“Why do you feel the need to protect the neighborhood at all?” Clancy opened. “Why not just let the police do their job?”

Jeles shook his head and clucked his tongue. “Oh, kid, kid…you’re so naïve. Am I right?” His cohorts chortled menacingly. “I hardly know where to start.” He leaned in. “Do you really think the city authorities are squeaky clean? That their motives are pure? That they treat all of their citizens fairly? Ha! If only!”

He stared Clancy right in the eyes. “The so-called ‘city fathers’ are merely the largest and most successful syndicate around. They allow horrible atrocities if it serves their interests. They shake down the people for anything they want to have for themselves. They use the thinnest of pretexts to stop anyone they consider to be a threat. No, kid, the city government is not your friend, and they don’t deserve your support. You really need to grow up.”

Clancy blinked his eyes a few times. “Fair enough.” He took another large swallow of beer.

“One point for our team!” one of the toughs called out. The other toughs broke out in cheers as they exchanged high-fives. Jeles looked serene as he motioned to Clancy. “Please, continue.”

“OK,” he mumbled, his eyes flitting side to side. “Criticize the city government if you like, but you’re the ones operating outside the law.”

“Oh, how convenient,” Jeles retorted, pinching the bridge of his nose. “The city government writes their own laws, does whatever it wants, and declares their actions to be legal. Pretty nice scam, I think.” He cleared his throat before continuing.

“But they hardly corner the market on virtue. They allow alcohol to be sold; that’s one of the most dangerous drugs around. But it’s legal, because the city needs the support of the brewery owners.”

“Plus, it’s delicious!” interrupted one tough; the others murmured their assent. Jeles gave the speaker a nonplussed look; he shut his mouth and meekly took another sip of beer.

Jeles fixed his gaze on Clancy. “The city government also supports the wholesale slaughter of goblins and any other species they find ‘undesirable’. Goblins don’t know why they’re goblins; the gods just made them that way. And they do jobs in this city that no one else will even touch. But the authorities consider them guilty from birth. Not very fair, is it? And don’t get me started on their taxes. We charge the locals far less for their protection, and provide a vastly superior service. Who are the real bad-guys here?”

There was silence for a moment. “Strike two!” interjected a tough, followed by cheering. The tough to Clancy’s right elbowed him sharply. “Strike three and you’re out!” Clancy beheld him nervously.

Jeles spoke as the noise died down.

“I can’t say I’ve ever experienced the city government behaving dishonorably,” Clancy asserted.

“Of course you haven’t!” Jeles countered. “You all come from ‘good’ families. You’re not one of the downtrodden. Try getting justice out of the city government without the money and influence to back it up. You’ll learn quickly that they don’t care about you.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Clancy returned. “The city exists to help good people succeed based on their skills, talents, and aptitudes.”

“You really believe that?” Jeles chuckled, turning to the large half-orc sitting next to Noninja. “Turp? Care to comment?”

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

“Turp no like words!” he roared. “Turp smash words!” He punctuated his last outburst by slamming his fist on the table.

Jeles looked at him slyly. “C’mon, Turp. Don’t hold out on me.”

Turp’s fierce expression slowly melted away. “Fine, you got me.” He turned toward Clancy. “I’m not a dumb brute. I can speak perfectly well. I even have a degree in business management. But just try to get a job in this town if you look like me!”

Turp turned toward Noninja. “You know what I mean, don’t you? You couldn’t get a legitimate job in this town, so now you’re a vigilante.”

Noninja chuckled. “You got that right, brother.” They exchanged a fist-bump.

Turp leveled his eyes at Clancy, smirking. “We’re not so different, you and I.”

Clancy put his palm to his face. “I should have seen that coming.”

“We’re very different!” Lorarona suddenly interjected, glaring at Jeles. “How can you wear those robes? Those are priest robes! Do you have a diabolical sponsor? Are you play-acting? Or were you defrocked?”

Jeles sighed. “It’s so easy to judge, isn’t it, my children? Well, I’m not a cleric of any evil deity. Asmodeus has no appeal to me. Would you believe I was once a priest of Iomedae?”

Lorarona didn’t react; Jeles continued. “It’s true. And I still believe in justice, honor, and valor. But I grew sick of watching my temple violently slaughtering anyone they decided was ‘evil’. There was no attempt to look for the good in others, or any effort to rehabilitate – they simply judged and exterminated. I spoke up against their intolerance, and for my trouble, I was threatened and excommunicated, and everyone I thought I knew and trusted suddenly turned their backs on me. I had nowhere to go.”

He looked around the table, smiling beatifically. “But the syndicate took me in. They genuinely appreciate my talent and my compassion. I dare say I’ve done more good here than I ever did working for the church. What do you think about that?”

Lorarona was silent for a moment. “After what I’ve heard today,” she finally said, “I’m willing to believe it.”

“I must say,” Clancy continued, “those years of school debate-club didn’t prepare me for this at all.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, kid!” Jeles reassured. “You did great! You just had your facts wrong. No amount of technique is going to save you from that.”

Clancy shrugged. “I suppose you’re right.”

A swarm of waitresses filed into the room, carrying hearty meals for all. The team eyed the delicious food stacked on their plates. Miles grabbed a fork and prepared to dig in. “Stop!” Jeles commanded; Miles froze in place. Jeles eyed him firmly. “Where are your manners? Let us have a silent prayer, to thank our god for the wonderful meal we’re about to have.”

“Which god are we praying to?” Lorarona asked.

Jeles smiled. “Whatever god you respect. It’s a silent prayer.”

He closed his eyes and folded his hands; the toughs did likewise. The team members followed. They were all silent for several seconds.

Jeles looked up. “Well!” he announced. “Let’s eat!” All assembled attacked their food with gusto.

“All this, for only a single gold piece?” Miles marveled.

“Of course!” the thug to his left concurred. “This is a classy place!”

Lorarona chewed and swallowed her food before speaking. “If you don’t mind me asking,” she said, addressing Jeles, “what god do you pray to? I assume you’re no longer one of Iomedae’s clerics.”

“You may ask,” Jeles assured, “but it’s difficult to answer. I found my new god during a period of meditation and soul-searching. I can only say he’s neutral, he reigns over the entirety of existence, and he cares for all of us, even if we can’t always see it.”

Lorarona’s brow furrowed. “Are you speaking of the Monad?”

“Yes,” Jeles answered. “And no. Sort of. Like I said, it’s difficult to describe. But I have no doubt that my god is real, and I work to accomplish his vision. I mediate a lot of conflicts, and I try to balance opposing forces in the name of peace.” He leaned in slightly. “And in the end, isn’t that what’s really important?”

Lorarona paused before answering. “I guess so.” She took another bite of her food and chewed thoughtfully.