I spent ten whole days in Jerusalem

Jorseval death doesn't discriminate between the sinners and the saints Hopes: dashed. Wind: out of sails. Erection: flagging. Jorseval is forcibly removed from his expectations. ‘Whatever you will may be.’ He’d said and Jory had believed his own words but it didn’t make them true. He’d wanted something, wanted it very much infact: a task, a mission, a job, however mundane, however dangerous but something. Even the gentle redirection, to Vi, to Rae, is lost for now and all that the foolish man who called himself a priest hears is the denial. The silence and the stillness sat around the young man as all the grand ideas he'd built in his mind came crashing down. Welcome to Jericho, horn tooting courtesy of Ludo. He shrinks, pulling his shoulders up towards his ears and dipping his chin in a gesture he hasn’t made in years. It’s almost a flinch. Something of the ratty little urchin boy that didn’t have a place shines through, cracking the excitement, the eagerness with an awful apologetic bewilderment. ”I’m sorry-“ Sorry to be a bother, sorry to be a pain, sorry to take up so much space. ”-to have disturbed you.” He glances down at the three simple weapons of the ground, his only tools worth anything, and they suddenly seem very foolish as an offering. Gods didn’t need to hunt, probably didn’t even need to eat, the Mask that floated here didn’t even have hands with which to wield them. Even if they did, Jory thought, they’d have finer tools that these. Finer tools than him. Ludo wanted nothing from him. Mort wanted nothing from him. He had nothing worthwhile to offer. He was nothing worthwhile. The tremors started in his hands and he clenched his fingers tight until white knuckles pressed into his thighs. He wanted to be gone, wanted to hide his face like a scolded child but it had always been his notions of service that had served as a mother’s skirts to shield him. ”These aren’t much of anything really…” he says it looking down at the two knives, at the bow, and doesn’t look up again. There’s a squeak to his voice like he’s trying not to let that shake too. ”Is, uh, is there something I could bring next time that you’d like better?”