a single spark

ronin A man unwilling to fight for what he wants deserves what he gets If you had asked him even a short while ago, Ronin would have said he was not a praying man. But this was not a short while ago, and now he bore a pendant with the eye of Safrin upon it and (unbeknownst to him) a tattoo as well. Thus far she had appeared without request, as if sensing that he needed her counsel without his needing to say so. So it was strange to enter the shrine within the Temple now, with the intention of seeking her out. It was dark, the night having fallen long before, but rather than lighting a candle the guildmaster willed the conjuration ring on his finger to life, and he was suffused with a warm glow as he arrived. Sitting quietly and cross-legged before the shrine of offerings, Ronin slipped a few glowstones from his pack (they were mute now, of course, and without light) to settle them with the rest of the gifts offered to the gods. Upon each stone he had carved a delicate eye shape, as if the starlight of his goddess might light them from within anyway, wherever she was. "Safrin," he said softly. "Are you here?" He expected nothing, and hoped for everything.