Istus – Weaver of Our Fate | A Hymn to the D&D Goddess of Destiny, Divination & Truth (Greyhawk)

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🧵 Who is Istus, Weaver of Our Fate in Dungeons & Dragons?

Istus is the goddess of fate, destiny, divination, and the future, often called Lady of Our Fate. Among the Baklunish gods she is considered most powerful—aloof, impartial, and concerned only with the grand tapestry of existence.

⏳ Aspects & Symbolism

She is depicted in three forms: an old crone weaving fate, a noble matron, and a cold young maiden—her visage shifting to reflect the span of time.

Her holy symbol is a golden spindle with three strands, representing the weaving of fate across past, present, and future.

🕯️ Clergy & Worship

Istus’s priests are often prophets, seers, and witnesses, serving those who ask her for clarity on destiny.

Their robes are typically gray or black, sometimes woven with web-patterns to evoke the cosmic loom.

Her cult is strongest in cities such as Ekbir, Dyvers, City of Greyhawk, Rauxes, Rel Mord, and Stoink—places where fate is often felt, prayed to, or bargained with.

🔮 Beliefs & Doctrine

Fate is sacred, inevitable, and universal—mortals and gods alike must accept their strands.

Her servants do not heal or fight; they interpret, observe, guide. They assist those seeking their path rather than pushing one for them.

The Hands of Destiny, her clerical order, offer prophecies, interpret omens, and help others understand their weave—but always in a measured, enigmatic fashion.

To serve Istus is to stand at the loom of time, to accept that every life is a thread, and to pray that one’s strand is woven true.

✨ If you enjoy exploring fate, prophecy, and the unseen threads of the cosmos, be sure to Like 👍, Subscribe 🔔, and wander further through our planetary hymns of the gods.

Lyrics:
In the still of the endless night,
She weaves the threads of fate,
With her golden spindle spun so tight,
She binds the future's weight.
An old crone with wisdom vast,
A noble dame, so proud,
Or a cold young maiden cast,
In silence, unbowed.

She knows no mercy, feels no fear,
Her hands are steady, crystal clear,
Spinning the future, weaving the strands,
One twist, one turn, across the lands.

Oh, Istus, goddess of the thread,
Where your fingers lead, we’re bound to tread,
Fate’s cold weave, fate’s cruel hand,
You shape the world, and understand:
You see no tears, you hear no plea,
Just the endless web, spun eternally.
Oh, Istus, mistress of the loom,
You weave our lives into the tomb.

The stars above don’t speak her name,
Yet her touch guides the skies,
From crone to maiden, none can claim,
To know where her power lies.
She sees beyond our mortal ways,
She knows our darkest fears,
A noble’s pride or a beggar’s praise,
She holds no love, no tears.

She knows no mercy, feels no fear,
Her hands are steady, crystal clear,
Spinning the future, weaving the strands,
One twist, one turn, across the lands.

Oh, Istus, goddess of the thread,
Where your fingers lead, we’re bound to tread,
Fate’s cold weave, fate’s cruel hand,
You shape the world, and understand:
You see no tears, you hear no plea,
Just the endless web, spun eternally.
Oh, Istus, mistress of the loom,
You weave our lives into the tomb.

No mortal heart could know your way,
You walk alone, so far away,
We toil and twist beneath your gaze,
While you remain untouched by praise.
The spindle turns, the web is drawn,
By Istus’ will, we’re born to dawn,
But once we’re gone, we’ll be erased,
The web of fate, no time to waste.

Oh, Istus, goddess of the thread,
Where your fingers lead, we’re bound to tread,
Fate’s cold weave, fate’s cruel hand,
You shape the world, and understand:
You see no tears, you hear no plea,
Just the endless web, spun eternally.
Oh, Istus, mistress of the loom,
You weave our lives into the tomb.

So we bow to your untouchable grace,
As you spin our fate in the endless space,
Your power reigns with cold intent,
In your web, our lives are spent.
Oh, Istus, we fall, we rise,
Under the watch of your uncaring eyes.


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