Faith and Other Complications
“If a god buys you a drink, smile sweetly. Then ask who they were trying to impress. The answer is never you. Trust me.”
The divine don’t visit The Last Home for guidance. They come here to sulk.
You’ll spot them, eventually. Not because they glow (though some do), or because they speak in riddles (though some really need to stop)—but because they’re the only ones who can’t quite relax. Power like that doesn’t sit easy when the rules aren’t theirs anymore.
So, let’s talk about gods. And demons. And whatever that thing in Room 23A is calling itself this week. If you’re a cleric, a warlock, or one of those "spiritually flexible" paladins who claims to worship Justice Itself (bless), then this part’s especially for you.
Because power behaves differently here. So does belief. And the gods? Well. Even they get stage fright when the Inn starts watching.
The Divine Dine Here (Quietly)
The gods are welcome. Mostly. Provided they behave.
No sermons. No smiting. No unsolicited miracles. We had an incident once involving a self-resurrecting martyr and a particularly judgmental bar stool. Lars stepped in. The stool was forgiven. The martyr wasn’t.
Most divinities settle in after a while. They learn to play cards, pretend to lose at darts, and order drinks with names like Saint’s Regret and One More Revelation. It’s humbling. And that’s the point.
The Inn doesn’t care who they are.
It only cares if they’re being a nuisance.
You Still Have Powers (But Maybe Not Yours)
Clerics, warlocks, paladins—your connection to the divine persists. Sort of. Your spells work. Usually. Just don’t assume they came from where you left them.
Inside the Inn, things… reroute.
A healing spell might pull from latent magic in the floorboards. A smite may be fuelled by someone’s unresolved guilt two tables over. And your Guidance? That wasn’t divine inspiration. That was Mama Jori glaring at you until your soul got back in line.
No one’s entirely sure where the magic comes from. It’s not not your god. But it’s also not just them.
You can pray. Just know someone else might answer.
Meeting Your God:
Pros and Existential Crises
It happens.
A door opens. A seat’s taken. A very familiar deity orders the house wine and asks why you’ve been skipping temple.
There is no protocol for this. Not here.
Some gods arrive to reconnect. Others to reprimand. A few just want to see if you still believe. Whatever the reason, remember this: they don’t have power over you here. Not unless you hand it back.
I remember a cleric once, trembling at the sight of the god they'd prayed to all their life—only to realise they felt nothing. No awe. No fear. Just… distance. I hummed to them that night, a little lullaby I barely remembered. They left the next morning, lighter. Not sure where they were going. But a little less lost.
It’s okay to outgrow your miracles.
Demons, Devils, and Other Tempting Mistakes
Yes, they come too. They drink. They flirt. They tip.
Some are charming. Some are horrifying. A few are oddly punctual. But none of them can make contracts inside the Inn—not binding ones, anyway. The place interferes. Promises warp. Words untie themselves. It’s very upsetting for them.
That said—don’t tempt them.
They’re still what they are. And while they may act like exes trying to behave at a mutual friend’s wedding, they remember everything. So do their grudges.
If one offers you a deal, smile politely and ask what I’d think. That usually ruins the mood.
Eldritch Horrors and You:
A Beginner’s Guide to Not Screaming
Some things come here that defy definition. Not gods. Not demons. Just… wrong. They sit at the edge of vision. They make the air taste like regret. They pay in currencies no one should recognise.
We let them stay, sometimes. If they’re polite. If they don’t rearrange the furniture.
The key is not to understand them. That way lies headaches and a tendency to dream in non-Euclidean geometry. The trick is to nod, smile, and serve their tea before it asks for you.
If they speak in prophecy, write it down. In someone else’s notebook.
The Infinite Elsewhere:
It’s Big. It’s Weird. You’ll Probably End Up There.
The multiverse beyond the Inn is called the Infinite Elsewhere. It’s not a name. It’s a shrug with a map attached.
Everything exists out there. Somewhere. Forgotten realms. Dead gods. Realities made entirely of song. There’s even a plane where love is a disease and another where time’s just a rumour.
That’s where your patrons come from. That’s where your patrons go.
But the Inn? The Inn stays here. Between. Beneath. Beside. Wherever "safe" hides when the Elsewhere starts looking.
If you came from out there, welcome. If you’re going out there, take soup. And if you get lost… the Inn might find you again. If it feels like it.
At A Glance
What This Is:
A quietly gathered guide to the divine, the infernal, and the indescribable—written by someone who has loved gods, outlived belief, and still knows how to pour tea for both.
Why It Matters:
Faith doesn’t behave in the Inn. Neither do miracles. If your power comes from beyond, you may want to check who’s still listening—and who’s whispering instead.
What You’ll Learn:
- Gods must follow the rules, even when it hurts their pride.
- Magic drawn from belief still works—but not always as you expect.
- Meeting your god here is not a blessing. It’s a reckoning.
- Demons can’t trick the Inn—but they’ll still try to charm you.
- Eldritch entities are welcome guests, provided they don’t redecorate reality.
- The Infinite Elsewhere is real, endless, and rarely kind.
“Things People Have Asked”
These are not exact quotes. Just the way I remember them. Which might be worse.
“Is it safe to pray here?”
Yes. But don’t expect the answer you’re used to.
“What if I meet my god and disappoint them?”
Then you’re not the first. And you won’t be the last. Stay for dessert anyway.
“Can a warlock break their pact here?”
Sometimes. Sometimes the patron lets go first. That’s harder.
“Do demons tell the truth?”
Almost always. They just hope you won’t.
“What if I see something that shouldn’t exist?”
Offer it tea. Hope it says thank you. Don’t ask its name.
“Can the Inn protect me from what follows me?”
If it’s let you stay, it already is.
Advice from a Maid
"If something divine offers you forgiveness, ask what it wants first.
If something infernal offers you a drink, ask what it costs second.
If something else offers you anything at all—say thank you. Then bury it somewhere the moon can’t see.
This place breaks rules.
It doesn’t care if you shine, burn, or slither sideways through reality.
It only cares if you bring trouble to the wrong table.
Faith still works here.
But so do knives.
Choose accordingly."
— Lilith, pouring tea like it's a warning
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