"Oh, we worship Mythal. Mythal, Elgar'nan, Andruil, June, Sylaise..." Bramen shook his head, reaching out to touch one of those outstretched hands of the statue. He squeezed it a little and breathed out through his nose, looking towards the statue's face.
"We roam so often, we can never be certain where our dead lie. We know as our bodies turn to dust, trees and life will flourish from where we remain - but the clan never gets to keep a piece of that with us. We keep Falon'Din's presence with us to remind us of those who have crossed over, to those who now walk at his side. We can't say prayers at the graves of our loved ones, but we can speak them here." Bramen glanced down to the ground, looking at the grass that sprouted around the base of the statue.
"There are old stories that say Dirthamen's ravens linger near depictions of Falon'Din. They whisper our secrets to Dirthamen who returns to his brother's side, seeks out all of our loved ones and tells them what we've said."
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"We roam so often, we can never be certain where our dead lie. We know as our bodies turn to dust, trees and life will flourish from where we remain - but the clan never gets to keep a piece of that with us. We keep Falon'Din's presence with us to remind us of those who have crossed over, to those who now walk at his side. We can't say prayers at the graves of our loved ones, but we can speak them here." Bramen glanced down to the ground, looking at the grass that sprouted around the base of the statue.
"There are old stories that say Dirthamen's ravens linger near depictions of Falon'Din. They whisper our secrets to Dirthamen who returns to his brother's side, seeks out all of our loved ones and tells them what we've said."