The Pantheon 


The senior staff of the previous times are the gods of the new ones. 
Some of them did their damnedest to earn the titles, others just did 
their job, but they're remembered now. 


Geyre: The god of smithing and technology, and the chief of the 
gods. It's said in some tribes that he constructed the old cities, and 
then destroyed them when they didn't please him. This is especially 
common among tribesmen who think any city is sinful in old Geyre's 
eyes. 


Drakgin: The god of battle and war. In some places, he's praised as 
a god for heroes, and they ask him for strength. In others, he's an 
evil god who brought discord into the world. Some whisper that the 
dragon Sikayt was his pet, or his steed. Some say he destroyed the 
old world in a powerful rage. 


Kalef: The god of the underworld. The righteous dead will go to him 
on their final day. He rules a vast empire under ground, on an opal 
throne. He's also the god of riches. He's known to offer mortals 
bargains. However, he has a way of twisting them to his own 
advantage. 


Lita: The goddess of nature. She guards the forests and the fields. 
She's worshipped by hunters, guides through the wilderness, and 
many of the tribesmen. Her totem is a toothed owl. 


Erits, or Old Aggie: The name differs from place to place, but she's 
always worshipped as a goddess of fertility. Farmers build shrines to 
her in their fields. In the cities, her temples offer the services of 
priestesses to lonely men. 


Abirt: The god of death. While the righteous dead will go to Kalef, 
the wicked are Abirt's. When someone dies, they first visit Abirt's 
realm, where they are judged. 


York: The saint of thieves, tricksters and liars. York stole the secret 

of iron from the gods, planted it among the mortals, and then tricked 
both to pay him to find the culprit. Some say the end was his doing, 

a trick gone far wrong. 


Starel: Starel is not a god, but the first king. He fought the dragon 
Sikayt in the Home Ceitu, and both were sealed to protect the world. 
It is said that one day, when men need him most, he will emerge 
from the Home Ceitu, unite the people, and bring about a golden 
age. 


There are also numerous local gods. Sometimes they replace gods 
from the pantheon, sometimes they simply supplement it. Each tribe, 
each city has its own local version of the pantheon, its own version 
of events. This is just the most general form of the pantheon. 


Wonders and Monsters 


These are SCP-Objects, essentially. These are things like the 
wading pool, the architect, the surgeon crabs. Wonders are the 
magic items of the Bellerverse. They're relatively rare, but that 
doesn't mean they're unheard of. Most citystates have a few (locked 
up by the powerful and wealthy). They can be found in ruins, or in 
abandoned ceitus. The survivors brought a great number of them to 
Australia while they still had transportation. 


Monsters are, well, monsters. They're SCP creatures. Imagine the 
Heart of Darkness being encountered by a troop of guardsmen from 
one of the city-states, or a group of hunters from a tribe. They're 
dangerous. 


Be creative. Ask what SCP might be interesting for them to 
encounter. And remember that the SCP Foundation hasn't locked 
away all anomalies. Feel free to invent something, if it fits the story. 
Hey, maybe you have an SCP idea that you can't make work in an 
article. Use it here! 


Tone 


Okay, now we're getting into the most important part. This is, 
basically, a Dying Earth setting in tone. It's an old setting that was 
once great and prosperous, and was brought low. Unlike most Dying 
Earth settings, this one's actually recovering, but it still has the same 
themes of survival, of wonders from the old world intruding on the 
new. It's sword and sorcery in an old world. Look to Vance's Cugel 
stories, or Lieber's Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser. It's cynical, but with 
the promise of exploration, the sense of wonder that comes with a 
strange world. 


The List Of Wonders 


The Beller walked through the Waste, leaving no tracks. 


He was a tall, lanky man with black hair and beady eyes. He wore a 
blue jacket over a red skirt of patches and rags, with a small 
tongueless bell at his throat, and a ring with the sign of York, the 
patron saint of thieves and rogues. 


Beller wasn't his real name, of course, but he made it a habit never 
to tell anyone his real name. He said it was because his people were 
afraid to give out their real names. Most people assumed he was 
wanted under the name he was born with. He was certainly wanted 
enough under his new one (and unwanted, in some places). 


He knew the Ways, though. If anyone could get you from one city to 
another, it was him (extra if he'd been outcast by the locals). If you 
wanted a relic from the old places, he knew where you could buy it, 
or, if the price was right, he'd fetch you one himself. 


The waterskin at his side was empty. Water was plentiful in the 
Waste, and it was one less thing to weigh him down. The real 
problem was food. Nothing grew in the waste. There were 
occasional birds and animals crossing the damp sands, but no trees 
or grasses of any sort. 


The Beller knew the Waste well. He'd used its trackless spaces to 
escape pursuit many times. Today, however, he was looking for 
someone else. 


