The Triplets

We walk on rock forged by fire — black and glittering, rippling. Cresting the lip of a ridge, we behold a giant crater that falls away beneath us. In the bowl’s centre, three strange figures stand as if awaiting us.

They have the shape of human beings, though their heads tower eight feet above the crater’s floor. One wears hooded robes that hide any hint of their face or person, though they bear the sigil of a scroll around their neck. The second is a woman, her face hidden by a pale, round mask, her hands decked with rings of horn and ivory wrought in the phases of the moon. The third figure is a man, his clothes dark and dashing, his hat drawn low to shadow his face. A cup hangs by a flask at his belt.

As one, the three figures speak. “Welcome, travellers.”

We feel at once the might in their words. Unbidden, we fall to our knees. For the three creatures before us can be neither human nor phantom, but beings of a power far deeper and darker. Without a doubt, we stand before gods.

They continue as one. “Hark, for we shall sing ye a tale in the words of the wind. First there was the Lord of the Wood, Warden of the Wilds and Keeper of the Green. He it was who made union with Father Sky. He it was who birthed us, His three children, upon the scarred flesh of the earth. So now do we serve our father, who is Lord of all these lands. With His hand, we tend the Wood; with His voice, we command its spirits, lowly and mighty alike. Soon our Father will lay His hands upon ye. Only with our subjects’ aid might ye survive.”

As one, the Triple Gods hold forth their symbols: the scroll sigil, the moon rings, the fastened cup. “Choose. Which of our subjects shall ye claim as shield?”