Whispers of the Divine: A Godlike's Tale in Eora

I am a ripple in the cosmic sea, born of gods' fleeting touch, a godlike in the vast tapestry of Eora. As I walk these lands, my very essence hums with the echoes of divinity—feathers sprouting from my brow like a silent hymn to the heavens. You know, it's not always easy; some days, I feel like a walking paradox, adored in one village and shunned in the next. But in this year of 2831, as the last whispers of my kind fade, I carry the weight of a thousand untold stories. The world has changed since Deadfire, and I, the Envoy, stand alone, a solitary beacon in a realm where gods once played their games. 😔

What It Means to Be Godlike

Honestly, being a godlike isn't just about the fancy looks—it's a curse and a blessing rolled into one. We're our own race in Eora, kith touched by a god while still in our mothers' wombs. Imagine that: one of the 11 gods, like Galawain or Ondra, slipping a thimble of their power into a tiny fetus, whether it's dwarf, orlan, or elf. The result? A baby marked for life, with an aspect of their patron deity blooming right on their heads. For me, as Sapadal's chosen, it's a crown of thorns, a mystery since no one knew of her existence. But for others, it could be fire, horns, or flowers—each a vivid signature of the divine.

How folks treat us? Well, it's a mixed bag. In some places, like the Huana lands, marine godlikes are revered like royalty, while Skaen godlikes face outright hatred—killed at birth or exiled for their misshapen forms. It all boils down to local beliefs: in Deadfire, fire godlikes inspire awe and fear, but in the Vailian Republics, we're legally neither male nor female, causing all sorts of headaches with factions. Here's a quick rundown of the godlike types and their gods—it's like a celestial family tree:

Godlike Type	Patron Deity
Nature godlike	Galawain
Dawn godlike	Eothas
Death godlike	Berath
Fire godlike	Magran
Moon godlike	Ondra
Avian godlike	Hylea
Marine godlike	Ondra
Skaen godlike	Skaen
Endings godlike	Rymrgand

The Silent Chains of Divinity

Underneath the surface, our existence is woven with threads of sorrow. We godlike can't reproduce—no children, no legacy. It's a lonely path, and in places like the Vailian Republics, it leads to legal nightmares, like being barred from gender-exclusive groups. Our numbers? Always low, since gods create us voluntarily, with no way to grow beyond their whims. And our souls? They chime like tiny bells, a discovery by the animancer Giacolo. But for me, it's different; Woedica and Runyd call it a 'thorn,' a jagged edge that sets me apart. Why? Because Sapadal, my patron, is a naturally born god, unlike the artificial ones crafted by ancient hands.

The Gods' Sinister Design

Let's be real—the gods didn't bless us out of kindness. No, our creation was a backup plan, a way for them to siphon our souls if they ever grew weak or faced death. It's a dark truth: in times of crisis, they'd absorb us to replenish their power. For Sapadal, though, it felt different. She made me, the Envoy, to free her from her prison, gifting me abilities stronger than any other godlike. Through dreams and adra pillars, she whispers to me, a child-like curiosity driving her to experience the world through my eyes. It's intimate, almost maternal—a stark contrast to the cold calculations of the other deities.

The Vanishing Act

Fast forward to now, 2831, and the world feels emptier. After Deadfire, the godlike population vanished—poof, gone. I thought I was the last, but then I met Sargamis, a dawn godlike of Eothas, in a side quest called Dawntreader. He's clueless about the disappearances, but we pieced it together: when Eothas destroyed the Engwithan machine in Ukaizo, it weakened the gods, and they absorbed their godlikes for survival. Me? I got lucky—Sapadal was imprisoned and too strong for Woedica to kill, so she spared me. Sargamis survived because Eothas died. But with the gods' powers fading, new godlike births are unlikely. It's a quiet end to a once-vibrant race.

As I wander Eora, I carry the silence of my kind—a living relic in a world moving on. The gods may have used us, but in Sapadal's dreams, I find a sliver of hope. Perhaps one day, freed from her cage, she'll rewrite our story. For now, I am the echo, the thorn, the last light in the divine shadow. 🌟