In the distance, a rocky promontory poked up over the dunes like the 
back of a beetle. He'd spotted it the day before, and he would reach 
it in a few more hours. 


"Ho! Beller!" a voice called out. 


The Beller tensed, reaching for his sword. He relaxed after he 


spotted a man atop a dune, wearing thick leather robes. "Benadam! 
I've come to visit you." 


The man began walking down the dune to the Beller. He smiled, his 
blue eyes almost seeming to shine from under the leather skullcap 
worn low over his forehead. "I thought as much. | spotted you 
yesterday. What brings you here?" 


"I've found some writings, and | want you to tell me what they 
mean," the Beller said. He held up the box with the handle he'd 
found. He'd found it across the world, after he'd tried to rob a 
wizard's home, and fell victim to an enchanted pool. 


"A briefcase full of secrets?” Benadam said. "I'm surprised it's intact. 
Well, follow me. I've built up a small camp, and we can speak more 
there." 


This was how it always went with Benadam. He always met Beller 
within a day of the rocks, with a campsite set up. The Beller had 
never been to the rocks themselves, and he didn't know anyone who 
had. 


Benadam looked to be in his middle years, but he'd been in the 
Waste as long as the Beller had heard. Some said he was as old as 
the Waste itself. He certainly knew enough of the lost days. 


The hermit led him up the dune and to a small tent, made from 
leather and with the bones of some great beast for supports. There 
was a small metal contraption with fire rising from it. 


"So, let's look at your case," the hermit said, reaching for the case 
with his leather gloves. He opened the clasp with hardly a glance, 
though it had taken the Beller several minutes to figure out. He 
pulled out the papers, yellow and brittle, and began to read them 
over. He sucked in his breath, and asked, "Where did you find this?" 


"In a fortress built into a mountain, far across the sea," the Beller 
said. "One of the fortresses of the Old Order." He could hardly keep 
the excitement from his voice. "There were other relics there, but 
this was the only thing | could carry easily." 


"How did you get across the sea?" Benadam asked. "Never mind. 
Do you realize what you have?" 


"Secrets," the Beller said, smiling. The hermit's reaction told him the 
papers were important. 


"You could say that," Benadam said, slowly nodding. "This is a list 
of... of Wonders, | suppose you could say, and the locations of the 
Ceitus." 


"Including the home Ceitu?" the Beller asked, hungrily. 


Benadam straightened suddenly. "Beller, no! You don't know what's 
in there. It was abandoned for a reason." 


"I'm not afraid. I've been in Ceitus before." The Beller puffed up his 
narrow chest. 


"Not like this one. | won't let you do it," Benadam said. 


"Don't try to stop me, old man. Just tell me where the Ceitu is!" The 
Beller grabbed the hermit's wrist. It felt hard and thin under the 
sleeve, as though there were nothing there but bone. 


Benadam did not move, and his expression never changed, but 
something changed in him, as though he had suddenly grown larger. 
The hairs on the back of the Beller's neck rose. There was a sense 
of power in the air, as though lightning were about to strike. "Will you 
strike me?" the hermit asked. 


The Beller took his hand from Benadam, and he looked away, 
embarrassed despite himself. 


"Now, I'm going to put an end to this nonsense," Benadam said. He 
put the papers over the fire, and they caught at once. "You should 
thank me. I've saved you from yourself, you know." 


Resentment boiled up inside of the Beller. He hated being made a 
fool of, and he couldn't resist leaving one last gloating note. "You 
haven't changed anything," he said. 


"What do you mean?" Benadam asked, suspicious. 


"Do you think | would make this journey with only the original set of 
papers? As fragile as they were? I've had time to make a dozen 
sets, and I've hidden them all." In truth, he'd only taken the time to 
make one copy, and it was in his bag. But Benadam didn't know 
that. 


"Beller! You can't do this! | won't let you!" Benadam rose, and fora 
moment, the Beller thought he might attack. 


"You won't stop me," the Beller said with a bravado he didn't feel. 
"You're no murderer." 


Benadam stared at him for a long moment, and then, to the Beller's 
surprise, he burst out laughing. "Oh, Beller, if you only knew. No, | 
won't kill you, but not for the reasons you think. Go on, then. | 
cannot stop you. But | don't know how you expect to follow the notes 
when you cannot read them." 


"I'll find another who knows the old language," the Beller said. 


"There's no one else," Benadam said. "I'm the only one who still 
remembers it." 


"Not true," the Beller said. "There's one other. And he's not hard to 
find." 


"Who—Oh, Beller. You don't mean to go South, do you?" 
Benadam's eyes turned to pity. 


"If you will not help me, then | have no choice," the Beller said. "I'd 
go to Abirt himself if he offered me the home Ceitu." 


