The Founding of Moot

Andor awoke in a panic, knowing that the portents for today were ominous, not a good sign for SkullBowl, not a good sign for the juggers or for the Dargarthian cause. He went to the pond in the middle of the monastery and pulled a rock from the pile at his feet. He considered it carefully, and tossed it into the shallow, clear water.

"DAY OF BETRAYAL", he heard clearly in his mind.

This was a problem, but like most of the problems of the stars, not one he would be able to do much about. "We have no fate but the fate which we are given!" read the small book in his belt, which he had indeed remembered to bring along today.

Hours later, after the championship had played out, everyone was celebrating and talking about the matches. But not Andor. He had blessed both fields, he had burnt offerings to every God and Goddess he had ever worshipped (and they were myriad), he had carefully gone through every ritual line by line, cast every benediction of the Abbot word for word. He had fasted for days and cleaned the runes on his holy symbol. The Abbot, How Fair and Benevolent Is His Likeness, should have smiled upon the field for Mardur's team this day.

But it had not happened that way. Andor had been BETRAYED. Good old rock. Nothing beats rock.

The Abbot, So Generous And Pure In Countenance, didn't even bother to attend to cheer his side on, much less deliver victory to his chosen warriors. And it was the last righteous injustice that Andor would suffer worshipping a false God. With so many gods' actions so obvious to everyone, why continue to worship one that couldn't rig a jugging match or two?

Andor remembered his brother Jebb's invitation, his eager request that the Cult of Tirade, the Secret Moot Cabal, have Andor as its spiritual advisor and agent. He knew that it was the right time to act.

Though he already regretted leaving behind his fellow priests, warriors, and aesthetics in the Order, and wished he could continue to dance with the goblins, play dice with the gnolls, and sneak into the secret Human Potlucks held in Mardur, he knew it would be forbidden, given what he must do. He packed his belongings and left the field, meeting Jebb outside.

"Where are we going, Andor?" he asked.

"We are simply walking. Our eventual destination", said Andor, "is moot."