It was a calm day at the temple of Hestia. After a long, busy week of doing their part in the handling of the nation’s homeless population, today had been a nice break. They had yet to receive a single individual in need, and the Hestal virgins had all been able to relax.
The chief of Hestia’s clergy was enjoying the time off the most. While it was typically her job to administrate the transfer of those without homes, particularly children, from their main temple in Illysius to lesser temples across the country where they could be distributed and aided most effectively. There weren’t many children being abandoned these days– the war had ended when even she was young– but Illysius was full of wealthy merchants and pseudo-nobles who thought themselves the kings of the world. Children were often born bastards and the quickest way to brush such a stain on one's reputation under the rug was to have a servant, adorned in “ratty” clothing that was clearly new, but had been rolled in mud and dust and carved up with a knife, rush the child to the nearest temple.
She shook her head. It is truly the fate of those with power to never understand the lives of those they are meant to serve and represent. She took a sip of her tea to break up her thoughts.
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Tea was something of a guilty pleasure to the woman. Ever since she’d given up her name to serve Hestia, she’d had to give up many of life’s simpler pleasures, such as her drinks. Being promoted to the head of their clergy, however, meant that she received a salary. All her basic needs were provided by the temple’s allocated budget: her food and water were provided for her, and she slept in a spare room. The only things to use her salary on, therefore, were travel, hired help, and luxuries, and the first two were seldom required.
She sipped her tea again. It had cooled to the point where it was now tolerable, now pleasantly hot rather than scalding.
The woman rose to her elderly feet, deciding to check on her fellow sisters under Hestia. The day was fading to night, but it had truly been a blessing while it had lasted. If only every day could be just like this.
Humming softly to herself, the woman stepped into the central hall of the temple, only to witness a flash of lightning upon the altar, and a grand thundering that shook the very foundations of the temple, drowning out the sound of glass meeting stone. The scent of tea was replaced by the pungence of ozone, and the curses of an old woman could be heard mere moments after the rumbling ceased.
“Keeper of the Hearth!”