Rancorr's Tales: Comeuppance, part 8

Rancorr's Tales
Comeuppance, Part 8.

The hallways inside the temple seemed, at first, no different from other temples I'd been in before. I mean, all that pomp and grandeur is usually mixed in with austerity and false humility. It is as if these religions want us to think that their beliefs are yummy and good and all that. I'm always surprised to find that so many people fall for this dung!

Take this religion, for example. What they're really about is anybody's guess, but just who thinks that sacrificing things you cherish is good thing? And what rewards do you get from your god if you 'offer up' the lives of other people in praise? As though the gods give the slightest whit one way or another what we do? The Black Mace Cult is all about power and manipulation, so obviously they must exert this power and manipulation over their own members. And who wants to devote their life to a religion that fully intends to manipulate you? Only an idiot, I presume.

Me? I prefer gods that emphasize freedom and enjoyment and happiness. Seems all the more pleasurable to me than this doom and gloom and dark drudgery.

Of course, as I commented on all this while we walked the halls of the Black Mace Temple, my companions expressed a desire for me to, (how did they put it? Ah, yes) to shut up. Less enlightened minds are often uninterested in philosophy and other intellectual pursuits. Well, back to revenge and all that.

Our next obstacle was one of the Black Mace Clerics. He was a lizard man (there's some sagely name for them, but I forget), with oily green scales for skin, four claws for hands, shifty red eyes and a tail which stuck out from beneath his black robes. Ugly as sin, if you ask me. And then there was that flicking tongue, which was longer than my forearm when extended. Sarvon quietly pulled an arrow from his quiver, but I stopped him before he nocked it. I knew, that even over the chanting of the priest, the bow and arrow were not subtle enough for this task.

"What are you doing?" asked Vreen in a low whisper.

"Trust me," I replied.

And before he could answer, I slipped ahead into the shadows. During my search for my father in the last ten years, I had learned a few tricks. One of them was that, in times where stealth is of the utmost importance, small gets you where you want to go. You take small steps in the shadows so no-one sees you. You breath small breaths so no-one hears you, and you're fully alert. You move in small increments. But most importantly, it's the small weapons that really do the job right. Take, for instance, the garrotte. It can be nothing more than a strong cord, and yet, when you wrap it quickly around an enemy's throat, not only can you get rid of them, but they can't scream out for help. I always keep one handy, wrapped around my wrist, for just such occasions.

The dangerous part about a garrotte is, while you're crushing the enemy's throat, he's got a little while to struggle and bash things around, maybe even pull a dagger and stick you with it, if he can overcome the panic. Lucky for me, though, this particular scale-face must have been young, because all he did was try to claw at the garrote until he was dead.

Having accomplished the task at hand, I glided back to the group and pronounced the area safe. And, as was becoming rote, despite my brilliant success, Vreen had a thing or two to scold me about.

"You can't go around doing things like that," he said, "without checking with us first!"

"Why?"

"Why? Because you're not alone any more, Rancorr!" Yes, he was mad again. I missed some bit about working as a team or somesuch (I had an itch on my hand. I may have gotten a rash from the oily scale-face, if I remember) but he went on. "You are part of a group now, and we need to be aware of what we're all doing, if at all possible. How can we co-ordinate our actions if you keep running off and doing what you feel like doing?"

"Oh. Sorry." I apologized and shrugged.

And yet he fixed me with another angry glare. There was no pleasing him, I tell you! He mumbled something about sincerity and patience and went back to the whole 'brooding warrior' thing. While everyone else shuffled down the corridor toward the foyer of the temple, I pocketed the gems for which the recently expired cleric would no longer have use. Afterall, why ignore profit when it is right there for the taking?

Father was going to be proud. Even if it killed me.

Or Vreen.

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