Role

Chapter 9

Ralshamar had grown much in the years since his pledge to the temple to one
day be worthy to wear the robes of an acolyte. His technique improved day
by day, and with it the destruction he could bring against the profane in
the quest for purity. A century ago he would never have dared push into
shattered Maethian to bring down the enemies of truth, but now not even
there were they safe from his wrath.

He had met several other pledges to the Father's temple. Some who even had
promise. It was unfortunate that he had butchered the magician Narra when
she had taken him for one of the profane and spontaneously flung herself
upon his blade, but her sight had proved less clouded in her native form
than as a bat. Her understanding--loathe as he was to admit it--had
eclipsed his own, and she had granted him knowledge of some of the holes in
his studies of the Father's text. She would be a worthy ally, though would
undoubtedly one day wish to have her revenge upon him. They would see who
had the stronger will when that day came. She clearly had ambitions to
serve as the Father's Voice, and had asked him if he one day aspired to be
the Flame. He felt she was getting somewhat ahead of herself, but could not
deny that it was an ambition worthy of pursuing.

Yet not all was ideal.

The task which the Father's agent had imparted upon him would likely take
many years yet. The profane Marshal was more caucious after the last time
he had eviscerated the dwarf, and the so called captain had not shown his
face to Ralshamar in the last 300 years. The imperial lie was in shambles,
dead Emperor and absentee leaders of half their so called sects. All good
things in the grand scheme, but inconvenient in the extreme in the
immediate. It would likely take many years yet, but Ralshamar would persist.

The one current acolyte of the temple had vanished. Whether dead or simply
in hiding, Ralshamar neither knew nor cared; either was as impotent as the
other in doing the Father's work. It was unfortunate, as he had been
impressed by the conjurer's ruthlessness. Perhaps he would yet reemerge,
but the drow had his doubts.

Yet the fact remained.

The temple would open once more; and the profane would be shown the
Father's truth.