Chamastle

Failing to maintain the fire, care for shelter, or let the home decay is a direct insult to Chamastle’s gift.

Taking advantage of someone displaced, endangered, or vulnerable—especially within their own home—is sacrilege.

Fleeing without helping others in danger (unless ordered or unable) betrays Chamastle's doctrine of rooted strength.

Destroying a hearth—literally or symbolically—is among the greatest taboos, whether in one’s home or another’s.

Every follower maintains a hearth, be it fire, stove, or shrine. It must be clean, functional, and honored regularly.

Devotees must guard their block—report dangers, check on neighbors, and act when trouble looms.

When disaster strikes, homes with firm foundations must open their doors. The strongest shelter the weakest.

Service at the local temple—repairs, supply gathering, or fire tending—is a regular and expected part of faith.

A fire-resistant working robe in soot-brown or ash-gray, embroidered with simple glyphs of protection. While ceremonial, it's cut for movement and labor—meant to be worn while rebuilding a home, not just blessing one.

A wide leather belt reinforced with stone and metal studs, symbolizing the strength of a home’s foundation. Often holds tools: hammers, nails, or trowels, blessed for practical use.

Thick gloves, often passed down from mentor to apprentice, etched with the name of one’s neighborhood or town. Clerics wear them when hauling debris, quenching fire, or laying bricks.

A woolen cloak fastened with a brooch shaped like a hearth. Given to traveling clergy, it serves as literal warmth and symbolic promise that wherever they go, safety follows.

Each follower crafts their own from a stone pulled from the ground beneath their home. It is worn over the heart and etched with Chamastle’s symbol—most often a square hearth with flame and roofline.

Senior clergy carry lantern-staves lit by fire taken from their temple’s hearth. This sacred flame is used in blessings of new homes, funeral rites, and neighborhood ceremonies.

A round wooden shield slung on the back during processions and calamities alike. Some shields are practical; others ceremonial, carved with protective wards and local family emblems.

A cloth sash stitched with the names of families the bearer has helped or protected. Some sashes grow so long they must be wrapped multiple times, a visible testament to lifelong service.

These garments are not for show—they are worn while pulling survivors from rubble, fending off looters, or lighting candles in mourning. In Chamastle’s name, safety must always be tangible.

A baker by trade and neighbor by heart, Cam Astle lived a quiet life marked by generous hands and a fire that never went out. His home welcomed the weary, and he rebuilt more kitchens than he baked loaves.

One day, foraging for herbs, Cam uncovered a strange gem—a god stone, swirling with inner light. Seeking counsel, he brought it to a local lord, then a city cleric. When they tried to take it from him, Cam panicked—and swallowed it whole.

Most who do this become monsters. Cam begged the heavens—“Ix, help me! Let me guard, not destroy!”—as pain consumed him.

But the transformation ended not in ruin, but in divinity. His form reconstituted—stone for legs, fire in his gut, and a god’s presence behind mortal eyes.

He renamed himself Chamastle, protector of the hearth, and returned to his town. He built and defended. When the divine realms called, he ascended, leaving behind a legacy shaped by brick, bread, and unwavering shelter.

Cam’s wife, Shalle, was his first believer and first priestess. Her faith did not waver—not even when her husband burst into divine flame. She raised their children, some of whom bore traces of godhood, and built the first neighborhood temple in Chamastle’s name. Through her, his teachings spread across towns and trade routes alike.

Thalia, a baker from a later age, embodied Chamastle’s compassion. Her oven never cooled, feeding the poor, widows, and families struck by fire or flood. Her home became a shrine. Some claim her oven still exists, hidden in a temple kitchen, its coals blessed to never fail.

A farmer-priest with dirt under his nails, Eamon taught that Chamastle’s protection began before the storm, in good planning and full pantries. He founded the Harvest Festival, urging communities to share abundance and reinforce homes before disaster struck. He is often invoked in spring planting rites.

A solemn yet warm observance marking the day Cam Astle became Chamastle. Families light their hearths at sunrise and share a simple, hearty meal in silence—reflecting on the gift of safety. In the evening, neighbors gather to recount stories of survival, generosity, and rebuilding.

