Faith.
I usually don't dig too deep into the matter. Oh, I do have faith. I say my prayers and offer what I can. Ask for the gods' guidance and hope they watch over me. I usually go off the assumption they don't, however.
Surely they have better things to do. And yes, they. I know many adventurers turn to a single god who governs some important aspect in their life, but while I do have those I turn to more often, it seems strange to ask them for guidance in matters they might not even care about.
The Lady Tymora. In all the things I have witnessed and lived through, there has always been a moment where I swear the only reason I survived was pure dumb luck. Of all the gods, it felt as though she is the one most likely to have been watching.
The Red Knight, to help me keep my head and be aware of the battlefield even as I am in the thick of it. Valkur, to safeguard me out on the water and to keep defiance burning brightly in my heart. Akadi for fair winds. The gods of parents and ancestors, Selûne, Uthgar, Waukeen. Kelemvor to remember the fallen.
Yes. Quite many.
Always on the surface, however. I have never quite understood the blind faith and trust some people have in their gods. I see it in Vaelith and I see it in Varya. I see it in Thau, in Asha, in Oosa. Jonni, always the cynic, but never in regards to his patron. Jonny, too, seems to feel Selûne will provide him with all answers. All in their own way, but all have that faith.
It is awe inspiring. And it frightens me to the core. To build on something that might be wrested from you at any time. To trust that it will be there in your darkest hour. Should your fate not be in your own damn hands at any given time? Steel, to me, has always felt by far the more likely to be there.
And yet.
On the walls of the ruins of Arrangar, when facing the undead created by the Autyarch, steel wasn't enough. It wasn't enough for brave Alaric, whom we lost when Jonni could no longer turn one. Some moments later, it seemed it wasn't enough for me either, and I felt my blood seeping through my clothes and onto the cold stones that cradled my failing, steel burdened limbs. Through a haze, I heard people trying to get to me. Isolde's voice singing a spell, dim and faraway, then being interrupted. Others calling out.
In the past, I would have accepted this as inevitable. The natural outcome of the life I've lived.
Things have changed since. Oh, how they've changed. I felt myself clinging on to life as it slowly drained away. Not out of a desperate fear of what lay on the other side, but simply because I felt I was not yet done. Still, I was slowly losing that struggle.
Fate had been in my hands, and this was where my feet had brought me.
It seems the gods had other plans this time. As I closed my eyes and thought to let go, a warmth seemed to wash over me and comfort me. Like a blanket placed on you when you are ill. A hand catching you when you stumble. By the time I opened my eyes, I was upright. Free from wounds and fatigue. All fading with the warmth come to me, leaving me standing among friends who'd thought they would have to carry me home, staring at me. Ros asked me, half joking, if I'd become a faithful of Yondalla as it'd been the only case where she'd seen this happen. Isolde swore high and low that there'd been no spell.
I did not wish to think on the implications at the time. There was still a lot of work to be done. So now I'm stuck doing so here. For whatever reason, a god saw fit to intervene. Certainly, we ended the Plague before needing to flee those ruins. That likely does answer the why.
Now I'm stuck with the who. My Lady Luck? It's where my gut leads me. Yet aside from rolling the dice and trusting my luck, I barely ask for her blessing. Valkur? That he wished I fought on, despite the odds?
Or perhaps Helm, whose temples I have started visiting in light of future endeavours, seeing my duty was not yet done.
That night ended with us ending the life of a Selûnite priest who was kept hanging on to life by a thread and tortured, with no way to free them, so that their suffering would feed the Plague. Chosen for no other reason than the strength of their faith and who they worshipped. Still, I do not think that priest ever doubted.
Now Varya has sent me a letter. Nenufar has contacted her, and provided a means to reach her. After all that has happened, and as nearly broken as I have seen her, Varya would walk into the Abyss on faith alone.
It is awe inspiring. It frightens me to the core. And I wish I could have that sort of faith.
