Quoted By:
[19/20] - Bountiful Harvest
[20/20] - Magnificent Hunt
Fireflies dance through the tepid evening air, nourished by the blooming trees. The flower-moon peeks through thinning summer clouds.
Your bronze offering bowl overflows with the wealth of spring's end. Plump fruits and rain-touched berries thump down, bundled with strings of smoked meat. A greased ursine pelt drapes the weathered steps before your pedestal, marred by only a single tiny arrow-wound. Herbal sachets smoulder with a sweet aromatic smoke.
[+6 FAITH]
[+4 FAITH]
A small wood-fire burns a short distance from your shrine. The old hunter roasts celebratory game while the family prepares a richly spiced stew - a small portion of which is diligently offered to your shrine.
You hear a simple prayer. Child; Mother; Father; Hunter. The four implore you to accept their gratitude and ask for nothing else.
You wish to tell them that a god such yourself has neither voice nor answer. But tonight, you realize that this may not hold true. The wind maintains a steady silence, and moonlight casts the forest in a blue-grey blur.
>[NOTHING]
>[DEW/BREEZE] - Provide an acknowledgement. [-1 FAITH]
