"Well," he starts with raised eyebrows, and ambles a little closer so they aren't speaking across at each other as though they're at cross purposes. He fetches out another cigarette and lights it, maybe more to have something to keep his hands occupied than for any other reason, though the habitual inhale and exhale of the smoke probably does soothe the frayed edges of his nerves. "We venerate the Stone, and the best of our ancestors--we call them Paragons, living ancestors--but we don't worship them. No going down to the Chantry for vespers or pleading with the Maker to forgive us for our sins, any of that sod." He waves a hand; there aren't any Andrastians around for him to offend anymore anyway. "But, uh," he adds, "we go back to the Stone, when we die. Supposedly."
He used to believe that pretty fervently, up until he died and discovered himself here, of all places. Maybe the doubt shows on his face.
no subject
This guy must be a real hit at parties.
"Well," he starts with raised eyebrows, and ambles a little closer so they aren't speaking across at each other as though they're at cross purposes. He fetches out another cigarette and lights it, maybe more to have something to keep his hands occupied than for any other reason, though the habitual inhale and exhale of the smoke probably does soothe the frayed edges of his nerves. "We venerate the Stone, and the best of our ancestors--we call them Paragons, living ancestors--but we don't worship them. No going down to the Chantry for vespers or pleading with the Maker to forgive us for our sins, any of that sod." He waves a hand; there aren't any Andrastians around for him to offend anymore anyway. "But, uh," he adds, "we go back to the Stone, when we die. Supposedly."
He used to believe that pretty fervently, up until he died and discovered himself here, of all places. Maybe the doubt shows on his face.