I like to imagine Him with His arms crossed and His chin jutting out, while He refuses to look at us.

[ Like a spoiled toddler, you know.

And sooner or later, over drinks or cards or a walk, Bastien will come for all of those unfamiliar words–gith and dragonborn and drow and illithid. And what about the magic, and what about the demons, and how do the ships soar, and why is it called Toril, and why would it be in the sky?

For now: ]

Did a god shut you out?