During the dark of night, under a rare and cloudless sky, the ground and structure of the cathedral of the Refuge of the Fifth Light, quaked and shook, as a deafening roar broke the errie quiet. If the neighbors, as they slept fitfully, or soudly, behind their barred doors, heard anything in their slumber, perhaps it would have been mistaken for strange thunder, for there was not a cloud in the sky.
Come morning though, a passing stroller might overhear talk of an imjorri, and heretic, having been laid to rest, as Ezrites clean up any rat corpses and trash within the vincinity of the cathedral and nearby rectory, in their daily custum.