The Moon Court of Varien is not a court in any legal sense, though it has rendered plenty of judgments. Most of them were unasked for. It sits on a plateau of pale stone that glows faintly at night, which would be charming if it weren’t so obviously the result of geological stress rather than cosmic elegance.
The Court earned its name from a semicircle of tall, slender pillars arranged with the kind of symmetry that makes architects nervous. No one knows who placed them or why, but the prevailing theory is “someone with too much time and not enough supervision,” which also explains several eras.
Visitors often report a ringing in their ears, followed by the uncomfortable sensation that the Court is listening back. Objects recovered from the site tend to carry traces of quiet deliberation, as though they once played a role in decisions best left unremembered. Many possess a soft luminescence that refuses to be photographed correctly, possibly out of spite.
Despite appearances, the Court does not invite ceremony. It merely endures it. Standing in its centre produces the peculiar feeling of being evaluated by something old, patient, and unimpressed.
The Moon Court of Varien continues to yield fragments irregularly, as if distributing verdicts long after the litigants have left the world. We catalogue each one carefully, though we suspect the Court already knows our conclusions and disapproves of them.