Yuserif

Yuserif stands robed in faded ceremonial vestments once bright with sacred thread, now dulled to ash and moss. His shoulders stoop beneath the weight of years without communion. His beard hangs thin and silver, tangled by neglect rather than age. His eyes are pale and distant, not blind, but unfocused, as though still searching for a sign that never came. The holy symbol of Dunatis rests against his chest, cracked down the center yet carefully mended with wire. His hands tremble slightly, not from fear, but from long exhaustion of the spirit.

Yuserif was once the Arch Cleric of Dunatis, shepherd of a thriving congregation. When the people turned from their deity, they turned from him as well. Doubt spread faster than plague. Then war came. Temples burned. Bells fell silent. When the last faithful died or recanted, Yuserif remained, preaching to empty pews. His prayers went unanswered. No miracle came. No sign returned. In time, he withdrew from the city and from himself, becoming the sole living follower of a forgotten god. Without faith returned, he began to decay slowly, as the land around him did.