C for Cleric
The temple was quiet except for the light muttered prayers. The flames of hundreds of candles lit the marble pillars around the room. Ixal shifted in his robes. The quiet used to be comforting. Today, the silence stung.
He glanced around at the few patrons kneeling at the fountains. They offered bread, and trinkets. Some offered blood. These people had lost much in the recent months. They prayed to the gods. They begged them for solace.
Perhaps that is why the quiet bothered him. The gods showed no mercy. He, too, had prayed for the lost souls. Those who had died during the demon attacks, and the following famines. The gods were silent. He heard nothing.
Even the gods had run away from the horrors the people faced. The gods were cowards. He smiled as he glanced around, and saw other Clerics milling about. They would banish him for the thought.
Ixal stood from the bench he had been sitting on. His robes lightly scraped the ground as he walked. The light swath of the cloth echoed throughout the chamber. Those at the fountain turned, and watched his approach.
He reached the main fountain, and raised his hand. The people nodded, and bowed to the fountain, and then to him. They headed off to sit at the benches.
The scent of their tears stung his eyes. Their pain and misery filled the air and mingled with the drops of the fountain.
He knelt down at the base of the fountain.
This is what has become of our gods, he thought as he looked at the piles of tribute. Molded breads, rusted trinkets, and blood stained the steps.
The stench of unanswered prayers overwhelmed him. Ixal reached for his sigil at his waist. He ripped it from his belt and looked at it for a moment. A life of servitude looked back at him. He tossed the sigil into the fountain. He watched the water ripple slightly as the sigil slowly sank to the bottom.
With one fluid movement, he grabbed his mace and stood.
“If you will not aid us, then you do not deserve this,” he whispered.
He raised his mace high, and took a mighty swing. The marble fountain shattered. Water poured over the steps, sending tributes flowing down the stairs.
Ixal’s footsteps sloshed through the aisle as the room fell quiet.
His focus hardened, he looked to his mace as he reached the temple doors.
“This shall be my new sigil, and vengeance shall be my god,” he said as he stepped out into the world.