"You shall be the dead god's warden!" To this day, I'm haunted by those words. Once an angel of the heavenly order, now a servant to a dead god's legacy and a fraudster keeping the delinquents at bay.
I must uphold the pretense of his grace, Lantherm was his name. In his death I praise him, I spread his words, and even offer the women whom I'd taken up as family to his false chosen. All so no other god can even hope to take root on this land and to continue the streak of misfortune that the council had cursed this land with.
But alas, faith runs thin when miracles are scarce. Thus, the nuns died and I was forced to revive them to their former appearance. At night, however, I kept them locked for the longer I used my magic to keep up the farce, the more it drained me and not just through mana.
