As a Scholar, his mind was his greatest tool. He didn't make mistakes. But lately, his mind felt like a traitor, filled with thoughts of violence and madness. He had tried to find the source, even using his divine magic to probe his own soul, but found nothing. It was as if the madness was a part of him.
"Are you afraid of me, Ephram?" Archbishop Barnaby asked with a chuckle, noticing his stare.
Ephram quickly lowered his head. "No, Your Grace."
"Good," the Archbishop said, patting him on the shoulder. "Keep reading. Knowledge is power." He turned and left.
As the door closed, Ephram saw them again. Tentacles. Not just from his ears, but from under his robes, writhing and pulsing, each one tipped with a tiny, unblinking eye.
In the Holy Vexcian Kingdom, Iyet Cavendill stood at the center of a makeshift church, surrounded by craftsmen-priests of the Church of the Three. They chanted hymns of praise to Gondfrank, the God of Artifice.
He was waiting. He knew Gondfrank would not be able to resist. The 'Steam' domain was too tempting.
A humanoid figure of pure light appeared before him. The God of Artifice. Iyet instinctively closed his eyes. One does not gaze upon a god.
The world dissolved, replaced by a vision of Gondfrank's divine realm. A land of gray flagstones and towering blast furnaces, where the souls of the departed, the Petitioners, worked and lived in a state of blissful, industrious peace.
This is not my paradise, Iyet thought, and besides, it's an illusion.
The figure of light emerged from a grand palace, and an immense pressure bore down on him. The voices of the Petitioners rose as one.
"You are guilty."
"You are a great sinner."
"Beg forgiveness from your Lord, our God!"
The words hammered at his soul, attempting to break his will.
"I am guilty," Iyet said, his head bowed, his face a mask of repentance. "I am a great sinner. I beg for the god's forgiveness."
As he spoke, the figure of light merged with him, its divine essence beginning to overwrite his own. His very features started to shift, reshaping themselves to match the face of the statues in Gondfrank's temples. The god was consuming him.
But then, Iyet opened his eyes. He smiled. "Caught you."
A brilliant golden light erupted from him. A coronet of prophecy formed on his head. Behind him, the seven layers of Mount Celestia appeared in a phantom projection. A figure of light, far more brilliant and pure than Gondfrank's, emerged from the highest heaven and embraced Iyet from behind, its divine power surging into him, pushing back the corruption.
"The Morninglord..." Gondfrank's avatar shrieked.
In a flash, both divine projections—Gondfrank's and the phantom of the long-dead Lathander—annihilated each other.
Iyet returned to reality, his eyes now shining with a golden light. The assembled priests fell to their knees. "We welcome our Lord's descent," they chanted.
Iyet, absorbing the memories and power of Gondfrank's defeated avatar, spoke with the god's own voice. "From this day forward, I shall be known by a new name."
"The God of Artifice and Steam."