No help to be found here either. His face didn’t change from its embittered, sour complexion, much like a wrinkled, withered, old boot. “Pretty sure it was that shit Ludo,” he murmured, grumbled, the tones lower, as if he were somewhat ashamed or grumpy again. It was difficult to tell. “Who else would curse crops?” A rhetorical question – given that probably any god who’d had enough of this man and his family would’ve done the same.
“All we’d done at our shrine was say Safrin was better’n, you know, the next thing I fuckin know…” the impersonation of the turnips returned, complete with arms akimbo, withdrawn from warm pockets to increase the dramatic flair. “Didn’t want to be swept up into any god shit.” Nor did they need any mage or guardians of the forest; though he couldn’t recall if he’d pissed any of them off lately either. The mind and memory went quicker these days.
“All we’d done at our shrine was say Safrin was better’n, you know, the next thing I fuckin know…” the impersonation of the turnips returned, complete with arms akimbo, withdrawn from warm pockets to increase the dramatic flair. “Didn’t want to be swept up into any god shit.” Nor did they need any mage or guardians of the forest; though he couldn’t recall if he’d pissed any of them off lately either. The mind and memory went quicker these days.
