When the Folk came through The Rift in 1487, their gods came with them. Not physically, not visibly, but as a presence carried inside every cleric, paladin, and devout soul who stepped through. The divine essence of the Lost Realm's pantheon survived the crossing the way a flame survives inside a lantern: fragile, dependent on its vessel, and unable to exist without one.
This is the central fact of Folk theology. The gods of the Lost Realm have no independent existence on Earth. They cannot manifest, cannot act, cannot speak except through the faithful who carry them. If the last follower of a god dies without passing on the faith, that god's presence on Earth is extinguished. Permanently.
In the early years (the Inquisition, the first diaspora, the desperate century of hiding), this happened. Several gods were lost. The surviving pantheon is smaller than what came through the Rift, and every Folk child learns the names of the silenced ones alongside the names of the living.
The Surviving Seven
By 1990, seven gods maintain a stable presence on Earth. With hundreds of thousands of Folk spread across every continent, most of these faiths are healthy: established congregations, hidden temples, generational continuity. Their domains have expanded over the centuries to absorb aspects of the gods who were lost, a theological stretching that most Folk accept as necessary, and some find uncomfortable.
Ela's is the largest congregation among the Folk. Her temples are typically large, prominent structures at the center of Folk urban areas, visible landmarks within the community. They are often the first place a displaced Folk family seeks out in a new city. After Amilara's silence, Ela's clerics took on the pastoral duties of comfort, celebration, and community care that had once belonged to the goddess of love. The fit is imperfect, and Ela's clergy know it.
Galorn's faith is strong among druids, rangers, and the Stewards of Nawadzi. His clerics tend to settle in rural areas and serve as the Folk's connection to the land they live on, land that is not theirs by origin but has become theirs by centuries of care. After Thaloren's silence, Galorn absorbed the weather and rain aspects of the sea-god's domain.
Aldor's clerics are builders, administrators, and urban planners for the hidden enclaves. The Concordat of Lyon was negotiated under Aldor's banner, and his faith is closely (some say too closely) aligned with Concordat governance. After Korvael's silence, Aldor absorbed the broad concept of making and craft, though the specific divine spark on forged objects is gone.
Domain: Death, transition, the boundary between worlds
Status: Active, stable
Morgol's domain carries particular weight for the Folk: the boundary between life and death echoes the boundary between Earth and the Lost Realm. His clerics tend the dead, maintain ossuaries, and are the only Folk who still practice certain rites that date back to the crossing itself. A small, serious, deeply respected faith.
Veridael is the patron of the Nawadzi School for Forgotten Folk and most other Folk academies. Her clerics are scholars, librarians, and the keepers of the Folk's written history. The largest section of Nawadzi's library is maintained by Veridael-sworn archivists. After the loss of older dream-traditions, Veridael absorbed the visionary and prophetic aspects that once belonged elsewhere.
Arachys-sworn clerics often serve the Concordat's intelligence operations, and her name is invoked by rogues, spies, and anyone whose work requires that other people not know about it. After Lyssivane's silence, she absorbed the trickery aspects of the fortune-god's domain, though the fit is imperfect: Arachys is cunning where Lyssivane was playful.
Zela's faith is the most openly martial, and his clerics and paladins form the backbone of the Concordat's enforcement arm. After Thaloren's silence, Zela absorbed the destructive fury of the sea-god's storms. Zela does not teach that war is good. He teaches that war is real, and that the unprepared die first.
Four gods are known to have been lost in the centuries since the Rift. Their names are taught, their absences mourned, and their domains imperfectly carried by the survivors.
Thaloren, God of the Sea and Storms (silenced c. 1550)
Domain: Sea, storms, the open water
Status: Silenced, c. 1550
The most predictable loss. The Rift opened in landlocked Castile, hundreds of miles from any coast. Almost no ocean-clerics came through. The handful who did found themselves stranded in a continental interior, then scattered across a diaspora with no shared shoreline. Thaloren's presence faded within two generations.
His domain was split: Galorn absorbed weather and rain, Zela took the storm-fury.
By 1990, Folk who settle near coastlines occasionally report hearing something in the waves, something with intent. There is nobody trained to answer.
Amilara, Goddess of Love and Joy (silenced c. 1580)
Domain: Love, joy, celebration, community
Status: Silenced, c. 1580
Amilara's was arguably one of the most painful losses. Her faith required gathering, celebration, music, and touch. The first century of hiding made all these things dangerous. Worship collapsed because the conditions her faith needed (openness, trust, community) were exactly what the Folk could not afford. She faded slowly, and by the time anyone noticed, there was no one left who could hear her.
Ela absorbed the pastoral duties of comfort and community care, but Folk theologians widely acknowledge the fit is imperfect. Folk weddings and festivals carry a formal beauty but a faint hollowness that the oldest elves still remark on.
Lyssivane, God of Fortune and Trickery (silenced c. 1620)
Domain: Fortune, luck, trickery, chance
Status: Silenced, c. 1620
The most ironic loss. Lyssivane's faith had no temples, no hierarchy, no scripture. It was practiced through gambles, pranks, and whispered thanks after a close call. When the diaspora scattered the Folk, the informal tradition simply dissolved. Nobody was responsible for maintaining it because nobody was ever officially responsible for anything Lyssivane touched. His last cleric (if there was a last one) probably did not even know they were the last.
Arachys absorbed the trickery aspects, but the transformation was telling: trickery became secrecy, a darker and more patient shade of the same impulse.
Korvael, God of the Forge and Making (silenced c. 1530)
Domain: Forge, craft, making, the work of hands
Status: Silenced, c. 1530
Korvael's last clerics were targeted early in the Inquisition specifically because their work (visibly magical tools, weapons, mechanisms) drew attention. Aldor absorbed the broad concept of craft and industry, but the specific divine blessing on a made object is gone.
The old dwarf masters say the work is still excellent, still precise, but it lacks a quality their grandparents described and they have never felt.
Goblin industry, notably, was never tied to Korvael (the goblin clans had their own arrangements, which they do not discuss), and this is one reason goblin craft has quietly surpassed dwarven in the modern era, a fact that produces loud arguments at every inter-lineage summit.
By 1990, the surviving seven are stable. The extinction crisis belongs to the 16th and 17th centuries, not the present. But the memory of it shapes Folk culture in ways both obvious and subtle.
Preservationists maintain that every faith must be actively tended. Recruitment is a duty, not just for the fragile traditions but for all of them. They run youth programs, sponsor seminary tracks at the universities, and lobby the Concordat for faith-protection policies.
Integrationists argue that Earth has its own divine landscape (Celtic, Greek, Norse, Egyptian traditions are all real and responsive to worship). Some Folk have adopted Earth faiths, especially in regions where Folk communities are small and isolated. This is controversial but increasingly common.
Secularists view divine dependency as a structural vulnerability. They point out that wizards, sorcerers, and druids all function without a god's patronage, and that the Folk's survival has been built on self-reliance, not prayer. The secularist position is strongest among the gnomish craft-clans and, perhaps unsurprisingly, among the goblin families.
The gods themselves, diminished as they are, have opinions about all of this. They express those opinions through dreams, omens, and the quiet pressure they exert on the clerics who carry them. Whether the gods are wise enough to navigate a world they never chose to inhabit is an open question that five centuries have not resolved.