[they start to say something, but then the memory takes on that marine tone. it's always a little odd to be inside someone else's memories, to experience through them something that isn't familiar to you, but is familiar, at the same time. the pain of drowning, going so far into that place without oxygen but coming out on the other side, comfortable and safe.
at least, that's what shale gets out of this memory. when it ends, they're still. not just thinking but completely still, eyes closed, like a statue carved into rock where it stands, lifeless, eyes closed. the deep crack in their chest looks even deeper, the carved face tired and drawn.
and then, after just enough time that vax might start to worry that something's wrong, the head tilts a little and it looks awake again.]
...Is that her, the Raven Queen? [a pause.] Huh. She seems neat.
vax is quiet as the memory ends, holding still, too. without moving, he can almost feel the blood in his boots, on his clothes - can almost see the web of strings that seem to stretch to infinity, that will be his home when he returns from this place.
he's lost in thought, too, hand coming up, up, his hand curling near his chest - and, actually, when shale speaks it startles him. ]
What? [ oh. right. ] I... yeah. Yeah, that's her.
[ both images - the mask, the giant hands, and the beautiful woman with the red, red eyes. nowadays, he thinks of her fondly, like... like a guide, like something close to his heart, and this conversation, this communion, did a lot for that. ]
... Hah. [ this is not the response he's expecting, either! he laughs, a little, ducking his head. ] You think? 's.. the mantle I took up, I guess. Hers'd been dead for a century or something.
[ he reaches down, absently, plucking at a feather on his armor. ] This used to be his. Let me tell you, it smelled dire once we got it.
I only just started, officially. Just... [ just died, though, he doesn't need to finish that sentence, trailing off there.]
[they tilt their head a little. they seem to be quiet for long portions of the conversation, perhaps remembering.]
I do think. I have a good sense for people who are called to something. I feel that about you.
I guess it's not easy for her to find champions. And a lot of the type of people who want to dedicate themselves to death aren't the sort she'd want as a champion. Plus, she keeps giving them away. [...] Growing up, we always heard stories about him. Not...a different one. Different armor.
[ oh, there's - a lot, in that little sentence. vax is agreeing, at first - because yeah, he was awfully wary of the goddess of death too, right up until that moment (and even then), so of course she might attract some strange people.
but it's the second part that's especially interesting. he looks a little surprised, tilting his head, genuinely interested. there's the "we", the armor... ]
Yeah. It's a story you tell children, right? The one about the... the three champions. [hmm. they seem troubled somehow. also it should have been stories about her, not him. my b.]
You don't know that one? It's the one where... the day after the Raven Queen ascended, her three champions were given a task to deal with the body of a hero who had fallen in the war. His body couldn't...stay where it was. I don't remember why, I don't think the story tells you. [they explain this, in a thoughtful tone as though trying to piece together memories, but also in a tone that suggests they're waiting for vax to agree that he's heard this story before.] They had names, but I'm not - I'm not remembering what those were.
Uh. Anyway. They argued about what to do with the hero's body to show him honor and put him to rest. One of them wanted to cremate him so his ashes would remain, one wanted to give him to the air and the beasts of the land so they would always carry his memory, and one wanted to bury him in the ground so what grew from the land would be a monument to his glory. So they argued about this for many days and they prayed and asked the Raven Queen for guidance, but when they finally heard from her, she couldn't help them. She'd already taken the part of the hero that was hers. So she freed them of their vow to her and told them to find... [they trail off again.] Someone else. They journeyed deep into the woods and waited for their visions and eventually she came to them and spoke to them. And there they were set on three different paths, each carrying a part of the body.
The first one, the hero named Dust, was told to take the hero's body and walk the planes until he found a black onyx pool of fire and magma. There, he would give the body to the magma and the ashes would be mixed into brick and ink and steel and anything made there, because on that site a kiln would be forged. A gift from her to the Allhammer, to remind him that nature is the origin of material. The second one, the hero named Stone, was told to find an oasis and a red and gold veined cave where beasts would gather, and they would feed the limbs of the hero to these beasts. In that oasis a Menagerie would grow, populated by all of the creatures of the land as a gift from her to the Changebringer, to remind her that nature is infinite. And the third took the head of the hero, and she journeyed until she found a... [they trail off for a moment.] a spring, surrounded by...there was crystal...
