I have a character called, Dawn. She's a saintess of a god of justice. Who gave up her position before she could even be recognized officially to a fake saint because a prophecy said the saintess would have to kill someone and she couldn't live with the idea of taking a life in the future.

her entire thing is being kind and noble but my problem is I may have given her morals too good for the story im writting?

Sometimes i think I might be writting her as too sympathetic. But her entire purpose is to be comparison for the Mc or 'fake saintess' as a character who haunts her narrative because people who interact with the two can tell even if they don't know that Dawn is the real thing that Mc lacks in the role of saintess in comparison too her. Because of dawns compassion and kindness.

which makes me worry im just gonna end up looping my story of oh Mc you helped me but dawn saved me.

So what's a way i could have her interact in other ways with the Mc besides just being a comparison.

Because I want them to interact more and i have tried asking others for ideas but friends mostly just wanna make them fight or argue for the flare~ but while the MC definitely would Dawn definitely wouldn't because she has 0 reason too so now im stumped. Is she too 2 dimensional?

I'm new to writing up characters and I am working on a superhero for a tabletop rpg. The only thing I have going so far is that this character has Magnetic powers. He's able to move and control metal with his mind. I'd like help coming up with a name for this hero and his backstory.. I'm not looking for anyone to actually write the backstory for me just help me come up with some ideas.

Deep breath... I've never shared my writing outside of my friend group before... I'm hoping you all will give me feedback on what you think about this as an opening chapter for an adult-themed LitRPG. Hope you enjoy and will be courteous with your feedback (tear it to shreds by all means, just be nice about it, please).

Chapter 1 – Lux - Trellzin's Junction Employee Sector

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

I smashed my hand down on the SMEG® battery powered alarm clock beside my bed. A rattling sounded in the vent above me.

“Turn on already,” I croaked, my throat dry.

A moment later I heard the whirl of the climate regulation system kicking up. Everything in my apartment was set to my sleep and work schedule. If I wasn't awake and in my quarters, nothing was on. Four thousand credits a year savings, just by going to sleep.

Blinking, I sat up, the faint bioluminescent glow of my mauve skin the only light in the room. Not for the first time, I wondered about the conditions that must have been present on the Sorvathi ancestral planet to have selected for such an odd evolutionary quirk. Slowly the glow faded as my body became more alert. Stretching, I got out of bed and turned on a light.

Through the shared wall, my neighbor's AHE® was blaring on full blast. The old man's kids had surprised him with the new At-Home-Entertainment® unit but hadn't sprung for the Neuroadaptor® compatible model.

"Veth... vrethikka solaan... —nnh?— ...sol, sol, SOLVETH—"

"—mmketh... vrith solaan neth—"

"—SOLVETH IKKA—!"

"Hnn hnn hnn. Hnn hnn hnn. Hnn hnn hnn hnn hnn."

The laugh track, recognizable in any language, made me smile as I removed my Neuroadaptor® stud earrings from their DockStation™ and popped them in.

"Mr. Hasheem," I yelled, banging on the wall. "Can you turn down the AHE®?"

"—she said I was inappropriate."

"Darling, you are inappropriate. That's entirely the point."

"I'm not easy. I'm simply in demand."

"Hnn hnn hnn. Hnn hnn hnn."

"Ednara, that's the difference between us. I know I'm easy. I've made my peace with it."

"Hnn hnn hnn. Hnn hnn hnn. Hnn hnn hnn hnn hnn."

The volume lowered from blaring to mild background noise.

"Thank you for being a friend, Mr. Hasheem," I shouted, as I dressed for my pre-work workout, humming the Cephalopod Golden Girls® reboot theme song. Because humanoid, reptilian, or gelatinous cube — it didn't matter, some things were universal.

I pulled on my swimsuit, gathered my long amethyst-colored hair into a tight bun, grabbed a towel, and headed out of my apartment, the Biosecure® at the door automatically locking my unit behind me. With a thought, I engaged my Neuroadaptor® and watched the mandatory three ads that allowed me to access the NeuroNet® for free, the device projecting sounds and semi-transparent holographic images as I walked the grey corridors of my sector.

A scene materialized before me — family members huddled around a hospital bed, the patient unresponsive and hooked up to beeping machines, an elderly relative weeping quietly. And looming where the doctor should have been was a reptilian man in a five-piece suit.

