“Don’t pray to Krathk for victory. Pray she’s watching when you earn it. She rewards nothing she didn’t see with her own eyes.”
— a Minos garrison sergeant, cited by every recruit who’s ever asked and half-believed by none of them
Krathk, Goddess of War
She does not pick sides. She picks whoever’s still moving when the noise stops.
The garrison swears she favors the strongest hand on the field. Her favor is a verdict, earned. Others who’ve felt her lightning land on them mid-fight say there’s no verdict in it at all. She simply loves the storm for its own sake, and whoever survives it is incidental to her enjoying herself. Both camps have felt her land in their favor at least once. Neither has stopped arguing.
Her prayers strike, hurl, command the sky itself. They’re thrown the way a predator throws itself at a kill. Nothing measured about the arrival.
Her Character
Restless One.
Krathk is movement. Wolf mid-lunge. Bull that’s already decided. Relentless is the word her own Clerics reach for most. She doesn’t plan a battle. She throws herself into the middle of one and calls that a plan after the fact. No patience in her prayers. No restraint in the delivery. Just the burst, and whatever’s left standing when it’s done.
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