"Gods are more than men are capable of understanding," Martel says, and there's an odd note in it, a wrong note, like he had to learn that lesson the hardest way and it broke parts of him (because he did, and it did). "Above all what we do is strive for betterment of one kind or another - there's nothing pointless in that, whether your god gives a damn about you or not."

...that's the bitterness of someone who knows from having the divine ripped out of him that his God doesn't want him any more. He doesn't wallow in it, and it's out of sight again smoothly, but- it was there. And it hurt more than dying.

"Deities aren't truly perfect, either...just so much more." After a beat, he shrugs, and swaps religious ache out for dry, deprecating wit: "Personally, if they want to play another merry game of pass the parcel, I'm otherwise engaged. But it's been useful - and necessary to my own health - to grasp the interaction of the mortal and the divine as best anyone can."

It's an educated opinion, if not any more perfect than anything else.