- The Return of the Gods
People have talked about the 'return of the gods' since the birth of Oriath. It's a gambit, employed by charlatans to fleece the weak minded and morally desperate.
Or so it seemed.
Avarius and his Templar drones now greet the dawn filled with power and glorious purpose. Kitava has risen from whatever ethereal cesspit he's been hiding in for the last few millennia.
So what let the cats out of their proverbial bags? I'm a scholar, not a prophet, yet there's one occurrence that absolutely reeks with evidential causality.
You killed the Beast.
In the twisting, shifting black smoke of my dreaming, I saw the Beast, lying slain at your feet. I saw the rise of the old gods, their rigid, dusty remains, springing in sudden haste to life. I saw the growing of their power as the corruption began to fade.
I felt utter anguish, the madness of the Beast's last, rabid breath, yet my sight, my power, still remains. It would appear that I was permanently marked by its corruption, even as I was birthed from my mother's womb.
Well now my mother is no longer around to protect me, and the Beast lies rotting in the bowels of that wretched mountain.
I shall put this simply, for in truth, everything comes down to the simple act of planting a seed in the ground. The gods are rising because you slew the one creature that prevented them from doing so. Your name for it is "The Beast."
It was I who planted the seed in the rich soil beneath Highgate, who nurtured it, who watched it bloom into maturity, even as I succumbed to its mollifying powers. We gods, we were driven into slumbering darkness, to dream away eternity whilst the gentle Beast watched over us.
I would desire that we return to that blissful state, but my brothers and sisters of deism shall never submit to banishment. They have tasted freedom once more and they shall not let go of this world until it is pried from their cold, dead hands.
- The Fall of Oriath
- Innocence, God-Emperor of Eternity
For a long time now, I thought my God's intentions were being twisted by his supposed servants. Did I speak up? No. The pyre would have been my only answer. I did what I was told and drew the lines of morality where I could.
Now I understand the truth. It wasn't Innocence's intention being twisted. It was Innocence himself, perverted by the selfish convictions of the men and women who worshipped Him.
A god answers to the believer as the believer answers to their god.
Old red eyes. He's been quiet for a long time. Just like Kitava... and Tukohama. All of the old gods. Now Innocence has woken up, and with him, power like I've never seen the Templar wield before.
It's alright though. We slaves, we've got our own god looking out for us now. I can see him in the eyes of my brothers and sisters, smell him in the blood we've spilled, hear his call in the screams of the fallen.
I don't rightly know where the gods have been or what's brought them crawling back. Nor do I really care. All I need to know, my friend, is that we're not alone anymore.
- Kitava, Father of Chaos
Waves crashed upon the shores of Oriath.
Waves of Hunger.
Waves of Desire.
The Ravenous God and His starving multitude,
Rising with the tide,
Flooding our streets with death and depravity.
Until Innocence cried out, "No more!"
Bathing our city in fire,
Scorching the wicked to ash and bone.
The Ravenous God fled,
Into the embrace of our glorious Saviour.
Driven down He was, into soil, stone and beyond,
By the Will and Light of our Innocence.
- High Templar Avarius
Triumph of Innocence, "Read"
Well... I know his other names. The Black Spirit. The Cannibal King. The Ravenous One. He was all of those things, before Tukohama slashed out his eyes, before Valako drowned him in the sea, before Hinekora whipped him and condemned him to immortal darkness.
Kitava has learned from the suffering inflicted upon him. Learned what cruelty is from his own flesh and blood. Learned what it means to be a slave.
Now he hungers for freedom. Not merely for himself. For all of us who have suffered under whip and shackle.
Kitava is the Tormented One, destined to rise up from the darkness and banish cruelty from this world. And we, his children, rise with him.
Utula has used the fall of Innocence to summon Kitava, the Ravenous God.
Quest, The King's Feast
You really don't have a strong grip on cause and effect, do you. Things replace other things, it's the most fundamental of laws. The larger the thing you remove, the bigger the rush to fill the space it's left behind.
Innocence was the nexus of power in Oriath. Remove him and something of equal or greater power was always going to take his spot. Any idiot could have predicted that Kitava was going to be that something... unless, of course, you thought it was going to be you.
You've sent the traitor to meet his Ancestors, have you? That'll be an interesting conversation. I'm no hatungo, but I can foresee Utula walking a long road of trial and suffering before he earns himself a place at the Ancestors' table.
