The Shattered Pantheon

I hate the little bastards.

Irritating little monsters, never give me a moment's rest. Can't the little turds go even a day or two without wreaking havoc across the city? Someone tell me, on what diabolical plane was it ever a good idea to pickpocket an acolyte of Loviatar? The weirdos in that chapel are are vile, masochistic crazies who beat, cut, and burn themselves in order to get off; some kind  twisted orgasmic communion with their foul goddess. Yet here's little Amon —my problem child. In a race of  daft morons he would surely claim first prize. He sees something shiny dangling from a belt patch, ducks through the crowd, and snatches his prize. Only one problem, his prize is a necklace —prayer beads to be exact —and hanging from the other end of said prayer beads is a freshly severed, bleeding, human phallus. Seems that Amon's mark decided to relieve himself of his own masculinity in the morning's ritual sacrifices. Like I said, sick stuff. So Amon snatches his prize, sees the sausage, screams, and then hurls the nasty thing across the street. Of course, I mean OF COURSE the bloody thing slams right into the side of a centurions' helmet, gets kind of stuck in that horsehair crest thing. So Amon's screaming, the emasculated acolyte is trying to bludgeon him with his pack, all the while bleeding through his robes. The centurion, now fully convinced that the priest was trying to hex him using a severed penis totem, draws his blade and cuts the priest down with one swing. Long story short, the city has one less Loviatar acolyte, and I'm out 7 copper after bailing that little shit out of the stocks for disturbing the peace. I have no idea what happened to prayer beads, or the penis. Frankly I don't want to know.  




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