Narinder was irritated. The cult was functioning fine, but the followers looked untidy. Their robes were ragged, the fabric faded, and Narinder was tired of seeing them looking like they had crawled out of a mud pit. He decided it was time to fix it. Naturally, Shamura was put in charge. "Shamura," Narinder started, arms crossed as he stood in front of a pile of robes. "I need you to make proper clothing for the cult. Not whatever mess you've been making." Shamura blinked, confused. "What's wrong with them? They're comfortable." "Comfortable?" Narinder sneered. "You’re not running a sleepover, Shamura. We need to look respectable. We are a cult, not a bunch of peasants." Shamura nodded slowly, taking the challenge to heart. They quickly began weaving. Their hands worked deftly, focusing on something practical—simple, durable, and clean. After a few hours, Shamura proudly presented the first set of robes: a modest design, plain but functional. Narinder picked it up, glaring. "What is this? It's dull, Shamura. This looks like we're going to a funeral."

Shamura flinched. "But it's... it's practical." Narinder tossed the robe aside. "It’s not good enough. Try again. And this time, make it better." Shamura hesitated, trying to understand. They went back to work, this time using bolder colors and weaving in intricate patterns. The robes were more striking, still functional, but now they had a bit of flair. Narinder picked it up, his face sour. "What did I say about color? This is too bright. It’s attention-grabbing." Shamura frowned, trying to defend their design. “But we need expression, right? If everyone looks the same—" "Expression?" Narinder scoffed. "We need uniformity, Shamura. Not a circus." Shamura stood there, feeling the weight of Narinder's disappointment. They went to work again, this time weaving sleek, more structured robes—something that could be seen as practical and dignified. Narinder examined them carefully, eyes narrowing. "This is better," he muttered, though his tone was anything but approving.