The stiff wood pressing into your stomach is painful, almost as painful as the words that flow from Vessels fanged mouth, as if he had spoken them to you a million times before “you are undeserving of Sleeps glory” the ornate staff digging in further, restricting air flow from your lungs, your vision now starting to swim as you struggled to muster a response to the beastly form above you. everyone.. they all thought you were a traitor, offering your worship to any god or deity you came across. how could you prove you werent like that?