In a grand temple in Dalniar's capital, a plump man of average height adorned in rich priestly attire stood on a slightly elevated dais.
His dirty blonde hair was neatly combed back atop his round head, and his countenance was the very epitome of serene.
Right behind him stood a scrawny boy of about sixteen years, the robe he wore looked about to devour him whole as he stood behind the high priest with a timid expression.
Before them on lower ground, a line of people had gathered, seeking blessings and healing for the day. They had already attended to a significant number of them, with only a few, at least to them, remaining.
A faint wrinkle appeared at the top of Nicolas's, the high priest's, nose as he regarded the people before him—peasants who came for blessings only to give little in return.
