The Triple Throne
The Ziggurat of T-- rises in high tiers from its triangular base. Upon its summit rests the Triple Throne of M--. Sitting here, the gods could see to the furthest edges of the Plains and beyond. Between the feet of the immense divine thrones were carved a set of similar mortal thrones for their priests. While upon one seat of the mortal Triple Throne, the sitter seemed replicated, an identical image appearing on each of the other two seats. As each seat faced out over a different face of the ziggurat, the effect was to let the viewer see in all directions simultaneously. While a mortal could not see so far as a god, yet it would enable him or her to see with eagle-clarity to the edges of the realm, later province, of S--. This power was used by the priests and priestesses in service to T- and His pantheon.
Yet there was another power in this throne. If more than one person sat upon it, their images, triplicating onto the other seats, would be laid one upon the other. They would seem blended into one. Indeed, more than the images blended; they could each see as the other and feel as the other, access the other's memories and think the other's thoughts. Sit in this state too long, and upon rising the mortals might fail to fully unblend; they would retain traces of each other, or even be fully merged permanently.
Several mortals have exploited this power. Whether they benefited from it or were undone by it depended on how they used it. Either they achieved glory and renown or were shattered. Some say this was due to whether they were of laudable character or dark, some say it is whether they retained the favor of T-, to whom, after all, the throne belongs. Others suggest that these two lines of reason are not contradictory but complimentary.
The three High Priests, Ping, Pong and Pang, used the throne to merge themselves into the perfect steward of the T's terrestrial realm. This worked for a while, but over time their different experiences led the three merged and initially identical selves to differentiate and each developed a separate ego. As each had so much in common with the other two, the rivalry was at first subtle, then savage. Apparently, they each received a full dose of competitiveness from Ping, Pong, and Pang.
Ting, Tang, and Tong tried this experiment again, with greater success. Their key was to spend each sunset on the throne, studying the realm and, at the same time, re-blending. Thus, they were never more than a day different. In time, the advantages of being triple tempted them; they could send one of themselves off on dangerous missions, such as personal embassies to rival cities, and, if the one returned, re-merge all the stronger and with greater glory. If the one sent off met an "accident" the remaining two would select a candidate to join them and be blended in. (Selected candidates tended to be rather young; this let the throne also function as a method of life-extension as well as keeping the character of the two veterans dominant.) In the end, their ego also succumbed to temptation and they too fell.
The lesson is that only a god may play with such toys with impunity; mere mortals had better use them most sparingly, with greatest humility, and expect to pay an unnamed price.
***
Obviously, our little band of adventurers will be tempted to use the throne. Those who do so brashly will be destroyed, those who do so cautiously will sustain but minor injuries; only those who avoid it all together and/or remain pure of heart and vision can pass (relatively) unscathed. Of course, ON ONE plays with divine toys without it leaving a permanent price and mark, even the gods' own most beloved servants. That's just part of the difference between divines and mortals.
Using the throne simply to see is a minor offence, but also a relatively frivolous use. One could simply go out in person or send others to see. So it's a temptation. To attempt something audacious, such as to blend with someone who has sustained a mortal would, that, by blending, will become two badly injured but survivable folk, is a serious, worthy, yet costly use of the throne.
Keep in mind that T-has been fading since the Flood and the Rewilding of the Plains. He and his family are hungry for worshipers. Very hungry. Their hunger may overcome their better qualities, and cause them to use what few marshwiggling followers they have to force worship from those audacious enough to wake them by using the throne.}
This may also be an opportunity to demonstrate that under the Bar-Sun the differences between mortal and divine are not untranslatable; mortals may become beings of power, beings of power demigods, these become godlings, and godlings eventually independent gods in their own right. Isn't that what some wizards strive for, immortality and power? Sufficient, isn't that worshipable? And worship makes a god. It's just a question of how minor or how great. Priests, on the other hand, instead of rising independently, rise in favor of their god and may eventually be rewarded with immortality and heavenly divine office in their god's floating celestial palace. Sort of celestial bureaucrats, eventually possibly becoming demigods in their own right, if their god doesn't transform them into angelic creatures first.