Liupan, The Streamkeeper
Domains: Night, Twilight, Arcana
Titles: The Streamkeeper, Lady of Moonlight, Weaver of Time
Symbol: A jar of flowing water.
Alignment: Chaotic Neutral
Liupan is the veiled watcher, the silver thread that winds through the folds of memory and the eddies of fate. Where Caudiel blazes openly and Varaal stands in judgment, Liupan is the in-between—the pause between breaths, the reflection in still water, the dream you half-remember upon waking. They are the Web-Walker, the Streamkeeper, the voice that calls you by your true name in the hour of stillness.
Liupan’s form shifts with the moon’s face. In some texts, they are described as a goddess in robes of drifting mist, eyes like twin crescent moons. In others, a silver-skinned god cloaked in the night sky, with a thousand watches ticking in their breath. Many scrolls refer to them as both in a single line, and some simply refer to Liupan as They-Who-Know, an entity who transcends the mortal binary of flesh and role. This ambiguity is not a flaw—it is Liupan’s divinity. They are time itself, after all, and time does not care for consistency.
Where Caudiel brings inspiration and Varaal brings law, Liupan brings perspective. It was Liupan who taught mortals to look backward and forward, to understand that memory is power, and that time is not a line, but a stream—and all who drown in it must first learn to swim. Their temples are built into the sides of cliffs, so that water and moonlight pass over them constantly, whispering secrets to those who know how to listen.
Liupan did not fight Grol with flame or steel. Instead, they bound him in contradiction—a thousand moments locked out of sequence, tangling the beast in echoes and echoes of echoes. They etched the first Chronoglyphs into the skin of reality, carving spells that could only be cast across centuries. It is said that Grol hates Liupan above all others, not for what they are, but because they remember the truth of him—the name he wore before corruption, the face he had before the fall.
Their clergy are dreamwalkers, archivists, and oracles. Some speak in riddles, others in broken fragments of lost languages, and a few say nothing at all—believing that silence is the oldest truth. Rituals to Liupan often involve walking backwards through moonlit labyrinths, tracing one’s past in chalk or ink, or bathing in still waters to divine the ripples of what will come.
Liupan holds no throne in the sky, only a place between stars. Yet all who chart the heavens find their influence—shifting, circling, impossible to pin down. Some scholars believe Liupan is the eldest of the gods, older even than Annum, but that they allowed time to rewrite their place, to better observe the world from behind its veil.
They whisper to those who lose their way.
They guide those who remember what others have forgotten.
And when the final cycle comes, when Ragnarök rises and the Web frays, it is said that Liupan alone will know how to begin again.
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