And just as Utula's journey continues, so does yours, right into the jaws of Kitava.
I don't profess to understand the mind of a god, but I know the stories. Kitava is patient. He waited in the darkest pit of Hinekora's realm. He will bide his time while his hunger spreads like the plague it is, and when his tribe is replenished, a hundred times over, Kitava will rise one final time to finish the feast that he has started. Oriath is merely the appetiser. There's a whole world out there for Kitava to taste.
You've proved that you're a hero who can slay legends. Let's see if you can kill a god.
Relish hunger, dear faithful. For hunger is the one true state of spiritual abundance. When one is hungry, they desire more, and therefore align themselves with the will of the mighty Kitava. Beware, my followers, of the satisfied man, for he is the very pattern and image of blasphemy.
- The Holy Book of Hunger by High Priest Utula
Cultist Tract, "Read"
And our father, the great Kitava, will split asunder the rocks of the earth, pulling himself out of the miry clay. He shall lay a banquet table before us and we shall feast on his divine bounty.
- The Holy Book of Hunger by High Priest Utula
Cultist Tract, "Read"
This is how it shall end. Kitava will rise, and a great cloud of black smoke will cover the sky. The glorious smell of cooking flesh shall entice even the most ardent of unbelievers to the faith, and together we will celebrate and eat at Kitava's table.
- The Holy Book of Hunger by High Priest Utula
Cultist Tract, "Read"
Though I am a god, I have not forgotten my humanity. I care for that which I once was. Kitava remembers nothing and cares for nothing but his own hunger and greed. He is an endless pit of gnashing teeth and churning guts.
While other gods rise on the mainland and fight for the meagre scraps of what was, Kitava has the most fecund and formidable civilisation of his age at his disposal. He can feed when he likes and he grows ever stronger with each morsel. All of Oriath shall soon belong to Kitava, and if that happens, he will rise beyond even our reach.
I'd not believe you if I had not witnessed the boats lurching onto the shores of Wraeclast myself. So... The gods have returned, and Oriath has fallen. This complicates things, to say the least.
Exile, I believe the Syndicate has been planning to form a new government. The Templar were cruel, but at least they were mortal. If the Syndicate's power continues to grow, they will be able to rule Wraeclast and beyond without fear of reprisal, and we mere mortals will have no choice but to serve, or fuel their cycle of death and rebirth.
- Tangmazu, the Trickster
Farewell Innocence, and hello, my agent of anarchy. It appears I've returned just in time for the party...
Tangmazu, The Torched Courts
- The Coast
- Tukohama, Father of War
With Kitava now stomping around Oriath, it seems mythology is fast turning into reality.
Then again, the gods didn't just spring out of some poet's head. I certainly couldn't pen an ode to the God of Eternally Flowing Ale and then just stick me mug out to catch the free brew.
No, I imagine the gods once dined, danced and defecated just like you or I. Now they seem ready to take another stab at it... at life, I mean.
Take the Karui Father of War, for instance. Old Tukohama. All comfily tucked up in Kaom's holdfast and playing war like a few thousand years was only a quiet weekend for him.
Come to think of it... perhaps it was!
The God of War has reshaped this region. He's always been... unimaginative.
Tangmazu, The Mud Flats
Seems Tukohama's raised up a host out of whatever afterlife the Karui believe in. I feel for those poor bastards, if I'm to be honest. The Karui haven't had an easy history. Colonised, enslaved, used as pawns in many a war, and now abused in death by their own bloody god.
This is why I don't follow any deity. They're all as bad as each other.
By command of fallen blood, leave your habitat and fill the cup of Tukohama. Cleave the heads of our enemies from shoulders unworthy, and adorn the belt of Tukohama.
And to the Lord of War, I kneel, with boldness at your feet and demand to be drowned in your Valour. Let me look upon my foes without fear, drive me to kill without hesitation, and sear that sinful voice of conscience so I will not feel remorse. For this is war and you, my lord, are its father.
Karui Carving, "Read"
Though I know little of my natural heritage, I know enough to understand the implications of your victory against the Karui God of War. Did his long slumber weaken him, or have the gods been greatly exaggerated through the evolution of myths? In either case, this undoubtedly means we will find no divine help against the intrinsic darkness. They are not the keepers of mankind many believed them to be.
