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loren Loren was, above all, a seeker of knowledge. Sure, he had other values—family, protecting those in his care, making the world a better and safer place, whatever world he ended up in—but primarily he was driven by a curiosity and a burning desire to learn. It got him into a lot of trouble, but it was also the only way he knew to improve himself and his abilities to the point where no one could hurt him again. While the phrase knowledge is power was just that to most people, a phrase, to Loren it was a philosophy, lifestyle, and truism all wrapped up in one. Perhaps that’s why he foolishly found himself by the shrine that seemed to cause people so much strife. While he’d heard the rumors about it secondhand (which, instead of scaring him, had just piqued his interest) it wasn’t as good as studying it in person. Because he knew people would try to warn him away, he hadn’t even bothered to tell them. This newfound independence of his was taking some getting used to; however, overall he would say that striking out and forming an identity outside of his relationships to others was making him a better and more powerful and self-assured person. So at least that was good. Once he’d gotten all he could from just examining the room itself—which was, honestly, kind of disappointing—Loren began his mental preparations. He’d found out what he could about the powers that be that apparently lurked in this place before prostrating himself before them. However, that was basically what he had to do: lay himself bare and vulnerable before the gods and hope they answered in a way that was to his liking. However, until he understood this phenomenon, he wouldn’t be able to master it. Kneeling, he closed his eyes, seeking the peace and calm of meditation. Only once he’d grasped it, and what little he’d been able to access of his power in this land, did he speak. ”I humbly request an audience with the gods of this place.” That was it. Without more information about which gods were dedicated to this shrine—or some such nonsense like that—he couldn’t fashion a more personalized call. Hopefully it would be enough not to be smote where he knelt. |
