In the far west of the continent stands a great mountain, great in size not because there is anything particularly wonderful about it beyond the tremendous height. Atop this mountain sits a wise man, you can tell he’s a wise man due to the long flowing beard, distinct lack of clothing, and his dwelling at the top of a bloody great big mountain.

Only two types of people go mountaineering in so few clothes, wise men (who as an occupational skill seem to have special immunity from freezing their brass monkeys off, avalanches, and elevation sickness,) and incredibly unwise men (who have no such special talents, promptly freeze their brass monkeys off, get caught in avalanches, get elevation sickness, and tend to stick round on the mountain on a rather more long term to permanent basis until they eventually descend via glacial melt for archaeologists to snicker at.)

This particular mountain happened to be occupied by one Mr Traphah Keephah, who had been dwelling here for nigh on fifty years, and had developed a mystic beard so long it was hard to tell where the beard ended and the wise man began. By the looks of things he was doing quite well for himself too, he had a nice little meditation spot with a view, and every tourist who followed him up (usually to ascend via glacial melt as they were NOT usually wise) brought up food and other offerings. The only downside was word had gotten around lately that wise man was an ascetic occupation. If Traphah ever got their hands on the bastard who had started that particular rumour sod inner peace, he was going to punch em one. Wasn’t hermitage and goosebumps quite ascetic enough without some folk tale about sustaining on air and morning dew? He would kill for a cup of hot cocoa and marshmallows. But all he got was rice, rice, and more rice. It didn’t even make sense, for pities sake what kind of buffoon goes lugging entire sacks of rice up a ruddy mountain? Especially when the same amount of chocolate, biscuits, crisps,and even marshmallows would be less than a tenth of the weight, it made you seriously ponder on the folly of man, it really did.

As he deepened his reflection on the foolishness of man (and woman, and individual not in these two categories, he was a very equal opportunities ponderer,) his meditation was disturbed by a grappling hook whizzing past his ear, combined with muffled cursing from a fair distance down. He made himself look busy, (By not looking busy at all, apart from striking a suitably meditative pose. Running on the spot to warm up could wait until the uninvited guest left their offerings behind and buggered off, he did not live at the top of a mountain because he enjoyed socialisation, but the hermit job came with the string attached that no bugger ever left you alone, well at least the pay was decent, all the food you can eat, so long as you don’t mind bloody rice.) And waited, and waited, and waited, until eventually the tip of a very tall hat came into sight. After a little while longer, and a lot more swearing, (much louder by now of course) it became clear that the hat was accompanied by a not so tall man, dressed in about twenty layers of ceremonial robe. Traphah rolled his eyes and waited for the priest to catch his breath.

“Beats me how you lot do it” the priest tried conversationally. “Twenty layers and I’m still bloody freezing.”

“Oh my child, you come seeking guidance?”

“Alright, alright, save the tourist stuff for the punters, we want answers.”

Traphah looked offended for a moment, then dropped the mask. “Alright waddya want?”

“Answers, there’s a new god in town, and we need to know what’s going on.”

“What’s in it for me? Cause I’m not getting inner peace when somebodies chucking grappling hooks about that’s for sure.”

“Aren’t you lot supposed to be unselfish and ascetic?”

“Popular misconception, personally am just antisocial and used to being cold, not my fault people make assumptions now is it? Now make with the offerings.”

The priest fished round in his robes for a minute before pulling out a large flask, Traphah sniffed the air, he loved the smell of cocoa in the morning, but kept his hand out until with much reluctance the priest fished out and handed over a big bag of marshmallows.

“Now we’re talking, I have heard a little bit of interesting gossip lately. But it’s complicated, the gods are playing games again, and apparently this time they’ve dragged in a frog and a princess. I’d explain more but the gods hate it when mortals go giving spoilers, it ruins their fun, and I’ve got a sweet spot here right next door to the gods mountain, don’t wanna screw that up by getting them mad at me. I really don’t fancy the idea of eviction, or a lightning bolt to the jacksie thank you very much.”

“Oh come on” whined the priest, “it was a long climb to get here and the marshmallows weren’t cheap, please, just a little more”

Traphah looked around carefully for a moment “Alright, you twisted my arm, but you won’t let on it was me that told you will ya?”

“Your secrets safe with me.”

“OK there’s a bit of a filing error upstairs, the princess and the frog and the god are linked, and technically the frog is the gods creator, now that’s got a few of the big fellers in a tizzy. Because now they have followers they’re considered legitimate. Something about a thaumaturgic feedback loop. Problem is that has made the fabric of reality a bit thin, like it wasn’t already threadbare enough round these parts already.

End result, expect a lot more newborn gods over the next few weeks while they work on a patch, but don’t worry, so long as they aren’t worshipped they won’t be sticking around for long. Thus the priest was enlightened. (Though he wished to all the gods he could have been kept in the dark about this mess).