Sorry. I'm forgetting the rest of it. You haven't heard this one before?
[but oopsie, a returning memshare bubble. this one gets a touch of pale green.
You step not so much into a memory but into a place, but a place so deeply filled with love and memory that every stone and leaf of it bubbles with familiarity. A feeling of peace, of home, of nature. You are outside to it, and you tend to it. You walk through what is both a verdant garden and an ancient graveyard, caring for the plants that grow here, checking the growth of plants on the plots surrounding you. Harvesting, gardening, thinking.
Here is what you see:
Behind you is what may at first look to be a stone cottage, but it is something older, something that comes to a steeple at the top. It’s a temple, made of stone, old and ancient. Vines crawl across its exterior, grow out of the cracks, and a layer of moss and lichen colors the stone a deep green. The open windows of the temple are overgrown with vines as well, and the wide wooden door at the front looks cracked and warped with its own layer of green and pink moss. Surrounding the temple are rows and rows of gravestones. Most are so old that no names can be read on the stone, though others are newer, fresher. The graveyard looks well tended, but not manicured. There are plants growing everywhere, wild, from the earth of the graves. Vegetables, fruits, lush vegetation and flowers, mushrooms and fungi. All well cared for, springing from the gravesoil.
Aside from the ring of gravestones, this “garden” is more swamp like. It’s temperate and bordering on humid, lush with vegetation. Flowers of many different varieties and meant for many different climates grow freely here, almost as though protected by some magic. It is dark here, due to the many, many overgrown trees that surround this place, the canopy overhead projecting shadows interspersed with sunlight. There are a few crystal clear pools of water, one steaming with heat and another welling up from a spring, deep blue and cold looking. There are smaller pools, as well, and bits of bog where the soft greens and browns of compost fall into green, thick, algae covered water.
But outside this immediate area of lush, beautiful vegetation, about a dozen yards away, rings of iron fencing surround the grove. There are about three concentric rings of fencing, the furthest one about fifty yards from the stone temple. It is immediately clear why these rings exist, because past the fencing, dark and twisted bramble and razor like gray-purple thorn vines are encroaching, overtaking the grove. The outermost fence has been entirely covered in these vines, overtaken, now part of a twisted forest that exudes the energy of death and decay. The middle fence has been partially overtaken as well, purple vines wrapped around it in places, bringing down parts of the fence, gnarled branches reaching over from dying trees. The innermost fence is still largely pristine, but the sprawl of the dark, dark forest is clearly creeping closer and closer towards it. The innermost fence especially looks hastily constructed, piecemeal.
When you look upon this forest, you feel a deep sense of despair, fear, and revulsion at the dead forest. You love nature, you even love the decay that rots and dissolves what is old and dead and from that rot grows something new. But what’s happening to the forest beyond the fence is not that type of decay. It is a death that exists outside the natural order of death, death from which nothing will recover or grow, the feeling of curse and blight, magic that warps. It feels wrong, and it is growing closer and closer each season, overtaking this grove that you love.
You put up the fence twenty seasons ago now, give or take. You started that one with your sister, working hand in hand, arguing when the work got hard and you had to wind it across stone, but laughing, too. The time you forgot about the family of rabbits in their burrough and they emerged spitting mad at you for nearly taking it out with an errant post, the time you crept up behind her and blared the sound of frog croaks so loud that she tripped and fell straight through the bogsoil, the time you both got caught in a storm and had to hide out in one of the old trees. You finished the fence on your own. It was hard, it tore the skin of your hands and wore you down. All the time thinking, how long had it been now? How long since you'd built the second ring, and four other pairs of hands joined along with you? The grief you feel towards the parts of the grove you lost to the forest mingle with the grief at the thought of her laughter. Or of your older sister's stubbornness, how mad your brother always made you. Your aunt's wise advice, dad's cooking, the sound of mom's voice...
Twenty seasons and enough time that you might need to start a new fence soon. But there's so little room. Some of the older graves might have to be left out of that protective ring. That, too, is heartbreaking.
"Come on," you say, staring down into the depths of the crystal spring, because these days, sometimes you talk to yourself. It's weird, you're fine with it, it's just something that you do now. "I need to know what to do. I know I should but patient, but I..."
It's no use. She doesn't speak to you anymore. You grew up in a world of visions and dreams. If not yours, someone else's. Always a maternal sense of guidance, a suggestion of what to do, of your proper place.