Coinciding with late planting or early harvest, this community event honors Eamon’s teachings. Each family donates part of their harvest to temple stores or neighborhood pantries. Tools are blessed, and homes inspected by clergy and skilled volunteers to ensure they’re storm-ready.

A floating observance held after a fire, storm, or collapse, this day is declared by local clergy. Survivors are honored; the dead are mourned. Clergy anoint new thresholds with soot and oil, consecrating rebuilt homes in Chamastle’s name. In towns with strong followings, it often marks the end of a rebuilding phase.

In memory of Thalia the Breadmaker, families bake and give away loaves marked with Chamastle’s symbol. No one goes hungry this day. Wealthier neighborhoods often organize mass bakes, ensuring bread reaches shelters, orphanages, and disaster zones.

When a follower moves into a new home, they bring coals (or a symbolic stone) from a community hearth or temple flame to light their first fire. This ritual binds the home to Chamastle’s protection, and serves as a symbolic link to the neighborhood.

Performed when a family takes in refugees or opens their home in times of danger. A priest recites a prayer over both parties at the threshold, marking the beginning of a bond that’s considered sacred and lifelong, even if temporary.

During nights of known threat (storm, raid, or political unrest), followers keep a candle or hearthfire burning all night, taking turns watching over their household or neighborhood. Often accompanied by quiet hymns or silent prayer.

Clergy lead this group ritual during home repairs or neighborhood rebuilding. Each participant lays a stone, drives a nail, or seals a join, whispering Chamastle’s name. When the final piece is placed, the priest declares the structure “held firm by faith, hands, and hearth.”

A stylized hearth with roots extending downward—symbolizing strength, permanence, and warmth. Commonly engraved above doors or hearths in homes. Used in warding rituals.

A vertical column of five stones in ascending size, representing Chamastle’s unshakable stance and mortal origins. Worn as a pendant by defenders and builders.

A crossed hammer and loaf of bread, symbolizing labor and sustenance. Used by bakers, builders, and traveling missionaries.

The oven said to never go cold, regardless of how much is taken from it. The fire within is used to light new temples and bake ritual bread during community feasts.

The cracked slab where Chamastle’s feet first touched ground after ascension. Kissing or touching the stone is said to bless the faithful with perseverance through hardship.

A divine shield adorned with the Rooted Hearth. When used in defense during a siege or storm, it cannot be moved by force until the bearer chooses to yield. It is rotated annually between major temples as a symbol of divine resistance.

This lantern holds an eternal ember from the temple where Chamastle first spoke as a god. Used in house blessings, homecoming ceremonies, and funeral processions to represent safe return.

These devotees believe the hearth itself is Chamastle’s eye and must be fed constantly. They keep their home fires burning 24/7, often to dangerous levels. Some refuse to leave their hearth’s side, leading to paranoia, heatstroke, or property damage. Despite their fervor, they’re welcomed cautiously in temples—usually by those who pity rather than honor them.

A militant offshoot, they argue that Chamastle’s protection must be preemptive. Shieldhand followers patrol neighborhoods in armor, often establishing checkpoints, setting curfews, or confronting outsiders. While they offer genuine protection, they are viewed as oppressive or overzealous by mainstream clergy.

This cult teaches that any relocation is heresy—that Chamastle anchors his followers to a single plot of land. They refuse to evacuate even in the face of active disaster (e.g., wildfires, lava flows), believing that abandoning a home is the only sin Chamastle cannot forgive. Entire towns have perished due to their stubborn influence.

This heresy claims that Chamastle only ascended by accident—that his power came not from virtue, but from a god stone. Its adherents dismiss hearthkeeping, claiming that inner strength alone is what saved Cam. They reject temples, homes, and rituals as distractions from true mortal potential. This belief is dangerously appealing to wandering mystics and disenfranchised youth.

A dark academic heresy that claims Cam Astle did transform—briefly—into a tarrasque before "wrestling control" and forcing the form into divine shape. This group reveres destruction as the crucible of protection, advocating for controlled razing of unworthy homes and settlements to make way for stronger ones. It is universally condemned.

This radical group teaches that all mortals are potential gods like Chamastle and that any who die defending a home are reborn as divine sparks. They encourage martyrdom in defense of hearths, leading to needless deaths in minor conflicts. Though poetic, the church rejects their "pantheon of smoke and ruin."

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