Birb

You were an acolyte, the closest thing that Brokebridge had to a priest for any of the gods. You tended to the half-dozen shrines, familiar with the basic rites of each of the gods and presenting yourself appropriately to each of them. Most of the townsfolk regarded you as a pleasant, familiar figure, one who could be trusted to answer nagging theological questions like "Does Devint prefer burnt barely or burnt oat?" or "If I sacrifice some wool to Shuren will the lambing be blessed?" They were less aware that you were the reason the local problems had been kept at bay for the last decade, your regular attendance to the shrines also coinciding with you re-anointing the holy wards that kept the grumpy old ghosts of the fallen bridge quiet as they slowly dissipated.