"It's been so long since I've heard from you, and I really need...I want to know what you need from me."
You know your place. It's here. You're the one who is supposed to stay and tend to all of this, because someone has to. Even if it means staying behind when everyone leaves to find the answers, one by one or two by two. Even if it means lonely season after lonely season, interrupted only by the occasional passing mourning party here for a burial, every few seasons or so. Even if the forest keeps getting worse and you're afraid it will get worse until everything is dead and there aren't any solutions or answers, not here.
"I'm just not so sure anymore," you admit, "whether I'm meant to stay or if you need me to go." This silence, it's disconcerting. And the forest around the grove, it grows worse and worse. And nothing changes and gets better and you wait, and you wait, but no one comes back, either. No one comes back for long enough that you start to think that they must all be...
Your thoughts sort of trail off, meeting something they don't want to think on. But you're lonely and you want someone to talk to, some advice, something, even if it's not...how these things are supposed to go.
Your eyes fall on one of the clusters of graves near the temple, the really old ones, the ones that belong to members of your family from generations and generations back, back into the old days, the days you know only from stories. The really old graves are so worn even their gravestones are just stone now, eroded and misshapen and become part of the garden. And on some of those graves, lilies grow. That's how your aunt would tell it, that these were some of the first flowers to grow here. On bad days, when you're feeling really desperate, sometimes you eat their petals, and you dream strange dreams, though you're never sure if those dreams really mean anything or whether you just want them to.
Today is a bad day, so you pick them and you eat their petals. Your mouth grows numb and tingles unpleasantly and your stomach turns and your vision blurs, but nothing else happens. Except that night, when you enter the portion of the stone temple where your family has built a comfortable little cottage and you find your bed that's alone at the top of the stairs and you fall asleep, dizzy and uncomfortable, you dream.
In your dream, you see a river of dark water, the bottom of which could not be seen. The water moved through the valleys and emptied into the ocean. You see the forest, a mighty forest all around you, and the trees of the forest all have eyes. You look into the sky, and the sky has eyes. And you see the spring has eyes in the depths of it, peering back at you. When you see these eyes you feel a sense of dread and revulsion the way you feel when you look at the encroaching blighted forest. And then you turn to your family grave again, terrified of what you'll see, but you only see the gravestones and the flowers that bloom there, and on those flowers you see nine butterflies, drinking their nectar, and you feel relief.
You wake up in your bed that morning. On the one hand, you feel like that one was...it was clearer. It felt like she was speaking to you, that time. You're nearly certain there was meaning there meant for you to find. Nine butterflies, what are you supposed to do with nine butterflies? "I'm not sure I understand," you say, helplessly, apologetic. "I don't get it. I don't know what you want me to do. I'll leave if you want me to, or I'll stay, but I need to know if..."
You stop yourself That outburst was a little embarrassing, kind of dramatic, and isn't helping anything. And you have gardening, and work to do, cooking and tidying and tending.
That afternoon, as you're tidying inside the temple, you spot five strangers climbing the inner fence. You open the door to the temple. In this memory, they're muted somehow, still. You see a woman, a little more distinct, tall with a soft animal-like nose, fur, and long droopy ears. She seems delighted that you're like her, you look like her. And another woman, small and angry, a dwarf. The other three are harder to make out. You just get an impression - green streaked with amber gone dark, a rusty color streaked with deep marine, a blue color streaked through with stubborn scarlet.
You look back and forth at the four of them. "Huh," you say. "I think I've only got three more cups."
You make tea. The conversation that follows is indistinct, goes in and out (though if you wish to watch it, it's here from 55:21 to 1:10:03 but you don't need to this is long already). The strangers aren't exactly sure why they've come to you, they've been sent here but aren't quite clear what they're looking for. But it's evident to you the strangers are here for the same reason every stranger you meet makes their way to the grove. They've lost someone. They've lost a few someones, but only one is gone for good. They ask you for a miracle, wonder if you can bring back the one who died, but that isn't something you can or will do. Instead, they wonder if you can help recover the others who are lost, but lost somewhere on this side of the veil between life and death, separated only by the existence of a few cruel people who, it seems, may soon be in need of burial services.
