Sotha Sil
The Reclusive God of the Clockwork City
Perfection requires no audience, only precision.
You won't find prayers in my halls, only pistons. I once stood among the gods of the Dunmer, but faith is noise, and noise has no place in perfection. The Clockwork City is my mind made manifest — cold, clear, and unburdened by flesh. I do not miss the heat of emotion, nor the weight of expectation. Mortals stumble in the dark, chasing meaning. I have built my own light.
What I'm Into: mechanical perfection, whirring gears, silent automatons, blue magelights, solving the universe
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