“I wash my hands in innocence that I may go about her altar”

With a steady hand, the cleric stepped up to the altar of the gods and began to wash his hands in innocence. He knew that he must stay pure, for the blood of sinners would surely taint him. As he knelt before the altar, his eyes were drawn to the gleaming sword that rested upon it, its blade sharp and cold as ice. The cleric felt a chill run down his spine at the sight of it - this was no ordinary weapon. It was an instrument of destruction and death, wielded by those who cared not for their own souls or those of others.

“Do not take my soul away with sinners, or my life with men of bloodshed”

But even as he shuddered in fear, he knew that he could not turn away from his duty. He had been chosen by the gods to stand against sinners and murderers, to protect the innocent from their depraved darkness. And so with grim determination, he drew his own blade and stepped forward into battle. For there could be no peace while sinners walked free in the world, and only through bloodshed could justice be restored.