111 OTTO 111, Small God of the Palindromes

Hello.

Goodbye.

He’s a confusing one at times, ever charming to the innocent and the wise, ever vengeful toward the cunning and the cruel.  He comes as he is going, and goes as he comes, and so very few can understand his workings.

He would like a cucumber sandwich, if it matters at all to anyone who’s listening, or perhaps a lasagna.  A lasagna would be especially welcome—as he has been known to say to those who ask him, “Go hang a salami, I’m a lasagna hog.”

Many of his sayings make little sense to the uniformed.  Does it matter where the rats live, or if they choose to hang their hats upon no evil stars?  Is there any relevance to whether or not geese see God, or whether it was a cat or a car he saw?  But he continues, and he endures, and he keeps his small, perplexing secrets, and he tells his small, perplexing tales, and he is happy enough.

Happiness, he says, is what separates gods from gone, and he would prefer to be present.

Many of his sayings make little sense to the uniformed.  Does it matter where the rats live, or if they choose to hang their hats upon no evil stars?  Is there any relevance to whether or not geese see God, or whether it was a cat or a car he saw?  But he continues, and he endures, and he keeps his small, perplexing secrets, and he tells his small, perplexing tales, and he is happy enough.

He would like a cucumber sandwich, if it matters at all to anyone who’s listening, or perhaps a lasagna.  A lasagna would be especially welcome—as he has been known to say to those who ask him, “Go hang a salami, I’m a lasagna hog.”

He’s a confusing one at times, ever charming to the innocent and the wise, ever vengeful toward the cunning and the cruel.  He comes as he is going, and goes as he comes, and so very few can understand his workings.

Goodbye.

Hello.


[image description: A small creature with the face of a juvenile Badger stands in a flamboyant red coat, purple waistcoat, violet sash, and wide ribbon bowtie. His shadow falls on a rough wooden floor, right hand on a comparatively tall bottom stair. Text reads, “111 OTTO 111, The Small God of the Palindromes”]


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.

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