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

[findingmyself]

[He's not exactly the praying type -- in fact, Methos has spent most of his long, long lifespan as a firm agnostic, finding time and time again that the work of any deity has always, in the end, been nothing more than human handiwork.

But he's had enough proofs of the Fog God's power, and after the months -- years, really -- he's spent in Ryslig, it's become obvious that staying neutral does nothing. Between the Fog and the Fourth... well, coming to Ryslig has been pretty good to him, all told. And he's never trusted the notion of child gods anyhow.]

I'm afraid I feel a bit silly doing this, but... well, here we are. You pulled me out of a bad place, and I suppose it's time I offered a bit of something in return, isn't it?

[He falls silent, half expecting a response and half inwardly mocking himself for the expectation.]

What is it that you want from me? From any of us? How would my allegiance serve you, if I offer it?

[fromthefog]

[And, sure enough, a light mist begins to surround Methos. When she speaks into his ear sounds pleased. There's a sense of smug satisfaction in her voice.]

So at last you seek to speak.

[A cool, unseen hand combs thoughtfully through his hair as she contemplates. The motion is not unkind, but it is firm. Possessive even.]

Too many of my children turn from me. What is it that brought you back? Perhaps you may convince others who have strayed.

[findingmyself]

[Try creepy, but he smothers that thought as soon as it arises. He's gotten an actual answer, and he can say without a scrap of hesitation that it's the first time anything like that has ever happened.

It just goes to show he's making the right idea, breaking with his long-standing policy, right?]

You brought me here. You gave me magic. You took me out of the Game. There's a lot to be grateful for with that.

I don't know how many others feel that way, but I know I'm not the only one. This place -- it's a hell of a lot better than what I came from.

[fromthefog]

I am pleased you have come to see that.

[The hand loosens, making its way down to cup his face.]

I value each of you. Stay close to my side, child, and you will find I am not so uncaring as some would say. All I ask is you make the most of the gifts I have given you.

[findingmyself]

[Ryslig has been quite the land of firsts for someone who hadn't thought that sort of thing could exist for him anymore. Transforming (multiple times), marrying a giant snake woman, getting groped by the fog... it's all new.

But irreverence aside, she's certainly proven herself far more real to him than any god he's ever met.]

If the rest of your gifts measure up to what I've received so far, it will be a pleasure to see just how far they can reach.

I'm yours.

[fromthefog]

My pet. [Is that an endearment or a reinforcement? Her tone sounds like the former...] You know I will not leave you unsatisfied.

[Just before the sensation of that hand drops away, there's a brush of cold on Methos's forehead. Like a flutter of moth wings - or lips? A blessing.]

[The mist fades. She is gone.]