Oliver saw the effect. The effect was terror and weeping, all mixed in a bowl of despair. This was the God that all had claimed Ingolsol to be in charge of, but he seemed to show a disinterest in the whole affair. The best he gave was a nod at the necessity of it, and an acknowledgment of the puppet strings that fear created, but he didn't bathe in the expected ecstasy, as all would have him believe.
"The name is the one they gave me," Ingolsol said, in that deep throbbing voice of his. "Not one that I snatched for myself, or one that I embody. Still, that womanly man with his sword behind you is right. This here is the path forward."
"A terrible path," Claudia said sadly. "One that needed not be taken. Progress can be achieved honourably. To try to forsake it, by offering up one's own morality by means of an exchange – that is a path that will only lead to self destruction in the near future."
