#you're cruising along beating up squirrels and school bullies and jaywalkers

[viiioca]

thou art of the godless blessed's number.

From the journal of Estelle de Laussienne:

Oh, but the world looked so civilized from atop the Pillars, did it not? Our tables did not empty, even as our croplands froze over. Our priests tended kindly to their flocks. There was no need for fire and brimstone at our pulpits on high; we had more than enough fuel for the hearth as it was. When you are a thousand malms from conflict, even a goddess of war might seem to soften at her sharp edges, fat from plenty.

The world is not like this. I have walked among the leanness of the Brume, but it would take the "beastmen" to teach me the margins of survival. There are no kind gods among the hungry. To look upon a primal is to know that even our prayers can be made cannibals if threatened to starve.

With a cache of crystals and all the animal rage in my body, in that moment, I might have summoned my goddess, too.

And she would have been ravenous.

[ countdown to dawntrail | prompt: primal ]