Phirio
Whisperer Phirio
Phirio the Whisperer, the Deal-Maker, They That Laugh Last is the patron of the jester, the primarch of hedonism, the guide of gamblers, and the source of all "luck with a price" in Arcanorum. While not necessarily malicious, the Deal-Maker cares little for the long term health of their faithful, casting aside that which bores them for the newest, most shiniest bauble that catches their proverbial eye.
However, for those who do manage to gain the favor of the "Most Generous", life can be remarkably easy: circumstance, consequence, and luck all seem to simply turn out for the better for those with the "shine". However, this rarely if ever lasts any appreciable time, and those who find themselves cast aside often land on hard times, as the consequences of their past choices, once averted, now pile up upon them.
The faith of The Ember Light pays reverence to the Deal-Maker as an aspect of the flame: one that provides when needed, as long as it's nature is respected.
Phirio is not strongly opposed or opposed by other Divines, but does tend to be at odds with those who would destroy the mortal breeds, as they find the mortals to be most entertaining. Thus, Nastil's excessive use of violence against the mortals is most likely to garner a reaction from Phirio's adherents.
- Whisperer
- Deal-Maker
- Most Generous
- They That Laugh Last
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light."
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
~ Dylan Thomas