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

[fromthefog]

[The wind seems to whisper to him as it continues to move around him, a soft warmness like the embrace of someone from behind him, head over his shoulder. The laughter that echoes is pleased.]

Do not just make them fear you, Pet. Make them worship the very ground you walk on. Win their hearts....then take their souls.

[fandisservice]

I'm a vampire, what the hell would I do with souls?

[ The droll answer rolls off his tongue, like the second-hand body heat that ghosts on the wind. It's not as rude as he could be. It's not, "What kind of dull response is that?". Her answer isn't what he wanted— he came to one-up blackbass in their network competition for most chaos caused, and her answer isn't anything he can work with on that front.

But he has faith. Not that of a believer, a man down on his knees at the pews, but the faith of a scientist at the microscope— he can observe her cruelty, the people twisted and made to hunger for flesh, so he has faith in it. It must match up to his own. So he doesn't dismiss the comment, digesting it a moment, before glancing to the space where her head isn't but it feels like it should be. ]

Are you asking me to be your PR man?

[ Not work he prefers, but it's work he can do. ]

[fromthefog]

[Another laugh, harsh and demeaning.]

Come now, pet. How could putting on a show possibly be enough to satisfy you?

[The wind swirls around him, hot and humid, and when she speaks again it is a low murmur directly into his ears.]

The one that killed and mounted your brother... Evelina. Elizabeth. She had to reattach my pet's wings after she tore them out of his body. He didn't stop fighting until every last limb was gone.

And the fool thought to do this in my name.

[A warmth against his cheek - the caress of a woman's palm.]

Find her, and revisit every last pain she brought on him. Crush her body, and her mind with it. And when she is finally unable to feel any longer, make her body a temple unto me in Bavan for all to see. Prove that you are my chosen one, and I will guide you on your path.

[fandisservice]

[ His head jerks at the laughter, incredibly close— it flares through him like a burst of memory. Scorn before he's even been issued orders, the hotel rooms and his father on his throne paying more attention to cartoons than IV's reports. But still, every report— he got the job done. He grits his teeth— he can prove himself better than whatever shallow portrait she has of him painted inside her head, he's damn sure.

But as she speaks, outrage digs a fire-pit in his chest that sends fury molten down his veins. He hadn't known, what this human bitch had done to his brother. Now, enlightenment is a key in the ignition, and he is an engine of violence ready to move. All thoughts of his petty contest leave his head— instead, he pictures his brother splattered apart and wracked with paint. Of a woman he doesn't know, taking his family from him again.

It will be the last time. His mouth takes the serrated line of his fanged grin— he will be sure of that. She will take his brother's place in that mental gallery. Vengeance, wrought. He will chisel her to a monument of contorted gristle and flesh, and sign his name in knife strokes. The finest service he can offer— she's gone so far to catch his attention, he'll make sure to lavish her with it. Evelina, Elizabeth will not be allowed any other future.

And if it grants him the Fog God's approval, that's secondary. He's going to do this, and he's going to fucking enjoy. Laughter boils over in his throat. ]

Hah— hahaha! I can be satisfied with this kind of show. I'll make her death into a true spectacle! [ His hand reaches up his cheek, where he last felt her touch, swearing to her with manic promise, his hand half-clenched. ] She'll feel hell alight on each and every nerve, and know it's not half of what she deserves. She'll be blighted with nothing but suffering.

It will be a very throughout service.

[fromthefog]

Good boy.

[There is laughter behind her words: exultant, exhilarated. To say she is pleased with his words would be an understatement. He has delighted her.]

I will be watching you, child. Go now... with my blessing.

[And with a faint laugh, the voice fades into the wind.]

[fandisservice]

Certainly!

[ Approval gusts over him in the wind of her laughter and sparks a mirroring laugh, and he bows: a performer exiting the stage. ]

Keep your eyes pealed for the start of the act.