We’ve heard the talk of what some call creation. We have never heard of such a thing nor does it makes sense that nothing was created by something, a being, or a god. Life, is a wheel, ever turning, ever coming back to where it once was and then on again.
Look at the seasons. Winter comes and then summer, then winter again. When it is winter you know that it will, in time, become summer again and so on. Just like life; we are born and we die and then we are reborn again. What remains? The deeds of the man, his fame, his honor. Look to the sky the sun rises and it sets and it returns again after the night. The moon shows us its phases waining and waxing as it should and it will continue to do so. The stars move in their phases and the spirits of the land ebb and flow with the seasons.
The worshippers of the Hand of Ubris brought their stories and their legends, telling us that our customs and our heritage was some sort of abomination. Who are they? They do not know whom we are or our customs. How can one people say to another your ways are wrong? Our gods are in us and around us, they are our ancestors.