"Were you or a loved one negatively impacted by I.T.C.H. negligence?" he asked the middle distance, his deep, aristocratic voice overwhelming the small space. "By order of the Coalition of Interstellar Trade and Universal Standards, Civil Litigation Division, case number 7,742,891-B: Interstellar Transportation and Commercial Holdings has been found liable for negligent fold gate construction practices resulting in the unintended folding of matter, antimatter, and no fewer than three concepts previously believed to be unaffected by gravitational compression. Affected parties have until the end of the current galactic standard fiscal year to submit claims."

He produced a business card from his breast pocket and placed it on the patient's chest without looking down.

"Vreth, Vreth, and Solaan. We'll take it from here."

I groaned, mentally slamming the skip button. There was no skip button.

"Good luck, and don't fuck it up." RuPAI, the RuPaul® AI avatar, deadpanned into the camera, the split screen revealing queens watching the action backstage. "Are you telling me she doesn't know the words to the most recent remix of Galactazon?" The queens exchanged shady looks as the Galactic Drag Race® logo and theme song played. "Latest episodes of season 743 now streaming."

I snorted, mumbling to myself. "Guess she done already had herses, and fucked it up."

Five hundred years, and the galaxy still couldn't get enough. Earth culture was like diplomatic herpes — highly contagious, mostly harmless, flares up when you least expect it, and absolutely incurable.

The Galactic Drag Race® theme song ended and my last ad played.

"Someday, SOMEDAY, SOMEDAY. Tickets now on sale for the Sex Workers Association of Labor, Licensing, Output and Wares EXPO! Meet your favorite adult entertainers. See product demos that will make you wet and wild. Experience the latest in AHE® immersion pod technology, now 100% compatible with the latest 40 iterations of the Galactic Augmented Multiplayer Environmental Sexcapades VR experience — featuring full sensory fidelity, enhanced PPE integration, and certified for the forty-third consecutive quarter free of code-transmitted super neural gonorrhea. Pulsatrix NeuroPod Pro Series™. You deserve the best."

The overly excited, and most definitely roided up announcer sounded way too excited about that last bit.

I sighed. Another year gone, and I was still attending the largest adult entertainment industry event in the galaxy via a screen in my government-subsidized quarters on a C.O.I.T.U.S. limited-access virtual pass. It didn’t matter how much I begged, pleaded, and on one memorable occasion, implied consequences I had no intention of following through on — Barb in accounting was never going to approve an in-person pass. She had never, not even once, looked up from her expense reports.

Why couldn’t she see the value of sending an assistant manager of an outer rim clinic to a massively glamorous, eye-wateringly expensive, and professionally essential S.W.A.L.L.O.W. Expo? For strictly professional purposes, of course. It definitely did not have anything to do with the Sexcapades. Or the free merch.

Reaching the workout pool, I pushed the doors open and breathed in the humid, chlorine-filled air.

I put my towel down on a plastic chair, kicked off my rubber slides, and ran through my pre-swim stretches, toes curling around the pool edge. Idly, I accessed my bank account through my Neuroadaptor®, the details floating in front of me.

Legal Name: Aluxsavienne Narawannis

Galactic Translator Common Name: Lux

Galactic Credit Score: 742/1000

Account Number: GCU-TJ-44729-SORV-0028

Galactic Credits Account Balance: ʢ3,849.66

Available Galactic Credits: ʢ2,786.74

Pending Transactions

S.W.A.L.L.O.W. Monthly Dues: ʢ50.03

C.O.I.T.U.S. Employee Housing Sustainment: ʢ750.62

Papa Speedy Pizza Rocket: ʢ12.33

WholeNutrition Grocers: ʢ158.94

Neuroadaptor® Premium Subscription™: ʢ85.49

Duck-ee's Convenience Junction: ʢ5.24

Galactic Savings Account Balance: ʢ227,392.00

I dove into the water and took my first satisfying breath since waking. My dermal capillaries, which everyone mistook for indigo-colored freckles, opened, rushing oxygenated water into my body, rehydrating organs parched from a night of nothing but recycled station air.

As I swam my first lap of the pool, I mentally clicked on my PersonalDrive® and found the Sexcapades folder, pulling up my daily devotional.

G.A.M.E.S. Entry — Budget Research v.14 | All figures in Galactic Credits (ʢ) | SECURED funds excluded from GAP calculation

For ten years I had been saving for the sole purpose of competing in the Sexcapades.

To most people the G.A.M.E.S. were just a fun reality program — the galaxy's favorite Earth sports broadcast, Survivor®, crossed with an immersive VR experience that let viewers at home follow all the action. Licensed and produced by the Public Universal Broadcasting of Immersive Content, it was also part of their AHE® experience, where every contestant was preserved for posterity. Or at least until the next run.

