Straight back to the top of majestic Grigung return all the gods from each mission far-flung. They race duly to there after saving towns, after doing acts of daring and renown, after bravely rescuing kids from a fire or climbers who'd got lost among craggy spires. They live in a place that no mortal can see, high above the region where grow no more trees; their houses and balés, their mansions and domes are modest and practical, welcoming homes. They drink only warm, cloudy flagons of mead, their wounds close up quickly and they rarely bleed, from us puny mortals but two things they need: virtuous behavior and a lack of greed. To seal themselves off and keep enemies out they've fully encircled their lofty redoubt with a cloak of snake-skin and bright amethyst that's known to man-children only as Graegist. Oumbast is the trickster, the fool of the bunch, she causes cruel chaos if she should miss lunch, she lives by herself in a barn made of stone where she can chase rodents and curl up alone. The other gods they mostly get along well, for close to each other they still choose to dwell, there is in fact little they complain about, except of course Oumbast and base human louts. Please use of this knowledge, please share it freely, and plunge into prayer with a newfound glee, for the gods are watching and listening too to all that we whisper and all that we do.
© americanifesto / 場黑麥
