Balsor was a warrior of exceptionally firm will, yet his manner of doing things was also quite tactful. Otherwise, he could never have afforded to run a treasure shop on Waterdeep's most luxurious street.
Yet at this moment, even his eternally straight back could not help but bend.
Though he knew what foolish thing his Supreme God had done, the fact that he was still healthy and did not feel his life force steadily draining away showed that the Guardian God still had a sliver of hope.
As long as believers remained, as long as they could persist in continuously calling upon him... how could the divine portfolio of guardianship lack followers?
Balsor merely intended to pull himself together after grieving for a while and become an ascetic who wandered endlessly across Faerûn... Wasn't it just retracing the road of several centuries ago?
Though he lay upon the sea, he was already calculating where to begin soothing the people, somewhere with many followers of Helm... What Helm had done in helping Amn's colonists kill the indigenous Gods of another continent had already shaken countless believers of the Good Alignment.
This matter would certainly spread. The Gods of Toril would surely be delighted to praise Helm's extraordinary judgment... especially the new Mystra.
After only dealing with her for a while, Balsor had come to understand a little of the goddess's character: she repaid every slight, and her methods were flexible.
She was rather close to the Undead in style, never showing any sign of being "too embarrassed."
Then there were those goddesses competing with Sharess for the divine portfolio of beauty. Though their rivalry had never involved open conflict, there was certainly no shortage of sharp, cutting mockery between them.
Sharess, who had lost to Cyric, had thoroughly lost face, even