Prayer Box

[fromthefog]

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.

Comments

A little letter in the prayer box

[lutin]

[Eponine's been feeling lost lately. It's not in her nature, really, to turn to a God or a religion, but after losing her castle and returning to Ryslig, she's come to realise how grateful she is to the Fog God. Following this (http://rsdos.dreamwidth.org/311324.html) conversation, she's decided to leave a letter pledging her allegiance. In untidy, looping handwriting, she's scrawled:]

Dear Madame Fog God
I aint done this before. I've never said to a god hello or a prer or that. in paris you need shoes to worship God and I would rather go barefoot than wear them awful things of my fathers again. and when he did send me it were just to get money from the filanfropists and that what went there. there weren't time to say a prer or sing or anything.

but then you brought me here and things change. i might look bad but theres food. and actually i don't mind how i look so much. i wish my hair weren't green. i wish i didn't have wings. they are uncomfy to sleep on you know, when you're surprised by a man in the alley and there isn't time to spread them before you're against the wall. you know? i like the magic. and that is you. everyone says its you. you brought us here and made us this. and some people hate it but i don't mind it so much. its better than paris.


Madame? will you have me? i'll do what you want - if you need names or someone followed or that. that were my job in Paris. Here, i clean a table and i were taking my dress off at that theatre - he said it were cleaning but it weren't. but I'm better at that, following and that. i just want

well i am afraid that Monsieur Marty will tire of me. and then where will i go? Monsieur AM has taken my castle. i got nowhere and nothing. i don't want to sleep in ditches again. I am glad you've brought me here. and I'll do what you say.
you make it so i can't lie no more so you know i am saying the truth.

Please Madame Fog God, will you have me?

I am yours, your servant,
Eponine

[fromthefog]

[When she leaves her letter, there is a silence that follows. A quiet permeates the room, the building, and seems to trail her every step. Time passes with quietness, and it may be hours later, or days, but eventually (at a time of your choosing) the quell ceases. Eponine will be caught in a gentle wind, swirling around her ankles and feet and tossing her hair this way or that. It's not the playfulness of children, but the endearment of someone much, much older that surrounds her.]

I will have you.

[The winds will continue to dance around her, kicking up leaves into nearby whirls. If she listens carefully, there seem to be voices in that wind, human and distant, but the words will escape her. When it blows past her eyes, she will feel them tingle and burn, like first waking up. It blows across her arms and into her hands, spinning there, growing heavier, until it coalesces into shape: the mist-gray key of Fog.]

Give me pride for you, my sweet pet, and you will know much greater treasures than this.

[And with that, the wind and the presence are gone, and Eponine has her first boons from the Fog God.]