Kutur mumbled some reply to the pounding outside, throwing on his usual robe and putting away his tomes. At this point, not even he knew what he was saying. The runes, they permeated the space of his mind, drowning out rational thought with . . . what it was he could not say. Magic, in short. Magic was madness. He had to get away from it for a short while.

"Morning, Kali. It's . . . morning, right?" he asked, throwing open his door. The outside light blinded him, but he squinted through it. A vaguely Kali-shaped figure stood at the door, close enough that he wouldn't be able to tell the difference.
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Ardasa adored the crowd. They called prayers to her, shouted her name from the streets, it was almost as grand as the ceremony in Hekaga. A mother rushed up the steps and presented her a newborn child, sucking on his claws.

"Please, Your Mercy, bless this child," she said.

"I'm not a goddess. Find a temple, and have the child properly blessed," Ardasa whispered, but touched the child's forehead anyways. "He's very handsome. No doubt you will have many troubles keeping him yours."

"Your praise is a thousand blessings, Your Mercy," she said, and disappeared into the crowd. It won't be long now before more parents begin to do the same.