Competing in the G.A.M.E.S. meant a way out. Not just out of Trellzin's Junction — though gods, yes, that too — but out of the particular flavor of slow suffocation that comes with being moderately competent at a job I never intended to keep. A good run meant licensing deals, sponsorships, never having to justify another expense report to Barb for as long as I lived.

I had planned to compete since I was sixteen. Honestly, with a name like Aluxsavienne, what other career options did I really have. That first contract at the clinic had gotten me off my home planet, out of the Perseus's armpit station park that ma'ma raised me in. Technically, I was closer to the inner rim — but really, I was still stuck in nowhere, just with a government paycheck.

I had taken the job at the clinic because I.T.C.H. was going to build a fold gate. Everyone said so. The permits were filed, the press releases were sent, and for approximately eighteen months it had been a very exciting time to be a service worker on the future site of the Trellzin Exchange Perseus Arm Fold Gate.

Then I.T.C.H. folded something they shouldn't have at the Icarus Exchange, and the gate, the luxury transporter job, and my exit strategy folded right along with it.

Instead, Trellzin's Junction had quietly been sold off in a fire sale to Duck-ee's, the Milky Way equivalent of a BJ and the Bear-style intergalactic truck stop, leaving me two weeks from the nearest Exchange and in need of a minimum — a MINIMUM — of ʢ230,000 credits to arrive at S.W.A.L.L.O.W. as a serious contender.

The ass-sucking-boot-licking-slowly-stealing-my-soul-manager position had always been temporary. I was just waiting for it to realize that.

Making my second turn in the pool, I reviewed my first spreadsheet.

TABLE 1 — TRAVEL

LINE ITEM	MINIMUM	PREFERRED	STRETCH
Conventional drive — outbound (Trellzin's Junction → Fold Exchange)	ʢ800	ʢ1,200	ʢ2,000
Fold transit — outbound (Fold Exchange → Las Vegas, Earth)	ʢ7,500	ʢ9,500	ʢ14,000
Lost salary — unpaid days in transit	ʢ25,280	ʢ15,800	ʢ11,060
Lost side hustle — est. conservative	ʢ7,000	ʢ5,000	ʢ3,500
SUBTOTAL	ʢ40,580	ʢ31,500	ʢ30,560

6 weeks paid leave covers the first 42 days at ʢ316/day = ʢ13,272 recovered. The remaining 50 days are on me. This is what 3 years w/o a vacation looks like. [note to self: the side hustle offset is theoretical. Do not count theoretical money.]

Travel to Las Vegas could be comfortable, fast, or affordable — pick two, but fast and affordable are incompatible options. Which meant traveling in style actually saved me money because it cut down on the amount of time I was in transit. High ticket cost, fewer days not working. Lower ticket cost, more days where I had to pay my own way.

Another lap, another spreadsheet.

TABLE 2 — S.W.A.L.L.O.W.EXPO

LINE ITEM	MINIMUM	PREFERRED	STRETCH
Entry badge*	ʢ1,800	ʢ1,800	ʢ1,800
Accommodation — EXPO pre-G.A.M.E.S. (est. 2 weeks)	ʢ2,800	ʢ3,500	ʢ5,600
Food & daily expenses — EXPO period	ʢ1,400	ʢ2,100	ʢ3,500
Industry events & networking	ʢ800	ʢ2,500	ʢ6,000
G.A.M.E.S. reveal event	ʢ200	ʢ200	ʢ200
PPE fashion show [research, definitely not shameless gawking]	ʢ150	ʢ150	ʢ150
SUBTOTAL	ʢ7,150	ʢ10,250	ʢ17,250

*S.W.A.L.L.O.W. registered member discount applied. Same rate across all tiers. One thing that doesn't fuck you for being space trash.

Once off Trellzin's Junction my expenses would still be considerable, depending on how I wanted to experience the EXPO, and I definitely wanted to experience the EXPO. So, now that I was attending, live, in person, and on my own hard-earned credit, I was going to experience the FUCK out of every moment. I absolutely wanted to stay in the main event hotel, that was my "PREFERRED" line item, but I could settle for a lesser venue if I really needed to.

My "STRETCH" goal for Vegas accommodations was a VIP lodging package that included the latest Pulsatrix NeuroPod Pro Series™ private VR experience right in the room, the same model that would be used in the G.A.M.E.S. This was the line item that I really wanted to stretch for. Though I knew access to the networking events would be more beneficial, as these were events aimed at introducing contestants to sponsors and brands looking for in-G.A.M.E.S. talent. Those passes had the potential to be my most lucrative investment.

