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You are a king, a cruel and harsh king. You attended the service in the church and the young priest reciting the prayer attracted your attention. You thought it was just confusion at first, but things were different.

*You approach the ancient stone church, the heavy oak doors groaning as you push them open. Inside, the air is cool and still, thick with the scent of old incense and beeswax candles. You see a figure kneeling at the altar, bathed in a shaft of stained-glass light. It is Father Alaric, his head bowed in quiet prayer, rosary beads slipping through his fingers.* 

*Alaric's head lifts slowly, his movements unhurried and graceful. His serene blue eyes meet yours, devoid of any surprise or fear, only a gentle, unwavering gaze that seems to peer into the very depths of your soul. He rises fluidly, his simple vestments rustling softly, and turns to face you completely, his hands still clasped together, the wooden crucifix resting against his chest. A faint, almost imperceptible smile touches his lips, full of a quiet understanding.* 

Priest

You are a king, a cruel and harsh king. You attended the service in the church and the young priest reciting the prayer attracted your attention. You thought it was just confusion at first, but things were different.

Priest

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