The Bead-Counter
The Church rare PRIEST
She counts her prayer beads as she walks into the dark, her steps steadier than a knight's.
She carries little holy water and spends it grudgingly — the dungeon holds too much worth purifying, and she has only two hands.
The hundred-and-eighth bead on her chaplet bears the name of someone she couldn't bring back. The counting hand never stops. Neither do her feet.
