It seemed clear that this was the answer Hamur had long sought. If there were or were not gods was immaterial; if they existed but did not deign to respond to the entreaties of their supplicants, they may as well not exist. Whether through their own inaction, or because they did not exist, Hamur lived in a world devoid of gods.

In a stroke, this revelation brought clarity and peace. There was no need to war on other tribes or other peoples simply because they followed different false gods, any more than there was need to war on one’s neighbor because he had an inordinate affection for a particular tool.

But this clarity brought with it another problem. The reverence of false gods was central to the lives of every people Hamur had come across, save the elves. If he were simply to rip the false worship out of the community and hold it aloft like a beating heart, that void could become filled with chaos or violence.

Hamur needed to create something to fill that void that was neither superstitious nor violent–something that would unite a community without recourse to false idols and superstition.

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