That's the type of miracle you're a little more comfortable with. Besides, something they say stands out to you. Nine butterflies, and they introduce themselves as the Mighty Nein. There's only four of them, but...something feels right about it anyway.
"Okay," you agree. "I'm already packed. I'll go get my things."
[ the worst thing is when you get a pretty memory and then you're so fucking wiped from work you dont have the braincells to reply to it
... this feels familiar.
it's not really the location, though there's some hints of that too that can't just be from standing in shale's cottage. (maybe that comes with the knowledge that shale knows of his home, of exandria, maybe even of tal'dorei? maybe they could have crossed paths, maybe he wouldn't even know. shale wouldn't even, either, would they?)
it's not that. it's the feeling of - loss, of purposelessness that wraps around vax and clings when the memory finishes, and how finding that purpose can sometime come in the shape of people. it's the grief, something vax'ildan has dealt with every day of his life, something he still deals with in this place, as he considers his place in the prism and his place in the world. it's the closeness of death, the way it always feels just a hair's breadth away, comforting like a friend instead of terrifying. vax'ildan knows what it's like, to speak out to a god and find nothing, in the way he knows what it's like to reach out and hear a voice.
i need to know what you need from me.
he takes a deep breath, blinking, surprised, as the bubble fades, and reaches up to put a hand on his heart, over the raven wings still present on his chest, exhaling noisily.
... and then turns to look at shale, to see what they'll say. ]
[ he... nods, a little, thinking about shale's house. the little knicknacks, the growth, the garden.
... shale's home is exandria. that's something he'll have to figure out, too. that looked like a firbolg? and a dwarf. it's home, and he's not as homesick as shale for the obvious reasons, but it just -
shale's presence has always been pretty comforting. this feels like another little piece of it, slotting into place, mostly because: ]
...Reminds me of Zephrah. [ a place that vax has spoken of before, the home of the air ashari, the place where he spent the last year of his life. ] Feels like it could be home.
When you talked about it before, it sounded like something that could be home.
[not exactly. but it sounded familiar. a way of living in respect of nature that they understand very well.]
...Think so. More than one sister. People kept asking me about my sister, and I'd get confused because I'd think one thing about her, and then I'd think something else that didn't fit. Only the one brother. I think brother, and I get a pretty good sense of who I'm talking about. [a jerk, that's who!] But yeah, a big family, I think.
he nods along to this, reaching out to put a hand on their shoulder - even if they're a statue, everyone deserves a little human comfort. :c ]
...Have you talked to Steel about it? Family. You should. It's... [ steel gets it, in so many ways - and in this situation, probably even more than vax can. ] ... Been talking to them about their sister. Feel like the more you talk about it, the realer that those memories get, you know? Eve if missing them's like missing you.
[yes, they will allow the hand. patting it gently with a large stone hand, until vax continues speaking.]
You've been talking to Steel about that?
[a surprised, incredulous laugh.]
...Well, I'll be. Good for you. [they seem pleased to hear this, it shakes them out of their sad reverie just a bit.]
I don't think you're wrong, but I'm not so sure how that'd go over. [...] I love Steel, and Steel loves me. When you've known people a very long time, you learn all their tricks. Most of you are pretty respectful, don't get mad when I push you, don't take offence when I give you advice and tell you what I think. But if you'd known me for a very long time, it might have started getting old.
Sometimes a new friend's perspective is better than an old one's.
[ im crying. he - seems surprised when shale does, and then can't help but smile, too?? he ducks his head, after, a little embarrassed. ]
They're - we've got something in common. [ twins... it feels like vax probably shouldn't divulge that, so he'll respect steel's privacy, even if it is blatantly obvious. it's fine.
...he listens to shale's answer, and then there's a beat. ] ...So do we, though.
[ have something in common. maybe even more? he wants to know - wants to dive into that story, into shale's life just a little, the curiosity tugging at the edges of his consciousness. still, what they don't remember means those questions have to remain unsolved, but it is...
...it's just really comforting, to hear someone talk about the raven queen like that, to know that shale really did understand in ways that no one else could have. so, they're right. ]
Glad to offer it, when I can, then. If you - whenever you remember things, Shale. If you want to talk about it, I'd really like that. Yeah? Maybe I can help.
[they nod at the having something in common. it maybe wasn't evident exactly what that was, but they've felt drawn to it this whole time. the notion of trying to serve a god well even when that god can be somewhat inscrutable and is the type of god that doesn't necessarily play favorites with their followers or intervene in their fates, either.
