Misplaced Faith

The air is foul with corruption. It must be dealt with. The tidesages were fools, and I a fool to trust them. Belief in their god to perform miracles and deliver us from our folly. Nevertheless, their methods did serve to drive back the foul presence from these cliffs. A simple censer, loaded with select powders and oils. The vapors produce an effect that expels the miasma, if only for a time. Perhaps their ineffectual gesticulation will finally serve a purpose.