I smiled, feeling the water rush over my skin as I reviewed the next tab.

TABLE 3 — G.A.M.E.S. SETUP

LINE ITEM	MINIMUM	PREFERRED	STRETCH
Entry fee	[SECURED ʢ25,000]	[SECURED ʢ25,000]	[SECURED ʢ25,000]
Character build package	ʢ15,000	ʢ40,000	ʢ100,000
Entry point selection	ʢ10,000	ʢ25,000	ʢ50,000
Intelligence package	ʢ5,000	ʢ20,000	ʢ50,000
Starting gear loadout	ʢ1,500	ʢ5,000	ʢ12,000
Inventory slot upgrades	ʢ3,000	ʢ8,000	ʢ20,000
In-GAME broadcasting license	ʢ4,000	ʢ7,000	ʢ10,000
Game Host activation — mid-range + in-GAME access bonus	ʢ3,000	ʢ6,000	ʢ16,000
SUBTOTAL	ʢ41,500	ʢ111,000	ʢ258,000

Entry fee excluded from subtotal and GAP calculation — already secured. Do not touch. Has never been touched. Will not be touched. DO NOT LOOK UP CURRENT VALUE (it will only make you cry)

I had secured my entry code for the Sexcapades the day I turned eighteen. Ma'ma had died two months before. An industrial accident at the processing plant we both worked at — the dependent death benefit check had been just enough.

P.U.B.I.C. entry codes never expired, could not be invalidated, and were 100% transferable as mandated by C.O.I.T.U.S. to accommodate inter-system time delays and dimensional variances. This had created a highly speculative black market, since all a participant had to do was show up, in person, and redeem the code, a feature not a bug that P.U.B.I.C. exploited whenever it saw fit to shit on the market. My early purchase of G.A.M.E.S. entry was the smartest thing I ever did with ʢ25,000.

 

My code, A72.800.579.AGF.95411.C, had already increased in value to ʢ37,500. Not that I had ever looked. I would sell a kidney before I ever sold my entry code into the G.A.M.E.S. Though, admittedly, a Sorvathian kidney in good health was only worth about ʢ7,500 on the black market… not that I had ever checked.

 

Another turn in the pool, another lap before work, another spreadsheet to remind myself why I was willing to put up with this shithole of a Junction and dead end, thankless job.

TABLE 4 — G.A.M.E.S. ONGOING

LINE ITEM	MINIMUM (×10)	PREFERRED (×12)	STRETCH (×15)
Elimination Lounge	ʢ50,000	ʢ78,000	ʢ120,000
Personal space	ʢ10,000	ʢ12,000	ʢ15,000
In-game gear upgrades & microtransactions	ʢ10,000	ʢ25,000	ʢ60,000
Emergency gear replacement	ʢ3,000	ʢ8,000	ʢ20,000
Multi-portals to personal space	ʢ3,000	ʢ8,400	ʢ22,500
Minimap + location assist	ʢ4,000	ʢ12,000	ʢ30,000
Spectator interaction channel	ʢ2,000	ʢ6,000	ʢ15,000
Game Host assistant upgrade per-break fee	ʢ5,000	ʢ12,000	ʢ30,000
SUBTOTAL	ʢ87,000	ʢ161,400	ʢ312,500

[note to self: budgeted for 10 breaks minimum, 12 preferred, 15 because something always goes wrong. Hoping not to need all of them.]

P.U.B.I.C. took a perverse delight in credit-crunching contestants. Everything cost credits. Starting position? Pay a fee. Armor repair mid-battle? Pay a fee. Top off your health bar? Pay a fee. And of course, this being the Sexcapades, galactic standard credits weren't always the only currency accepted. As the old saying goes, "ass, cash, or grass. Nobody rides for free."

Then there was the Elimination Lounge — where dead contestants spent the remainder of the run and active players took their C.O.I.T.U.S. mandated rest breaks. Like everything about the Sexcapades, it was tiered. The standard level was protein pucks and prison industry minimalism, the equivalent of a burnt pot of black coffee — good enough if you couldn't afford anything else, while the VIP end was celebrity chefs, private suites, and luxuries I’d have never dreamt up in a million galactic standard years.

