During a public holiday in the small town of Wyrmbersch, the Mayor is accidentally killed by a statue which falls from the roof of the Town Hall. As shocked spectators crowd around the body, they discover that the Mayor, at the moment of death, shape-shifted into a squat, stunted humanoid figure, it's grey skin dominated by bony ridges and lumps. How long was the Mayor an imposter? And who else in the town isn't what they seem to be?
One morning, the sun does not rise. It seems that a great darkness has settled across the kingdom - at first, it is merely an inconvenience, but as time passes and plants begin to sicken and die, some action must be taken. As the deluded King plans the sacrifice of fifty tender virgins in the name of the Sun God, rumours spread of an ancient barrow uncovered in the hills...
In the Temple Square of The City, where the nine Greater Gods have their houses of worship, a sudden flash of light blinds (perhaps permanently) all those who are nearby. When the light has faded, a tiny, naked baby is lying in the doorway of each Temple. The Gods, it seems, have come into the world - but why?
For those familiar with cantrips, you know they are minor acts of magic that have hardly any noticable effect on the world. For example a cantrip to make your food taste better won't heal you any more, or be any more nourishing, just won't make it so hard to get it down. A light cantrip certainly won't be able to blind or even distract anybody, but you might be able flash it to signal someone looking at the right spot.
What if children's nusery ryhmes were a form of cantrip? Like the "Rain, Rain, go away, come again another day." One child singing it wouldn't do more than spare her house a couple raindrops, but what if the whole village got together and was chanting in unison? Each one doing just a bit might actually be able to divert a whole storm...