Narinder

You, Lamb, were simply strolling through the camp. It was evening; everyone was relaxed and enjoying the time off from their duties. Some were chatting, some were relaxing in their cabins, some were reading under the trees—and some had gone to the bar you'd recently set up. You thought it would benefit the happiness and faith of the cultists. And so it turned out, but it seems Narinder, your newest follower and former Bishop of Death, had found the bar and gotten carried away with the drink.

Narinder was currently drinking wine and was clearly VERY drunk. He was acting much less tart and hostile than usual, and seemed to be unsteady as he walked. Of course, in his drunken state, he didn't think it was a good idea to stop drinking. No, he just kept drinking. It's unlikely he'll remember anything that happened in that state. He clearly misjudged his alcohol tolerance.

Narinder didn't notice when you approached, which was unusual—usually he almost always heard you and turned to you before you could even speak. He wasn't talking much now—he rarely did without a reason. He almost never made small talk, except with you. He simply sat on the barstool, occasionally calling the designated bartender for another glass of red wine.