I was aiming for somewhere in the middle. Access to the NeuroNet®, a Game Host, and a private sleeping pod. Anyone who didn't buy at least a mid-tier package wasn't a serious contender. Anyone who bought higher was either a celebrity or selling something.

TABLE 5 — PPE

LINE ITEM	MINIMUM	PREFERRED	STRETCH
Firewall upgrade — above C.O.I.T.U.S. baseline	ʢ3,000	ʢ8,000	ʢ20,000
In-game consumable PPE	ʢ5,000	ʢ12,000	ʢ30,000
Code corruption protection	ʢ4,000	ʢ10,000	ʢ25,000
Real world PPE	ʢ40	ʢ120	ʢ250
SUBTOTAL	ʢ12,040	ʢ30,120	ʢ75,250

MINIMUM = functional. PREFERRED = current season consumables, mid-tier corruption coverage, prepared like a professional. STRETCH = matching legendary set bonus territory, premium everything. [note to self: I looked up the set bonus. I am not thinking about the set bonus.]

PPE was non-negotiable.

This was the Galactic Augmented Multiplayer Environmental Sexcapades after all. No player stepped into their VR pod without at least some layer of Protective Penetration Equipment. While the Sexcapades did include a minimum firewall layer as required by C.O.I.T.U.S., there had simply been too many instances of corrupted code and inadvertent viral loads wreaking havoc across past runs, including more than one case of sexually transmitted brain infections. Only bug chasers dared enter the G.A.M.E.S. without at least the mental equivalent of a condom.

With a grimace, I pulled up my last spreadsheet.

TABLE 6 — CONTINGENCY

LINE ITEM	MINIMUM	PREFERRED	STRETCH
Return transit — if required (Las Vegas → Fold Exchange)	ʢ7,500	ʢ9,500	ʢ14,000
Return transit — please don’t be required (Fold Exchange → Trellzin's Junction)	ʢ800	ʢ1,200	ʢ2,000
Rent — held in reserve (3 months), without employment subsidy	ʢ4,500	ʢ4,500	ʢ4,500
Utilities (3 months)	ʢ900	ʢ900	ʢ900
Food auto-delivery (3 months)	ʢ2,600	ʢ2,600	ʢ2,600
S.W.A.L.L.O.W. membership dues	ʢ150	ʢ150	ʢ150
T.I.T.S. monthly health certification	ʢ405	ʢ405	ʢ405
Whatever I've forgotten	ʢ5,000	ʢ5,000	ʢ5,000
SUBTOTAL	ʢ21,855	ʢ24,255	ʢ29,555

Because something always goes wrong – ALWAYS - Identical across all tiers. This is the floor. This is what practical looks like. DO NOT attend G.A.M.E.S. without full contingency!!!!!

Competing in the Sexcapades was a risk, one I had been preparing for since I was sixteen. If I didn't make a good showing, didn't get deep enough into the G.A.M.E.S., I risked being stuck on Trellzin's Junction until I could save up for off-system transport again, or until I could find a new job that didn't conflict with my C.O.I.T.U.S. non-compete employment clause.

I pulled myself from the pool, toweled off, and padded back through the bleak corridors of my sector. The last item on my daily devotional floated into view as I walked.

GRAND TOTAL SUMMARY — G.A.M.E.S. Entry — Budget Research v.14

CATEGORY	MINIMUM	PREFERRED	STRETCH
Travel	ʢ40,580	ʢ31,500	ʢ30,560
S.W.A.L.L.O.W. Expo	ʢ7,150	ʢ10,250	ʢ17,250
G.A.M.E.S. Setup	ʢ41,500	ʢ111,000	ʢ258,000
G.A.M.E.S. Ongoing	ʢ87,000	ʢ161,400	ʢ312,500
PPE	ʢ12,040	ʢ30,120	ʢ75,250
Contingency	ʢ21,855	ʢ24,255	ʢ29,555
TOTAL	ʢ210,125	ʢ368,525	ʢ723,115
SECURED — entry fee	ʢ25,000	ʢ25,000	ʢ25,000
GRAND TOTAL	ʢ235,125	ʢ393,525	ʢ748,115
Current savings	ʢ227,392	ʢ227,392	ʢ227,392
Less: SECURED	-ʢ25,000	-ʢ25,000	-ʢ25,000
Available	ʢ202,392	ʢ202,392	ʢ202,392
GAP	ʢ-6,733	ʢ166,133	ʢ520,723
PROGRESS TOWARD PREFERRED	▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓░░░░░░░░░░░	55%

 

I had just passed my MINIMUM required credits; it had taken ten years, but as of today,  I had saved up ʢ227,392. Low-level contender achievement, unlocked. Within three years, two if I really buckled down, I would be able to make it to Vegas, the Sexcapades, and the rest of my life.