- Abberath, the Cloven One
There's many a way to die in Wraeclast. Most of them are mercifully quick. But you get caught alive by the goatmen, you'll wish by any god you believe in that you hadn't.
I've heard some of the more superstitious exiles say there's a deity these goatmen worship. Abberath, Eater of Agony. Sounds like a right bastard, if you ask me. So if the goatmen hand you an invitation to go have dinner with the Cloven God, tell them where to stick it.
I've another deity in mind who could be persuaded to donate a little essence to your ongoing edification.
Abberath, a deranged old goat with a thirst for human souls whose cloven hooves now stand astride the old prisoners road.
Have you ever tasted a soul, Beast Slayer? No, I imagine not. The poets all speak of sweet souls, bitter souls, enlightened souls and twisted souls. You know what most of them taste like, really? Regret, with a lingering aftertaste of 'should've known better'.
- Ryslatha, the Puppet Mistress
With the road to the Phrecian Forest clear again, I trekked through to the forests beyond, to see if the strangeness we're seeing on the coast is also happening inland. What I saw nearly froze my heart solid.
The animals there, poor wretches... overtaken by some sort of parasite. As close as I can reckon they're like termites, burrowing into flesh and mind instead of wood. If I'm right, there'll be a nest somewhere, and a queen. If you can find it, destroy it. Those parasites aren't something we want to see around here any time soon.
Another damned god, you say? Yeah, that figures. A primitive deity from a primitive time, crawling up out of the dirt with a view to enslaving us all with its creepy bloody offspring.
I think we could all do without gods like that. So here, take something for the road ahead. The way things are going, it'll be a tough one.
Mother Matriarch, Ryslatha, white worm that corrupts the earth, long may I rest in the sweetness of your breast, and suckle deep from the teat of your nurturing juices.
O' Mighty mother, for yours is an unstoppable fecundity, it is power and fertility. I would straddle the walls of your fruitful womb and watch as our children disciple this decaying world. That I should lie sleeping amongst the folds of your flesh, replete, as the loving consort of your queendom come.
Worn Carving, "Read"
- Tsoagoth, the Brine King
Yeah, I know the Brine King. What pirate doesn't? Drowned me fair share of mutineers under the full moon... to keep the old king's slumber when storms threaten, you see.
If he's been roused from the depths, it be nothing but ill tidings for those of us with air in our lungs.
He'll be getting back to raping and eating us ocean-going folk soon enough. Stealing wombs in which to spawn his slithering offspring.
Aye, that blasphemy is out there somewhere right now, I'd wager. And to think there still be folks needing transport from Oriath... more commissions to be had. But a lecherous sea god, now that complicates things.
Lord of Salt and Scale's what we used to call him. They say when the gods got the boot from our lands, that monstrosity went to sleep down in the deep. Dreamed the kinda dreams that cause all sorts of gilled abominations to rise up, to plague and hunt us for what he thinks we must've done to him.
Was a time we got ordered to hunt them things near extinction. Free the trade routes from Old Briny's tyranny. Even so, not a sailor worth his salt who won't sacrifice a lousy deckhand or two by light of the full moon, just to keep that overgrown crab slumbering in the Oriathan trench.
If he's risen again, you bet your bloody arse we're all buggered.
If God wills it, the final account of First Mate Piken, castaway on the rock somewhere off the Twilight Strand.
Near as I can tell, the rest of the crew, along with Captain Caruso, be dead... or worse. What happened? I'd not have believed it myself had I not seen it with me own two eyes.
At dawn, a light, green and dark, rose from 'neath the waves and into the sky. While most of us stood back in awe, I heard a cry rise up from the lower deck. Casting me eyes in that direction, I saw the waves upchuck, and a swarm of ocean crabs cover the vessel. Ravenous and of countless numbers they were, making quick work of the sailors about them. Nothing but bones and tatters of cloth!
We fled to the longboats as fast we could, hoping to leave them ungodly crustaceans behind us, but lo, from within that green pillar of light, I saw him! The Brine King, like a bloated whale he breached the familiar waters and turned the ship beneath our feet to match-wood. I was flung into the sea, yet managed to cling to some flotsam and make my way to rest on this damnable rock.
