Long ago, Pan had been a member of the Dawn Court – a faithful follower of Oriens. That was before. Before he disappeared from Novus, before he forgot the lore, forgot his past, forgot… himself. Gone are the memories of the god who gifted his immortality, of the god who he’d worshipped with Inkheart, of the god of Florentine and the Dusk Court. Despite this, Pan is a creature who honorably follows the gods. All the gods. He doesn’t show allegiance to just one, but has learned in his long life that all gods are to be respected.
He didn’t remember that this mountain was a sacred one, nor the gods who were worshipped here. But Pan was an explorer. Off on another adventure, the scaled boy had explored the Night Court and its summer festival. It had been a wonderful visit, and he’d met and discovered so many strange things and wonders. From the fire breathers, to the henna painters, to the ribbon dancers… it was the most beautiful party he’d ever been fortunate enough to attend. Still drunk from the excitement of it all, the boy is all smiles as he remembers, his steps light and airy as he seemed to dance along the sand-strewn path.
Up and up he climbed Veneror Peak, searching for something… searching for meaning. The path was long and parts of it were treacherous. He slipped and slid where the gravel was loose, hooves seeking purchase as he pushed onward to the top, driven by an internal need to know what secrets lie beyond the naked eye. The journey took him several hours, his breathing labored through the last bit of the climb, his body wet with sweat from the summer sun beating down upon him. But he made it. Sighing from exhaustion, Pan took his final steps to the top as his eyes began to scan the temples at the peak.
It was a simple place, meant for worship and quiet reflection. Clearly, others had been here often, for small piles of tributes lay strewn here and there. He’d expect that in a land for the deities, there would be grand temples… but the land was simply barren, with crudely carved statues of the gods facing each of the four directions.
He turned toward the north, the wind stinging against his face as he stared up at the Plains. The Northlands were barren and naked, with Delumine’s forests to the west and Solterran deserts to the east. To the south, he found himself staring down a mountain range, flanked by Terrestella and Denocte. Here, he found a spectacular view… and Pan knew. He knew this place was sacred, even if he didn’t know the lore.
Without a god to serve, the boy simply settled in the center of the mountain, falling to his knees and closing his eyes as he whispered quietly to the wind. He reached in his satchel, drawing out some of his most treasured items – sand from the dunes of the Mors Desert, a smooth grey river rock from the Rapax River, a piece of a seagull’s broken eggshell from the Praistigia Cliffs, a sequin from a dancing gypsy’s costume from the Night Court, and he left them as tribute to whatever gods might appreciate them.
