The stone of minds

Controlling their will with the staff of minds.
The cleric, gray and dry, gripped the staff with both hands in order to keep himself upright as he limped around the church. Even the master of minds will have to surrender the staff to death eventually. His knuckles whitened at the thought of it. Most elderly calmly accept it if it ever crosses their minds at all. They see it as the natural order. Leaving the earth for the younger to take their place. Not the cleric. He held the staff of minds, he held the people's will and now death was constantly on his mind. In his own mind, the only uncontrolled mind, he imagined himself fighting death every second of his life, every breath. Batting it off like feebly waving off a fly. A petty but persistent thing. The fly would eventually get its meal though.
The staff was a beautiful thing but only the cleric could see that, of course, so what did it matter? He sat down on the cold stone watching the staff. It glimmered in the gloom of the church. He liked to imagine it glimmered like his own white hair, weathered by age and experience and triumph. In truth, his hair was dull and unwashed. The stone in the staff had a keyhole and the cleric held the key. Unlock the stone to unlock the minds. That was how it worked.
He wasn't going to let anyone touch the staff ever again. It would die with him. He took one last look at it then he stood up and gripped the end of the staff with both hands. With the little strength he had left, he took a swing at the nearest stone pillar.
The stone of minds shattered and the cleric fell to the floor, dead.