Namtar is a god of Sumer, the oldest of civilizations according to the thinking of many. And the gods of Sumer were much given to war and struggle, even at times with mortal heroes who would contend with them.
'Were' being the operative word here. Their last original worshippers passed from the red dust of Earth four thousand years ago. Even Shandor's small congregation could only feed them praise and pleadings, not daily interaction as once they might have had. Namtar's pantheon has squabbled and fought among themselves for four thousand years, and while that does put an edge on one's skills, it carries with it a problem as well... namely, that after the first thousand years, one ceases to truly remember what it is to battle with a novel foe, or an unusual strategy.
The horses of Namtar's time were far too small to be ridden in battle. Quite simply, Garion's strokes did not exist when last the deity had contact with this world. He veers away at precisely the wrong moment; the blade slashes a long, sickening-smelling path along his flank, brownish ichor sizzling into smoke on contact with the blue flame of the Orb.
"Filth!" rages Namtar, planting his hands on the ground and twisting himself about to strike at Garion with a lithely bending kick.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2005-10-11 01:31 am (UTC)'Were' being the operative word here. Their last original worshippers passed from the red dust of Earth four thousand years ago. Even Shandor's small congregation could only feed them praise and pleadings, not daily interaction as once they might have had. Namtar's pantheon has squabbled and fought among themselves for four thousand years, and while that does put an edge on one's skills, it carries with it a problem as well... namely, that after the first thousand years, one ceases to truly remember what it is to battle with a novel foe, or an unusual strategy.
The horses of Namtar's time were far too small to be ridden in battle. Quite simply, Garion's strokes did not exist when last the deity had contact with this world. He veers away at precisely the wrong moment; the blade slashes a long, sickening-smelling path along his flank, brownish ichor sizzling into smoke on contact with the blue flame of the Orb.
"Filth!" rages Namtar, planting his hands on the ground and twisting himself about to strike at Garion with a lithely bending kick.