An Angel Has Fallen

The people of Blip are, if anything can be said about people at the end of the world, superstitious. They cling to their beliefs, daedal and shapeless like sea foam, to the exclusion of all else. Like sea foam, these beliefs are often washed away. When the gnoll cult arrived in Blip thirteen years ago, they found a ground unbroken for their dogma. The masses soon wore their hair as gnolls, loose and wild, and piety spread like a sickness. The believers built a massive temple, shed their previous obligations, and their faith has been a covenant to the poor and a blindspot to the rest of the city. The goings-on of the temple and its clergy have been entombed in mystery since they arrived. Beggars, deep in their cups on days of bountiful harvest, speak of angels walking into the temple at night. The merchant government of Blip was leaned back on its haunches five years later and five years ago, finished with the preparatory wiggle cats and other State-like entities perform before leaping…