Tweet
“I have plans.”
Estin patted his chest pocket, inside were four tightly rolled scrolls, the spell Rage copied out on each.
“There are many ways to connect people to the sea, to allow them to experience the moods of the tidal depths, the people of the valley passed the Great Queens test, they built their many shrines of shutters and barricades and they muttered devotions of fear and awe at her power. These many acts of supplication are what stayed her stormy anger.”
The figure beside him smiled and nodded, clearly happy to be hearing more about the great Deep Queen.
“You can’t believe these stories of avatars and deific manifestation, if you believed every story along those lines you’d believe that barely a week goes past in this land without some pair of avatars, demonic princes or gods themselves manifesting to fight it out. This is not the Time of Troubles, no matter what people say. Umberlee withdrew her hand out of admiration for our fervent prayers.”
He paused, one foot on the fallen tree bridge that led away from the Second Wind.
“In the coming days you can expect to see bigger and better things from the Temple of Umberlee. The old priests were as spineless as the jellyfish they became. Under me we’ll have true direction, a true connection to the depths. I’ve ordered seal skins for the high festivities, so the faithful can swim and dart in the depths and with these writings my flock will truly feel the power and fury of the deep water coursing through their veins. The people of Avanthyr will understand who is the true mistress of the waves, who it is that their prayers should be said to, who it is that, for the right tribute, lets them sail safely across her domain.”
A smile plays across his lips, the smile of the true believer doing what he knows is good work.
“Truly great things my friend.”
The knife was a surprise. A cold and terrible numbness that burst between his ribs robbing him of the strength to breathe or stand, a second blossom of numb agony, then a third as the knife slipped in and out of his flesh. He tried to form words, to cry out or even just ask why, but the sounds caught in his throat, becoming nothing more than a childish burbling.
A gentle push from his killer pitched him down into the ditch and the filthy reed filled water below.
Estin patted his chest pocket, inside were four tightly rolled scrolls, the spell Rage copied out on each.
“There are many ways to connect people to the sea, to allow them to experience the moods of the tidal depths, the people of the valley passed the Great Queens test, they built their many shrines of shutters and barricades and they muttered devotions of fear and awe at her power. These many acts of supplication are what stayed her stormy anger.”
The figure beside him smiled and nodded, clearly happy to be hearing more about the great Deep Queen.
“You can’t believe these stories of avatars and deific manifestation, if you believed every story along those lines you’d believe that barely a week goes past in this land without some pair of avatars, demonic princes or gods themselves manifesting to fight it out. This is not the Time of Troubles, no matter what people say. Umberlee withdrew her hand out of admiration for our fervent prayers.”
He paused, one foot on the fallen tree bridge that led away from the Second Wind.
“In the coming days you can expect to see bigger and better things from the Temple of Umberlee. The old priests were as spineless as the jellyfish they became. Under me we’ll have true direction, a true connection to the depths. I’ve ordered seal skins for the high festivities, so the faithful can swim and dart in the depths and with these writings my flock will truly feel the power and fury of the deep water coursing through their veins. The people of Avanthyr will understand who is the true mistress of the waves, who it is that their prayers should be said to, who it is that, for the right tribute, lets them sail safely across her domain.”
A smile plays across his lips, the smile of the true believer doing what he knows is good work.
“Truly great things my friend.”
The knife was a surprise. A cold and terrible numbness that burst between his ribs robbing him of the strength to breathe or stand, a second blossom of numb agony, then a third as the knife slipped in and out of his flesh. He tried to form words, to cry out or even just ask why, but the sounds caught in his throat, becoming nothing more than a childish burbling.
A gentle push from his killer pitched him down into the ditch and the filthy reed filled water below.
Comment