LOREN
Despite the fact that the gods had not yet seen fit to respond to any of Loren’s prayers, he once again found himself at a shrine, head bowed. This time, he hadn’t been able to make it out until night. The stars and the moon were obscured behind the cover of clouds, leaving the circle of stones the Launceleyn was becoming annoyingly familiar with almost completely invisible in the night. Still, the darkness held no fear for the summoner: even with the blighted around and the deep chill of Deepfrost, the Launceleyn found himself filled more with a sense of determination than foreboding.He couldn’t afford to be afraid. Too many people were relying upon him, especially now that the blight had progressed to the point that they couldn’t rely on anyone with that curse running through their veins. So instead, he was doing everything within his power to ensure that he kept those he could safe and healthy and whole in every sense of the word. It was sometimes a thankless task, and certainly a difficult one, but he kept at it, knowing that he still had much to make up for.
Unfortunately, he had less and less time for every individual task. But even with the increased burdens—and even with the knowledge firmly in his mind that the gods had no wish to speak with him—he was still trying to make it out to prayer as regularly as he could. All he had to cling to at the moment was the belief that every little bit helped. Every prayer, every offering, every piece of himself he gave to the divine beings trying to save them all might make a tiny difference in the struggle. And even that hope was enough for him to cling to desperately.
So, ignoring the cold and the dark, he knelt in the snow, clearing it off the stones so they were exposed. He figured that might help his chances. Nothing could probably hurt. He placed a piece of bread; it wasn’t much, but it was from Amalia, who was beloved by the divine beings he planned to call upon, which he hoped might make them more inclined to accept it. Next to it he put some milk and honey. Luckily, Astra was asleep happily at the manor. Not only did Loren want her to have no part in this, she would probably try to get at what she saw as treats.
That done, the Launceleyn had finally closed his eyes. Last time, he’d prayed, he'd asked for Safrin. However, she was blighted too, and he had no wish to place an undue burden on the goddess. Nor was he entirely sure what the blight had done to her. If it was anything like the effects on mortals, he had no wish to encounter her.
So he’d try another deity, one he was admittedly worried about calling upon. But his concern for those he cared about trumped any punishment or retribution he himself might be risking. ”Frey, beautiful and wise, I pray to thee. Please accept my humble offering and my even more humble devotion. I know I am unworthy of your attention. All I ask is that you watch over those who cannot watch for themselves, and that you let the love we have for those we care about triumph over any darkness lurking within their hearts.” Although the summoner didn’t know if he had faith, per se, at least he had conviction. And though many in the Hollowed Grounds were finding hope hard to come by, Loren had seen worse evil than this, and was trying to be strong enough to carry all their hopes within him, weak vessel though he was for that.
But someone had to keep that flame burning, and he had an easier time of it than most these days.
A beggar's book
outworths
a noble's blood
