Mateo
For a boy born of a dream who calls two demigods his parents, Mateo Taliesin's relationship with the gods might come as something of a surprise. Call it knowing better, or knowing too much, but he avoids shrines as if they might be haunted (the exception being his visit to one to get a deeper voice and the ability to grow a real beard, of course) and he rarely, if ever, leaves offerings. Heralds, deities and their chosen ones... nah. That's just not for Mateo.
But there's something about the seasonal gods and goddesses that feels different to him. Perhaps it's because the seasons are so reliable and their demesnes are comparatively minute, but when rumours arrive at Stormbreak about people leaving offerings for Ghilio, Mateo finds himself on a skyship before realising that's where his feet have taken him.
And so here he is now, ducking under sentient vines and stroking gentle fingers along broad leaves that block the Flowerbirth sun. As sober as he's ever likely to be, the botanist is in no particular rush, and he shifts his bag of holding on his shoulder to better reach up and touch the sparkling dew that glitters from the canopy overhead.
But there's something about the seasonal gods and goddesses that feels different to him. Perhaps it's because the seasons are so reliable and their demesnes are comparatively minute, but when rumours arrive at Stormbreak about people leaving offerings for Ghilio, Mateo finds himself on a skyship before realising that's where his feet have taken him.
And so here he is now, ducking under sentient vines and stroking gentle fingers along broad leaves that block the Flowerbirth sun. As sober as he's ever likely to be, the botanist is in no particular rush, and he shifts his bag of holding on his shoulder to better reach up and touch the sparkling dew that glitters from the canopy overhead.
i've told you time and time again
i'm not as think as you drunk i am
i'm not as think as you drunk i am
