them (and provokes them in the wearer). He is depicted differently each time, so nobody knows who the person is in the picture, or what is going on.

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Yuck is the God of oozes, spines, jellies, puddings and various other unusual amorphous abominations of nature. These organisms are surprisingly common in the city, especially considering the extent and age of the city sewers. They wander the sewers, eating organic matter and protecting what they perceive as their territory. It is postulated that they live in vast colonies somewhere in the sewers, deep in some warm moist crevice below the earth. To this day, none of these colonies has been discovered, though part of this may be due to the absence of expeditions into the sewer, and poor rate of returns from those who do set off into the darkness.

 

The services are a topic of discussion in the city, mostly since no humanoid has ever been present for them. The sounds heard emanating from the windows of the temple are described by those daring enough to go near as liquidy sloshing or slapping, and a sort of bizarre humming vibration that you don’t hear as much as feel in your bones. There also happen to be odd flashes of light, as though there was some kind of unusual storm going on within. Nobody ever sees any of the things arrive or leave, but most assume they simply goo up through storm drains or the temple basements. Outside the temple stand odd cloaked men, who appear moist and slick even on the sunniest of days. These are the ones who perform miracles for visitors, and they do so quickly and quietly. What noises they do make are very wet and throaty, as though they are struggling to swallow while speaking.

 

Yuck’s symbol is an amorphous, wet blob of unknown origin and composition. It is incredibly disgusting and burns slightly to the touch. He is depicted as an enormous green blob who takes a vaguely humanoid shape, though seems to have disdain for facial features (as he doesn’t have any).

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Em-Eye is the God of heart attacks. He is worshiped by very few in the city (in fact he has only one true follower), but is paid tribute to by many of the city’s population, especially the elderly. He is a God who gives little and takes everything is those who he “blesses” possess. He comes with little warning and leaves just as quietly, taking many in their sleep, but just as many with tasks yet left undone.

 

His follower is an ancient man whose name is unknown. He appears in the temple on the days his God has reserved, and sits to receive prayers for protection, offerings and bribes to ply his god’s favor and stave off unexpected death for as long as possible. He gives aid to those who are willing to pay for it, but few are willing to risk owing the God for these miracles so only the brave or ignorant will purchase such services. When the time is through, the man disappears, never followed and not seen untilTyne next scheduled time.

 

This man and his God are the subject of much theological debate, as he does not appear to change appearance at all between services, even though the church has been active for years now. Some posit that he is a powerful wizard, chained into the God of heart attack’s services as part of a deal to save his life. Still others say he is the God of heart attacks, and that he came to exist simply out of fear of sudden death. Others think this is silly conjecture, and that he is simply a private citizens and upstanding member of the theological community.

 

Em-Eye’s symbol is an anatomically correct heart made from rusted iron, Brown with the appearance of decay and still as an unbeating heart. He is never depicted, for fear it will bring his attention to the artist.

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Anathema is the goddess of bad manners. Her followers are those who shun the traditional societal views of how people should behave, and seek to break as many of these rules as they possibly can. They believe that humans should be allowed to behave exactly as they wish, and not force themselves to be held to some ridiculous standards just because rich people say so.

 

Her services are great feasts, with buffet style serving and long tables to seat the entire congregation. The worshipers feast, eating voraciously and a touch bestially. No utensils, no napkins, elbows propped on the table and hands wiped off on shirts. Alcohol is swilled and spilled all down faces, with no regard for how they are viewed by outsiders. Various smells and disgusting human noises are made, a veritable assault on every sense a being might have.

 

Her symbol are a pair of hands, stained with food and gripping a turkey leg tightly. She is depicted as a filthy human, gripping the turkey leg and putting her feet up on the dinner table.

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Moistivus is the God of spitting. No one is quite sure how he became this, but he most certainly is now. His followers are few, but arguably talented? They have been gifted with an ability to spit distances that push the very limits of human ability and inspire aspirations in the hearts of young boys everywhere, who wish to be able to spit even an appreciable fraction of the distance they have achieved. This accomplishment is due to the training regimen contained within the sacred book of Moistivus, adhered to in every free moment of their lives, and a steady intake of water (to keep the mucous membranes wet).

 

His services are gross, but impressive. Each member takes time praying and meditating, trying to attain the zenlike state required for the maximum spitting distance. They empty their minds of all distraction, and fill their mouths with the most cohesive and voluminous loogey they can summon without completely draining their body of moisture. They take turns standing in a ritual circle, preparing themselves for their performance and offerings their final prayers for glory. All are silent now, watching the petitioner with breath held and attention transfixed. The man in the circle, until now perfectly still, becomes a blur of motion. Moving his body in an imitation of the waves of the ocean he flings his head back, and then forward. Once, twice, and on the third time his face contorts into a rictus of pain and concentration, forcing the liquid from his mouth at incredible speeds. All eyes watch as it speeds through the air, landing an unbelievable distance away. The acolytes run to measure the distance, marking it down in the book of great deeds. The next man stands and the cycle begins anew, his prayers going to the God of spitting.

