The Willow House

The willow house is sprawling, not just hundreds but thousands of square miles, so big it covers all of known creation. inside is a warren of rooms too tight and thick to map in a hundred lifetimes. at the center, or what we think is the center, is a willow tree of impossible proportions carved of mahogany and teak and oak and pine, with leaves of flattened silver that turn gently in the breezes.

The house was made some time ago. most believe that it was a deal with a devil, or with our savior. The story goes that before the move we wandered across whatever was out there - the not-house. weary and bereft of food and shelter we came upon the home of a creature as old as anything. We asked it to care for us: shelter us, feed us, clothe us. In return it asked us to stay forever. we said yes, of course, and we have not left since. the house grows larger the more we need of it; the more of us there are, the more of it we need.

Some say that host was a demon. some say our savior. they argue. sometimes they fight. sometimes they war. either way it is known that small birds are sacred to it. the demonists believe the birds are examples: adaptable, free to fly out the windows but shelter here, clever, multiplying. the messiahists believe they are the symbol of the pact made with the host, and are the descendants of the first generation to live here, forever transformed to keep their children in line.

Some don't believe in the host, and say that the house was the work of ancient men. most think they're crazy. some say the house is its own host, that it is a manifestation of our spirits, or a greater one, or that we're all dreaming it together. some say the house is simply evidence that the gods want us to be happy, and it was provided to keep us safe and sound.

The house is full of fountains, and troughs of dirt and loam. narrow fields to till, and so many rooms for chickens it's hard to believe. the boars and underbeasts and little cattle roam the basements and the herders follow. the goats and sheep clamber on the rooves and the goatherds and shepherds watch them. nomads roam the halls in ancient paths sacred to them. Towns spring up around fertile fields and rich junkyards.

The Holy Beasts are animals sacred to the church, lumbering jaguar-spotted bovine sorts of things. Broad and heavy and surprisingly resilient. There is a church hunter, who wears formal dress and over it the pelt of a cleric beast. He seeks out enemies of the church and quietly stalks them - demons, heretics, opposing churches.