It's not you, it's me - I have standards.

Like moons make swell and wane the nescient seas, so too the sky-strewn gods ordain the tidal fates of mortal days. And yet - a notion born in lonely hours - come ebb, come flow, come all that is beyond the breadth of our dominion: be a moon unto yourself. Even the waves of fate can break upon the shores of will.

Tread carefully, now. Not even a god would survive sacrificing me.

How would you feel about helping me kill some evil bastards?