Go on. Give the worgs some Booze! They'll love it.

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.

Peace. Enjoy it while it lasts.

Fine, I guess I'll just stay here and eat dirt or whatever.

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