 

His symbol is a drop of water (or spit) small end to the left and larger end to the right, as though speeding in that direction away from a mouth. He is never depicted in polite company.

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Mumbles is the goddess of wrestling, wrestlers and spectacles of physical ability. Her followers believe in strength and physical ability, as well as providing an excellent show and giving the crowd an incredible spectacle and display. Many have pseudonyms and masks, fighting and performing as alter egos both in order to protect their identity and to create an air of mystery to add to the show. Others use their real names and personality as an attempt to have success in the ring catapult them to personal success, fame and wealth.

 

She was brought into the city by a group of large oiled foreigners who wore masks and shorts and nothing else. They began organizing spectacular displays of their abilities, wrestling each other in the streets and putting on a grand show for those who passed. This began to acquire quite a following, and betting on the matches became commonplace. This lead to match fixing, which eventually became so complicated and common that betting ceased entirely. People still watched for the stories, however, and the matches were moved to the temple of small gods.

 

The matches and shows have become the services, with wrestlers fighting and grappling in front of the crowds in a grand elevated ring. The fights have grown in popularity and showmanship, to the degree that it has come to be considered an art form by many city denizens. People will pay a small fee for entry, and then petition services from priests who oversee the matches. The stories have become the main draw of the matches, and attendance has come to rival that of some of the largest plays put on throughout the city, and each wrestler has acquired a following of their own, some actively becoming larger than life.

 

Mumble’s symbol is a mask of black straps and steel, the overall effect being considerably intimidating. She is depicted as a muscular woman wearing the aforementioned mask, and she is always shown surrounded by black robes, hooded druids. No one really knows why this is, and chalks it up to being from a foreign country.

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LaSalle is the God of soldiers, armies, mercenaries, marines, navy and all other organized bands of folks fighting under some kind of leadership. He is something of an older deity, harkening back to when the city and Senate were allowed to raise and hold a standing army, instead of the current system in which the armed forces are raised and organized by the platinum houses. This has lead to a sort of bizarre schism in the followers of LaSalle, where each platinum house’s personal army is untrusting and cold towards the others, sometimes even coming to blows during the services themselves.

 

LaSalle himself was a cavalry officer during one of Port Delta’s many quests towards the acquisition of new lands to add to the nation’s holdings. He was well decorated, and highly respected by his men, seen as a great leader (if not the greatest tactician). During a battle with a group of hobgoblins holding a mountain range rich in metal ores, LaSalle was ordered to perform a holding action to prevent a route and slaughter during a retreat. LaSalle and his men bravely charged directly into the heart of the much larger hobgoblin force, causing panic and disorder in their ranks. Seeing this, a counterattack was ordered to take advantage and support LaSalle, but he was cut in half by a hobgoblin. His men and those who knew his reputation began to venerate the man and prayed to him before battles.

 

The services are ceremonial presentation of arms, and swearing subordination and fealty to their superiors through thick and thin. This gets confused due to the schism, and winds up being a humble of words and oaths. The group’s then set up to recruit new members from the population, competing with each other to provide services and hire on new folks.

 

His symbol is a helm with a plume with a sword in front, blade down. He is pictured as a swarthy man wearing a breastplate and extravagant pantaloons, and a large handlebar moustache.

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Vimes is the God of the guard, the night watch and peaceful community. His followers are those who walk the street and would keep them quiet, or at least full only of the noise of productivity and commerce. They are there to keep the gears of the city up and running, greased, oiled, and unmanned so everything goes smoothly and safely for everyone. Also worshipped by the families of guards, who leave trinkets and tokens as sacrifices in the hopes that their loved ones will come home safely and unharmed. These trinkets are then collected, and used to fund the widows and orphans of Those killed in the line of duty.

 

His creation stemmed from a time when the city was lawless and dangerous, run by gangs and adventurers, with senators openly accepting bribes and criminals killing indiscriminately. The guards were underfunded, undermanned, and often on the take themselves. The people of the city cried out for order and peace, for civility and stability to come to their lives and for opportunities to make their own way in the world. Just as things seemed darkest, Vimes came into existence in the city, fuelled by this need and outcry. He organized and empowered the guards, and lead a campaign to clean up the city, arresting senators and thieves alike, subjecting all to the law equally.

 

His services are simple, involving only a pledge to keep the peace, and ensure that justice and law is upheld no matter how difficult it may be. The temple is then kept open for donations and offerings from the public, which are made by many who value the city being organized.

 

His symbol is a cudgel held over a helmet with a nasal bar, the traditional signifiers of the city guard. He is depicted as a dark and brooding man late into his middle years, wearing a helmet and wielding the cudgel, he bears the mark of a captain of the guard.

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