Sanctuaries

In the dimly lit chamber of the inn, Sol sat perched on the edge of a weathered bed, his expression passive as the old butler carefully tended to his wounds. The old butler, with practiced hands, diligently cleaned the injuries inflicted during the punishment, his face etched with concern.

As the butler worked, his hands deftly wrapping bandages around Sol's torso, he broached a topic that weighed heavily upon his mind.

"Young master," he began cautiously, "how do you plan to confront the impending return of the old gods?"

Sol's brow furrowed at the inquiry, a thoughtful expression clouding his features.

"Deities require sanctuaries and worship to manifest in the mortal plane," he explained, his tone contemplative. "Hidden cults maintain low-quality altars, which could only summon the old gods with a fraction of their power."

Pausing momentarily, Sol's gaze turned inward, his mind racing with implications.