To anyone present in Krag on Mithul 17 early morning, soldier, commoner and visitor alike, a deformed old man was seen entering through the gates. Boisterously he decided to test the patience of the Thaumaturge and the Black Fang, his ways even more so blasphemous than his words. Claiming he was a Banite, he still spat in the face of authority. Within the hour, the old man was dragged off to the temple. Shouting erupted but before long, the morning was dead silent again, with only the cold wind of Krag and morning tasks around the castle being heard. The only trace of the man would be the shriveled heart left on the black altar in a puddle of blood and the foul stench of burnt flesh from the pit beneath it. To those observant, the two Templar in the same room would be wearing dashes of blood on their armors before their shifts ended. The heart would be left there until the blood dried later on that day before the Slaves would be given the exhausting task of cleaning it all up.
Malik would stop by the entrance to the main chamber of the temple, muttering as he glances towards the altar and the church Slaves hard at work scrubbing the blood off it. "A truly pathetic gift that fills me with horror and dread rather than pride in my work. Dread Lord forgive me for offering up such a worthless individual..."
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Subject: A spontaneous sacrifice. 