for it was Hermes who first made the tortoise a singer :: SW Osten
This new land lacked the steady buzz of trade, the rush of transcontinental flights, not to mention the nonstop chatter of the Internet. How can a world exist and be so quiet? Over the years he'd grown accustomed to eking out what little faith he could find along the edges of his providence. Small con jobs formed the base of his power, but recently Internet memes looked as if they might pan out into something that could really get his metaphorical engines revved.
Upon arrival, there was a split second of legitimate fear before his innate optimism and curiosity took over. Cautiously stretching out his self, he looked to see just what part of his providence exists here. No farmers or shepherds, no children to protect from wolves, and certainly no stock exchange. The lack of commerce hits him like a blow, but Hermes recognizes that as long as he's alive he can adapt. It's been some time since he's been heavily involved in welcoming strangers, but he still has some connection to lost travellers. Perhaps, if he plays his cards right, he can rebuild here?
It's almost like the world after the flood. New, fresh, ready to be conditioned or reconditioned. Sure, these people might want to cling to the faiths of their homelands, but when they realize that their old prayers go unanswered and offerings to Hermes bring about concrete results, then this may all prove to be worthwhile.
On the edge of town, at the last intersection on the road leading in the forest, Hermes gets to work selecting and piling rocks into a herm with a bowl at its base. While, it's not traditional for a god to build his own place of power, in this instance it seems to be the wisest choice. Not as welcoming as a temple, but for now it'll do as a place to leave offerings, pour libations, and root his power in the crossroad and the earth beneath it.
Upon arrival, there was a split second of legitimate fear before his innate optimism and curiosity took over. Cautiously stretching out his self, he looked to see just what part of his providence exists here. No farmers or shepherds, no children to protect from wolves, and certainly no stock exchange. The lack of commerce hits him like a blow, but Hermes recognizes that as long as he's alive he can adapt. It's been some time since he's been heavily involved in welcoming strangers, but he still has some connection to lost travellers. Perhaps, if he plays his cards right, he can rebuild here?
It's almost like the world after the flood. New, fresh, ready to be conditioned or reconditioned. Sure, these people might want to cling to the faiths of their homelands, but when they realize that their old prayers go unanswered and offerings to Hermes bring about concrete results, then this may all prove to be worthwhile.
On the edge of town, at the last intersection on the road leading in the forest, Hermes gets to work selecting and piling rocks into a herm with a bowl at its base. While, it's not traditional for a god to build his own place of power, in this instance it seems to be the wisest choice. Not as welcoming as a temple, but for now it'll do as a place to leave offerings, pour libations, and root his power in the crossroad and the earth beneath it.