Northstar Vale the patron saint of disconnection

Impressionable at weakest, the fool nodded his head to this strange and somehow invisible deity, backwards scruff a cape’s brim around his broad but bloody shoulders.

“But even letting them out doesn’t make them go away,“ the bastard whimpered to the world. The truth scalded across his tongue, and the whimper soldered across his swollen ear. “I only know revenge, and failure. Only victory, and satisfaction. I’m a simple beast, but no one seems to understand me. I scream to the damned gods, but they do not hear me.”

He felt alone, and no one but this god here and now knew of his sorrows. His troubles were a cross he gave no one but himself charge over. “It’s a terrible way to live life, but I live it. And I get shat on by everyone ever crossed. My conversations end in either a fight, or frightening someone off. There’s really a way to find some sort of renewal for the life of the Damned?”