Lori had heard the claim one last time. "Praise Kjellos." He had heard to much, the fact it had been mentioned at a clan meeting drove him far past the point where any reasonable man bearing faith to the Brathmordakin could stand, and he had left the meeting fuming at the heresy of it.
It is not only he had grown to resent, the church its self in his view was a broken institution as well. He reasoned it did not facilitate the dwarven arts, its functions were broken, members corrupt. In his view, the will of our gods had been politicised.
With a heart burdened hate he managed to come to reason. The far found intelligence of his ancestors did not originate from the pit in which the church he had served believed, indeed the nation was believing in a faith that was nothing but the twisted teachings gathered by squandered old men and delusionals who merely wished to twist history for their favour.
He would not stand for it. He approached his Grand King, and declared his resignation from the church, and decried his clan as a blood cult who had for fitted their faith for gluttony, greed and ignorance to the truth he saw.
And with that, he stepped out of the city. He had a few allies still scattered within the Kingdom, and he held better trust in them and their reason than he did with these.. heretics. "Praise Yemekar, Praise 'em all..." Lori's pilgrimage had begun.