Seems that ancient Tsoagoth has a mind to take dominion of these seas once more. Captain Caruso was right to drown those mutineers in the old king's name. A shame we'd not found more. For now, beneath the waves, I hear the whispers of me own passing in a thousand clicking pincers. May God have mercy on me, and may someone benefit from this warning.
Message in a Bottle, "Read"
My motley crew, neither fit to lick my boots nor curl my moustache, have bloody well betrayed me. And I was only trying to save them, those that remained true. Even now, floating prostrate upon a plank of wood, bathed in the dying embers of the evening sun, I hear the clitter-clatter of a million tiny claws. If I close my eyes, I see those tentacles reaching up to me out of the deep.
I don't know why the Brine King chose me. For weeks I've heard the voices, whispering of his return, gurgling of doom and slavery to us all. I tried to warn the simple men of my ship, made examples of those more violent disbelievers. Yet my prophecies only served to drive the rest into obstinate ignorance. They cast me overboard, perhaps in the vain hope that in my death, none of my utterances would come true.
Alas, as the morning sun peeked over the horizon, a pillar of green light rose up from the waves, vindicating my darkest fears. The old god ascended from the depths and laid waste to my ship and all aboard her. Now, without food nor water, I shan't last the night. My bones shall be plucked clean by the pincered multitude that haunts me even now.
May this message find land, and by the unholy revelation that Tsoagoth has risen, may my reputation be restored.
- Captain Caruso of the Lady in Waiting
Leatherbound Logbook, "Read"
...I beg of you, Mercutio, if you have any care for the friendship we once had, grant me this one favour. It is true I have my own boat, but that is for hauling in fish! It is not fit to travel the waters I must navigate. My wife needs me, my friend. I know it reeks of madness, but Abi has been taken, kidnapped by the King of Brine himself. I fear too that he intends to make her one of his fishwives, just as the old stories warned us!
Please, Mercutio, I've heard tell of your success as a merchant in recent years. Surely you can spare one ship? Let me voyage out and rescue her, or at least, bring her body back to rest on dry land. Help me silence the insanity in my own mind.
Every night, I dream of pale, slime-slick creatures that pursue my boat through the thick, dark waters. I try not to look at them, but I also do. And they look back, their eyes wide with sadness and longing. They are not eyes born of the sea, Mercutio. God help me... they are Abi's eyes.
- Benric of Gulton
Letter Fragment, "Read"
Commander of the Templar Fleet
Operation Ocean Blades
An urgent Report on:
The Massacre of Pondium Strait.
"We were sent here to crush the Brinerot pirates, but something far more troubling has occupied our attentions. Of the surviving men, a few of the older, more superstitious types call it the Brine King. Apparently some false deity of the sea we've long since scoured from our holy scriptures.
Whatever the damned thing is, it's big. I've seen it myself, though as little more than a vast shadow far below us, veritably dwarfing the hulls of our fleet.
Most of our ships are gone, dragged beneath the waves by this malevolent leviathan. We could do little but watch in horror as the waters about us blossomed red. We are nearing the Beacon, what's left of us, and the wind blows strongly towards home.
High Templar Avarius, please understand that I am not a man cut from the coward's cloth, but this situation... this game of cat and mouse has gone on too long. There is nothing to be gained in continuing on to Pondium. We shall turn our sails and catch the trade wind back to Oriath. I only pray we can outrun this thalassic fiend.
May Innocence guide and protect us.
Templar Report, "Read"
O' Lord of Salt and Scale, your servants attend to thee.
Praise thee Tsoagoth!
Without life yet living, the Brine King sleeps.
We send our prayers to thee, so that you might eternally slumber.
O' great one, we offer up this human soul as slave for you in your drowned city.
Take this life and bid the seas be calm and plentiful.
Woe to the Sailor who does not offer tribute to thee!
Such a man is cast off from our ocean kingdom!
He shall be made pariah, with neither captain nor commission.
Judge us not by unworthy sails,
Look to us as your servants.
Your kin of salt and scale.
O' praise thee Tsoagoth, praise thee!
Shrine to the Brine King, "Read"
- Ralakesh, Master of a Million Faces
Ralakesh... My brother has been busy, hasn't he...
Tangmazu, The Ashen Fields
High Lord Ralakesh, I am but lowly outlaw scum, yet you, a god of a thousand faces, have looked at me and deemed me worthy of your cause!
