fromthefog | Prayer Box

This is a place to send your prayers to the Fog god. She may not always respond, or she may respond in ways you don’t expect, but she is always listening.

Speak, she hears you.

OOC note: As of April 2020, threads with the gods will be capped at three NPC replies! Please keep this in mind when writing god prayers to make sure you get everything you need out of the thread. It’s also possible to handwave prayers by titling your comment HANDWAVED PRAYER. Handwaved prayers lack our usual flourish, but you can expect a faster response!

As of February 2024, god prayers will be handwaved only. Please only submit a prayer if you have a question for either god which needs answering in order to progress your character's arc within Ryslig. If this is something you need to tier up within the god boon system, or just to set up a player plot in general, please don't hesitate to submit a prayer about it! You may shorten it down to an OOC summary of what your character is asking. This will allow any of our helper mods to reply much faster, without having to dig into the specifics of either god's personality/writing quirks. Should this limitation be lifted again in the future, this note will be removed.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ He sheds his gloves, tacky with blood, before he calls her. His white suit is ruined, like the corpse in his arms— something elegant once now left ripped and red-dyed. Her mask is missing a lens over her gouged-out eye, her hand missing nails, her musculature bare beneath missing flesh. Eventually, she had bled out. Eventually. Eventually had been a long time and her body bares the marks of passage, each minute carved in some new torment.

She hadn't given a fuck about most of it, is the worst part. His fangs had chewed frustration into his bottom lip, and a trickle of his own stale blood had left a trail down from the corner of his mouth to his chin. It's not visible now, the rest of the mess obscuring what's his with what's hers, but the trail that frustration left through his mind is visible in the furrow of his brow, the tightness of his mouth. She had taken his worst, and given him fucking nothing until the end.

Then: a congratulations. Then: a brief lament. Not sad, but a realization: ah, she wasn't strong enough to beat him, was she? That's how it goes. Survival of the fittest.

Then: he'd stopped, screamed into the music hall and stomped her ribs until they shattered. The broken hole in her chest above her heart is all postmortem damage. What the fuck was that? Acknowledgement, from the person who fucking murdered his brother, who wouldn't give him an ounce of joy in the suffering he granted her? What the fuck was he supposed to do with that?!

But it's been a half-hour. His gloves off, he arranges her on the stage— the Fog God had asked for a temple in Bavan for all to see. On a fallen support beam, crashed upright into the wood of the stage, he's stacked bricks and sandbags to make sure it stays upright then tied Elizabeth's corpse to it with ropes meant to hold back the curtains. A stake of wood debris has been jabbed through the cavity he left in her chest, and through that he's stabbed one of her posters— Evelina. On the top of the support beam, he caps it with her mask that marks her as one of the Bloody Bones— it's clear what was the crime that motivated this punishment.

Done, he pulls his key from his pocket, opens the door at the back of the music hall, and asks the empty doorway: ]

Have an opinion to share? Tell me, does this deed rank a "meets expectations" from you?

[ He is as bitter as he is eager in asking, as he presents his work with a flourish. His head stays bowed as he waits for judgement. ]

[The wind stirs, a lone giggle carried alongside it - can you see? Another voice picks up, then another, and soon hundreds of voices are shrieking in laughter. Amidst them, a single voice grows - cackling, loud and triumphant.]

Can you see? Look upon her mangled body, and rejoice! My warrior returns, victorious!

[The wind curls around IV, cold and sharp, and soon the weight of a woman's embrace falls upon him. Her hands thread through his hair, grasping tight and trembling.]

Not a single wail in death. But know this: she died alone. She died awaiting my approval, and in her last breath she finally understood how worthless she was.

[The shaking hands loosen, almost as if she's remembered to breathe. A ghostly hand strokes his hair, and slowly the weight of her embrace is lifted.]

Did you feel the thrill of the fight? When you tore the life from her veins, did it bring you even a fraction of the joy I feel now?

[ He stands at the eye of a gale of laughter, wind and voices that embrace him and praise what he's wrought. The sour tang of his bitterness dissolves to an aftertaste on his tongue, listening to her words. He reworks the memory in the framing of her phrasing: that he'd succeeded for all that she never screamed. For all that she never wailed.

His head rises as he straightens from his bow, to see his stage and the audience's emptied chairs. He reviews the scene he directed: there was the adrenaline thrill in the madness of the car crash, the fight. The torture had dissolved to tedium, frustration at the fear he hadn't been able to drag out of her, but the fight had been something grand.

He laughs, brittle and bright as a flint struck to a shower of sparks. ]

Are you going to dull down my moment by asking me to do math? I can't give you the exact fraction, but it was fucking swell.

[Her laugh is vicious, at odds with the tender hand that continues to stroke his hair.]

I want you sharp, pet. I would not wish to dull any with such a thirst for blood as yours.

Prayer Box

Backdated to after Elizabeth's Death. CW for blood, violence, desceration of corpses

Ignore that last one! as a side note, Elizabeth's death is more than enough for Tier 3 boons ;)

I KNOW, just gotta come up with a power set I like

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