More:
A man who initially joined the church for the love of his deity, Olus has watched the clergy, in his region in particular, become consumed by politics. He fell briefly into depression, and that spell was enough for some among them to spread rumors that he was becoming too old or too mad for his position. He's finding it a little irritating.

Sample:
He stepped out of his room, bent under the weight of his robes, and paused as the conversation in the hallway ceased. He felt a momentary desire to raise an imaginary conductor's baton, but he ignored the impulse and shuffled down the hall instead. They already thought he was crazy enough.

He made his way to his office as quickly as his theatrically bent body would allow and reconsidered for perhaps the seventh time that day whether this was all a bit more trouble than it was worth.

Too late now, he supposed, snatching at his office door and slipping inside without so much as a greeting to anyone.

"Good morning, your holiness," said a small, chipper voice from next to the door, and he nearly slammed it in surprise.

"My what?" he said, straightening as he stalked to his desk.

"Oh -- well -- a little bit of a joke." The young man looked embarrassed, waiting until he'd seated himself to rise and bring him his breakfast tray.

"A joke, indeed." He peered at the food, rubbing his cheek wearily. No amount of sleep seemed to prepare him for his day lately. "You prepared it, I assume."

"They've gotten very huffy in the kitchens, but yes."

"Bah." He waved a hand. "Chalk it up to my madness if you must."

"I won't," he said stoutly, eliciting a faint chuckle from the older man.

He snatched up a piece of fruit and chewed it thoughtfully. "We're going to have to do something about Brother Candan soon. He has all the initiates dancing to his tune already, and heaven knows how impressionable they are."

"He is the one in charge of their education."

"Yes ... yet another unfortunate decision of mine, in hindsight." He leaned back, rubbing his temple. "Perhaps ..."

"Perhaps?" The initiate watched his mentor warily, concern only growing when his scowl broke into a sudden smile.

"That's got it." He straightened in his seat, wagging a finger in the young man's direction. "I'll name you my successor."

"I -- I beg your pardon, sir?" He looked at the man's meal, wondering if someone had slipped something into it while he wasn't looking. "That isn't strictly legal, is it?"

"Well, we're not one of those tribal organizations that has the shaman choose or have visions or what have you -- but what if I did?"

"Did, er, what?"

"Had a vision from God, Mishen. Try to keep up."

The initiate stared, but the old man had risen from his chair and was pacing thoughtfully behind his desk.

"Yes, I think that should ..." He stopped, pointing at Mishen and smiling grimly. "That's it, my boy. You're my successor. I'll announce it later today."

"Wh -- but -- sir! I couldn't possibly --"

He waved his objections away, manic mood fading. "You won't have to." He sank into his chair again, smiling and weary again. "I apologize for putting you in this position, Mishen, but it should throw them into enough disarray to keep them from outright assassinating me."

"I ... see." He clearly did not, but Olus was unconcerned. There was plenty of time to explain the length and breadth of the plan before he carried it through.

"If I'm going to be mad, let's get our money's worth out of it."