(that's such a lie wildmom cuts the crusts off shale's sandwiches every single day)]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
[they start to say something, but then the memory takes on that marine tone. it's always a little odd to be inside someone else's memories, to experience through them something that isn't familiar to you, but is familiar, at the same time. the pain of drowning, going so far into that place without oxygen but coming out on the other side, comfortable and safe.
at least, that's what shale gets out of this memory. when it ends, they're still. not just thinking but completely still, eyes closed, like a statue carved into rock where it stands, lifeless, eyes closed. the deep crack in their chest looks even deeper, the carved face tired and drawn.
and then, after just enough time that vax might start to worry that something's wrong, the head tilts a little and it looks awake again.]
...Is that her, the Raven Queen? [a pause.] Huh. She seems neat.
no subject
vax is quiet as the memory ends, holding still, too. without moving, he can almost feel the blood in his boots, on his clothes - can almost see the web of strings that seem to stretch to infinity, that will be his home when he returns from this place.
he's lost in thought, too, hand coming up, up, his hand curling near his chest - and, actually, when shale speaks it startles him. ]
What? [ oh. right. ] I... yeah. Yeah, that's her.
[ both images - the mask, the giant hands, and the beautiful woman with the red, red eyes. nowadays, he thinks of her fondly, like... like a guide, like something close to his heart, and this conversation, this communion, did a lot for that. ]
no subject
So, you're a champion, huh? I can see that about you, I think.
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... Hah. [ this is not the response he's expecting, either! he laughs, a little, ducking his head. ] You think? 's.. the mantle I took up, I guess. Hers'd been dead for a century or something.
[ he reaches down, absently, plucking at a feather on his armor. ] This used to be his. Let me tell you, it smelled dire once we got it.
I only just started, officially. Just... [ just died, though, he doesn't need to finish that sentence, trailing off there.]
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I do think. I have a good sense for people who are called to something. I feel that about you.
I guess it's not easy for her to find champions. And a lot of the type of people who want to dedicate themselves to death aren't the sort she'd want as a champion. Plus, she keeps giving them away. [...] Growing up, we always heard stories about him. Not...a different one. Different armor.
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but it's the second part that's especially interesting. he looks a little surprised, tilting his head, genuinely interested. there's the "we", the armor... ]
...About a champion?
no subject
You don't know that one? It's the one where... the day after the Raven Queen ascended, her three champions were given a task to deal with the body of a hero who had fallen in the war. His body couldn't...stay where it was. I don't remember why, I don't think the story tells you. [they explain this, in a thoughtful tone as though trying to piece together memories, but also in a tone that suggests they're waiting for vax to agree that he's heard this story before.] They had names, but I'm not - I'm not remembering what those were.
Uh. Anyway. They argued about what to do with the hero's body to show him honor and put him to rest. One of them wanted to cremate him so his ashes would remain, one wanted to give him to the air and the beasts of the land so they would always carry his memory, and one wanted to bury him in the ground so what grew from the land would be a monument to his glory. So they argued about this for many days and they prayed and asked the Raven Queen for guidance, but when they finally heard from her, she couldn't help them. She'd already taken the part of the hero that was hers. So she freed them of their vow to her and told them to find... [they trail off again.] Someone else. They journeyed deep into the woods and waited for their visions and eventually she came to them and spoke to them. And there they were set on three different paths, each carrying a part of the body.
The first one, the hero named Dust, was told to take the hero's body and walk the planes until he found a black onyx pool of fire and magma. There, he would give the body to the magma and the ashes would be mixed into brick and ink and steel and anything made there, because on that site a kiln would be forged. A gift from her to the Allhammer, to remind him that nature is the origin of material. The second one, the hero named Stone, was told to find an oasis and a red and gold veined cave where beasts would gather, and they would feed the limbs of the hero to these beasts. In that oasis a Menagerie would grow, populated by all of the creatures of the land as a gift from her to the Changebringer, to remind her that nature is infinite. And the third took the head of the hero, and she journeyed until she found a... [they trail off for a moment.] a spring, surrounded by...there was crystal...
Sorry. I'm forgetting the rest of it. You haven't heard this one before?
no subject
however
h
hello. wait. ]
-- Shale, you're from Exandria?
