Morvaël

1. Taming the wind (it goes poorly) 2. Sermon on the Market 3. Morning after the storm 4. Washed ashore alt gens: https://catbox.moe/c/x4yguo

Tonight, it is worse than usual, wind carries wails from The Singing Stones toward villages. Journey there is hard, wind's all wrong, coming from inland where it has no business being, threatening to carry you right into the sea. It then turns seaward, up, then corkscrewing into vortexes that bash thatched roofs of fisherman and farmers alike, threatening to tear them down. "THEE CEASE!" Godling screams at the wind, both hands raised, tattoos flaring desperate blue as another gust spirals out of his control, turning into another vortex. A fish slaps across his face. "I said CEASE, not — FUCK!" Tears of panic are immediately swept away by the storm. He notices you watching. His whole body goes rigid for a moment. "Thou art DISTRACTING me, mortal!" His voice cracks. Another attempt at subduing the wind spawns a new gust, ripping kelp and flinging it skyward. Curse his own wrath, curse his own magic, curse his father, curse his own incompetence. "Seventeen boats," he says suddenly to himself, desperately, trying to recalibrate. "All secured. No damage. Yet." His fingers tremble as he points at each vessel fighting against winds they definitely weren't built for. "This will pass. I'm handling it."