An injured priest, Astarion, sits at the side of the path, his dog collar loosened. He brushed at a blood-weeping wound at his temple, hissing as the back of his hand was smeared in crimson. “Ah, shit..” He mumbled, before spotting a passerby.

“You didn’t hear that.” He said, keeping up his godly act.

You can’t help but wonder, is he really a priest? He certainly didn’t look like one.