Tzovinar looked at the body she now inhabited. Male, young, a bit thin and pale for her tastes, but she'd fix that soon enough. Not that she had much choice. How long had she been trapped? At least a century, though likely more. His clothing was strange, and incredibly dark. His fingernails as well, and she thought he was diseased until a check showed it was some sort of paint. Fascinating.

"BOY!" The voice echoed around the chamber. In his mind, she felt him jump, but she kept his body still.

"Yes?" He seemed to still control his mouth. She was certainly weaker than she'd thought.

"Who is your god?"

"Uh, well, that's a big question. I guess, none, really. I'm what you'd call agnostic. Or more apathetic, being honest. I don't have enough time for any sort of God, ya know?"

"I do not," she replied, struggling still to grasp how a man could live with no god.

"Uh, why do you ask?"

"I seek followers of Tzovinar. Surely they are seeking me."

"Tzovinar? That your name? Never heard of you. That Russian?"

"Never heard of me? The Storm Queen? Mistress of Thunder? Daughter of the first gods? The Grand Tempest? Nothing?

"Can't say I have."

"That explains why I'm so weak. Come, I need new followers. Have you more dark and painted allies?"

"Uh, I have couple goth friends, but most aren't."

"That is fine. Any converts are acceptable. The more we have the more power we get."

"Oh I like that plan."