The Sun of that Garden Realm

I nominally live on EST time but I don't respect the sun

"There is no sun." The Herald says. "Not if we are still in the woods." "I have heard your world has a sun of its own - but I've only been to your Sturmport. And it's nothing but rain there."

The Grand Duke ponders this. "I don't have a good solution, other than to keep exploring, but you can always stay here. No blasted sun to cast unwanted glare into your eyes in the Foxwoods. And all the moss-rats you can eat."

The Salamander will tell you this. "If you walk through the Garden path that leads off the Crossroads, you'll come to a place lit with sun - this is the Garden."

Violet can hear the song of the small white bird - as words.

*..And further still at an unearthly height,*

*One luminary King against the sky..*

"Night has fallen in the Garden, after all." The Ferret Usher says. "Look."

The Sun has spread its wings and soared low over the edge of the horizon.

Faint stars in twinkling raiment occasionally flit across the sky.

"Shadows walk in the dark, and have no respect for the Management."

The Sunflower Kraken pauses for a moment.

And then breaks into peals of solemn chuckling.

"HRM HRM HRM."

"It is a service you performed for us, Rat.

"I also notice many of you bear changes that show your sympathy to that which grows and seeks the Sun in its winged flight across the sky.

To a human, this wine would have already been a riotous cacophony of flavors and sensations.

If a normal wine has notes, this liquor has a symphonic orchestra of fruits, ashes, nuts, herbs, spices, confections, sea water, bird calls, mother's milk, the disappointment of those you love, the tears of a child watching its parents' execution, the flesh of a newborn...

But for the heightened senses of the wolf that is Einar, it is all these things expanded into coruscating lifetimes that flash before his eyes in a nauseating explosion of voices and colors.

Each lap revives eons in which the wine patiently waited in the glass, watching the Sun burn and the Moon die, for a mere mortal to sample it.

Einar might feel that he has received a blessing of the wine, and he has a permanent bonus +1 to saves he makes against high and new magic.

"Do creatures of forest keep time?"

"A few generations yes. Otherwise, nope!" The Herald says cheerfully.

"We track what we can. Which isn't very much."

"The cycles from when there were sun and moon were instilled into us by tradition. We remember there used to be a day of twenty-four hours, and a night of the same.

"There is an ancient clock at the Crossroads that matches our theory."

The Water-Drake is clapping its scaly claws together, waiting for the guts to pour.

"I'm a creature of the waaa-taaaaa. Blech to the sun. Blech!"

"Blech. Birds are almost as bad as the blasted sun."

"But the land of sun you mention? That is not a matter of the River's concern. The River is a place of darkness under a lightless sky."

"I will accept the responsibility of being my own judge - and to do so with the intent to better myself."

"I will still seek the Lords. But I do not want anything from them, besides to see what kind of being they are, and perhaps to pay respect for the things in their world that are still beautiful."

He watches the sun rise, and sips the tea.

The tea is as refreshing as the stream's water and filled with the fragrant essence of the yellow roses.

The humble clay pot emphasizes the simple rusticity of the flavor.

"I think you might have found wisdom then." The Lesser Watcher states.

"In the Garden there is neither good nor evil, only allegiance to the ideals of beauty you chose to uphold."

"Even the Lords and Makers themselves were not uniform in this."

"This is excellent tea." The Ferret says. "It was worth the battles and narrow escapes to enjoy it here by the sun's rise."

"Perhaps in my quest to understand more about the Lords," The Pilgrim muses as it laps at the tea cup. "I lost sight of simple things.

And out of the mist that rises, warmed by the Garden's Sun, is called a small tidy square of lawn.

"I hail from Good Landing. It is beautiful, the sun shines bright. It is not as wild as here. There are rules and they are followed. It is not safe. There's a red tide that engulfed half the world. We haven't seen it in generations, but it still grows and hungers."

*A bright sun. Something pleasant to imagine.*

*We did not like the last sun we had the displeasure of knowing.*

"Did you... kill that sun?"

*It's probably still there, being proud and arrogant and an all-around pompous jerk.*

The dust moths flutter a little uncertainly and suspiciously. But they continue conversing:

*Anyway, as we were saying, that Star you met sounded awful.* *But the Sun of that Garden realm is much, much worse!* *That's the last one we knew, anyway.*

*We are glad you share our low opinion of it.*

"Walk the ruins at the edge of the world and wait for destruction to find you. There are continents of shadow where the sun's capricious light fails to reach.

"There is also the Moon-dappled Garden." The Stag continues. "Once doted over by a Moon, now a mere ruin at night where the stone things weep. "In a high place that only appears when the Sun quits the sky."