There are three kinds of people. The young, wise and foolish. The young and wise both fear nights of the new moon. If you ever hear a drunkard boast of not being afraid of such nights, you can safely consider them a fool. They only ever convince other fools anyway.
The moon is something deeply imprinted onto people. It is, of course, central to scripture, but even wild children raised by animals have been known to revere the moon, and keep close track of its phases. Unlike its golden counterpart, the silver is not so constant. Full moons are nights of celebration, festivals in honor of the light that protects humanity.
New moons are the opposite. Even the least superstitious bar their doors and windows on such nights, and many draw lines of salt and flour on thresholds, the most desperate slaughtering a sheep or chicken and warding their doors with its blood. Only the very brave or the aforementioned fools stay out beyond sunset. If you remain awake outdoors without breaking down, you’re unshakeable. You’re never the same after that.
This is when nightmares come out to play. When demons walk the streets of the world’s noisiest and busiest cities, silent and deserted. By the dawn whole fields are blighted, nobles poisoned, homes burned, entire families torn to bloody viscera. Violent crime skyrockets. Even behind bars and salt-lines, safety cannot be guaranteed. More than one family has locked up for the night before finding one of their own struck with madness.
Solstices are stranger. If a new moon falls near the summer solstice, the shortest night of the year, this is taken as a sign of divine aid, a horrible situation ameliorated. But if it falls near the winter solstice, as it does once every generation, all hell breaks loose. Often people brighten the longest, darkest night of a decade with bonfires; they either burn out of control or get used to burn heretics and warlocks at the stake.
In point: be afraid of moonless nights.
The moon is something deeply imprinted onto people. It is, of course, central to scripture, but even wild children raised by animals have been known to revere the moon, and keep close track of its phases. Unlike its golden counterpart, the silver is not so constant. Full moons are nights of celebration, festivals in honor of the light that protects humanity.
New moons are the opposite. Even the least superstitious bar their doors and windows on such nights, and many draw lines of salt and flour on thresholds, the most desperate slaughtering a sheep or chicken and warding their doors with its blood. Only the very brave or the aforementioned fools stay out beyond sunset. If you remain awake outdoors without breaking down, you’re unshakeable. You’re never the same after that.
This is when nightmares come out to play. When demons walk the streets of the world’s noisiest and busiest cities, silent and deserted. By the dawn whole fields are blighted, nobles poisoned, homes burned, entire families torn to bloody viscera. Violent crime skyrockets. Even behind bars and salt-lines, safety cannot be guaranteed. More than one family has locked up for the night before finding one of their own struck with madness.
Solstices are stranger. If a new moon falls near the summer solstice, the shortest night of the year, this is taken as a sign of divine aid, a horrible situation ameliorated. But if it falls near the winter solstice, as it does once every generation, all hell breaks loose. Often people brighten the longest, darkest night of a decade with bonfires; they either burn out of control or get used to burn heretics and warlocks at the stake.
In point: be afraid of moonless nights.
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