Welcome, Wanderer- Goblin- Friend!

to

The Twisted Tower

of

VORENAEX THE RED

The scent here changes subtly-- rot. Stone. Vinegar. Withered apples. There are shrines set along the walls- shrines to small-gods and old, old wonders. Assorted hideousness. The peaceful air is illuminated by blue-grey torches, casting eerie light over these tiny priestless idols. You are in the Chapel of Forget, the wizard's church to unworshipped things.

The Chapel of Forget

an assortment of scenes- worn books, peering eyes, velvety darkness and pinpricks of stars. The words in the center read 'the universe is so full of itself.

---

Keep your head low, your voice quiet, here, my friends. Do you see that larger altar, in the center and just ahead? That is the shrine of the Blind Prophet. You know him, though you probably don't know how. He is the feeling of learning something you weren't meant to know- as petty as a journal that didn't belong to you, as ominous as a beached leviathan who cried out to you as its own weight suffocated it. He is a fool, perhaps the Fool. He knows everything, and that is as close to madness as a god usually comes. Usually.

Among these other little gods of unworshipped things, he is like a lord or a king. These are the hiding-gods, those who ask for no worship. They can be terrifying-- Our Lady of Rotting Leaves, the Threat of Storms, the Father of Heretics, the Toymaker General, the Splintered Man. They can be beautiful-- the Queen in Iron Chains, the Grand Celebrant of the Bath, the Gleaming and Gloaming Ladies, the Applemas Walker. They can even be strangely human-- Mirror's Legion, the Dreaming Lords, the Sweet Bitters and the Shilling Barber.

Their names mean nothing, for now. I am their only custodian, really- but I love them all the same. A god doesn't have to mean something, it simply has to be, to show its face often enough that we give it a place among our day-to-day. Your little superstitions are their prayers. Your memories are their domain, where they are strongest. These are gods of sentiment and silence. Walk with me among them, won't you? Maybe you'll find one you recognize. Or one that you want to.

Vorenaex the Red, privileged custodian of this fine tower, welcomes all manner of callers-in and passers-by! This tower, painstakingly raised by inch and inch, is a record of their greatest works and works-in-progress.

Perhaps you will find them deep in thought, perusing tomes of forgotten lore. Their reviews of such arcane texts may prove useful to you! Check the Library for those and other mystical musings.

It could be that they have returned from an expedition into the realms of Dream, and are updating their miraculous Orrery of Worlds to match their newest findings. Perhaps visit their Observatory and hear tales of denizens, dreamers, and unlikely gods.

Or, if you are here seeking advice on the herbaceous and horticultural, the Garden is teeming with magical and mundane flora -- though you'll have to tread cautiously and speak quietly. There is a dryad that wanders that place, and she has been known to set strange ideas in the heads of visitors.

Whatever you seek, enjoy yourself, my friends! The world could do with a little more magic, and you've come to the right place.