Religion in Aerith

The Divine Tapestry of Aerith

The flickering candlelight cast long shadows across my study as I reread the missive. Heretics, they called themselves. Seekers of a "universal truth," claiming all gods – the true God included – were merely facets of a single, unknowable being. They spoke of tolerance, but tolerance for what? Tolerance for the whispers of demons disguised as foreign deities?
Naiveté, that's the danger. These people think a tapestry woven with threads of falsehood can somehow depict the divine. They stray from the One Truth, the path illuminated by scripture and sanctified by generations of faithful prayer. Do they not see the chaos that would ensue if every flickering candle flame was mistaken for the sun?
The True God offers a beacon, a guiding light in the storm. He grants us order, purpose, and a path to salvation. To claim all paths lead to Him is to extinguish that beacon, leaving men to wander in the darkness, prey to the whispers of malevolent forces.
Think of a garden, meticulously planned and tended. Each flower has its place, its purpose. Weeds, however, choke the life from the intended blooms. These heretics are like weeds, their philosophy a tangled mess that threatens to smother the one true faith.
We must stand firm, my brothers and sisters in faith. We must be the shepherds, protecting the flock from the wolves disguised in sheep's clothing. For the sake of their very souls, we cannot allow this doctrine of false equivalency to take root.
—Padre Mateo Garcia de la Rosa

Before the Sundering shattered the world, a single faith, the worship of the Creator, held sway across Aerith. Elaborate rituals, dictated by social standing and duty, formed the backbone of worship. Grandiose public ceremonies stretched for hours, while simpler forms of devotion thrived in homes and intimate gatherings.

The Sundering fractured not just the land, but the faith. Nations, now isolated and squabbling, cling to the Creator, but their interpretations varry. Cultural nuances have crept into ceremonies, transforming the original liturgy. Ancient titles and forgotten names have resurfaced. "The Creator" remains a universal term, but the level of reverence and even language used often differs. Tamre references Sol, while the Empire of Sharapov invokes Vsevyshniy.

For many, faith has become a fading ember. Magic, a common tool, overshadows the need for a higher power. Clerics and wizards wield potent energies, diminishing the allure of a distant deity.

Whispers of the Old Ways

Despite its official status, the whisper of Old Gods lingersin Irenaught and Archspire, nations steeped in Gaeric heritage. These gods, more visceral and relatable, offered a tangible connection. The pantheon included:

• Lugh (Lugus): A master of many trades - war, craftsmanship, leadership, and the arcane.
• The Morrigan: A fearsome goddess of battle, often depicted as a crow or raven.
• Brigid (Brigit): A goddess embodying fire, poetry, healing, and the forge.
• The Dagda: A powerful deity of fertility, the earth, and wisdom, often wielding a club and a cauldron.
• Cernunnos: A horned god of fertility, the wild hunt, and the underworld.

The Emerald Dream

In Toman Mein, there are powers who aren't gods in the strictest sense, but forces of nature. The Fey, enigmatic and capricious, embody these forces. Their motives are alien, their actions seemingly random, yet their power to inflict both pleasure and pain is undeniable. A hierarchy exists, with the Summer and Winter Courts, each ruled by a queen with absolute dominion.

The people of Toman Mein embrace the Fey openly, fear and respect intertwined with their devotion. Through elaborate ceremonies, they seek the blessings of these capricious beings. Their devotion to the Fey far surpasses their reverence for the distant Creator.

Faith in Whatever Form

Aerith's faith is a tapestry woven from old and new threads. The Sundering may have divided the land, but the hunger for the divine persists, taking different shapes across the fractured landscape. In the bustling markets of the Aegora of Aegea, one might hear whispers of forgotten rituals beneath the cacophony of trade. In the windswept plains of the Windy Plains, nomadic tribes might paint symbols on their tents, a silent prayer to the sky. Even within the towering libraries of the Seekers of the Sundered Sun, scholars might unearth ancient texts, their faded script hinting at forgotten deities and practices. The Sundering may have shattered the land, but the human need for faith endures, a testament to the enduring mystery of the divine.