I've offered willingly my flesh and blood. You shall now have my thoughts to use as you see fit. I only ask that you let me serve forever as one of your Holy Claws. Allow me to bring the light of your belonging to this whole bloody continent. My greatest desire is to see your ancient kingdom remade and your enemies cower at your feet.
Ode to Ralakesh, "Read"
- Gruthkul, Mother of Despair
Yes, I know of Gruthkul, the grieving mother. She featured quite prominently in some of the Vaal texts I restored during my time at the museum in Theopolis.
After the deaths of her children, Queen Gruthkul fled north, eventually finding respite amongst the refugee of her own shattered realm. Yet these loyalists saw their own queen as a weapon, a tool for vengeance. They nurtured her pain, transfiguring sorrow into hatred, hatred into violence. Like a grizzled bear, Gruthkul descended into animalism and ferocity. Yet her caretakers foolishly underestimated the agony their bereaved queen harboured in her heart. Like a bear caught in a trap, Gruthkul wrenched free of her human loyalties and slew her followers to the last woman and child. It was through devastation Gruthkul ascended to divinity.
Gruthkul's pain has transcended ages and she will vent that pain upon any and all she encounters until her grief is finally laid to rest.
- Arakaali, Spinner of Shadows
Even as our courageous Arakaali forged the foundations of a new empire within the ruination of the old, a fresh threat was born in the shadow of the mountains. A creature so devoid of divinity, so beyond humanity, that it drew the very essence from Arakaali as the spider imbibes the life of the trapped moth. Our Queen's medicines had once sustained us. Now famine and plague ravaged what little remained of our lands.
As the Beast of the Mountains grew, our Arakaali waned until, helpless as a child, she lost even the faith of her most devoted, the Temple of Decay. I feel the shame for my ancestors as the spider's venom burns in my belly. When our Queen needed them most, her people betrayed her, bound her in silk and left her to languish in the bowels of a pyramid, just as Arakaali had done to Gruthkul so many years before.
Now she has returned, but it is not vengeance she wants. She is no mindless Gruthkul. Arakaali, Goddess of Love, wishes only to embrace the world as she wishes she had been embraced.
Shrine to Arakaali, "Read"
Your soft whispers beneath earth tingle my skin, like breath of lover against my loins. I sleep not. I hear your name inside my skull. Arakaali. No name tasted so sweet on my tongue.
Stories I have heard, tales of cursed beauty. Visage of woman, jewel that walks the streets in final days of a great empire. Heard tell you sought victims, but I know truth. You sought man to love you, to break spell. You hoped true love might allow you to shed eight-leg body, to become goddess of love once more.
I pledge myself to you, my lady of Vaal. I promise love, for I am that man you have waited on. Corrupt corpse-lovers claim to worship you, call you Spinner of Shadows, but you have spun only shadows of desire about my heart.
Sweet Arakaali, I have found your altar. I will speak the call. I will return you to beauty. I will raise you from black pits of despair and together we shall rule Wraeclast in glory... forever.
- Yugul, Reflection of Terror
In Izaro's grotesque little garden, you'll find an old friend of mine.
The yawning maw that is Yugul... but a self-portrait of what that pathetic creature has come to believe about the nature of fear. Those who look upon him see their own fears reflected in his horrifying visage.
- Solaris, Eternal Sun & Lunaris, Eternal Moon
Good to see you in Sarn once again. I wish that we could be greeting under fairer skies, yet this city remains clouded in strife.
Lunaris, Eternal goddess of the Moon and her sister, Solaris of the Sun, have risen to reclaim what was once their own. Siblings equal in strength, mighty twin rivers converging, sweeping all before them.
We are cornered animals, awaiting the deluge that will surely drown us. Yet there exists a pair of ancient treasures, the Sun Orb and the Moon Orb. They are our hope... our desperation.
These owl eyes of mine have been watching the sun goddess from afar. The Sun Orb lies within her temple, guarded by her most ardent devotee. An exile who, in his insanity, has taken to calling himself 'The Dawn'.
That orb is the seed that must be stolen from this new son of hers, and planted at the feet of his ancient mother.
I've been keeping a close eye on that exile-turned-sycophant who calls himself, 'The Dusk'. Dusk carried the Moon Orb into the Lunaris Temple and has not returned with it, not as far as I have seen.
