LOREN
As an Abandoned, Loren was not one prone to praying. Indeed, the gods had never once seen fit to answer his prayers, which he supposed was justice for the Launceleyn abandoning those who the divine beings cherished far more than he. Still, that had not stopped the summoner from coming out to every shrine he thought might be linked to a god that could help him help those he cared about. He was rather good at setting his own fears and discomforts aside in order for the sake of others.Mostly, he’d been going to a shrine in the Hollowed Grounds, a beautiful ring of stones nestled in the heart of a glade. However, he’d been asking around, and heard that there was one in the heart of the Wildwood as well. Willing to try pretty much anything at this point, Loren had decided to see whether the gods were more receptive in the heart of the Fae lands for some reason. There wasn’t much logic there, but religion was the realm of faith, something the summoner only really had in those he was closest to, not a higher power. But he was willing to believe in anyone and anything that could stop this blight.
As he made his way through the Wildwood—hoping all the while that he wouldn’t be turned away—Loren was saddened to see the once great forest reduced to its current state. Even though he’d never seen the woods in their prime, these blight-ridden trees could not possibly compare to the majesty the woods displayed when they were whole and healthy. It lent an urgency to his steps, and he picked his way through the trunks more quickly. Time to see if he was capable of following the directions he was given and navigate through this forest that didn't necessarily want him.
Then he emerged into the shrine and every other thought was banished from his mind. The shrine, which was covered in statues of beings of all sorts, was a riot of color and life, the likes of which the Launceleyn had never seen before. It took his breath away. But it also, strangely enough, filled him with a sense of purpose; he stepped into the shrine with the same sense of urgency in him, but now it was given direction and form, somehow, when before it had been at least partially wild.
Although he was loathe to disturb the beauty of the god’s work here (for surely it had to be the work of a god), Loren knew he had to call upon his magic. So he created a trowel, then looked around for the best roses he could find. Already, one had been crushed, whether by carelessness or maliciousness he did not know. Still, it filled him with a fury that he’d seldom felt, something again at odds with the serenity of the shrine. After that, he stepped more carefully among the blooms, kneeling only when he fond the ones that called to him. Using his tool, he carefully lifted them, dirt still attached in most cases, whole and complete and perfect, and placed them gingerly in his pack. Then he stood, and carefully hurried his way out of the glade.
Loren had work to do, and now that he knew what was necessary, it would be done.
A beggar's book
outworths
a noble's blood
