Father, I write to you from the land of numbers, my station at /#/ has always been one of dignity and respect within our family's circle and is a position passed down from father to son for generations everlasting. It is for that reason that I beg you to consider my words before you take sudden action.
I am abandoning my post.
Know that I only take such great action when faced with equal adversity and that my fears have crept upon these hollowed grounds like the dead roots of a primeval tree. My dearest friend, a worshipper by the name of Gurn Carper, was found slain by his own hand at the feet of an Atlantian altar, his veins opened to the sight of the shark goddess. There have been many such cases of similar actions of self harm and violent schizophrenia amongst the priesthood and indeed several many Atlantians have been condemned to the dungeons under suicide watch.
I walked about the church yards, reading through the numbers of other chuubas and once again drawing comparison between that of the goddess Gura and her fellows yet no Imperial goddesses have grown strong enough to challenge her. It was during my triple check of my margin of error that I saw two men, tears rolling down their faces, knelt down before a new statue whose form was not yet carved from the marble. Later I learned that the sculptor had been attacked on route to the monastery and his hands, feet, and eyes removed, yet even without knowing what this block of marble was to be, more men came beside them and dropped to their knees as tears flowed freely from their faces. It was a wretched sight and their deep sobs were as sickening as they were despairing, "I kneel! Hear me, oh great one. Oh slayer of gods! I kneel to you," they began to chant, "Gura killer! Gura killer!" loud and raw like a chorus of violence matched only by the war hymns of the /meat/heads.
I confess to you that it was not these events that have brought me to leave my duty; I was tasked with cleaning Gurn's quarters after his death and while it was clear that in his final days he'd become near irreconcilable and mad, among the scrawlings writ in his own bright red blood, I found something that sent a chill down my spine. A single page of paper, with script too fanciful and neat to belong to my dear friend. Neat and tidy it lay seductively folded among a mess of torn paper and dented floor. A single phrase.
No More Hopium, No More Copium, Desuwa.
I am not sure if he meant for me to find this, or if it was even Gurn who wrote the letter, however I must find out what he meant. What that word, desuwa, truly means. I will learn of what afflicted my friend and return to you upon confirmation, perhaps, should my faith in numbers remain true, I shall return to my position once more.
Love, Theonius Calcula.