No doubt he clings to that orb like it's his adopted mother's own nurturing breast. If you were to wean him from the teat, and place that orb at the bereft mother's feet, we may yet see the moon itself fall.
If we are to see the dawn of a new era for humankind, the sun must be taught to behave herself.
Upon that mighty span between Sarn's left hand and its right, Solaris burns to consume every single moment of existence. Sparing no thought for life and its needs, she would see the world parched barren before she yields to reason.
The sun must be allowed to set so that it may rise again as a blessing, not a curse.
We approach the zenith of our divine hunt, upon the bridge that chokes the great, wet throat of Sarn.
Lunaris, in her cold fury, has forgotten that the warming sun of morning is as life-giving as the cooling damp of evening.
The empire Lunaris dreams of shall be lit by moon and twinkling stars, and life itself shall wither away in the perpetual night.
- Garukhan, Queen of the Wind
Garukhan wished once more for the skies. If she were to die,
she wanted it to be up there in the clouds. This world had never
been her home. She required greater things. She required adventure.
But die she would, here in the dirt...
- Shakari, Queen of the Sands
When I received my first flower of blood, I was given to the ritual of womanhood. All young Maraketh women have to dance with the scorpion, to prove themselves worthy of carrying the dekhara's spear.
It is no easy task, to catch a black Maraketh Scorpion. Their tails are swift, their stingers sharp, their poison lethal. I made my way through the trial unscathed, but my sister... We shared a womb, came into this world together. She left it, thrashing and foaming at the mouth.
Since that day, I have slept with one eye open, for fear of the scorpion's sting. And now Shakari, the mother of all black bugs rises from the sands!
Find that scuttling bitch and kill her for me... and for every child, every little girl who has suffered and died by the barb of her countless poisoned tails.
You killed Shakari? My sister's death has finally been avenged. Shakari was supposed to be our divine teacher, said to guide us into womanhood. All she ever gave was death.
I suppose it's fitting that the teacher has learned that mortal lesson for herself. Our whole lives, we have lived for the blessings of our goddesses, yet here they are, in the flesh, proving to us that they are only monsters.
Please, let me reward you for your efforts.
In the Maraketh desert, an Oasis lies to the east, its waters shielded from prying eyes by a preternatural storm. The sand will rip the very flesh from your bones, should you be so foolish as to enter into its dark shroud. Yet, enter you must.
The goddess Shakari hides within that golden blizzard, festering with revenge as she resurrects and rebuilds her ancient army - an army that once threatened to shake the very balance of these lands.
Should she be allowed to revitalise her troops, the whole of Maraketh will finally fall under the cruelty of her selfish reign. The storm is impenetrable for now, even to the likes of me, but there must be a way in.
These Highgate locals, they have an affinity for the desert and harsh weather. One of them may know of a way to disperse the storm.
"So it's true." Shakari thought, as she took her final breath.
"My father, Sin, wishes me dead. And he has sent his rabid dog to do it..."
- The Silence of the Gods
Aside from my own presence, I no longer feel the vibrations of other gods. Though there may yet be more out there, for now, Wraeclast can breathe a sigh of relief.
However, we must turn our sights to Kitava who still gorges himself on those poor souls trapped in Oriath. You have drunk your fill of my kind, the essence of deity courses through your veins, waiting to be expunged upon a chosen victim. We can only hope it will be strength enough to face that demoniac of a god.
Kirac's my name, tracker and officer in Oriath's new Citizen Vanguard. We're the front line, ensuring the likes of Kitava and Innocence never blindside us again. The Templar kept the true nature of the world hidden from the populace, but now the rhoa's out of the sack, and we'll keep both eyes open. Or the one eye open, in my case.
Seems enough was enough. The Vanguard undertook the largest evacuation in history... hundreds of ships... and Oriath has been abandoned. After the domination of the Templar, then the crackdown under Innocence, then the slaughter at Kitava's hands, and finally the ruination by Sirus, it's clear our little island is no place for men to live. Even cursed, one could say, though we are not entirely blameless for those disasters.
No small irony that the Oriathan people now depend upon the Karui we once enslaved. I always said that if you kick a rhoa in the arse, one day, it'll kick you in the head, but I underestimated the honour of our new hosts. They're different after the death of their gods... and we are, too, after the departure of ours. I wasn't a believer, but I can feel it. We're on our own now.
We're going to have to work together to face what comes next...