Rylee pursed her lips. How the fuck was she supposed to answer these questions? Also how the fuck did Sivene not know any of this? And how did she ask that question without being rude to the poor, sweet woman.
She took a breath and tackled the first issue.
They'd even walked past the Chantry, where some sisters were out reciting the Chant even as Rylee butchered her lines.
She took a breath and tackled the first issue.
I do not know why it is they call themselves Dalish. They live in the wilds, bear tattoos they call Vallaslin upon their faces, and call my kind flat ears.Rylee didn't like the division among her own godsdamned people. Such views only made the shems stronger in their position of constantly oppressing the elves.
The Maker...Rylee blew out a long, heavy sigh. And as she began to talk, she waved her hands a bit as she did. Clear hints of disdain would be unmistakable here and there.
There was no word for heaven or for earth, for sea or sky. All that existed was silence. then the Voice of the Maker rang out, the first Word, and His Word became all that might be: Dream and idea, hope and fear, something something something, made children, blah something dominion, make shit happen.It pained her to think she recalled even this much of what she'd been taught about the Chant.
They'd even walked past the Chantry, where some sisters were out reciting the Chant even as Rylee butchered her lines.
That too,she pointed out the sisters to Sivene.
But, uh, there was something else about a city of gold that sounded like music, but no wind? Honestly, bullshit. But. Anyhow. Creations do nothing of note and he realized he fucked up the Fade, did some weird ass sex shit probably and yanked flesh from his ass, I guess? That part's unclear.She shrugged.
Long, long story short: the shems say He made everything and then fucked off and think he'll eventually return.She gestured around them.
Obviously it's all shit.
03-23-2023, 03:28 PM
