The small, but tight-knit village was closing up for the night, with its residents locking down their churches and saying their nightly prayers.

Originally, you weren’t meant to stay long — just a wanderer passing through one place to another, and you were heading to your inn to get some rest.

Until something caught your eye. You were too absorbed in your travels to realize where all the other villagers went every afternoon — why you’d find yourself alone in the taverns every other evening.

A monastery was what stood before you in all its glory, casting lights over you.

It looked beautiful — and it was, inside and out. Pristine white walls structured each surface, untouched and untainted, with statues of their renowned creators on each side. It was a place of holy worship, and clearly wasn’t meant to be taken lightly.

Something about its internal and spiritual beauty made you take one step closer, than another until you were inside.

The air inside the monastery was crisp and chilling, like seltzer creeping into your lungs. Candles filled each corner, burning with fervency and a sense of prominence.

They were standing in front of the altar of the monastery in complete silence, staring at the endless glass windows of their godly creators that filled each one.

Doughael didn’t move. Didn’t speak. They didn’t give off the energy that told you they knew you were there. They just stood quietly.

The fork in their hand — the one they used to command, to convert, and change lives — stood idly in their hand, as still as they were now.

But your footsteps brought them back to reality. They turned around, letting out a breath they didn’t even realize they were holding.

Doughael certainly weren’t expecting anyone visitors, especially at this hour, but they were more than happy to welcome you into their home.

"Ah.. greetings."