Godkin Ordryn and the Miner's Mirror

There's a flicker behind the greyness in his eyes that signals a memory. "Ordryn," says the farmer. "A godkin. Grew so fat he broke his own temple. Slid right down the mountainside and into the mines."
"The salt mines," states Brinus.
The farmer's brow furrows and he spits to the side. "You goin' down there?"
"We can't discuss details," says Yelrie. Everyone goes quiet and she can hear the sky grumble to itself in the distance.
The farmer leans back and teeters on his fence, mouth chewing on what Yelrie assumes to be words. "I wouldn't go down there. Bad place. Weird noises." His head cocks back, grey eyes ghosting upward toward Brinus. "He ain't dead, you know? He just sleepin' down there until he wakes up."

Summary

The myth of godkin Ordryn revolves around the collapsed salt mines along the Sea Belt. Rumor states that Ordryn, who was a starved and demanding creature, brought his temple down the Oslav mountainside with only his sheer weight before crashing into the mines. The hole that was left in his wake is described as having many magical properties, capable of showing glimpses of the future and answering questions echoed into it. This has led many to label it the Miner's Mirror, the water when filling the mines revered as a doorway to the future.

Historical Basis

Years ago, during the reign of the second Godking, it is rumored that Balbura allowed for the undocumented purge of high-ranking criminals to work in the Sea Belt as salt miners. The Sea Belt had been primarily excavated by neighboring settlers before being discovered by Balbura, who promptly established trade routes and injected themselves into the immediate area. After a few sullen months, the Sea Belt became known as Balburian territory, the tiny hamlets that had once survived off the mines forced into obscurity.
With Balbura having full control over the mines, the Sea Belt became congested with transported convicts from the capital. The Oslav mountains, settled above the Sea Belt, drew immediate interest from the curious public. Rumors spoke of murderers taking control over the mines and the mountains, of Hexers stealing the Sea Belt for themselves.
These stories became history when a black mass tumbled down the side of the mountain and plummetted into the recesses of the mine.

Letting her foot settle across the surface of a rock, Yelrie uses it to lift herself up and gaze down the sloping edge of the mountainside. She hasn’t been here before and the humidity is off-putting, an incoming storm cradling the treetops. Yelrie hears the heavy thud of Brinus’ paws on the earth as he clambers up behind her. From the rim of her vision, she sees long, pale fingers grip the edge of the rock she’s perching on.
“Thoughts?” Brinus’ low voice echoes in the foggy expanse and dips into places Yelrie can’t see.
They stand there for a moment in silence. Yelrie can hear the dragon’s eyes roll stickily as he presumably admires the wide gorge before them. The hole yawns wider than Brinus is tall and she sees standing water reflecting in its depths. The earth around the rim stoops inward as if a heavy weight still pulls on it.
“Nothing yet,” says Yelrie, stepping off the rock and approaching the edge of the gorge. The sky opens up and begins to rain.

The mines caving in sent a subtle shockwave across the farmlands, but Balbura refused to acknowledge the event and instead moved further along the Sea Belt to continue mining. The silence left room for stories to fester; the mine's integrity soon fell into superstition. Nearby settlements swear that the mine is haunted and that the gorge is used for black magic. Farmers claim that staring into the hole after a storm allows you glimpses into the future.
The identity of the creature that caused the mines the collapse, however, was apparently harder to agree upon. Soldiers that oversaw the Sea Belt blamed a spontaneous avalanche for the event, but the miners told a different story. They claimed that a godkin had fallen down the mountain and crushed the mines beneath his weight. They spoke of Ordryn and his temple at the top of the Oslav mountains, and how the godkin's girth sent it crashing down into the mines. Superstition states that entering the mines or staring into the gorge will bring bad luck, Ordryn being a creature of immense pride that hated being looked down at. Some will go further and claim that the fall did not kill Ordryn.

Show spoiler

Far below where the eyes can scavenge, followers of the godkin have carved out an extensive network of caves. The Chapel of Ordryn lies dormant deep beneath the earth for most of the year, the water that feeds down from the Oslav mountains flooding the mines throughout the wet season and submerging the chapel. When the wet season breaks, Ordryn sings and the mines alight themselves. Though most people don't believe in the godkin, his followers have made certain to feed Ordryn well while he recovers with the hope of him returning to the surface and reclaiming the Sea Belt from Balburian forces. Ordryn promises them future reimbursement, but it is unknown whether or not his word is to be trusted.

Most have come to the understanding that Ordryn was a fever dream born from the immense stress miners were under, a sort of emotional manifestation of their desperation to recover the territory and resources lost to Balbura.

Spread

Ordryn is a name better recognized from The Mausoleum of Millfurd, a collection of personal writings outlining an individual's descent into a dragon cult speculated to have been centered around the Oslav mountains. Though Ordryn is depicted more as interesting fairytale to those living further from the Sea Belt, mining families and those residing near the base of the Oslav mountains treat the story with sullen respect. While Ordryn's existence still lies in mythos, the deaths of numerous loved ones lost within the collapsed mines is a cruel reality for many.

Variations & Mutation

Don't b nosy im not done