>>5316194>>5316118>>5316073>>5316018>>5316007>>5316004>>5316002You don’t LOATHE either of these Gods, but you also don’t TRUST them. They’re both at cross-purposes, and neither is entirely benevolent. You already know you answer will be ‘no”, but you plan to decline in the politest possible manner. And first… Well, you have questions.
“Mother of Dragons,” you address the Goddess first, “What place do the reptilians have in your grand plan? Will you show your favor to my people once more?”
“YOUR people?” she asks. “The ones who denied you the right to breed, treated you like a tool? Come now…”
“They ARE my people,” you assert. “Come what may, I am loyal.”
>SEE? You SEE? This is the power of tradition, order, MORALITY!The Holy Mother shushes the Judge of All, to his great displeasure and rumbling, and turns to you again.
“These people, the lizardfolk… They made their choice. The walls closed in, and they retreated to their caverns and segregated themselves, of their own volition. They became inbred, closed-minded… They suppressed their females, promoted males who coupled cowardice with bravado, but who never dared to be truly bold. They rejected my overtures…”
>Overtures to dilute their bloodlines, mingle with mammals… And now bugs!“And yet we are all here because of your mother,” the Lady says, “a Degenerate hybrid, who excellent beyond what the Persecutor thought possible.”
“Still… I cannot let my race be consumed and replaced by insects,” you say. “What would it take, for my race and the ‘greatworms’ to work together, as a united front?”
The Divine Mother tuts, but to your surprise, she relents. She tells you: “If you can make your father’s people accept your mate—my cleric—then perhaps there is hope. Take her as your queen. Form a kingdom, allied with that from which you hail. I doubt it is possible, mind you, for they are poisoned by HIM.”
The Giver of Laws roars in moral outrage.
>PRESERVED, not poisoned. Loyal out of HONOUR and GRATITUDE.The Mother turns her gaze from the outburst and back to you, and you sense a doubtful, but maternal, condescension in her kindness as she wishes you: “Good luck, Young One.”
