Satúm sat against a barrel, somewhere in the dark, a little while away from the party.
He was SO done with this day.
Everywhere people were being chosen by the Gods, like it was nothing.
What a horrible, horrible day.
Satúm was feeling so bad about himself, he had actually allowed himself to sober up.
Even with a clear mind, he could not think of a good offering.
'Damn Gods are so complicated! all high and mighty!'
He cursed them for being how they are, but honestly, he could not blame them.
Satúm was an enjoyer of life, not a mighty general or skilled craftsmen.
All he knew was how to hold his liquor and woo women.
What god would want him..
Satúm was feeling [i]very[/i] sorry for himself.