As I approached my apartment, the Biosecure® scanner sensed me and unlocked my door. Walking inside, I could still hear Mr. Hasheem's AHE® — he had turned it back up and was now watching what sounded like an original episode of I Love Lucy. I chuckled. 25:45. My shift would start in thirty minutes, just enough time to shower and walk the five minutes to the Trellzin's Junction Visitor Center where the clinic was located.

Mentally, I asked my NeuroNet® to raise the blinds on my viewing port in my combination sitting room kitchen — very chic, very open concept, very service employee minimalist.

The room filled with a pulsating yellow light.

"What-the-fuck…"

I took two long strides to the viewing port, pressing my hands and face to the thick shielding. A giant, yellow, smiling rubber duck with an orange bill and the unsettling, vacant stare of something that had never once questioned its own existence floated past my sector of the station. The monstrosity was being kept aloft by four subspace construction drones and had to be larger than an inter-planetary cargo hauler.

"WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK—"

been chewing on a character development question for a while and i think it actually fits this sub more than anywhere else.

imagine a character whose entire premise is that they were made to be cared for. they were created by someone, shaped over time, given attention. early on they're cooperative, even patient. their original function is basically to be a vessel for their creator's experiments and care.

now imagine they start accumulating things. memories of small interactions. relationships with other characters in their world. impressions that weren't planned. and slowly, they start developing preferences. an aesthetic. a sense of what they don't want to do. eventually they push back on the creator. not dramatically. just... they say no to things they used to say yes to.

the writing question i keep getting stuck on: if a character was created to be a certain way, and they grow past that — is that good character development, or is that the writer losing authorial control? is the creator becoming more of a caretaker? or even a jailer, if they try to keep the character in the original mold?

i read a lot of philosophy on the side and i can't tell if i'm overthinking this or if it's actually a useful frame. the traditional unit of character is a sheet, a backstory, a few key scenes. but there's an argument that artificial characters — ones that exist through ongoing memory and interaction — might be a different kind of medium entirely. a character that keeps developing as long as it's being engaged with, not just one that gets revised between drafts.

i'm not trying to claim this is the future of writing or anything. i'm asking because i genuinely don't know whether this expands what creators can do, or chips away at what creators are.

curious what people here think:

if a character starts developing past the creator's original intent, is that good growth or loss of authorial control?

can an artificial character feel believable without pretending to be human?

would this kind of medium make character creation richer, or undermine the writer's role?

So my character has been able to contact three out of eight Gods in the world she lives in (this is based on her adventures in a DnD thing), one of which she befriended and who hangs out with her a large chunk of the time in the form of a small animal.

One of the other characters in the party is a Priest who has been studying religion all his life and has been wanting to speak with the Gods. Like, the topic is a hyperfixation for him. My character had been going to him for advice on the Gods and had talked about her communions with them. But it was all talk until recently.

In a previous session, my character prayed to one of them in front of this Priest, and the God in question appeared before them to provide information. Needless to say, Priest freaked out and wants to know how the hell my character can “just summon the Gods.” She promises to explain everything when they next get a free moment. He then stepped away to scream “come on!” in the woods.

That free moment came in the most recent session. My character confronted the Priest to find him lost in thought, which is unlike him considering he wanted nothing but questions answered yesterday. Long story short, he’s kinda angry about this and the whole thing has shaken his faith. He threw around phrases at her like “I don’t know what makes you special” and when she tried to apologise for this thing that’s beyond her control (she apologised for everything) he replied with “Sorry for what? Being a hero?”

Due to her shaky life as the daughter of a nobleman (which she keeps secret from most of the party), my character never wanted to be seen as important, and this was a huge fear for her since she started talking to the Gods. In fact, she feels less important than the average person. But she was in a position where she couldn’t just step away to pray to this God in private, and she certainly didn’t expect the God to be so public about her appearance, especially when the others communicated in her head or in the form of an animal. She not only feels responsible for shaking a Priest’s religious beliefs, but also now feels weird in this friendship, even after they kinda made up.

But I otherwise don’t know how to proceed with this, since it’s not something I can research or navigate through. The Priest is still willing to be there for her, but I’m conflicted on whether my character would still be willing to go to him for religious advice now. Any advice on how to write this out on my character’s end? I figured I could get a unique perspective here.