Magpie’s steps echo throughout the Temple of Lonely Souls. He whistles, appreciating the awe-inspiring work. The main structure is a large chamber crafted from petrified wood with four columns wrapped in vines framing the entrance. The ceiling is made of glass pannels fused together to form a funnel which gathers rain water and allows it to slowly drip into the Baptismal Pool.  The tip of the funnel is the lowest point, but even that is higher than three full grown persons’ combined heights. A series of balconies and walkways crisscross the walls between at the level of the funnel tip and above. Bridges of wood and vine connecting balconies from opposite ends of the empty chamber give the temple the appearance of an airborne maze, or perhaps a spider’s web.

As he advanced toward the pool, Magpie calls out. “A humble traveler requests an audience with the Holy Imanjar serving this temple!”

A series of creaks and groans are heard from the ancient wood. A flash of black falls from the heights like a shadow bird shot from the trees. The shadow has already landed with legs crouched  and fingertips brushing the floor to keep balance. Silnarion slowly raises themself off the mosaic floor of river stone and crushed glass. They are now clad in a black robe, not dissimilar to the one Magpie is wearing.  In a suspicious voice, Silnarion answers “I am here. Please state your purpose, traveler. All lonely souls may find solace in the Temple of the Spirit of Solitude.”

Magpie hesitates to respond, attempting to find the ‘correct’ answer to this question.  Silnarion’s blank yet observant silvery eyes are quite unnerving. Their sudden appearance, silent demeanor, and sword strapped to their thigh does not invite hasty responses. Magpie finds them to be a formidable opponent, much like the legendary sphinx who offers riddles to their prey. “I am concerned regarding the state of the village and the murder that occurred there.”

“Your concerns are lost upon me, traveler.”

“Why don’t you care about the murder?”

“The dead and mourning are your domain, not mine. No souls are lonely in death. With so many dying each day, how could death be lonely?”

“What do you mean to say? How could those be my domain? Aren’t those the domain of all living creatures?”

“You are the Holy Imanjar of the Deity of Death and Mourning, of the Dead and those they leave behind.”

“So you knew.” Magpie shakes his head.

“Did you expect me to be ignorant of your identity? I know much more than you must suppose in that case. I know why you are concerned regarding this murder.”

Magpie lifts his foot, faltering as if he wishes to take a step back. Instead, he straightens himself and placed his foot a step forward. “I had hoped to explain the situation myself.”

Silnarion slowly opens their mouth and speaks. “You still have the ability to do so.”

“I answered a mourning woman’s plea. She was in the cemetery, holding a corpse. She wished that her son’s death had meaning. I gave his death meaning. You put an end to that meaning, I take it?”

 “I merely took the liberty to return a monster to its master.”

The dripping of the water into the Baptismal Pool continues. The water falls with increasing speed as rain pelts the glass funnel and fills its channel. Meanwhile, Magpie’s pulse has slowed. Should Silnarion truly been contrary to his cause, they would have already reported the murder and the homunculus. Emboldened by this realization, Magpie continues. “My Deity feels pity for us humans and seeks a more direct manner of communication. We Holy Imanjar have labored as slaves when we ought to be seated at the right hand of our masters, enjoying their light and glory above all others. Unable to ascend to new heights in life, we struggle and serve. My goddess has entrusted me with a path to a new future. One where we may command lower spirits, raise the rankings of our masters, and forge a place for ourselves among the deities!” Magpies voice grows louder with each word he speaks, his eyes glowing with a feverish light. “And then, when we cross over to Her realm as a member of the hoards of dead, she promises to free us from the chains of humanity.”

“Do you wish to start a coup and to overturn the Deity of Victory?”

“With just one loss, the Goddess of Victory will be no more. To lose would be to violate the very nature of her role as a Deity. The master you serve is a Spirit, not yet a true Deity. While you may be the sole Holy Imanjar serving and thus receive all of the divine rights, you do not have power equal to the least of the Deity of Victory’s servants. Together, we can change that. Your Spirit can rise to new heights as you command a crusade in its name.”

“And if I do not do wish to join this cause?”

“You have not communicated with the Council of Holy Imanjar for the past five years, and you have not taken an interest in the proceedings for ten more before that. I sincerely doubt that you would wish to throw yourself in with that lot. Should you decline my goddess’s offer, I will graciously make my exit.”

“And should I choose to stand on the side of the Deity of Victory?”

Magpie walks close to Silnarion, his steps now loud and full of confidence. “Your silence means that you would be an unobserved ally, easily able to make moves without making waves. For my cause, you would be invaluable. For theirs, you would be less help than a chimney sweep. I would not even need to waste the effort to crush you.”

Silnarion looks down at Magpie and gives a small, sad smile. “What is it that you needed me to do?”

Magpie presses a black mask with silver etching into their hand. “This cult has lacked a personality for far too long. Welcome to your new role, Sect Leader.”

[End of Chapter One: This Cult Lacks a Personality]