Our story begins in a celestial realm, an abode of gods. Such places are of such sublimely complex sacred geometry that a mortal mind lacks the capacity to comprehend them. When a mortal does perceive one of these divine realms, it provides a kind of perceptual model, so that they have a basis from which to build a rudimentary understanding of their surroundings. Strictly speaking that’s how reality works in general, but celestial realms even more so.

  There is thus no description you could devise for this place that would be completely inaccurate, but you’d likely perceive it as an expanse of blue sky and fluffy clouds, with various divine beings going about their business. It’s cliché, but it gets the point across for the comparatively tiny minds of us mortals. Do you think they should have white feathered wings and glowing halos? Sure, let’s go with that.

  Here the Goddess Begana, Maiden of Creation and Destruction, was looking down into the realms of mortals, and she was not pleased. To mortal eyes she appeared as a teenage girl, with a black and white dress that matched her long hair, tied into two tails. Her eyes were red and blue, each color deep and vivid. Although for gods size is essentially a matter of preference, she appeared on the short side.

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  Down in a mortal plane, the followers of Valrune were celebrating the successful summons of another Prophet. They were drinking wine and praising Valrune and everything. Begana threw up her hands. “That Valrune thinks he’s such a big deal, sending Earth people to spread ideas in his favorite magical world! What a posser!”

  “First of all,” said Valrune, “the word you’re thinking of is ‘poseur.’”

  She jumped. Maybe being startled was beneath the dignity of a deity, but so was sneaking up on fellow gods. She rounded on him. “Shut up! I’m gonna have my own Earth Prophets! They’ll be super awesome!”

  Valrune, the God of Crossings, rolled his eyes. Here his Valrune persona was at the fore, so he appeared as a dignified man in a blue robe, holding a long pole. They were both at a level of divinity where gods had larger than life human proclivities. For better or for worse he was one of the more level-headed deities though—people appreciated that in a psychopomp—so he tried to avoid pointless conflicts. He shrugged and said, “Do what you want. Just call them something different.”

  “You don’t own the word ‘prophet,’ Valrune.”

  “Sure, but calling Earth people sent to magical worlds ‘Prophets’ is a Valrune original.”

  Begana stamped her foot. “Fine! I’ll call them… Apostles!”