Sometimes my mind keeps going back to that one Bhaal cultist who wanted things to be quiet and I wonder what if she was a far more tragic figure than anyone would ever know. It's no surprise that most are sadistic, most are mentally ill or simply craved power, but what if that one's desire was born from trauma? What if she had once been a child, born in an abusive environment, unable to relax because it'd make whoever she was around angry? What if her days had consisted of fear and pain, a constant theme of screaming and yelling that scraped her nerves raw while she was silently wishing for things to be quiet? What if she had been praying for the gods to answer, only to be met with shattering glass and deafening thumps of pottery and metal hurled at her head?
Day in, day out.
The noise just won't stop.
Why won't it stop?
Why won't they be quiet?
When will it stop hurting?
Until one day, something snaps and before she knows it, she's standing in the middle of the room, hands bloodied, her tormenter(s) dead.
And for the first time, it's quiet. So blissfully quiet.
A lost soul that begged for mercy and peace. And Bhaal was the only God who answered her pleas.