aestrix

Raezenoth has sent his manifested form to sleep. He doesn't need it to sleep, it could (and has) gone years and years without such, but sometimes it's nice to not have a body. To go back to how he was in the beginning - a whisper on the wind, a swirl of desert sands, the rustle of the sparse grass. All of his domain, instead of split and splintered and crammed into flesh for the convenience of having hands. Anywhere in it, instead of forced to move at his (admittedly considerable, for a god) top speed. He isn't sorry to have a manifested form, isn't sorry to walk among mortals and call them friend. But he is a god. He doesn't always have to have a body. So he doesn't.

He tidies up his domain. He finds people who need things, who want things, and slips in items that would let them get what they need, and then what they want, by their own power. He's very accustomed to this, he's had a lot of practice, but he tries to outdo himself every chance he gets. Tries to inspire his followers to a little bit more of that stubborn brilliance he loves in mortals so. Tries to help them improve. The mortals make the god, after all. It is the greatest irony, he thinks.

He is the wind, and the ground, and the water beneath it, and he is all of the little things that help people without snatching away their ability to help themselves. It's nice. Quiet. Soothing, after his recent near-mistake involving deleting slavery from existence.

He'll have a visitor soon. He'll wake his body up for that, it's bound to be interesting if nothing else.