They only worshipped it because they'd forgotten how its bones came to be in the midst of the putrefying cathedral. Its skull and left arm jutted out of a mass of broken stone and collapsed wooden beams where it had seemingly burst from the earth to greet the sky and died on the spot.
They called it Báncoðan but didn't know that it came from the ancient tongue for "diseased bones". They showered it in chalk and rubbed a limestone paste across its surface, coating every part they could safely reach and not knowing why, only knowing their ancestors did it before them. They washed every inch of the cathedral once a week and made sure to burn the clothes they wore inside as their ancestors taught them to.
The texts describing the Báncoðan's arrival called it a catastrophe, a cataclysmic event that altered the very foundations of the island nation and killed more people than anyone dared to count. The author said how it didn't come from beneath the church, it had been lured there in the hopes that it would fall into the underground caverns and slowly starve.
They didn't anticipate it climbing back up just as they didn't anticipate its blood turning the rivers into undrinkable sludge that trapped everything it touched like semi-sentient amber. Still, it died within a year of being trapped, still clawing at the surrounding cathedral and showering itself in more and more debris until its strength left it entirely.
When the flesh had gone, when the flies came to feast and died and left, when all that was left was bones vaguely held together by sinew, the rot began to spread. It came from within the bones themselves and was held in check by preventing them from touching the air - limestone thick enough to build a wall and chalk to help it set.
That only delayed the spread which turned the formerly hallowed ground to the same ashen texture of the god-sized corpse. Washing the church and burning their clothes did little to stop the spread but it made them feel better and with time it became another nameless ritual for their offspring.
All the while the bones of the god killed and corrupted the land that was its grave.
They called it Báncoðan but didn't know that it came from the ancient tongue for "diseased bones". They showered it in chalk and rubbed a limestone paste across its surface, coating every part they could safely reach and not knowing why, only knowing their ancestors did it before them. They washed every inch of the cathedral once a week and made sure to burn the clothes they wore inside as their ancestors taught them to.
The texts describing the Báncoðan's arrival called it a catastrophe, a cataclysmic event that altered the very foundations of the island nation and killed more people than anyone dared to count. The author said how it didn't come from beneath the church, it had been lured there in the hopes that it would fall into the underground caverns and slowly starve.
They didn't anticipate it climbing back up just as they didn't anticipate its blood turning the rivers into undrinkable sludge that trapped everything it touched like semi-sentient amber. Still, it died within a year of being trapped, still clawing at the surrounding cathedral and showering itself in more and more debris until its strength left it entirely.
When the flesh had gone, when the flies came to feast and died and left, when all that was left was bones vaguely held together by sinew, the rot began to spread. It came from within the bones themselves and was held in check by preventing them from touching the air - limestone thick enough to build a wall and chalk to help it set.
That only delayed the spread which turned the formerly hallowed ground to the same ashen texture of the god-sized corpse. Washing the church and burning their clothes did little to stop the spread but it made them feel better and with time it became another nameless ritual for their offspring.
All the while the bones of the god killed and corrupted the land that was its grave.
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