Sjōvneva

by

Finley Vorden

I'm no spellweaver, but I've spent enough nights sharing drinks with them to piece together how this business works. This chapter won’t teach you to turn your mother-in-law into a pleasant conversation partner, but it might keep you from accidentally offending the divine during your travels.

Wielding Magick

Sjōvneva isn’t just about controlling magick, it's about asking nicely.

Very nicely.

Your relationship with divine patrons works much like any important connection: neglect it, and you’ll find yourself alone when you most need help. Each patron demands specific acts of devotion, and mixing these up can lead to... complications. I once shared a campfire with a wandering Temrian devotee who accidentally performed a ritual meant for Alȳrā. The resulting divine confusion attracted an unusual number of battle-ready woodland creatures with oddly amorous intentions.

We climbed a tree and waited it out.

Here's a practical sampling from my observations:

• Daily prayer is the bread and butter of divine relationships. The follower of Temrūs from my earlier anecdote eventually taught me their morning ritual, which I tried myself out of curiosity. The sudden surge of martial confidence led me to challenge a tavern tough to an arm-wrestling match that evening. I lost spectacularly, of course, but the bruises healed remarkably quickly.
• Shrine maintenance seems particularly effective. A small-town healer I met in eastern Epeithia kept a beautiful miniature garden dedicated to Ōhgūs overflowing with bountiful herbs.
• Fasting works wonders, though I struggle with this personally. During a particularly lean journey through the southern marshes, I found myself inadvertently fasting to Mārdōna. The sudden ability to identify poisonous berries by scent alone saved my life twice before reaching civilization.

Note to travellers: Practitioners who actively cultivate their relationship with their patron gods gain tangible benefits when attempting to use Sjōvneva. These benefits manifest as bonuses to your Trait rolls when casting incantations.

Practice	Frequency	Benefit
Charity	Giving at least 10% of found loot to those in need or to your patron’s temples	When rolling specifically to aid others, you may count both 5s and 6s as successes on Power rolls
Daily Prayer	At least once per day	+1 die to any Power roll invoking your primary patron
Fasting	One day per Decād	+1 die to Endurance rolls
Maintained Shrine	Must visit and tend at least once per Decād	Your patron may offer warnings or guidance through dreams or omens
Meditation	One hour per day in quiet contemplation	Ability to re-roll a failed Power roll once per Sequence without using Overexertion
Missionary Work	Actively converting others to your patron’s worship	You can make a Charm roll before a Power roll; each success on the Charm roll grants +1 die to your subsequent Power roll
Pilgrimage	Visiting a sacred site associated with your patron	After completing a pilgrimage, gain a +2 to all Power rolls permanently

Breaking Devotion

So now we know how to keep the gods happy. But what happens when you disappoint your divine patron? Perhaps you’ve missed a few devotional rituals because a wild hunt took longer than expected, or maybe you sampled forbidden pleasures explicitly prohibited by your stern goddess. Whatever your transgression, I’ve witnessed enough divine punishments to offer some practical advice.

Missing a single devotional practice is like forgetting your anniversary. The cold shoulder you’ll receive is temporary, but noticeable (your usual divine benefits vanish until you resume your obligations). I once traveled with a spellweaver who forgot his dawn prayers to Idrāsil for three consecutive days. When a pack of Fvold-Jackals ambushed us that night, his light spells flickered out like dying fireflies.

Acting directly against your patron’s interests on the other hand invites more dramatic consequences. Your next attempt to channel divine power will fail spectacularly, often in ways designed to maximize embarrassment. A healer I knew secretly poisoned a village well (a clear violation of her oath to Ōhgūs) and found herself unable to cure even the mildest rash for decāds. When she attempted to heal a nobleman’s gout, the affliction temporarily transferred to her own foot.

Extended neglect or betrayal (for those with commitment issues or ethical flexibility) results in a noticeable reduction of your magickal potency. A once-powerful pyromancer I encountered near the Pillars of Srane could barely light a candle after spending moontides ignoring Irākstl’s mandatory creative endeavors. “Who has time for poetry when you're fleeing for your life?” he complained. The goddess of fire and arts, apparently unsympathetic to his practical concerns, reduced his flames to match his artistic output.

Major betrayal (bedding your patron’s high priest, desecrating their sacred sites, or publicly denouncing them as “overrated divine has-beens”) severs your connection entirely. I witnessed a formerly devoted follower of Lūdthār attempt to invoke fear magick hours after publicly renouncing hatred as “emotionally exhausting.” His dramatic gestures produced nothing but awkward silence.

Getting Back into Favor

If you’ve fallen from grace, don’t despair! Divine relationships can usually be repaired, though rarely without cost and never without some loss of dignity. Consider these strategies based on the severity of your divine faux pas:

• For missed devotions or minor infractions, the simplest approach involves doubling down on your neglected practices for at least a decād. This intensified devotion typically restores your standing, though patrons like Reīnstīel or Lādīka may deliberately delay forgiveness just to keep you guessing. 
• For those who’ve directly opposed their patron’s interests, more substantial atonement becomes necessary. You’ll need to complete a quest or mission specifically benefiting your patron’s domain. A merchant I once knew who violated Shūjāō’s mandate to “find joy in all circumstances” by becoming a miserable, coin-pinching pessimist found himself compelled to finance an elaborate festival for an impoverished village. The cost nearly bankrupted him, but his magickal abilities returned the moment the first child laughed at the puppet show he’d grudgingly commissioned. 
• For significant betrayals, prepare yourself for dangerous pilgrimages, expensive offerings, and elaborate contrition rituals.

A word of caution, fellow travelers: your specific atonement requirements may vary based on your patron’s temperament and sense of poetic justice. Ōphīa's followers typically atone through services to the dead, while Temrūs demands feats of strength or courage.

Note to travelers: Your Wayfinder may adjust these requirements based on the severity of the infraction and the specific nature(s) of your patron.

Dominions

Attempting to request fire magick from Yāerōnās is like asking a master baker to repair your boots; possible in theory, but likely to produce disappointing results. Each patron oversees specific magickal domains, and respecting these boundaries prevents the magickal equivalent of showing up at the wrong party wearing the wrong clothes.

The most successful practitioners I’ve encountered specialize narrowly, maintaining deep relationships with compatible patrons. That healer I mentioned earlier had dedicated herself exclusively to Ōhgūs, but held a minor devotion to Exphīra. Her ability to mend broken bones was matched only by her talent for growing medicinal herbs; complementary skills granted by compatible patrons.