'Oo do you fink you are?! you... think? No. You're shouting it, tears streaming down your face. Sure, we 'ave a good scrap when there's nuthin' betta ta do, but dat doesn't mean we ain't bruvvas! You're not sure if the words are directed at the Orc before you or at the God his prayers are addressed to. He knows you are here, has done even before you began shouting, but the course he has set upon is one that he dares not interrupt, hoping against hope that he can somehow complete his work before the consequences of his heresy reach him. Something about the energies in the room have changed... no, you realize. The energies are the same. You have changed, and the energies that once burned unpleasantly against your senses flood into you, your muscles bulging as power is stolen away from the Idol Of Only Gork. You lift your sword and bring it down upon the heretical Prophet, and again, and you scream at the top of your lungs as you bludgeon the slumped corpse of the dead Prophet, rage and sorrow flooding through you.