The gloves get thinner

Silwyth Strange stood on the outskirts of Weirdale watching merchant traffic now not only from Ferryville, but from Rockton, and he smiled as he waved at the now familiar faces before walking off into the grove that housed the vortex gate.

There, standing there waiting for him, was a figure in jet black plate armour: His father, Deverin, the reaper himself.

"You wanted to speak to me, son?"  The death god removed his helm, his face in a rare almost-smile that he reserved for his family.

"Yes, father.  I wanted to convey something to you that I ask you to bring before the other gods.  I could do this through mother, but I speak now as a leader of these people, not a champion of my favourite goddess."

Now the death god smiles, with pride, clapping his son on the shoulder. "You're learning fast. You are your mother's son, a diplomat with honest intentions.  I am listening."

"I think it's time we... dial back the magic on our borders, father."

"Explain." Deverin's face is as unreadable as if he still wore his helm.

"I was talking to Selathanael, and on his home world, the humans erected a perfect, golden city, beautiful, magical, insular and opulent.  Through even the best of intentions, their iron and magically clad disconnection from the outside world turned to be a vast undoing to them." He motions toward the gates, busy and prosperous,  "We cannot look these people in the eye if we do so standing on the shoulders of our pantheon.  They will come to expect divine impossibilities of we flesh and blood servants of faith, and that both approaches idolatry, and implies falsehood."

Deverin nods as he takes in his son's words. "You've given this a lot of thought."

"I have," Silwyth says solemnly.  "Do you see my point?"

"I see how you came to it, and I can not deny you your logic.  I will grant this, to a degree."

"To a degree, alright, but keep in mind that the eventual goal here, no matter who leads, is that people here will worship the gods, not rely on them."

Deverin smiles and shakes Silwyth's hand." You do me proud, son.  It shall be done as you ask, just as soon as I run it by Whisper and Kabren."

"Thank you, father."

The two embrace, and Silwyth returns to his castle, and to his wife.