Benadam only shook his head. "It's not death you should be afraid 
of in the Everman's hands." 


Beller kept his fire small, and watched the entrance to the cave. He 
was a week out of the Waste, and there was something moving 
outside. It was too big to be a wild dog and didn't move quite right to 
be a jumper. 


It could be another traveller, of course, or a bandit. But he hadn't 


seen anyone for two days. The South was a cursed land. Everyone 
knew that. 


Twigs cracked near the entrance, and a human shape blocked the 
light. White, blank eyes stared at him and a low moan spilled out of 
a slack-jawed mouth. 


"Geyre's forge!" he swore, and raised his sword. The walking dead 
were only a nuisance in the open, where their slow speed and 
clumsy movements made them easy to kill. In the cramped confines 
of the cave, however, he was at serious risk of a bite. 


It stumbled towards him, inadvertently stepping into the fire. It didn't 
seem to react as the flame climbed up its leg. It only stepped 
onward, reaching for him with gray, bloated fingers. 


The Beller swung his sword at the hands, taking off the fingers. He 
tried to step around the dead man and get to the entrance, but it 
stumbled over and grabbed at his shoulder with its unmaimed hand. 
He kicked out, trying to keep from catching fire himself, and knocked 
its leg out from under it. The dead man fell, nearly pulling him down 
with it. He managed to get free before it could sink its teeth into his 
leg. He jumped back, and it began to crawl towards him. He jogged 
out of the cave. 


The Beller congratulated himself on another daring escape. Now he 
merely had to wait until the dead man came out, and it would be 
easily dispatched. 


As he turned, his smile slowly sank. The crawling dead was hoisting 
itself through the dead leaves that had built up around the cave's 
entrance, and they began to ignite. Beller looked at the dry chaparral 
around him, and then back to the cave, where all of his supplies 
were. "Kalef's balls!" he cried in dismay, and then took off his jacket, 
trying to use it to beat out the flames. 


The dead man continued trying to bite him even as he tried to 
extinguish it and the brush around it. His jacket caught, and he was 
forced to drop it. The fire spread quickly, and the Beller realized 
there was no way he could beat this fire. It was time to retreat. 


He jumped over the dead man and ran back into the cave. The 
smoke was thick and choking. He grabbed his pack, and then turned 
and ran again, coughing as he went. He jumped over the zombie's 
last pitiable swipe at his feet and ran, looking for a stream, a river, 
anything. As he did, he felt an odd warmth at his back. He looked 
over his shoulder, and saw smoke rising from his pack. Madly, he 
swung the pack off, and then rifled through its contents, grabbing the 
papers before they could be harmed, and then threw the pack away 
with a curse. He started off again, stumbling in the darkness away 
from the orange glow that was rising behind him. 


The Beller waded through waist-deep water, his precious bundle 
held high over his head. He'd been wandering in this godforsaken 
swamp for days now. He hadn't seen so many leeches since the 
jungles in the Northlands. 


In the distance, he heard the roar of a bull crocodile. He shivered. 
He hadn't seen too many of the great reptiles since he'd entered the 
swamp, but he knew how powerful their jaws were. 


He finally made it up onto the next island. He'd been staying on land 
as much as possible, trying to avoid the water where he could. He 
wished he'd had his ax and his rope. He could have put together a 
boat. It would have made this trip much more pleasant. 


After drying off his sword and knife, he took his boots off so they'd 
have a chance to dry at least a little, and began checking himself for 
leeches. He pulled off the four that had taken hold, cursing them as 
he cut them up with his knife. 


He placed the papers on top of a reasonably dry tree stump, with a 
rock over them to protect them from being blown away. He didn't 
want to chance them getting soaked and ruined now. 


He checked his waterskin. There was still a little fresh water in it. He 
considered drinking it, but decided to wait a little longer. He didn't 
know when he'd find another spring. 


No food, no fire, and running out of water... He hoped he'd find the 
Everman soon, or he'd have to start eating the Abirt-damned 


leeches. "Worthless bloody place," he said. 


"Bloody," someone said behind him in a strangely familiar voice. He 
turned, and didn't see anyone. 


"Place bloody," someone else said. The Beller realized the voice 
was his own. Am | going mad? he wondered to himself. 


"Worthless bloody," another voice said, and this time he spotted 
movement. A large red crab sidled out from behind a bush. It was 
perhaps as tall as his knee, and had long, thin arms that seemed to 
end in spikes rather than claws. 


He pulled out his sword and tapped the ground, hoping to scare the 
creature away. It didn't look dangerous, but he didn't like the way its 
beady eyes were staring at him. 


As he stepped forward, he felt a small pain in his leg. He spun 
around in time to see another of the crabs sidle away. "Fucking 
bastard!" he shouted.