People who don’t really know him think he’s a carefree guy. After all, he’s always joking, always ready with a quip or witty comeback. He never takes anything seriously. He’s the celestial class clown.
People tend to forget that the person who never takes anything seriously never gets anything done. He can’t keep a relationship past the first few dates; even someone who finds his witty repartee charming over dinner and a glass of ambrosia will likely find it old once the clothes are on the floor and they want him to listen to what they’re actually saying. His worshippers come and go with alacrity, seeking gods who will actually listen to their problems, seeking temples with substance, divinity with holy texts instead of snide put-downs and negging.
He is the patron of pickup artists and the insecure, beloved of teenage boys who believe that sincerity is a sin and showing genuine interest in a thing means it will be taken away at the first opportunity. They come to him with empty hands and broken hearts, and he cannot heal them, and he cannot truly help them, but he can patch their broken places with his own brand of rot and cool dismissal.
He wishes he could be better. He can never teach anyone else how to reach that fabled state.
People who don’t really know him think he’s carefree. People who do know that he cares more than he can ever express, that his jokes are at their root a form of self-protection, and he can no more stop than he can change the core of his existence. He is a shallow god.
He wishes he were more.
Artist Lee Moyer (13th Age, Cursed Court) and author Seanan McGuire (Middlegame, Every Heart a Doorway) have joined forces to bring you icons and stories of the small deities who manage our modern world, from the God of Social Distancing to the God of Finding a Parking Space.
Join in each week on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday for a guide to the many tiny divinities: