Daghda, The Sky Father

The First Gaze to the Sky

Daghda, the Sky Father, has held an enduring and enigmatic place in the beliefs of humankind since their first steps upon the soil of this world. In the earliest days, when men were still nomads beneath the stars, they looked skyward and saw order in the heavens. The slow drift of constellations, the path of the sun, the sudden fury of storms — all were thought to be signs of a grand will. Daghda, they believed, was the architect of all things seen and unseen.   As humankind settled into villages and cities, their stories of Daghda deepened. The Sky Father was now not just a distant architect, but a symbol of wisdom, mercy, and celestial judgment. Towering temples were built to reach toward the firmament, and rituals marked the changing of seasons and the birth of children. His name was whispered in awe, invoked in prayer, and sung beneath the stars.   But Daghda remained remote. Unlike Belenus, The Sun God or Arianrhod, The Moon Goddess, his presence was felt in silence — the wind across the plains, the stillness before a storm. He was revered, yet distant. In time, people began to speak to the more responsive gods of day and night, who seemed to touch the world more directly.  

The Turn Toward the Earth

Then came the Black Decay.   The plague swept through the lands like fire through dry fields. Priests fell with the same fragility as the peasants they prayed for. The temples of Daghda, once full of hymns and incense, fell quiet. Many questioned whether the Sky Father still watched… or whether he had ever watched at all.   In the void left by failing faith, people turned not to sorcery, but to the natural world. Healers and wise folk began to rely more heavily on herbs, roots, and tinctures. Forests and meadows became their temples, and the old knowledge of the land—once dismissed as peasant lore—rose to quiet prominence. Those desperate to save their kin brewed elixirs, poultices, and teas said to draw strength from the earth itself.   Some took these practices further, experimenting with alchemical processes, seeking to refine nature’s gifts into something stronger, more consistent. This was not quite magic — Yet. And though the plants and herbs held real properties, the lack of divine approval made many uneasy.   In this turn toward nature and self-reliance, Arianrhod's quiet influence grew. Not through incantation or spellcraft, but through intuition, moonlit rituals, and forgotten songs whispered by firelight. The skies no longer held answers—only silence.  

The Return of the Sky Father

And yet, no god is so easily erased.   Centuries later, amidst the ruin of kingdoms and the rise of theocratic power, Daghda's name returned — not as a whisper, but a command. The Holy Dominion of Daghda emerged with the Codex Daghda, a tome of ancient scripture and new revelation. The Sky Father was no longer a distant force. He was law. He was order. He was wrath.   Under The Dominion, faith was not a gift of the soul, but a demand of the state. Temples were rebuilt with stone and fire. Rituals were rewritten. Worship became mandatory. The Codex cast magic as heresy, the elves as deceivers, and nature as a thing to be ruled, not revered.   This was no longer the worship of awe. It was obedience shaped by fear.   And so, Daghda became both the beginning and the end of belief: A symbol of human wonder, of divine distance, of forgotten faith… and of the dangerous power of rekindled religion.