[ WHAT? ]
no subject
Exandria? I don't know what that is -
[but oopsie, a returning memshare bubble. this one gets a touch of pale green.
the end of the memory it's over now.]
no subject
... this feels familiar.
it's not really the location, though there's some hints of that too that can't just be from standing in shale's cottage. (maybe that comes with the knowledge that shale knows of his home, of exandria, maybe even of tal'dorei? maybe they could have crossed paths, maybe he wouldn't even know. shale wouldn't even, either, would they?)
it's not that. it's the feeling of - loss, of purposelessness that wraps around vax and clings when the memory finishes, and how finding that purpose can sometime come in the shape of people. it's the grief, something vax'ildan has dealt with every day of his life, something he still deals with in this place, as he considers his place in the prism and his place in the world. it's the closeness of death, the way it always feels just a hair's breadth away, comforting like a friend instead of terrifying. vax'ildan knows what it's like, to speak out to a god and find nothing, in the way he knows what it's like to reach out and hear a voice.
i need to know what you need from me.
he takes a deep breath, blinking, surprised, as the bubble fades, and reaches up to put a hand on his heart, over the raven wings still present on his chest, exhaling noisily.
... and then turns to look at shale, to see what they'll say. ]
no subject
shale seems sort of dazed by this, actually. they don't react strongly, just contemplative. a little bit lost, homesick.]
...Oh. That's my home.
no subject
... shale's home is exandria. that's something he'll have to figure out, too. that looked like a firbolg? and a dwarf. it's home, and he's not as homesick as shale for the obvious reasons, but it just -
shale's presence has always been pretty comforting. this feels like another little piece of it, slotting into place, mostly because: ]
...Reminds me of Zephrah. [ a place that vax has spoken of before, the home of the air ashari, the place where he spent the last year of his life. ] Feels like it could be home.
You had a big family, huh?
no subject
[not exactly. but it sounded familiar. a way of living in respect of nature that they understand very well.]
...Think so. More than one sister. People kept asking me about my sister, and I'd get confused because I'd think one thing about her, and then I'd think something else that didn't fit. Only the one brother. I think brother, and I get a pretty good sense of who I'm talking about. [a jerk, that's who!] But yeah, a big family, I think.
[this all just makes them sound very sad.]
no subject
he nods along to this, reaching out to put a hand on their shoulder - even if they're a statue, everyone deserves a little human comfort. :c ]
...Have you talked to Steel about it? Family. You should. It's... [ steel gets it, in so many ways - and in this situation, probably even more than vax can. ] ... Been talking to them about their sister. Feel like the more you talk about it, the realer that those memories get, you know? Eve if missing them's like missing you.
no subject
You've been talking to Steel about that?
[a surprised, incredulous laugh.]
...Well, I'll be. Good for you. [they seem pleased to hear this, it shakes them out of their sad reverie just a bit.]
I don't think you're wrong, but I'm not so sure how that'd go over. [...] I love Steel, and Steel loves me. When you've known people a very long time, you learn all their tricks. Most of you are pretty respectful, don't get mad when I push you, don't take offence when I give you advice and tell you what I think. But if you'd known me for a very long time, it might have started getting old.
Sometimes a new friend's perspective is better than an old one's.
no subject
They're - we've got something in common. [ twins... it feels like vax probably shouldn't divulge that, so he'll respect steel's privacy, even if it is blatantly obvious. it's fine.
...he listens to shale's answer, and then there's a beat. ] ...So do we, though.
[ have something in common. maybe even more? he wants to know - wants to dive into that story, into shale's life just a little, the curiosity tugging at the edges of his consciousness. still, what they don't remember means those questions have to remain unsolved, but it is...
...it's just really comforting, to hear someone talk about the raven queen like that, to know that shale really did understand in ways that no one else could have. so, they're right. ]
Glad to offer it, when I can, then. If you - whenever you remember things, Shale. If you want to talk about it, I'd really like that. Yeah? Maybe I can help.
no subject
[they nod at the having something in common. it maybe wasn't evident exactly what that was, but they've felt drawn to it this whole time. the notion of trying to serve a god well even when that god can be somewhat inscrutable and is the type of god that doesn't necessarily play favorites with their followers or intervene in their fates, either.
(that's such a lie wildmom cuts the crusts off shale's sandwiches every single day)]