3. The Cactus Bar (Patreon)

Ignoring the creeping death of the solar deity, the salty orangelanders point out the local cactus bar, hollowed out from the plinth of some mockworthy false king from one of the forbidden eras.

One orangelander pulls out an electric lute, the other drags a folding table from the storage steps on it and begins a iambic poetry duel with a lanky electric dwarf. Some folks jeer, some folks cheer, the cactus wine flows and tongues grow loose.

Tales are told of the strange customs of the nomads, of the odd ways of the yellowlanders, of moon-bathed nymph-guarded passages in the pine mountains beyond the steppe, of snake spirits in the endless deserts. Silences punctuate the tall tales whenever word drifts towards the cogflower and the inquisition.

The green god's straight backed priests and temple bankers are not mentioned, save for the mumbled affirmation, "but there is no alternative, of course."