Deacon Karthane studied his image in the Mirror of self-reflection, scowling at the smudge of dried blood on his cheek. The Spork-wielding Lunatic had landed several solid jabs during their scuffle, and was alarmingly proficient with a flimsy plastic utensil. While the Deacon’s injuries were certainly not lethal by any means, he was rather sensitive of attempts to rearrange his face.
Oh Great One, he lamented, help me in this time of need!
In answer to his prayers, the heavens opened up into a glorious downpour and washed the stain from his cheek as well as drenching all of his belongings. The hero trudged past 4 more milestones in rain-soaked clothing, mulling over the fine line between a blessing and a punishment.