#the magolor sunday curse

[nervetower]

[the-rat-house]

"Lor, close the windows please."

Blackout shields snap shut over the windows, drenching the ship in darkness beyond the low ambient life that is always left on in the ship.

Magolor sighs, blinking a few times to adjust to the low light. Dreamland was always so bright... The darkness was welcomed. Not to mention this was his own middle finger to the Sun.

This was a normal part of his Sundays. Blocking out the sun before performing a few rituals that were, more or less, just meant to be a big ol' 'fuck you' to Halcandra's Sun God.

How he learned these when the king had been completely devote... He prefers not to think about.

The rituals themselves aren't extravagant, and he doesn't use any magic to make them truly complete (he never has seen them make a difference even infused with magic, but he wasn't about to try it). It's all just to bring himself peace... No, empowerment.

Bless the Lor Starcutter, though, who allows him to do such blasphemous activities in her presence. Who doesn't (metaphorically) blink when he angrily curses the entity that once kept their planet alive. Who knows the truth of the Gods far better than he ever will and allows him to be angry anyways.